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The Road Taken

By: Paul Branton



As I laid on my back, my new bride straddled my waist and lowered herself onto me. Although we'd only been married for a few months, we seemed to be developing a genuine affinity for each other that exceeded adoration and that, if nurtured, would grow into love and devotion. 

I think that there were several factors that led Beth and I to know that we had the potential to make a good match. First, although it was a first marriage for both of us, we were in our 30's and had dated a lot, matured a little, and had time to decide what in life was really important (in contrast to what our family, our friends and Madison Avenue told us was important). In fact, I'm ashamed to admit some of the beliefs and ideas I cherished as a young man: my hip but effete political views, my trend-following aesthetic sense, and my conformist taste in women.

Second, we were both old enough to have begun to develop our real identities, and, therefore, we were both reasonably confident that each of us knew what we were getting in the other. Although most of the people who I knew in their 20's had transformed themselves by their 30's, not all had changed for the better.

And finally, we were both comfortable with the realization that sex and intimacy are different and that, although we had been having sex, it would take time for intimacy to develop. Perhaps because we had had the opportunity to date many people over the years, occasionally in longer, more serious relationships, we both naturally came to understand that intimacy wasn't a magical condition that you automatically reached when you got married or had sex with someone.

To us, intimacy could only grow if we shared our passions and dreams and innermost desires with each other, and kept the most personal of those as a secret between ourselves.

I think that the reason that intimacy is so cherished is that it is so difficult to obtain. Any time one person reveals his or her passions or dreams or desires to another person there is always the risk of rejection, and when you're married to the other person rejection is a scary proposition. I should know.

As open as Beth and I have tried to be with each other, it was only a week ago that I acknowledged to her my favorite fantasy. Although in the 1990's you can't shock someone with the news that you harbor one of the 23 standard Penthouse Forum-fare fantasies that typify college freshman, my fantasy was different and Beth took it at face value. I'd love to digress and tell you my fantasy right now, but that's another story. This story is about Beth's favorite fantasy and our decision to make it come true.

As Beth began to move herself on me in slow, small circles, I tried to guess what her favorite fantasy might be. Although I considered each of the 23 Penthouse standards, and tried to decide if each might be Beth's favorite, I resigned myself to the fact that it's a pretty difficult thing to guess. 

So I decided to bring up the subject, and, as most people know, sometimes the best time to have a serious discussion with someone is when you're having sex them.

"You can't believe how relieved I am that you're okay with my fantasy," I said.

"Hey, it's not illegal," she replied, "and if it makes you happy that's all that's important."

"You're really wonderful."

"Remember how 'wonderful' I am when you're shopping for my birthday present," she said with a smile. As Beth changed her motion from grinding to rocking, she added, "Do you want to know my favorite fantasy?"

"Sure," I said, thinking I bet it's number 14 of Penthouse's standard 23. Or maybe number 9.

"I want to make love to you on a deserted beach under a full moon."

"Oh," I said, trying to hide my surprise at its mildness. Wow, I thought, Penthouse doesn't have a number for that one. Only Harlequin has a number for that one and I think it's only a fraction. "That sounds . . . nice," I said. "We'll have to do it." 

"Ya, that would be nice," she said with little enthusiasm.

"Ya, nice," I said with even less enthusiasm.

As Beth and I began to rock together and our breathing accelerated she said, "Do you really think that making love on a beach is my favorite fantasy?"

"Uhhhh . . . ," I stammered as I realized that this was one of those no-win questions that wives are genetically programmed to ask. If I said 'yes' and the real answer is 'no' then it implied that I thought that she was boring, and if I said 'no' and the real answer is 'yes' then it implied that I was disappointed in her and thought that her earlier confession was a lie. I answered the way no 20-something could, ". . . it depends." 

With a surprised look on her face, Beth added, "You're right." I melted inside as I realized how close I came to catching that bullet. "I forgot one small detail . . . I want to make love to you on a deserted beach under a full moon right after I just made love to another man. And, by the way, the deserted beach and the full moon are optional."

"Say that again," I asked.

"Look . . . " she said in time to the swinging of her breasts, "I want to have . . . another man . . . and after . . . we're done . . . I want you . . . to add . . . your cum . . . to his . . . inside me."

Now that fantasy isn't a fraction in anybody's book. What surprised me most at first was the honor I felt that Beth would share this with me, and I knew how much courage it must have taken for her to tell me, even in her excited state, and how vulnerable she have must felt. To tell you the truth, there's nothing I like more than seeing her in an excited state, and if it meant that I saw her in an excited state with another man, so be it. 

I blurted out, "I'd love to. I promise you that I'll do whatever I can to make it happen," and with that she went over the edge and I soon followed.

After Beth collapsed on top of me, we laid still for several minutes without saying a word. In a most embarrassed, tentative manner she said, "Of course you know I wasn't serious. I love you. You're the only man I need."

"I love you too and I hope I'm the only man you'll ever love, but I don't believe you."

"That's a terrible thing to say."

"Why? If another man will make you happy, I'm all for it. Besides, helping you realize your passion will make me feel good about myself."

"Are you serious? I thought your 'I'd love to' was just a 'I'll-promise-you-anything-to-keep-you-from-stopping-what-you're-doing-right-now' promise said in the heat of passion?" 

"Well, it might have been in the heat of passion, but I was, and I am, completely serious. As long as he doesn't get something from you that I don't get, why should I mind?"

"I can't believe you're so cool about it. I still feel uncomfortable even admitting it to you, let alone asking you to do it. Are you sure you understand what I'm asking?"

"Two penises, one vagina. What's not to understand? So, do you have a specific guy in mind, or are we going to have to keep our eyes open for Mr. Right?" 

"I know of couple of sexy guys, but I don't think any of them qualify as Mr. Right." 

"Whatever. Just as long as you're happy."

"You understand this doesn't mean I don't love you, or that I don't love being with you, it's just that . . . "

"Ya."

". . . I don't think that I could be happy only having sex with one man for the rest of my life. And I would never cheat on you, so the only way for me to have my cake and eat it too is to have you there, which would let me know that you're okay with it."

"I'm okay."

"And, also the thought of having two men at the same time is pretty hot."

"Oh, so now we're getting to the real issue."

"Stop it," she said as the pitch of her voice rose, "I'm trying to be honest with you."

"I know. And I appreciate it," I said smiling at her, "and your sharing this with me makes me feel closer to you."

"There's one more thing." 

"Ya." 

"I think I'll be a little nervous. I want to do it, really I do, but would you help me make sure that everything goes okay? I mean, I'm obviously not a virgin, but I've never been with two guys at once. Besides, I think I might be self-conscious about your watching me when I'm doing it with another guy." 

In the most serious and loving tone, I said, "As your husband and confidant and lover, it would be my honor and my pleasure to help you. You'll let me know if you find Mr. Right, won't you?" 

"You bet." 

"And I'll keep my eyes open for a suitable candidate too."

Over the next few months we discussed Beth's fantasy often and planned every aspect of it in detail. I must admit that there were times when it felt peculiar to realize that I was using my creative energy to help my wife fuck another man, but overall I didn't think of it that way. More often, I thought of it as doing my utmost to make sure that Beth would enjoy herself as much as possible.

I loved that Beth would ask my opinion about so many intimate matters, and she loved that I gave her the best, most honest answers I could. We spent untold hours deciding what she would wear, picking out her nail polish, perfume and jewelry, and whether she would wear her hair up or down. Beth was thrilled when I showed her the matching bra and panty set I bought for her to wear for just this occasion.

One evening I asked, "Beth, have you thought about where you want to do it?"

"A little, I guess, but I don't have anything specific in mind," she replied.

"Would you like to go the Caribbean or Hawaii?"

"That would be wonderful. What do you think?"

"I think the first time we do it I'd like it to be right here at home. In our bed. That way we'll be reminded of it every night and every time we make love in our bed afterwords."

With the most heartwarming look on her face, she said, "That's so romantic. I'd like that too."

"Next time we'll go to Saint Martin and do it there."

"I'd like that too," she said with a laugh and a grin.

"Do you mean that you'd like to go to Saint Martin, or that you'd like there to be a 'next time'?"

"Both. Definitely both."

After nearly a year of planning a million details that Mr. Right wouldn't notice, but that Beth and I would, I met Jack at a charity golf event. Jack was handsome, well-mannered, recently divorced, and, most-important, had a sense of humor. Somehow I didn't think that this could work out well with a guy who didn't have a since of humor. 

Thereafter, Jack and Beth and I played golf a few times so that Beth could get to know him. After a round of golf one afternoon, Beth decided that he was Mr. Right and invited him to our home for dinner.

That evening, we sat on our patio where we ate and relaxed for a few hours. After awhile, Beth asked Jack if he would excuse us for a moment and I dutifully followed her into the kitchen.

Beth asked, "Well, what do you think?"

"He seems like a great guy. If you're happy, I'm happy."

"I'm anxious, but I'm getting pretty warmed-up. Do you think he'd be interested?"

"I think so. Why don't you go and get changed and then come back and join us."

I returned to the patio while Beth changed her clothes and lit candles in our bedroom. I remember that when she came outside to join us, she looked like a million dollars. Beth walked over to Jack and sat on his lap, but he seemed only partially surprised by the gesture. As the three of us talked for a while, Beth stayed on Jack's lap and was overtly playful with him. It wasn't too difficult to notice Jack's fingers caressing Beth's beautiful legs and I think that it put him at ease that I was at ease with what they were doing. 

Beth asked if he had enough to eat and he said, "Yes." She asked if he had enough to drink and he said, "Yes," and then she asked, "Uhm . . . would you like to join us in bed tonight?"

"Damn," I thought to myself, "that took guts." But nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Jack responded, "I'd love to," and with that they embraced and began to kiss. Jack had his hands on Beth's waist and she kissed him without any apparent self-consciousness about my presence. If she was nervous, it didn't show.

As Beth unbuttoned her blouse, Jack kissed her chin and then her neck and then her chest and cleavage. I just sat there and admired the view. Jack slid his right hand under Beth's skirt while she lifted her breasts out of her bra. Then Jack kissed her breasts and nipples. As Jack began to slide Beth's panties down from under her skirt, he stopped kissing her, turned to me and asked, "Are you happy with this?"

"Not yet," I smiled, "but I think I'm gonna be." 

With that, I suggested that we retire to the bedroom. Because Beth's panties were down around her knees, she almost fell while trying to stand up and so Jack picked her up and carried her to our bed.

She was a sight; I could hardly believe how beautiful and carefree and wonderful she looked. Her blouse was open, her breasts were peeking out over her bra, her panties were around her knees and she was grinning like the Cheshire cat. I knew I was a lucky man.

When we got to the bedroom, Jack laid her on the bed and began to kiss her, but she quickly stopped him. "I want to be naked," she said and so he removed her shoes and panties and skirt while she took off her blouse and bra. 

Being (at least for the next half hour or so) more familiar with my wife than Jack was, I suggested we both undress and so I removed my clothes. As I moved toward Beth, I suggested that Jack do the same and in no time flat Beth had my penis in her mouth. It was delightful to watch her as she moved her tongue back and forth between my penis and Jack's like she had two ice cream cones.

Beth then laid down on her back. Jack laid down beside her on one side and I laid down on her other side. I couldn't help noticing that we made a Beth sandwich. 

As Jack kissed her on the mouth and fondled one breast, I kneaded and kissed the other. I knew how much Beth liked to have her nipples caressed and kissed and nibbled on and so I suggested that Jack work on one while I worked on the other. After just a few moments of having us nibble on both her nipples, she let out a sigh that let us know that so far the evening was going well. 

I whispered in Beth's ear, "I'll be back. I just want to make sure that everything's perfect," and I moved so that I could put my head between her thighs. As Jack continued kissing her, I prepared her to receive him and relished my responsibility to do so.

After a few minutes, Jack looked at me quizzically and without his saying a word I knew exactly what he was thinking . . .