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Feints

By: Cyanlot



FEINTS

I.

"She won't go for it. She's not stupid, you know."

Maybe not, but I'm starting to think you are. Ryan's attitude was wearing on me. We had been over the plan half a dozen times over as many beers. I had considered it sober, with a buzz, and drunk. It passed each stage of my standard screening process. I had thought it through from everyone's perspective. It would work.

"She doesn't have to be stupid-just interested. Trust me; it will work." I didn't have to tell Ryan that Diane's interest was quite specifically directed at him. It had been for years and he'd known it for as long. He just had to be reminded that the scheme didn't depend on making a fool of her but upon letting it appear that she was making fools of us.

Apparently he was convinced, or at least interested enough himself. He turned to practical matters. "So when do we try it?"

Finally, a positive attitude. But not as positive as mine. "Now."

"Oh, Jesus. This is ridiculous. I'm not ready now. I have to think about this-how to approach it, what to do."

"You jerk," I said with mock venom. "There is nothing to think about. You just be there; the rest will take care of itself." I dropped some money on the table and initiated our retreat from the booth. Walking out past the projection screen, I realized that neither of us had even looked at the game we supposedly came to watch. Normally, you couldn't have gotten me away from the game. But this was not to be a normal day. We walked out into the bright light waiting for our eyes to adjust and our slightly pickled brains to recall where we had parked the car.

The drive home continued to tax my abilities to keep Ryan convinced-as well as my patience. "But Ron, what if Diane . . .?" "How are we going to . . .?" "Who is supposed to . . .?"

I was beginning to despise Ryan-a strange feeling in light of our current connivance. Finally, I put an end to it. "I'll worry about getting things started. Once it gets going, do you think you can handle it or will you need help from me."

My comment was carefully calculated to shut him up. It did. All he could manage to say was, "Well, you know her better than I do." Indeed I did. After six years of marriage and one kid, I ought to. I wondered if his comment had been designed for the same purpose as mine.

We drove on in silence-a big improvement, the son-of-a- bitch.

II.

I hadn't had a day like this for years: Chrissie at her Grandma's house, Ron off with Ryan for their male ritual of beer and football, and me lying in my lounge chair in the pool with a wine glass floating next to me. If it went on for hours, it would still end too soon. As it happened, it ended much too soon when I heard the car door shut and R & R come in the house. "Honey, where are you?"

Where am I, indeed? Where would you be on a the first day of peace and quiet you almost had in recent memory? "I'm in the pool. I'll be in in a minute." Kiss the moment goodbye. Oh well, my glass needed a refill anyway.

I rolled out of the chair, grabbed my wine glass and climbed out of the pool. I didn't dry myself off except by wrapping up in my robe and I decided to let my hair drip. One doesn't have to be formal for Ryan. In fact, he probably prefers me this way.

They were in the kitchen opening up a couple of cans of beer which were clearly not needed. "So, how was the football game?" I showed polite, insincere interest in their activities as I picked up the mandatory peck from each of them.

"Great game, great game. Do you want another glass of wine?" Ron was talking too fast. He does that when he is up to something: maybe he was angling for a night out with Ryan or a fishing trip with the guys, or maybe he was trying to get me in a good mood to tell me he had dropped a bundle on the game. I decided to wait and let his little plot work itself out-maybe doing what I could to make it hard for him. That's always fun.

The boys (my isn't that an appropriate phrase sometimes) headed for the living room and I, after grabbing a towel for my hair, followed. I paid little attention to their conversation when I first came into the room assuming that it was game-related. "Yeah, but if the officials hadn't blown the call in the third quarter . . ." and "Ah come on, he never had possession of the ball." I had little patience with their usual postmortem of the game.

It was a few minutes before the actual content of their conversation registered. They were having a funny (and probably phoney) disagreement over the effects of childbirth on the female body. Despite, or probably because of, the fact that Ryan's wife was now expecting their first, he was taking the pessimistic position. And my hubby, my Ron, bless his sweet heart, was defending the possibility of a pretty postpartum profile. He was probably just doing it to keep the argument going, but I loved him for it. And, whatever his motives, he was certainly right.

"You should listen to Ron, Ryan. He is, after all, in a position to know whereof he speaks." The more I thought about it the more I came to think that it took a lot of gall for anyone, especially Ryan, to sit in front of the mother of an eighteen month old girl, in her own home no less, and argue that once you had had a kid, you'd best make love with the lights out. Ryan had a lot of gall.

"That's right Ryan, look at Diane." Bless his heart again. "She looks just as good as she ever did."

"Yeah, she looks fine," but he didn't look-and he wasn't very convincing. "But you know what I mean: the wrinkles and the stretch marks; the saggin', baggin', flabby stomach and tits; and God knows what irreparable damage it does down below. I mean, well endowed as I am," he snorted, "I'm no match for a baby's head. And I can't believe that I'll be any match for Emily after this."

"Stand up, honey. And take of your robe."

Mind you, I appreciated Ron's defense of motherhood and his pride in my body, and it isn't a bad body by anyone's standards. Still I wasn't sure I wanted to be presented as a model of feminine beauty. (And to tell the truth, you could still see some stretch marks, though there certainly wasn't any "saggin'" or "baggin'".) I was almost mad enough to comply with my husband's outrageous demand. Almost.

"I'm not going to play your silly game." And I took a long slow sip of my wine.

"See, Ron." Then turning to me and lowering his voice as if this were our little secret. "No offense to you Diane. I think you look as good as anyone could after having a baby." He raised his voice and I knew that the other shoe was going to fall and that it was meant for Ron, not me. "But once a woman has a baby, she has a lot to cover up. She just can't ever look as good." Sure, Ryan, no offense.

And again, Ron to the defense. "You're full of shit." The defense wasn't very eloquent, alas. "Come on, honey, stand up."

I was more than mad enough now. Without saying a word, though I suspect that Ryan would have to be blind not to have known what I was thinking, I took a leisurely sip of my wine, slipped on my sandals and stood facing Ryan. Looking him right in the eye, I began untying by robe in a slow and, I hoped, seductive way. It seemed to be working. While my eyes were riveted on his, his were riveted a shade lower on me. I shook the rob off my shoulders and let it slide off my arms to the floor.

I was left with nothing on me but sandals, a swimsuit and two men's eyes. My suit was white and not risque by contemporary standards. Still, even Ryan couldn't deny that it didn't cover a lot. I had a medium dark tan (that, and early skin cancer, being just some of the benefits of having your own pool). I liked the contrast with the white suit.

Without breaking my stare at Ryan, I took a model's quarter turn to the right. He should be able to see that I was not "flabby" or "saggin and baggin." I could see that he did. I turned another quarter turn and looked away from him for the first time and toward the mirrored wall opposite him.

I detest mirrored walls; they're gauche. Ron and I had planned to take the mirrors off when we moved in three years ago but something else always took priority. I was glad we had procrastinated. Seeing myself now reconfirmed my opinion that I'm not bad looking for any age-especially for a 27-year old mother. An adequate proportion of my height is devoted to legs and they could still be on the cover of a "How to Banish Cellulite Forever" pamphlet. No "orange peel" here. From this distance I couldn't even see the remains of the stretch marks on my stomach which had only the slightest curve to it. And the curve of my hips was, if anything, better now than it had been before Chrissie was born. I'm sure that my breasts were not as firm as they had been five years ago. Still, since they were not really large in the first place, they hadn't started to sag. They were full and round and well-formed. I always thought that my nose was a little too long and straight; growing up I had envied girls with "cute" noses. But I had high and prominent cheekbones and pure blue eyes (now fringed by red from the chlorine of the pool-another "benefit") and dark brown wavy hair that looked almost black in its wetness.

Though I don't think of myself as vain, I enjoyed looking at myself in the mirror on this occasion. I was, after all, supposed to be the center of attention. But the value of the mirror wasn't just in its reflection of me but, also, in its reflection of Ron and Ryan. I studied them studying me. They were completely unaware of my view, and it was a most interesting one. They stole a sideways glance at each other and Ron gave a smirking wink. I wondered what that was all about. I didn't have to wonder long.

"Feel her stomach, Ryan. There's no flab there." I wasn't sure I liked the direction things were going. Up until now, I felt that this had been my show. Now I was starting to feel like a thoroughbred at auction. Check her teeth. You won't find anything wrong there. And look at those hocks. I wasn't sure I liked it, but I didn't do anything to stop it. "Go on," Ron urged, "I'll get us another round."

Ryan had an embarrassed grin on his face. The cause of the embarrassment was evident as he got up, even though he tried inconspicuously to rearrange the contents of his Jockeys. It looked like my little show had more of an impact than I had thought. I was surprised and flattered. I tightened up my muscles and let him feel my stomach, trying to keep one eye on the barometer in his crotch. Perhaps Ron was treating me like meat on the market but, when Ryan touched me, I knew he was no detached, meat inspector. Standing at my side, he put his left hand in the small of my back and put his right hand on my stomach. The hand on my back was warm, almost hot, but the other was ice cold from holding the beer. The contrast sent a charge through my abdomen that reverberated in my limbs.

Ryan was almost forgiven. He could be dense at times, but he was cute. He had curly, sandy-colored hair and greenish-brown eyes. And while you couldn't tell a thing by looking at his eyes, his thoughts were betrayed by his mouth. Anyone who took the time to study him in different moods (as I had) only had to look at his mouth to tell whether he was angry, sad, relaxed, bemused or embarrassed. (Right now, he looked tense and distracted.) He was muscular in a lean, wiry way and he had a great little ass. But best of all were his hands-those hot and cold hands.

But now the contrast between the hands was dissipating. He was pressing firmly but not hard on my stomach. I noticed for the first time that Ron had gathered the empties from the coffee table and was walking behind us towards the kitchen. A minor distraction. But as he passed us, he grabbed the tie on my swimsuit top and pulled the knot out. "No sirree. No saggin' here." And he walked on to the kitchen.

So that was what this was all about. Ron was overplaying it a bit though. Untying my top was like tossing Ryan the keys to his car. Ron had loaned me to Ryan. He was even helping to unwrap the present so that it would be clear that it was a gift. Very obvious. But perhaps Ron needed to do it this way.

He was gone now anyway, and Ryan's hand, now as warm as the one on my back, was under my top cupping my breast gently while he brushed his thumb across my hardening nipple. I felt that warm flush in my groin and started to lick my lips but checked myself realizing how trite that would be. It took great self-control to resist the compelling urge to reach down and grab his huddled mass that was yearning to be free. I wished that I could release his pants as easily as Ron had my top. But I wanted to be the passive spectacle just a bit longer. Well, almost passive. I reached down and untied the right side of my swimsuit bottoms, the back of my hand sliding against Ryan's bulging pants. The suit fell away from the right side but the string on the left side held it up-for a moment. Ryan slipped his left hand down on my butt and, with a flick of his finger, sent the suit to the floor. I shrugged my shoulders and sent the top to the same fate while I pursued my own.

It was time for a dramatic shift in comportment. As I turned towards him, I noticed that his shirt had snaps rather than buttons. How nice! In one almost smooth motion, I tore the snaps open with my right hand while unbuttoning his pants with my left. Down with the zipper. I stopped suddenly and stood close to him with my breasts just touching the hair on his chest. His breathing was barely controlled and I could tell by his mouth that he was tense as a tightwire. As if in slow motion, my hands crept around to rest, one on each buttock under his underpants. I paused once more, allowing him to anticipate, and then began easing down his pants. Suddenly, I changed the tempo again. I sank to my knees at once, taking the pants down to his ankles. As I did, I felt his penis spring free like a sapling closing a drawline trap. It dragged between my breasts, up my neck and past my chin. For a moment it bounced there reminding me of a bobblehead behind the back seat of a car.

Ryan stepped out of his pants. (Thank God he had taken his sandals off earlier. Underpants are bad enough, but shoes and such can destroy the rhythm of love completely.) And as I slid my hands back up to his buttocks, I felt his shirt fall too.

He was bursting, and the speed with which I had taken his pants off had led his body to expect no delay on the progression toward gratification. But I waited, moved slowly, and put my lips wetly and softly where shaft meets satchel. I moved up moistly and, while I held him in my hand and my tongue circumvented his circumcision, I glanced over at the couch.

Ron was back. I knew he would be; I was surprised only by the fact that I had been totally unaware of his return. He was staring with dilated pupils at his wife fellate his best friend. But it looked as if I were doing it to him. As I took Ryan's erection in my mouth, I could see Ron's grow. He reached down to shift his penis so that it was going up and his hand lingered there. When Ryan's hands came forward to gently cradle either side of my head, Ron abandoned all subtlety and pretense; he began kneading himself vigorously. His eyes were still directed toward the site of the adulterous act he had initiated, but there was an unfocused, distant look in them.

God designed us poorly when he made it so difficult to see our lovers' faces when we are having oral sex. There would be a lot more, and better, oral sex were it not for this design flaw. I enjoyed bringing Ron off by hand primarily for the chance to watch his face show the transitions from interest to arousal to urgency to climax and relief. It is very different watching that, causing that, controlling that when you are not going through it yourself. Ah, to be able to do that during oral sex.

But it was almost like doing that now. I was a good eight feet from Ron. He was getting a long distance blow job. And he was enjoying it. I was sure that there were a variety of emotions churning in his head. And I suspected that tomorrow he might have problems with that we had done today. But the predominant emotion in his head right now was voyeuristically inspired lust.

Ryan's hands pulled gently at my neck. Ron's presence receded and Ryan's supplanted it. He pulled me up to face him and as he did I felt his penis, now wet with my saliva, retrace its path: down my neck, over my collar bone, between my breasts. It came to rest, hotly, in the middle of my belly. I felt it pulsate. It pulsed with a life of its own and with the life given it by his undulating hips. He raised my chin between his thumb and forefinger and kissed me sweetly but passionately. He lay me down gently without taking his lips from mine. Pulling away a matter of inches, he moved on top of me between my legs. And staring deeply into my eyes, he entered me in one smooth stroke that felt a mile long. As I looked into his eyes, I saw that the game had turned dangerous. We were not just fucking, at least he wasn't. He was making love to me-in the fullest sense of the phrase. And, he was doing it in my husband's presence and with his consent. At least I thought Ron was still consenting, for now the coffee table blocked him from my view. Well, Ron could be slow; perhaps he hadn't noticed the change.

Fortunately, Ryan seemed to-perhaps he read the look in my eyes. He withdrew, pulled on me gently to roll over. His hand, reaching between my legs and up over my pubic bone, raised me easily to my knees. My face was still against the carpet. It was his turn now to call the dance. And he was being playful in his own ways. As he moved behind me, he let the tip of his penis rest so lightly against the lips of my vagina that I could barely sense his presence. But imagination filled in where sensation left off. He grabbed my hips and moved back and forth, letting his penis slide down under me and drag my clitoris very perceptibly. As he did this, he would flex and relax his muscles letting his penis sometimes rub hard against my clitoris and sometimes whisking lightly across like a leaf blowing over a lawn. It felt good and I thought that I had no particular desire that it end. But when he, of a sudden, pulled me onto him hard and fast so that I took his full length at once, it seemed like the answer to every desire I ever had.

Now, as he was moving in and out of me-sometimes rhythmically, sometimes not-I raised up slowly on my elbows, then on my hands. Looking down between my gently swinging breasts, I could see his wildly swinging balls flapping between my legs. It is a comical sight forever denied to men. (Even for gay men, the angle isn't right. And if they managed to contorted themselves so they could see, the view would still be obstructed.) Now was no time to laugh, so I tore my eyes away and looked up.

Ron was still sitting on the couch, though he had slouched down so much that he was almost lying. His pants were wide open and he, as they say, had a hold of himself. It looked like he had lubricated himself somehow. My guess was with beer. I couldn't imagine that that would be very effective, but he seemed to be doing okay.

I could see him looking at us then gazing off toward the ceiling then looking back at us-sometimes at Ryan, sometimes at me, and sometimes where we joined in unholy union. When I caught his eyes, I said nothing but licked my lips and tried to communicate a nonverbal invitation. I could take care of him too. Lord knows, I had seen it done in porno flicks. He looked at me for a moment but didn't make a move towards me. I didn't know if the invitation had been misunderstood or declined. I didn't spend much time thinking about it then. I was distracted elsewhere.

I concentrated on flexing and relaxing the muscles of my vagina. Ron thought I was very good at this, that I "felt like a damn milking machine" when I did it. (I had never asked him if he really knew. But he might have, having been raised on a farm.) And he was certainly right that I was pretty effective at getting cream.


Feints



If I was any judge of men, I figured that Ryan was nearing his climax. I was certainly with him. When I looked over at Ron, I saw that he was, in a sense, with us too. As it turned out, I was a good judge of men. We all came together-or nearly enough so.

II.

Yesterday went better than anyone had a right to expect. But what, pray tell, for an encore? Answers filled my mind as I drove towards Diane's house, but none of them seemed satisfactory. Ron was gone-out of town for the day. That would make things easier, I thought. I wouldn't have to worry about where his ruminations had led him in the dark of the night after passion had passed. And I knew I had to be with Diane, but I didn't know exactly how to handle it. I decided to do it with force.

As I turned onto her street, I saw Diane returning from dropping Chrissie off at her friend's house down the street. (Chrissie's absence was even more valued than Ron's.) Diane was wearing only slippers and one of Ron's shirts. She often wore his old shirts when she was going to spend the day cleaning. She praised the comfort of them. I had never thought that there was anything else to recommend them until I saw her right now. I was at once aroused and outraged that she would parade around the neighborhood like that. I suppressed the latter reaction. Such possessive jealousy was bad enough coming from a husband.

I slowed down letting her get back into the house before I drove up. When I got to the door, I banged on it-shunning the doorbell. She might as well know the tone of the visit from the outset. The door opened a crack.

"Oh, hi Ryan." Then tentatively: "Ron's not here." As if she didn't know that I knew.

"I didn't come here to see Ron." I pushed the door open with more force than necessary.

She backed away to the other side of the entryway and clasp a hand on the front of the already buttoned shirt. "What do you want?"

It was a set up line if ever I had heard one. She might as well have said, "Is there anything I can do for you?" I didn't respond immediately. I moved across to stand just a bit too close in front of her-almost cornering her. "Why, you, of course."

She looked around nervously, surveying her escape routes. "Ryan, this isn't right. It was different yesterday. Ron was here and wanted it to happen."

"Well, I'm here now and I want it to happen." I regretted the line before it was out of my mouth. It sounded like it came from the script of a bad porno film.

"But I love Ron. I would never do anything to cause him pain." A lame response, indeed. When a lady says that, you know you are making progress.

"Sure, we all love Ron. But I'm not talking about causing him pain. I'm talking about causing us pleasure. Don't deny that you were just as excited as I was yesterday."

She paused, as if thinking it over. Also a good sign. But when she spoke, the news was bad. "No, Ryan. I just wouldn't feel right about it. I can't."

"Sure you can." I moved a shade closer and took her hand down from between her breasts. "Why, it's the easiest thing in the world." I spit out the last few words and, at the same time, put both hands between two of the buttons and ripped the shirt open. There was dead silence for a half second. I could hear some of the buttons hit the floor and roll. Then, so quickly I couldn't follow her actions, Diane kicked me in the shin, pushed me back and ran towards the phone in the kitchen.

I caught her at the phone and dragged her to the living room. She struggled but wasn't able to inflict any more wounds, though the one she had inflicted on my shin was throbbing like Hell. By pulling down the shirt till it was around her wrists only, I was able to restrict her arms some. I threw her to the floor and kneeled over her. I put a knee across her belly and pulled down her panties.

Things could have gone various ways at that point. I could tell that, despite it all (or because of it), she was excited. I was debating trying to kiss and caress her until she was aroused enough to consent. But she looked at me with venom. "You think you own me now because of yesterday. You're like some dog that sprays a fire hydrant and thinks it's his. Well, I've got something to tell you. I'll bet the fire hydrant enjoys it more than I did yesterday."

The options had narrowed. I undid my pants and slipped them down only the necessary amount. Climbing between her legs, I put one hand under a thigh and pulled it up, exposing her vulnerably. My other hand rested gently but significantly on her throat. She didn't resist-nor did she cooperate. I entered her hard and fast. She winced, but made no sound.

I stopped to let her feel the fact that I had gotten what I wanted and her desires had been irrelevant. I leaned forward for a second, and in a violation that was in some ways more personal, I held her chin immobile and kissed her hard while I began moving in and out of her. I was so excited that it took me only a matter of seconds before I came explosively. (Being a minuteman now was a virtue I told myself; it underscored the fact that her pleasure didn't matter.)

"Well, how was that loverboy? As good as yesterday?"

I don't know why women can't observe a moment of postcoital silence. I roused my consciousness from its stupor. "I don't know if it was as good as yesterday, but it was damn good-maybe better than any we've ever had before yesterday." I was ready to slip back into semi-consciousness when my conscience started nagging. "I suppose that it was a little fast for you. But you'll get no sympathy from me. You kicked me hard out there. And if I weren't so busy feeling sexual ecstasy, it would hurt like Hell."

"Well you'll get no sympathy from me. 'Saggin' and baggin'', 'flabby', 'No offense, Diane.' You son of a bitch."

I think she was really mad. I grinned and explained that that was the strategy Ron had cooked up for me. I was just following the script. She thought my acting was better than it should have been. But before long she softened. With mock concern she said, "Aw. Does your leg hurt you? Let me kiss it and make it feel better." I had neither the strength nor the inclination to protest. She rolled me over, pulled my pants off and began kissing my shin. Now shins are not normally known as erogenous zones and mine are no exception. Still it felt good and her hands were sliding to more conventional sites of stimulation. I could feel myself being roused and aroused.

I pulled her up and kissed her before putting her face down on the carpet. Climbing on her back, I began to massage her neck and shoulders, first with my hands, then with my mouth. My knees were on either side of her hips and my cock, now ready for duty again, rested between her buttocks. I could feel her squirm gently. I worked slowly down until my crotch hit her heels, then moved down further to kiss her on the backs of her knees. This, I knew from frequent experience over the past couple of years, was both pleasant and almost intolerable for her. My tongue worked slowly up her squirming thighs. I grabbed one thigh, rolled her over quickly and buried my tongue in her deeply. Not expecting it, she gasped, but quickly recovered enough composure to grab the back of my head and force me even more deeply into her. I wiggled my tongue hard reaching around her thighs to feel her breasts. Then, sliding my hands down to her hips, I pulled my head up so that my tongue drew across her clitoris. I pulled away, used my hands to spread her lips and paused.

She was in a feverish state now. I starved the fever. But just for a moment. So lightly that she couldn't feel it at first and with gradually increasing pressure, I played my tongue across her clitoris. I put my mouth around her female erection and sucked gently, and then harder. I moved up slowly lingering at the various attractions along the way: pelvic bones, naval, breasts, clavicle, neck, ear lobe. It is a wonder I ever got to her mouth. But I did, and kissed her with honest passion that I felt for her. She responded in kind.

I rolled her over on top of me and let her take it from there. She straddled me and kissed me letting our genitals bump almost accidentally. then she sat up with her hands on my ribs and moved her wet lips slowly up and down the underside of my penis. I think that she was trying to ensure that I was as aroused as she was. She needn't have given it a thought.

After a pleasant bit of that, she raised herself up and came down on my erection so slowly I was almost in pain with yearning. I looked up between her bouncing breasts to see her facial expressions. She was in her own world, lost in lust. Finally, when she was nearly done, she leaned forward to give me a breathless kiss and shuddered as if in convulsions. Momentarily, I did so as well, and we held each other gently, for a long time.

Later, over coffee, we talked about a lot, but mainly about yesterday and the prelude to it and the likely fallout from it. We both thought that it had been one of the most exciting experiences we had had. Diane praised herself for coming up with the plan, but quickly lauded me for carrying it out well enough to make Ron think that it was his idea. She expressed surprise about how quickly it had happened. She had expected it to take weeks to plant the idea and let Ron rediscover it thinking it was his own. I took the undeserved credit for getting the plan into action so quickly. Little did she know how easy it was. And we wondered if our blissful, long-running passion would be hurt by it. She said she thought it all depended on Ron's reaction. He might become jealous or suspicious or cool the friendship with me. I didn't tell her, but I thought that unlikely.

III.

"Before anything else, I want you to admit that it worked like a charm." I thought it only fitting that the doubting Ryan eat some crow. We were sitting in my living room, supposedly watching a football game while Diane and Ryan's wife took Chrissie to the zoo. But the game, while on, was not being watched.

"It worked. I admit it."

"It worked. I admit it," I mocked. "I've never seen your fuckin' dick so hard. I thought you were going to come before you got in her." I reached over and grabbed his crotch now. It was rousing slightly even as he thought of it. He pushed my hand away.

"Yours didn't look exactly limp. I saw you over there flogging it." He had indeed and I had seen him see me and seen his reaction.

"But I'm not trying to play cool about it. From the time she stood up to take her robe off and I knew it was going to work, my heart was pounding and my dick was throbbing. I've never been so turned on in my life. So how about you?"

"I don't mean to be pretending that it was anything less than the most erotic experience of my life. I was just afraid to sound too excited. I thought maybe you had had second thoughts about the whole thing. I just wanted to feel you out."

"No doubt."

"I didn't mean that and you know it."

I did. I'll never know why Ryan suddenly loses his sense of humor at times like this. Always serious and always reluctant, but ultimately always willingly compliant.

I stood up. "Come here." And I knew he would. I placed him exactly where he was standing last week with Diane. Stood right in front of him and undid his pants. I put my hands inside his underpants, one on each buttock, and stopped, looking straight into his eyes.

Diane thinks Ryan is really attractive. I had never been physically involved with any man other than him so I guess I must have felt so too. But I didn't think of it that way. Ryan and I had just sort of fallen into this relationship in high school and it was good. It started as just a sort of release; we would whack each other off. Sometimes it was still that way. But more often, now that we were not afraid of being "queer," it was emotionally involved and imaginative lovemaking. And it was a real turn on.

Like Diane had done, I dropped down taking his pants with me and took his dick in my mouth. He was hard and not in the least reluctant now. I heard him moan and felt his hands on either side of my head.

His penis was slightly smaller than mine. (We had measured every dimension we could think of several times.) It was something I teased him about, telling him that the word 'prick' was invented for dicks like his, and he pretended to be bothered. But he knew I found no fault with him or his "prick." I sure let it prick me often enough.

Ryan had moved one hand around to the base of his penis and began pumping. I put a hand on him to stop him. I knew he was desperate but this had to last. I slid my other hand up inside his thigh and worked my middle finger up his asshole, pushing forward to massage him.

When again he seemed close to coming, I stopped and stood up. I slowly took my clothes off and unbuttoned his shirt. His breathing was still heavy, but controlled now. I reached down and pulled the K-Y out of my pants pocket. He smiled. "You're prepared, aren't you?" I was.

He seemed to want things to continue parallel to his display with Diane and I enjoyed being cast in her role temporarily. I got down on all fours and he entered me from behind. It didn't hurt anymore if he went slowly; I guess we had stretched out the sphincter by now. Whenever he was in me like that, at least if I hadn't just cum, my dick throbbed, hard and hot. Now, replaying last week's scene in my mind and knowing that he was doing the same, I was completely lost in sexual ecstasy. I was not thinking, though images were flashing through my mind; I was just feeling: my heart pounded, my dick throbbed almost as hard, and my asshole was stretched full while he slid in and out, faster and faster till he came.

He leaned over on my back, reached around and grabbed my cock. Sliding out of me, he started to roll me over onto my back. Instead, I crawled out from under him and faced him on my knees. "When you were screwing Diane, I was so God damn horny . . ."

"Yeah. I saw. But you handled it well."

"Very funny. I was going to say: I was so horny that I almost came down to join you two. I know that was not what we had planned, but my resolve was weakening. She even wanted me to. She wanted to suck me while you were in her from behind. I was sorely tempted."

"So?"

"So, what stopped me was a momentary fantasy I had. I thought about being on my knees in front of her with my cock deep in her mouth and looking up to see you. In my fantasy, I was overcome with desire for you and I pulled out of her, stood up straddling her back and forced your head on my dick. After a moment, I moved around and nailed your ass while you were nailing Diane. Once I had imagined this, I couldn't be sure I wouldn't do it. And it wouldn't do for us to do that in front of Diane."

He seemed to think it through. "I don't know. She was pretty caught up in the moment. I think she might have found it very erotic."

"Then, maybe. But later she might start to ask questions and suspect that it was not a novel experience for us. We couldn't have her wondering what we do on our R & R nights. Could we?"

He just smirked. I pulled his shoulder down till he was on all fours and put the tip of my dick on his lips. He played his tongue across the tip for a moment and then began sucking vigorously. I let this go on for a moment then suddenly pulled out completely. He raised up on his knees and I stood before him with my legs apart, as if straddling Diane. When I looked down, I saw that he was apparently enjoying my fantasy too. While his left hand was on the base of my shaft, his right was rubbing his own.

I pulled out again and moved behind him. Smearing both hands with the K-Y, I reached around with my right hand and took over from him. Then I lubricated myself with my left hand and slid into him gently.

I guessed that he could sort of imagine his dick being in Diane while mine was in him. For me though, the sensation was a familiar, but still funny one. Holding his cock from this angle was so like holding my own. And when mine was being squeezed in his ass, I could imagine that I was holding my own cock. The illusion was maintainable so long as I timed the motions right. As I pulled out of him, I would move my hand to the tip of his dick; and I would move to the base as I entered him. By keeping this up for a moment, I could fix the illusion in my mind. Then, a sudden change in the timing would shatter the illusion and make me strikingly aware of his presence. And while I wished for a moment that I could reach around and feel Diane beneath him, I found this very satisfying.

So did he. "God damn it!" I yelled at him. "You came on the rug. Go get a rag." I spent the rest of the afternoon listening to every detail of his mock rape of and subsequent lovemaking with Diane. I always found these accounts titillating but I hadn't the energy to show it now.

IV.

Diane was just drying her hair after showering while Ron waited for her in bed. By unspoken agreement, neither had talked of that day last week nor of their subsequent meetings with Ryan. Both had waited for tonight. Diane slipped on a nightgown that looked like a knee-length T-shirt, turned out the light and fell into bed. "So, Ron, how have things been going for you this last week?"

"Shhh." He put his finger to her lips gently. "Not yet." He pulled her over to him, propping himself up on his left elbow. With his right hand, he brushed her beautiful dark hair from her face letting his fingers slowly trace her hairline. He continued along her jaw and pulled her chin towards him. He kissed her lightly, his fingers trembling on her cheek.

"I love you, Diane."

She felt suddenly ashamed that she had not thought to begin so. Pulling his mouth down to hers again, she kissed him harder. "Oh, God, Ron, I love you too."

They were both motionless for a moment, then Ron reached down, grabbed her crotch playfully and smiled. "So, Diane, how have things been going for you this last week?" They laughed.

"It was a lot of fun, but I've had enough intrigue for a while. From what I could tell, Ryan bought everything."

Ron smiled with one side of his mouth. "Sure he did. It's easy to get someone to buy something. You just have to make them think that they are getting away with something. I guess in a way he was."

"What do you mean. He and I have been sleeping together for two years now, so it can't be just that. I guess screwing your lover with her husband's consent, even apparently at his suggestion, could be getting away with something. But you've known about Ryan and me from the start. And he knows that."

"But he doesn't know that you know that. He thinks you and I have great secrets from each other: that while I know about his relationship with you, you don't know that I know about it and that you don't know about his relationship with me at all. He thought that while he was pretending to play a game with you and keep a secret from me, he was actually playing a game with me and keeping a secret from you. It was all very exciting for him. We needn't destroy his illusion about who knows what. Though I sometimes wonder if he would mind."

She rubbed her finger on my nipple. "I don't want to take a chance. I like things the way they are."

So did Ron. The only thing he wanted to change was the subject. "Tell me about the next morning."

"Didn't Ryan tell you about it. I thought you usually discussed these things in detail."

"He told me about it from his point of view. I want to hear it from yours. Did you really give him that bruise on his shin?" So she told him every detail of her encounter with Ryan. She always remembered details that he forgot and Ron usually found her perspective more interesting. Her internal goings on were more imaginative.

And she insisted that Ron give her a blow by blow account of his frolic with Ryan yesterday. ('Blow by blow' was her hackneyed little joke. She never seemed to tire of it.) He told her how they had replayed part of the scene of last Sunday with him in her role and then played out an alternative ending. 




Feints



Then she kissed him gently and warmly, and they held each other. More could be said of what they did that night, but it was too personal to speak of.




[Note: I've posted this to the gay stories section because, apparently, some people think that is there is any gay sex in a story, that category is the appropriate category (regardless of what other story elements are present). However, those who aren't homophobic and are secure in their masculinity, will recognize that despite the gay sex in this story, it is really a story about love between a man and a woman. I don't want to post explanations or descriptions at the beginning of stories. Story lines are to unfold as you read the stories. -Cyanlot]