11 comments/ 36633 views/ 3 favorites Where's Brenda? By: Litbridge Those in long-term relationships have a lifelong challenge to keep their love for, and sexual interest in, one another flourishing. These are the very same forces that brought them together in the first place, a couple now committed to sharing an uncertain future. Without adequate nurturing, once strong emotional bonds will wither as fruit on the vine during a long drought. Key to maintaining these bonds is dialogue and a sustained, robust and open-minded approach to the sex act, along with all that may be mutually interesting and sexually stimulating. The reawakening of Bob and Brenda's mutual desire and allegiance as related here is a phenomenon hardly unknown to many married couples. But this couple's story is told in the event it may be of more than passing interest to some, and inspirational to others. Their sensual exploits and experiences may not be entirely mainstream but they are plausible and illustrative of the binding forces that could be furthered by a simple rewrite of a long-heralded vow: "Do you Bob and Brenda promise always to talk, listen, and act upon your desires in complete reverence for each others' needs, from this day forward, 'til death do you part? I now declare you husband and wife." **** Bob once told his long-time spouse, Brenda, that he had lost her to the vagaries and challenges of, well, making a life together. Understandably, she had no idea what the hell he was talking about. And that is exactly what she told him. So Bob went on to try and explain himself, thoughts that had defined his state of mind for a good many years. No easy task for a lettered man of many words but one who nevertheless still seemed to have a great deal of difficulty making himself understood. So his inclination was to keep it simple. "I'm married. I'm lonely," he summarized. When he seemed reluctant to elaborate further Brenda gave him one of her looks normally reserved for misbehaving children and this was enough to make him think better of leaving the subject hanging in limbo. "Well, see, here's the thing," he continued tentatively. "Way I have it figured, I've not just lost my wife. I've also lost my best friend, confidante and lover. I lost my wife when the kids came along. They demanded and got all of your attention. So in effect I became a bachelor once more, but without all the privileges." He smiled broadly but there was something in his demeanor that told Brenda he was not entirely trying to be humorous. "Go on," she encouraged, feeling more amused than chastised. Bob knew he could speak frankly. They had gone to brother-sister high schools in the days when the sexes were still segregated. They had known each other for several years prior to marrying, though they had never gone 'steady'. When Bob returned from his studies overseas they met again through a mutual friend. The courtship began and the wedding followed 18 months later. Over the years, each had become quite adept at reading the other's mind. Bob found that to be a pretty scarey proposition but he had learned to accept it because it often saved time or, more accurately, Brenda's time. She was already tracking with him as he responded to her invitation to continue airing his grievances. "Well, even a bachelor needs someone to hang and I think it's great when his best friend is his wife. But when I looked for her, you weren't there," continued Bob. "Remember how we always said best friends often end up married and make good partners? And we did. But the children and then your career just kinda took over your life and you chose to spend all your time with the kids, other parents and your customers," he explained further. "You've always been the pragmatist in the family. Hands on. Practical. Predictable." "Go on," said Brenda once more. She just had to hear the ending to this quandary he was in, knowing already what was coming. Bob the philosopher. The humorist. Bob hesitated a long moment. Then, throwing all caution to the wind because frankly the sex thing had to be put out into the open once more, he said quietly: "And then the sex stopped, too. At first we were always so comfortable with each other. Now all that seems to be gone. Or at least somehow we've managed to put what I think is an incredibly important part of any marriage slap bang on the back burner, so to speak. Excuse the sexual connotation. The slap and tickle part." Stopping to draw breath Bob inclined his head and mumbled almost inaudibly that he wanted to go back in time, to return to those care-free days when nothing else mattered much except taking care of one another. Brenda listened patiently, then agreed that given his feeling of alienation something ought to be done. She just didn't know what, exactly. Besides, she lamented, this was not the time to tackle such broad ranging and emotional issues. Maybe later. Yes, later they would find the opportunity, she felt certain. **** 'Later' became several years later with no resolution to the emotional and physical void that had developed between them. Instead, they deliberately and conscientiously plodded along the path that life seemed to carve for them, valiantly staying the course and valuing (but not relishing) the routine demanded of a responsible, professional working couple. In time they bought a small clothing retail business in a rural setting highly dependent on seasonal traffic. Set on a large property, surrounded by mature trees and park lands, the business was also idyllically located close to public beaches and facilities which drew large summer crowds to the area. The quaint building with a small apartment attached seemed like the perfect opportunity to leave the corporate world and stresses of big city life behind. This was their time to prepare for retirement. Best of all the kids had completed their post-secondary education, left home and were finally pursuing careers of their own. Bob's ulterior motive when he agreed to buy the business was that Brenda's promise of "later" might become sooner, rather than later. The off-season months would give them all the time they needed to rebuild their relationship. As it turned out they were too successful in their work. Having completely renovated both the interior and exterior of the building and introduced an expanded clothing line to cater to the tourism market, the business grew in leaps and bounds. Suddenly, they were working 80-hour weeks year-round. And he felt more isolated from her than ever. The emptiness he felt was more acute because he still loved Brenda deeply. Of late, along with her many other qualities, he had come to admire her hard-nosed approach to business, sweating the details as they say. Yet she counter-balanced that micro-management style by taking an honest interest in the customers, spending time with them to discuss family matters and local issues all the while preparing to make the final sale. Her business acumen and personal charm won customers over in droves and they never failed to return for more of her personalized attention. When Bob thought about his wife, which he did often as he watched her at work interacting with others, she never failed to excite him even after all these years together. He told her that, quite often in fact. A bit of a 'plain Jane', perhaps. A little heavy on the tummy and thighs. But the overall package was easy on the eye. She was well-toned with shapely hips, long legs and an ample "come hither" butt to which he was particularly partial. By contrast, Bob knew he was a bit of a recluse. A molded, anonymous corporate professional who had been left unmarked for elevation to the elite ranks of executive management. A very private man, he remained an enigma to the staff and, sometimes, also to those inclined to call him family or friend. He liked to think others saw him as a complex individual. Quiet. Reserved. Phlegmatic. A deep thinker. He took pride in his physical appearance, working out regularly on his home exercise equipment. When he scrutinized himself in the mirror, he wasn't displeased with what he saw. He was quite aware of the fact, however, that his 53 year-old body now mimicked that of a "Generation X Batman" whose suit desperately needed starch and ironing. He had considered himself quite a stud as a young man in those heady days when everything seemed possible, and most things were if you just put your mind to it. Still, two decades on, he hoped others had some appreciation for his unremarkable features and quiet demeanor. And, possibly, his quick witted humor although he didn't think of himself as especially entertaining. In reality people didn't bother analyzing Bob too closely at all. He was, simply, Bob. Nice enough to have around but otherwise quite forgettable if the truth be told. They might have thought differently had they been able to rummage around in his mind, even for a short time. He still dreamed the dreams of someone half his age. Only the body told him how foolish he was being. He was also willing to share his memories and boyish impulses that were confined to storage in the attic perched above his shoulders. Unfortunately no-one seemed the slightest bit interested in his treasured wisdom and proclivities, least of all Brenda and least of all over breakfast. "I'm reminded of that line from Camelot," began Bob one Sunday morning. "You remember the film with Richard Harris and Vanessa Redgrave? I forget who the director was. Someone famous. Anyway, it's not important." "Sorta," replied Brenda, sounding somewhat disinterested and concentrating on her bran cereal. "Well," continued Bob, "there's a part in soliloquy, addressing Queen Guinevere, where King Arthur says something like 'Where are you these days, Jenny?' I think it's just before he sings 'How to Handle a Woman'. Brave man, that King Arthur. Even Merlin couldn't help the king help himself in the end. Anyway, so I'm asking, "Where are you, Brenda?" Brenda looked up from her cereal bowl and studied Bob's face for a long moment. "I'm here," she said simply. "That's not what I mean," pressed Bob. "I mean, we're still not talking about anything except our business and sometimes the kids. Especially when they need something. We work together, live together. But we don't talk about us ... plans, hopes, dreams, needs, whatever. Like we used to when we first got married. That was, what, 28 years ago? We could talk for hours back then about everything under the sun, whether or not it was important to us. It's been a very long time since I felt really connected to you in that way." Brenda looked at him intently but said nothing more. She knew he wanted her to open up but she couldn't think how to start, let alone what to say. The pattern of all their previous attempts to address Bob's concerns was once again about to repeat itself. He would do most of the talking. She would offer little in return except agree at the end that something needed to be done. But later. Bob knew what to expect as well but this time he felt himself getting a little angry, unable to fully control the frustrations he felt driving his impulse to tackle once and for all the ever-present, consuming void he felt his life. Intending to shock her into playing ball, he said: "We've lost our way. I don't think we know each other anymore. I'm not sure we even love each other. Do we?" His question was by design. He had lobbed the ball into her court. Now let her return it with whatever stroke and vigor she chose. He didn't have high expectations though. She had never been very good at ball games, including tennis. Brenda sat silent, fidgeting now with her coffee cup. Bob was determined not to give her an out. So he let the seconds tick by, focusing his stare on her hands. The silence was awkward for them both. "I do," said Brenda finally. "You do what?" "Love you, of course," she replied more quickly. "I'm not understanding the 'of course' part," offered Bob. "I mean, it's entirely possible that a couple could be together as long as we have and no longer love each other, isn't it?" "I suppose," replied Brenda. "But that's not us. I know what you're saying about not talking and all but that doesn't mean we don't care for one another. Do you still care about me?" "Yes," replied Bob with authority. "But we're getting hung up here on semantics. Care. Love. Whatever. I'm really afraid that if we don't make an effort to talk about us, we'll grow further and further apart. And then who knows what state our marriage will be in when we retire a few short years from now. We'll be virtual strangers. Think of it. Two people, married for decades, with nothing in common now that they have all the time in the world on their hands. How frightening is that? Aren't you just a little concerned about it too?" Brenda leaned against the back of her chair. As she did so the front of her housecoat pulled to one side, exposing just a suggestion of the swell and shape of her right breast. Though the move was not intentional she noted that Bob's eyes had shifted to take in the teasing cleavage. She made no effort to cover up. Instead, she kept her eye on the ball and returned a smashing volley aimed right at where he did most of his thinking. "This is really about sex isn't it Bob? With you, it's always about sex," offered Brenda. She could tell from the change in his facial expression and how his shoulders tightened up under his shirt that her return was good for the point. Something – Love, if she was going to keep score. Bob knew an Ace return when he saw one. "You know me too well. And yes, it is. About sex. You wearing your canary-yellow cat suit at the disco when we were first dating. I relish that memory and I miss that person. I miss the girl I married with her flare for life, driven to live every experience to its fullest. "But this isn't only about sex," he continued in earnest. "I think they go hand in hand. Sex and talking I mean. Not just talking, really conversing. It's how humans connect. But since you raised the subject, damn Brenda, I didn't get married to become a monk. We make love what, maybe once every month or two. Or three. We're always running too hard. Too tired. We never have time for each other or even ourselves for that matter. It's been the same thing playing itself out over and over, year after year." Brenda shifted so that she was sitting sideways on the kitchen chair, almost as though in this new position she would be a smaller target, better able to deflect the stinging barbs she felt were soon to follow in their conversation. If Bob wanted to start pressing the sex button, well maybe they should just get on with it and have it out. It wouldn't be the first time. But she knew it wasn't going to be pretty and it was high time they tried to find a way to get past their frustrations. "What do you want from me, Bob?" she asked. "I dunno, exactly," he replied. "I think I'd like to know whether you're even interested in me anymore. I mean sexually. You never say or do anything to suggest you are. So what am I to make of that?" "I don't refuse your advances, do I?" "No, and I've given up making them. Sex is not a game for one player. If I have to make all the moves, I don't feel wanted. You can see that, can't you? I need for you to come onto me once in a while. To show that you still want me. Talk to me about your fantasies. You do have fantasies, don't you? Do you think about making out at all anymore?" Brenda took a moment to compose her answer. Her response, if honest, would not be easy for Bob to hear. "I told you I still love you," she began. "But, no. Sex is not something I think about very much. I don't know why. Somehow it doesn't make it on to my priority list. It's not on my radar, as you would say." "And I know why," offered Bob. "I think it's because your so selfless. Think about it. I mean when we do make love, even though it's always kinda ... what should I say ... well, kinda ordinary and routine, you seem to enjoy it well enough. But you're always focused on pleasing everyone else and never yourself. The staff. Our customers. Our kids. A neighbor. They always come first. Never us. There's never time for you and that translates directly into there being no time for us either. So, if I ask you to share a fantasy with me, your mind's no doubt a complete blank." "I did tell you once," rejoined Brenda, now feeling a little on the defensive. She needed to return a good backhand in order to keep the advantage. "What?" asked Bob. "A fantasy. Don't you remember?" "Vaguely. As I recall it was to make love on a beach. Or in an elevator. But nothing more detailed than that." "Compared to yours, my fantasies are rather dull I'll admit," said Brenda. "Yours always include other people. I don't get that at all." "Probably because it's so not you," replied Bob, with a drawn-out emphasis on the words 'so not'. "You know. The more improbable, the more intriguing. Truth is, if you made love to somebody else I might just punch him out. Assuming he's a him. By the way, if you had sex outside of our marriage who would it be with, a man or a woman?" "I could never do that!" "C'mon hon. Work with me here. It's a fantasy, right? Man or woman?" "A man I guess," replied Brenda somewhat hesitantly. "I couldn't see myself making it with a woman. Anyway, I don't see what that's got to do with anything." "See, there you go," Bob almost shouted, raising both hands straight in the air to lend emphasis to what he hoped were weighty words. "Always closing the door. Can't you just for a moment put your head in a different space and let your imagination run free? Run wild? See yourself as a flower-child, dancing care-free in tie-and-dye clothing, in the rain and the mud, at Woodstock. Or something." Without warning, Brenda stood up and pulled the housecoat closely about her body. "I can't do anything right now except get ready for work. Have you forgotten we work seven days a week, Bob? And I still have to get dressed, put on a bit of make-up and what have you." "Better you left a few items of clothing off and spent the day providing old farts around here with some eye candy," said Bob with a wicked grin as he rose to walk her to the bedroom. "You still have it, you know. You're eminently fuckable." "Geez, do you ever stop?", asked Brenda, looking at him over her shoulder. "Your fantasies can wait 'til later." "Yeah, till later. It's always later," mumbled Bob as he stepped into the bathroom, closing the door heavily behind him. Later that day while both he and Brenda were in the stock room he stopped what he was doing, deliberately came to her side and said: "Let's go away for a dirty weekend somewhere." "Bob," exclaimed Brenda, "It's early Fall. We're still way too busy to leave the store." "Nonsense," he replied in earnest and with just a touch of desperation. "George and Emma can run the place. I do think we need to get away. Even if it's just for a couple of days." "We'll talk about it later. I'm trying to get this order ready," said Brenda simply, hoping to put an end to the discussion. Bob, however, had good reason to persist. He did so in a curt, directive manner. "Well, it's too bad because there is no more 'later' this time. I've already made the reservations. So, it's you and me at the end of this month, or me and..." Brenda turned quickly on her heel to face him. "And?" she inquired. "'My shadow', of course," smiled Bob while doing a quick, improvised vaudeville shuffle to emphasize the musical connection. "Seriously, though. The reservations are non-refundable so we have to go. I'm going and you're coming with me. I'll tell you more over dinner." With that he picked up two large empty cartons, sang the words 'Where do you go to my lovely', and promptly exited the stock room leaving Brenda, mouth agape, to contemplate this new complication in her life. The idea of a weekend away was appealing. No doubt about it. What was a little worrying was Bob's decisiveness in taking control and making the decision for her. Not like him at all and not just a little disconcerting, she thought. And then she got back to her stock-taking. Where's Brenda? ***** It was a long drive to the four-star resort where Bob had made the bookings. Along the way they argued continuously over whether they could afford such an extravagant hiatus from the business. Brenda had gone on the resort's website and was highly impressed but felt the amenities and prices were quite beyond what they needed or could afford. Bob's insistence that they had earned two days of pampering did not help matters in the slightest. She controlled the finances and, frankly, Bob was clueless about how much they had, or didn't have, in the way of discretionary spending. Brenda, the more status conscious of the two, would not let the matter rest. "What will the parking valet and bellboy think when they see us driving up in this rust bucket?" Bob took offense at that comment. True, the Dodge van was eight years old and had been used for just about everything from hauling wood to transporting reluctant pets to the vet. The dogs always showed their displeasure by treating the interior of the car as an extension of their favorite chew-toy. The vehicle had seen better days but he had taken good care of it mechanically and it still ran like a dream. "Shit. Who cares?" is all he said, biting his tongue and gripping the steering wheel just a little more firmly than before. Arriving finally at the front of the hotel and seeing the lobby exterior Bob was immediately in awe of the expansive modern architecture. The Check In counters were made of heavy mahogany and maple wood, finely engrained with the corporate logo and welcoming signs. The ivory marble floors throughout were offset by gray slate and gunmetal blue steel rafters that seemed to reach for the stars. Plush red carpeting, left and right of the concierge desk, led visitors away from the over-sized lobby and lounge area. Following wide corridors to the left, guests were directed to three different fine-dining restaurants. Located in the same wing of the building were the spas, gift stores and the convention center. A slow spiraling staircase led off from the lobby to the right and to the guest rooms. Having completed their check-in Bob and Brenda made their way with a bell hop to their accommodations on the fourth floor. "Room number 4213" quipped Bob in an aside as they entered the elevator. "It's got to be lucky, right? Brenda shrugged. "The 13 doesn't impress me much, I'll admit," continued Bob. "But the rest of the numbers work for me. Add two and one, you get three. Add three and one you get four. Two times one is two. Four plus two is six, twice three. I could go on." "Please don't," said Brenda. "I know your definition of lucky." "And we have to use the elevator. Is this the elevator, Brenda?" he whispered conspiratorially. "Shut up," Brenda responded playfully, slapping him gently across the shoulder. "Seriously though, this place is something else. Did you see the crystal chandeliers in the lobby. Must have cost a fortune." She glanced at Bob, then at the bellhop. "Guess who's paying? That's right, Bob and Brenda. B&B. That's where we should be. In a bed & breakfast." They arrived at the room and the bellhop let them in with the card-key. "I think you will find this suite very comfortable. You have all the amenities including a gallery kitchen, deep soaking Jacuzzi tub and a terrific view of our indoor heated pool," he said casually. If you need anything at all, just dial "0" to reach the front desk. They'll be happy to help you. During your stay, don't forget to take advantage of our EcoSpa and fitness center. We have personal trainers on staff if you'd like to work with them." He hesitated long enough for Bob to place a note in his hand, then turned and left, closing the door gently behind him. "Wow," exclaimed Bob walking further into the room. "Check out the bed. The card on the pillow says Egyptian linen. Whatever that means." "It means it's really, really comfortable," said Brenda kicking off her shoes and falling ungracefully across the full width of the king-size bed. "This is heaven. I'm for taking a quick nap before dinner." As she closed her eyes and relaxed Bob took a long moment to study her. 'Yes,' he thought. 'Eminently fuckable.' Smiling to himself he walked over to the bay windows, intent on taking in the view around the pool. Satisfying himself that no-one of interest was making use of the facility, he sat back in one of two high-winged leather chairs that framed the window, reached out for a handful of brochures and began to read. Brenda woke him from a deep, restful snooze. Pamphlets were scattered on the floor around him where they had fallen from his hand. "Best clean this up before we go downstairs," she said. "Do we need to dress up, do you think?" "I should think so. A little anyway. No country-style eatery in this place," volunteered Bob. "Fancy some wine with dinner? I'll bet they have a nice selection. Remember the South African Riesling we tried before. What was it called again? Nedeburg something." "A little too sweet for my taste, as I recall. And expensive," said Brenda. "Well, we'll ask the waiter for a nice dry white, then. I might try a glass of Merlot, maybe Spanish or Chilean. I'm in the mood for something full-bodied, if you know what I mean," said Bob winking as he selected his best shirt and tie from the suitcase. As he dressed Brenda began undressing. She knew his eyes were taking in every part of her body. Usually he was a bit more discreet but on this occasion she sensed he was quite comfortable with her knowing that he was ravishing her with his eyes. She had brought a new bra with her, a 36B that was one cup size too small. She knew it wouldn't be comfortable but intended to wear it only under her emerald green halter-neck top to give her breasts extra lift and prominence. Victorian-era ladies were most certainly not happy tucked into those bustiers and whale-bone corsets but clothiers of the day, probably all males, sure knew how to accent the female figure. She could sacrifice a little comfort given how important this weekend was to Bob. Once dressed they found their way to Luigi's, a superbly decorated and appointed restaurant specializing in fine Italian cuisine. Studying the menu closely, Bob had difficulty deciding what to order. "It would help if they put friggin' English next to the items," he said gruffly. "I mean, what the hell is Focaccia Loaf? And how about Shrimp Primavera?" Brenda shrugged, either in contempt or disinterest. He could not read with certainty which so he ignored the gesture. Scanning the Entrees next, his whole countenance relaxed. "Now this is something I can understand. Look, hon. They have Atlantic Salmon. That's what I'm going to have. What's your fancy?" Brenda settled for the Chicken Florentine. On the waiter's advice they ordered a half-carafe each of their choice of wine. Bob settled for a local Shiraz over an Australian Cabernet Merlot (with Brenda's encouragement making his decision mostly price-driven). She selected a crisp, dry Kumala Chardonnay. As they ate by candlelight with the strains of light Italian opera in the background, Bob thought his wife looked as beautiful as ever. She seemed relaxed, was proving to be the good conversationalist he had always known her to be and she was enjoying his jokes and banter. Always the litmus test for any relationship, he thought. If you can laugh with someone, you have something solid and worth holding on to. For dessert they both had a generous helping of Baked Alaska. Not very Italian but it was on the menu and had been a favorite of theirs since their courting days. The evening had gone splendidly and Bob was encouraged to end dinner with a flourish. Calling over the waiter, he ordered an Irish Coffee for himself and a glass of Crème De Cacao for Brenda. Back in their room, their awkwardness toward each other was not long in returning. They were entering unfamiliar territory. Unpracticed and unrehearsed intimacy. Stalling for time until he could think of a way to broach the subject, Bob chose activity over words which was a bit unusual for him. Normally he was very confident with his language skills but tonight it seemed he needed some time and a bit more Dutch courage to formulate and express his thoughts. He shed his leather jacket, tie and shoes and strode purposefully over to the mini-bar. "Want anything?" he inquired. "No," replied Brenda. "It's so expensive from there. And besides, we've already indulged a bit too much I think." "Nonsense," replied Bob quickly. "We're on holiday. We don't have to drive anywhere. It's just you and me here. I'm gonna have something. Let's see." Breaking the seal and peering into the fridge he selected a small bottle of Grants Whiskey. "This will do nicely," he said, adding: "Throw a couple of blocks of hard water in it and Bob's your uncle". He smiled briefly at the witty double entendre. Then, bending to peer once more he removed a bottle of Bacardi Pina Colada. "Share some ice with me?" he asked. "You've broken the seal now," Brenda said. "Might as well. I have to go to the little girl's room. Be right back." She wasn't. Right back, that is. Bob had emptied his glass and opened another whiskey by the time she returned. He glanced in her direction as she entered the lounge area of the suite from the bedroom. She stopped in the doorway, leaning nonchalantly against the frame, one leg stretched forward in front of the other with her hands resting casually by her sides. She allowed him a long study of her figure, the light see-through fabric of her chemise clinging to her thighs. She wanted to make this easy for him and had shopped ahead to buy just the right satin rose teddy and thong set, mid-thigh in length. The sculptured bodice of Brazilian stretch lace cupped and raised her breasts, below which the teddy hugged her midriff and flared widely at the hips. Surprising herself she found her excitement building as she stood before him in the provocative, sheer outfit. Perhaps he had been right all along. Perhaps, by taking time to pamper herself a woman might become sufficiently aroused to want to excite her man. And then who knew what might follow. "Oh geez. Oh my god," breathed Bob heavily. "You're so beautiful, Brenda. Really. I love you in that outfit. I had no idea. I didn't think...I haven't seen you in a nightie for I don't remember how long. I ..." She cut him short. "Stop babbling. So you like the outfit. What about the package inside?" she asked. With that she began to run her hands slowly up her sides, coming to and raising the chemise to expose more and more of her thighs. There she stopped. Dropped the hem and, instead, brought her right hand to her neck and delicately pushed the strap over her shoulder with her index finger. Bob watched the pantomime intently, not daring to say anything that might ruin the moment. She knew she had his full attention. Slowly, tantalizingly, she reached inside and began to play with her nipple, tugging and twisting it gently until it stood out proud and inviting. Then, and only then, she lifted her breast out of the confining fabric. "You like?" she asked innocently. "Oh, god. Yes," Bob managed. "Don't stop now. Do a striptease for me. Please." She reached down again and deliberately began to lift the hem once more. Bob's eyes moved reluctantly from her breast with its dark puckered nipple and lighter-colored areola, drifted to her midriff and then further down as her thighs once again came into full view. She gathered small folds of material and lifted the hem a little higher. Then higher still, to reveal the V of her thong panties. Bob stood up, moved towards her and sat on the edge of the bed facing her, now only a couple of feet away. He swore he could feel the warmth of her sexual energy emanating from her body. Red, sheer and trimmed in black, the thong panties showed damp and neatly exposed the shape of her Venus mound. "What are you thinking, you beast?" asked Brenda in a voice tight with her own excitement. "You would like some of this, no doubt." "My cock sure hopes so," said Bob. A pathetic response under the circumstances but it was all he could think to say at the time. "I see a runway under those little panties. May I land?" "Not so fast big boy. Retract your landing gear. You're going to have to be patient until you hear from the control tower, okay?" Brenda was in full control and loving every minute of her power over him to tease and seduce. This was fun. Was it the booze? Being somewhere with him, away from the routine and responsibilities of work? She didn't care. She only wanted to please this man. Here. Now. On her own terms. She moved towards him and folded her fingers at the back of his head. Then she gently pulled him towards her, lifting herself slightly on her heels until her pubic mound and clitoris pressed lightly against his mouth. There. That was what she wanted. The feel of his warm breath on her newly trimmed pussy. "Stay. Just like that. Don't move. Just breathe on me," she instructed. "I can feel you through the fabric." She fondled his locks, all the while murmuring softly to let him know how much she wanted him. How much she was going to enjoy having him inside her. Bob was lost for words to reply which was just as well. His mind was preoccupied, waiting for the curtain to rise and the first act to begin. Breaking free, Brenda noticed the glass of Pina Colada on the night stand and took two very long swigs. Then she reached for the controls on the headboard. After a moment or two she succeeded in dimming the lights and turning on the surround sound. She did not much care what music was playing but it happened to be a jazz number with what she thought was an odd but effective blend of acoustic and flamingo guitar backing up the heavy sax. Pleased with the selection she took two steps back to stand once more before her husband. To the accompaniment of the music she slowly began to move her hips, swaying first from side to side, then rotating them more vigorously. Lifting her arms, her hands began to dance in the air with all the artistic grace of a ballerina. In doing so, her nightie had risen almost level with her hips, exposing a full frontal view of her upper thighs, thong and tummy. Bob sat transfixed. The only memory he had of anything so erotic brought him back to an off-road speakeasy and strip joint he had frequented once with a couple of newly graduated college buddies. The difference now was that this was a private show. The chick was hot. And she was his. He watched intently as Brenda arched her back slightly, at the same time thrusting her hips forward to stretch the tiny thong fabric more tightly about her mound. He was sure he could see a small part of her labia, aroused and swollen, protruding on either side of the see-through fabric. He also became acutely aware of the fact that, fully aroused, some adjustment would be needed to relieve himself of the now uncomfortably tight trousers he wore. Reaching quickly down the front of his pants he moved his cock so that it could lay its complete, erect length along the crotch lining. For the time being he would await further instructions from the control tower. His eyes never left wife. Brenda, turned exhibitionist, was reveling in the attention. The more she danced the more aroused she became knowing that her husband could barely contain his emotions. Knowing what would tip the scales she completed a 180 degrees half-pirouette, lifted the nightie up to her shoulders and wiggled her behind in some rough timing to the rhythm of the music, backing towards him as she did so. That pretty much did it for Bob. He reached out, shouted something about 'to hell with the tower' and buried his face deep between her buttocks. Nestled there he methodically began to explore every inch of her with his tongue. All the while, Brenda observed him looking over her shoulder. She tolerated the disobedient and undisciplined act for some minutes as she allowed her senses to fully absorb the sensations of his caresses. His tongue probed beyond the thong into her vagina, searching for some acknowledgment that its work was effective. Brenda gave him support by spreading her feet and bending her legs slightly, allowing him easier access to her as she moaned her appreciation and gently swayed her hips. Then an unexpected and, under the circumstances, especially considerate thought came to her: 'When's he coming up for air?' Though his attention was giving her undeniable pleasure she stepped forward and away then, sensing there was so much more intimacy and exploration in store for them this night. She knelt before him. Taking a firm grasp of his belt buckle she made it clear to him that she was now ready to have him release his 'landing gear'. He tried to help her undo the clasp, a task which would ordinarily have been quite simple but for some reason now completely eluded him. She gently removed his hand, released the simple mechanism and began to undo his fly. Bob knew when he was in good hands so turned his attention instead to removing his shirt. Not bothering with the buttons he simply pulled desperately at the material trying to force it over his head. His chin and then his ears got in the way. There was only one thing to do. Pulling frantically as though he were opening a concertina gate he popped several buttons, undid the sleeves and bundled the shirt, throwing it adroitly across the room. By now Brenda had managed to pull his trousers down to his knees and was in the process of removing them completely. Bob looked down at her and then at his member pressed up against the front of his undershorts. 'Landing gear engaged' he thought. As Brenda went methodically about the chore of removing his underwear he admired her exposed breast which seemed to have a found a life of its own, moving freely as she moved, the nipple still puckered and erect. 'A good sign', he thought fleetingly. 'She's really into this.' Sitting now naked on the edge of the bed, his wife kneeling before him, he wondered whether she would give him a blow job. She had never been partial to that kind of foreplay. She said it made her gag. He decided that if Brenda was intent on pleasuring him in this manner, he felt courageous enough to teach her how he wanted it done. Brenda was content to fondle and stroke his cock, although she did make an effort to lick away the pre-cum. Encouraged by this tentative advance he reached out and tilted her chin upwards, saying: "I'll tell you how. Okay?" Brenda nodded. And then she smiled. Bob needed no further invitation. "Here, hon," he said softly. "Place your one hand here, on my balls. Don't squeeze. Just gently cup and massage them. They'll like the warmth of your hands." Brenda did as she was asked. "Hmm, that feels good. Keep doing that. If you touch my ass, even go inside, I'd really like that. It's an erogenous zone, you know. That's it. Rub me there. Oh shit, yes. That's my girl. That feels really good. "Now," he continued, "when you go down on me, remember you are making love to my cock. Gentle but confident. Take the head in your mouth, but not all at once. A little at a time. Suck and release. Suck and release. Use your tongue to massage the head and flick the eye. Yes, just like that," exclaimed Bob. "Oh, yes, just like that. Now use your other hand. Hold me at the base and move your hand as you have seen me masturbating, up and down the shaft as you work your tongue and mouth. A little more like that. Keep going. Oh shit, Brenda, keep going." With those final instructions Bob fell onto his back, opened his legs wide and let Brenda have her way with him. As pleasurable as the experience was Bob knew that Brenda had stepped away from him earlier because this moment was too precious to end so soon. While he wanted to cum in her mouth with every fiber of his being he, too, wanted to prologue the pleasure of their love-making. At the first twitching of his cock, just moments now from ejaculating, he sat up and gently pulled himself away from her. Where's Brenda? "I want this to end with us fucking like we've never fucked before, until we are so wrapped in the pleasure of the moment that we see and hear only each other. Feel only each other. He knew just what to do to bring their love-making to a new and higher plateau. Gently, he took Brenda by the hand and led her to the bay window overlooking the pool where they stood for a while, locked in a tight embrace. As he kissed her deeply, she knew without reservation what his intentions were. "No," she breathed. "No, I'm not very comfortable with that." "Honey, no-one can really see us this high up. It's just the thought of making love with other people around that's exciting," explained Bob. "And even if someone did glance up, you have a such a beautiful body no-one could take offense." He looked out over the pool. "There's hardly anybody there and no kids. All smart parents would have their kids in bed by now. This is our play hour. Come on. It'll add that last bit of spice. It's all that's missing. You. Me. And the show." "Well, let's draw the drapes then," suggested Brenda. "Okay, but we have to leave them open a little bit. You decide how much." Brenda wriggled free from his arms, reached for the cord and began to pull the heavy curtains closed. Bob watched intently, wondering where she would have the courage to stop. When she did, he was surprised. There was still three feet of window showing when she released the cord, turned and wrapped her arms around his shoulders and back. "There," she said. "Good enough?" "Not quite," replied Bob, reaching around her to tug the drapes open a further inch or two. "Now that's perfect," he said, smiling like a naughty schoolboy. Running his hands along her sides he gathered the fabric of her teddy together and raised the nightie over her head. The discarded bundle joined his shirt in a corner of the room. He got down on his haunches and pulled the thong down to her knees. From there it fell to the floor and she stepped away from it with a giggle. Bob, anxious now to be inside her, positioned one of the wing chairs in front of the window and sat down, his shaft standing tall as a flag pole from between his thighs. He motioned Brenda to come closer, used his hands on her hips to turn her towards the window and coaxed her down to sit on his lap. She was so wet he had no difficulty holding the base of his cock and guiding it into her vagina. As she sat back he penetrated her deeply. He made no effort to move his hips. For a while, it was enough just to feel her enveloping him. She sensed the same need and for some moments they sat together not shifting their position, joined in this manner in harmony and united in flesh, lust and accord of purpose. Then unable to resist her impulses further Brenda began to slowly gyrate her hips in a circular motion and Bob responded immediately, reclining further in the chair and thrusting his hips forward. She spread her legs wide and used her hand to alternately massage her clitoris and his balls. They achieved a natural rhythm to their love-making and both rose quickly to the point of climaxing. "They're watching us," Brenda said quietly. "From the pool." Bob reached around her to fondle both breasts lovingly and to play with the nipples, covering and then tweaking them before slowly removing his hand and exposing each nipple in turn to the assumed audience. He could see Brenda's face reflected in the glass. With her eyes closed she could not have determined whether voyeurism was in play so he knew she was imagining a spectator gallery. "Good," he replied. "Enjoy the attention." With that he thrust deeply a few more times and reached an explosive orgasm, all the while shuddering and groaning with pleasure. Brenda felt the warmth of his cum jettison inside her and with this cue she, too, reached a powerful climax. In fact she doubted she'd ever experienced one that took her to such heights of ecstasy. Now holding firmly onto the arms of the chair she arched her back, pressing her thighs backwards and down to take in the fullest length of Bob's cock one last time. She uttered a series of loud, almost plaintiff squeals of sheer delight. And then it was over for her too. When she had stopped moving Bob laid his head against her, noticing the goosebumps along her spine and across her lower back. She was silent now, breathing heavily but otherwise relaxed and enjoying the feeling of warmth that was the seal between their bodies. Neither was aware of the passage of time but eventually Bob croaked: "Merlin, I'm a happy man. If anyone's wondering what this king is doing tonight, I'm not telling." Brenda leaned forward, closed the drapes fully and stood up. Turning, she took Bob by both hands to raise him from the chair. "C'mon King Arthur. I believe a jacuzzi soak is in order. Without Merlin, mind you. And then some sleep time. We aren't kids anymore you know." The next 36 hours were among the happiest of their long marriage. Bob and Brenda ate and drank too well, visited local tourist attractions and even stopped in at an adult store to buy some sex toys, something they had never done before. Stealing quiet times on several occasions in their suite, they learned together the pleasures of using dildos, vibrators, feathers, edible underwear and lotions. On their last day they decided to try out the Eco-spa and Brenda placed a call to the help desk. The concierge who made the bookings had some questions and as he was confirming their times with the masseuse, he asked: "Brenda? It is Brenda, am I right?" "Yes," she replied. "I'm looking over the bookings for today and you know of course we're squeezing you in because this is your last day with us. But if you want to keep the 1:30 appointment this afternoon, I'm afraid I only have a male masseuse available. The same for your husband. Is that satisfactory?" "Why yes," responded Brenda, almost too quickly. "No. I mean yes. That would be fine." She told Bob, of course. He would have found out anyway. "Sucks to be me," he said. "Wish I could be in the room with you." Brenda wasn't at all sure he didn't mean it but dismissed the comment as bravado with just a hint of jealousy. Around the appointed time they made their way through the corridors of the facility's left wing to arrive fashionably early by a few minutes. They signed the guest register and were led to the change rooms by the host. Here they were assigned their personal lockers. "Take off everything but your underwear. Brenda, you will of course also remove your bra. Change into your gown and make your way back to the waiting area," said the buxom 30-something red-head who seemed to take some delight in issuing commands in a sufficiently muted but stern voice normally reserved for a Regimental Sargent Major on parade. With that, she turned abruptly and left the two new customers to their disrobing. "Well that's clear enough," said Bob, already undoing his shoe laces. "True," replied Brenda. "You never did have much difficulty understanding the term 'get undressed.'" She smiled and proceeded to unbutton her blouse. They slipped into their heavy terrycloth bathrobes and wool slippers. As they made their way to the waiting lounge Bob thought it opportune to ask the most obvious of questions. "What did you choose from the menu? I'm just having a deep therapeutic massage." "Shhh," hushed Brenda. "Didn't you see the sign in Reception. Use your spa voice. They can hear you all the way in the sauna next door." "Well", asked Bob with some moderation in his voice. "Well, what?" asked Brenda. "What ya havin'? And don't say the masseuse." "Wipe that grin off your face. People will be wondering." After a pause, Brenda said: "I decided on the hot stone therapy, but tagged on a facial." "Getting stoned in this country is probably a lot better than in some other places I can think of," remarked Bob. "Should be fun." "Oh, here we are," said Brenda, making a sharp right turn into the lounge. "Now isn't this just perfect," she exclaimed. The lights were turned down low. A large aquarium ran the entire length of one wall and Bob, who had once owned his own ... it was a fish tank really ... marveled at how all the fish seemed to actually be alive and lazily swimming about. Incense burned from a tray arrangement of Sandalwood joss sticks arranged on a small table in the corner. They took seats next to each other opposite three other customers, all women. Brenda carefully tucked the folds of the front of the gown between her knees and adjusted the material to fit comfortably and to modestly hide almost all of her legs down to mid-calf height. Bob, sitting with his legs apart, mimicked his wife when he realized the error of his ways. She caught his movement from the corner of her eye. Brenda turned ever so slightly towards him, nodded and smiled her approval. "Weird," said Bob. "What's weird?" asked Brenda. "And for heaven's sake keep your voice down to a whisper. Who knows what you're going to say next." Bob leaned over until his head was almost on her shoulder. Enunciating his words perfectly so that he would be less likely to have to repeat them, he confided in Brenda that he was wondering about the ladies in the lounge opposite them. To think, he mused, they have practically nothing on underneath and are sitting with a bunch of strangers. "That would be a real turn-on for some folks. Only ever happens at pool parties." "Since when were you at a pool party?" asked Brenda. "Never. Except in my attic up here," he said tapping his temple. "You were there, by the way." Before he could continue, a masseuse entered the room. "Hi," he said, surveying the occupants. "I'm Greg. Which of you is Brenda?" "I am," said Brenda, almost jumping to her feet. Greg was tall, maybe six-foot three, had broad shoulders, a brush-cut hairstyle and chiseled facial features with a square, strong jaw and even white teeth, all the better set off by his overall bronzed tan. "Right this way, Brenda. Our room is half-way along this corridor to the left. Follow me. We'll have you comfortable in no time." Bob winced visibly. The man looked like a college football star or something. Why could he not have been short, hairy and ugly? Nothing he could do about it now. Brenda followed Greg out of the lounge. She forgot to look back or say anything as she left the room. She just up and wandered off, leaving Bob with the strangers still awaiting their turn. 'I guess her mind is already in another place,' he thought ruefully. Fortunately he didn't have long to wait for his masseuse to show up which was probably just as well or he would have felt obliged to say something to the 'ladies in waiting', something probably that would not have been deemed too appropriate. He had a habit of putting his foot in his mouth when in situations where he felt uneasy. He dutifully followed the masseuse who turned out to be a quite unremarkable looking individual. Once inside the treatment room Bob patiently answered the man's questions. He didn't mind the preliminaries. It gave him some idea of what Brenda would be talking about with that linebacker a few doors away. Once the therapy had started, he lay relaxed on the bed and let his mind wonder, not thinking at all about one man touching him and another attending to his wife. After an hour they met in the locker room and changed back into their street clothes. They were either too relaxed or simply unable to decide what to talk about first, so they dressed in silence. As they were about to exit the spa, thanking the host and leaving the obligatory 15% gratuity, Bob took Brenda by the elbow and escorted her out into the corridor. "My room was all decked out like we were in some kind of forest. And the music was weird. All sorts of little animal sounds." "Polar Arctic," said Brenda, still with her spa voice. "Cold scenery. Hot rocks on my back. I didn't know there were icebergs in heaven." Bob didn't ask her about Greg, and she didn't offer to talk about her experience further. Let Bob have his fantasies. The following morning they extricated themselves one last time from the heap of Mideast linen that had been their bed, packed, checked-out and had a light breakfast in the lobby before calling for their car. Bob winced when the elderly van was delivered by the valet to the front of the lobby. 'Brenda's right. Time to trade her in.' **** Both Brenda and Bob anticipated a shorter drive home. Each felt they had so much to talk about, so much to share and wonder over. And to celebrate. Their conversations would make the hours fly by and, for some reason, the thought of getting back to the grind did not seem as daunting as it might otherwise have been. An hour into the journey Bob thought the time right to ask Brenda outright about how much she enjoyed their dirty weekend away and, at the same time, try to solicit some confirmation from her that the past few days were only the beginning of a much happier time awaiting them back in the country. He began the conversation by itemizing the physical details of their love-making episodes and asking her how she felt about what they had done and experienced. She seemed comfortable and happy to converse with him, saying only positive things about what had happened and the way it made her feel about herself. She promised to make more time for them. She even suggested they make up an erotic 'bucket list' to go by and make a game of it, scoring their adventures and checking off each item as they went. Bob was well pleased with the suggestion and gave it his wholehearted support. "I gotta say, all this talk and remembering and planning... well, it's kinda making me really horny." Brenda did not move a muscle. Did not even raise an eyebrow. She sat perfectly still in the front passenger seat staring out the windshield directly ahead. At first Bob thought she could not have heard him. As he was about to repeat his confession, she suddenly responded: "Know what Bob. Me too." Bob studied the road ahead for some minutes, taking time to absorb what she had said. This was a new Brenda. Their recent exploits had revived long dormant sexual urges for her. She was again someone who, having been in touch with her inner self, had rediscovered her sexuality and appetite. Where was this going to lead, he wondered. "Be careful what you wish for," said Bob, accidentally voicing his thoughts. "What was that?" inquired Brenda. "Nothing. Just thinking out loud is all," replied Bob. "No, seriously. What did you say just then?" Bob thought quickly. "We can play dare if you wish." "What. Now?" "Sure," he blurted out, wanting to keep up appearances. "Okay, you go first," offered Brenda. 'Nice return,' he thought. "Hmmm. Let's see now. Lemme think." After some moments he volunteered his first dare. "I was looking at this website some time back and on it they had photos of girls who were flashing their tits. Some were even driving. I dare you to do that." "I'm sure you mean flash, not drive, right?" she replied casually. "But what if people can see in?" "Nuts. It's almost dark anyway. Have a look at the oncoming traffic. Can you see anyone's chest?" "No, I guess not. Anyway, I'm not dressed for it." "That's no problem," offered Bob. With that he turned safely onto the shoulder of the highway and stopped the car. "There. Now you can change into something more comfortable. The suitcase is right there on the back seat. C'mon, I dare you." Intrigued by where this was leading Brenda studied her husband's face to see if she could read anything more there about his intentions. All she could read in his eyes was mischief. 'Right', she thought. 'Let's play.' She got out of the car and pulled the side door open. Retrieving the suitcase she flipped the locks and extracted a knee-length lightweight skirt with a bold red and gold floral print. Next she pulled free a loose-fitting scoop-necked black blouse with short sleeves and a string tie at the neck forming a bow which, when undone, allowed the material to fall open to her mid-chest area. Two small, widely-spaced buttons directly below the bow gave the wearer total discretion as to how much more frontage she wanted to share. Brenda waited patiently for a break in the two-way traffic and leaned the top half of her body into the interior of the vehicle. She was very aware that Bob was observing her in the rear view mirror which he had not neglected to adjust already. Quickly she removed the top she was wearing. Stopping only briefly to place the item of clothing into the suitcase, she next deftly unhinged her bra strap and let that fall to the floor. This was a critical moment and she hurried to slip the black blouse over her head, wriggling the hem down to her waist with practiced efficiency. She then felt she had the time to studiously wipe the palms of her hands over the blouse in a vain attempt to get out some of the wrinkles. In so doing, she was also touching her breasts. She glanced at Bob's eyes in the mirror. "Okay," he said. "So what's the skirt for?" "Observe," she counseled simply. One long look at the traffic situation and her hands flew to her belt and undid the buckle and zipper of her jeans. She let them fall to her feet and stepped away, the wide pant legs slipping easily over her cork platform shoes. Standing there in her panties, she felt both vulnerable and extremely excited. She hesitated, enjoying the sensation, and then surprised Bob further by bending slightly at the waist and pulling down her panties. These too were discarded on the gravel shoulder. Naked from the waist down and with the cool evening breeze playing around and between her thighs, she was moderately surprised to realize that she was already sexually aroused and wet. She could not decide whether it was the dare offered up by Bob, or the thoughts she had been having about Greg the masseuse. The result was the same. And she could not be happier. She stepped into the skirt, buttoned it tightly to her waist, picked up the discarded items and placed them in the suitcase. With an authoritative swing at the elbow she closed the side door of the van and got back into the front passenger seat. "Drive," she commanded Bob. "Damn you're hot," he said as he too aggressively put the gear leaver in drive and pulled away onto the asphalt, scattering aggregate behind him. Quickly the van gathered speed. "You're so hot," he repeated. "I can't believe you'd do that. Right out in the open like that. Wow. You've woken up my pecker big time." They traveled for a short distance in silence. The sound of the road disappearing relentlessly under the tires was all that kept company with their thoughts. Bob knew something more was expected of him and he wanted to say just the right thing to further the sexual tension and sense of anticipation for them both. "Clear," he said then. "Clear?" "Yes, clear. No traffic. Back or up-front. I'll say clear and you flash. That's the way it works. So, clear." There was a moment's hesitation. He glanced sideways, smiled and passed along an exaggerated wink. Brenda sighed, feigning boredom. She raised her hands to the bow just as the van crested a rise and drove into the headlights of an oncoming transport. Bob held the van steady as the 18-wheeler sped past. He glanced over at Brenda again. She hadn't moved. "Clear," he said. At his command her fingers began to work the bow strings. As the neck of the blouse opened he could hear Brenda take a short, deep breath. 'I wonder how far she will take this,' he thought. With the bow undone Brenda looked at Bob, saw him nod and began to undo the buttons. First one, then the second. She hesitated for just a second longer, then took one side of the undone blouse and slowly pulled it aside to expose the ivory colored swell of her breast and, gradually, the areola and a slightly recessed nipple. She was teasing him.