﻿    Title:Life on Long Island
   Author:tonytony3
 Category:Someone's Watching
      URL:https://www.asstr.org/files/collections/alt.sex.stories.moderated/year98/12082.txt
Published:2022-07-11
Part 1


Like too many men who have been married for a while, I began to wonder what it would be like to see my wife seduce another man.


We had each been married before, and had actively dated and enjoyed dating experiences before we found each other. "Experienced" is a word that comes to mind. So, there was some reality to my day dreaming. We had told each other about enough of our life "before us" so that these mind wonderings had some basis in flesh and blood, or penis and vagina.


Like a few of the men who thought about such things, I confessed my fantasy to my wife. Talking about it sometimes became part of our love making. She had long ago stopped talking about other men she dated and slept with. This new idea, in her mind, had nothing to do with the past. She'd play along with me, asking exactly what I'd want to see, and what would be too much. She liked to talk about these limits when we were close to orgasm, and she knew, if she'd ask me if it was all right for her to do "this", while she masturbated my cock while I was in her, or mounted me rather than the other way around, that she'd get me, and herself, explosively to orgasms quickly. At the end of each session, though, she'd say "Well, maybe someday."


Last month we decided to do some remodeling, removing a wall between a TV room/den, and living room, creating a great room, instead. I interviewed a couple of contractors, and settled on a young guy just starting in his business. The work would only take him a few days, and the price was great. You can probably guess where this is going, but you have to make allowances, it was new to us.


He did well. Two days after he started I was looking over the work—it was within hours of being done. Marsha, my wife, was working from our home so she could monitor the activity in real time, and announced herself satisfied, too…


In bed that night she was a little more passionate than usual, and we were well along in our lovemaking, when she slowed down a little. "You haven't been telling me what you'd like to watch me do…"


She was right, I had been making love, not having sex, with her. But I changed modes, told her how I'd like to see her, as she was now, legs spread, while someone who would really appreciate having sex with her, like me, would move between those legs, and… I demonstrated.


"You'd rather watch me have sex with someone else than have sex with me?" she asked, and I told her that if she thought she'd be able to have sex with someone while I watched, and not have me fuck her silly later she was crazy. The predictable happened—we both erupted. A few minutes later, Marsha, snuggling next to me, muttered something.


"What did you say, honey?"


"Do you remember what I'd say about now, after we did that?"


"We would usually say 'I love you" and cuddle and go to sleep."


"Well, sometimes, when you'd talk about watching me, I'd say "Maybe someday'''.


"I DO remember that."


"Do you still think about watching me?"


"Yes."


"Me, too. I've been thinking about you watching. I've been thinking about it a lot the last couple of days. Would you like 'someday' to be sometime soon, like tomorrow?"


"What are you talking about?"


"Well, Jim (he's the contractor) kind of made a pass at me today, and he's handsome, and nice, and young, and tomorrow's his last day here, and if you'd like something to happen…"


"What kind of a pass did he make?"


"He just said he thought I was really pretty for an older woman…"


"Older! You're just 35!"


"-And he wished this job was a lot longer because he liked looking at me.


"I like looking at him, too. He works in his shorts, the sweat makes him look really sexy, and then he goes to the guest bathroom, and gets washed up and all, and I've been thinking about that young body in there, and what I'd like to do with it while you watched, and I wondered what it would be like going in when he was there, and seducing him…"


My cock was responding so fast it was scary—I had her on her back, and was in her again even before I could respond in words as images—forbidden images—raced through my mind.


"I wonder too," I said, as I was pounding into her, and as she was responding, until we both climaxed, again.


Afterwards, she said "I thought if you liked the idea we could drop your car off at the garage for that brake job first thing in the morning. Your car would be gone so it would look like you were at work. We could come back here, and Jim would come and finish his work, and then I'd bring him in here. You could stay in the cubby, and watch through the louvers, and I'd try to seduce him. I'd like to try, and if you'd like to watch, well…"


Oh, I have to tell you about the cubby. Our house's master bed room started off with his and her closets. We turned one of them, a 6 by 8 foot room, into a small office/computer room. It's our 'cubby'. The louvered doors helps the ventilation.


We hadn't made love or had sex three times in a single night for a long, long, time, but we did then.


We slept, awoke early. Her first words after a good morning kiss were "Steve, are you going to go to the office today?"


I had nothing pressing at work today, but that wouldn't have mattered, anyway. I said "No", and fucked her.


"I do want to do this with Jim while you watch. What do you think of that? Would you like it?" she asked, knowing the answer.


"You know it!"


I usually don't ejaculate prematurely, but did, then.


We dressed, changing the bedding into the cream colored satin sheets we used on special occasions.


"It's strange, getting ready to watch someone have sex with you…"


"I never thought it would happen, either, but this guy's really nice…"


We dashed out, I dropped off my car for the needed service, and sped home. We weren't in the house for more than five minutes before the unsuspecting but perhaps hopeful Jim arrived.


I got some stuff ready in the cubby, then watched from the bedroom window as this tee shirt and shorts clad young man took some tools from his truck and made his way up to the front door.


Marsha went to the door, let him in.


In moments I heard hammering, and Marsha came to the bed room.


"Are you still OK with this?"


"You bet" I whispered back.


She smiled at me, her fledging voyeur, sitting on a chair, reading a.s.s.m stories, the only light coming from the computer screen. She took out a fairly modest, but bright red, silky negligee ensemble and matching robe from the closet.


I watched through the louvers as she carefully draped the ensemble it on the bedroom chair. She left the room after whispering "Advertising", and that she had to do a few things, and that I had to be patient.


In a half hour I heard noises. Marsha came into the bedroom, whispered "the spider's wiggling the web," then shouted "The guest bathroom isn't working, you have to use mine."


I saw Jim come in, bare chested, sweaty. She pointed to the bathroom door, and left. He went into the bath room.


He came out in a minute, zipping himself up, and glanced around the room. He touched the red garment she had placed on the chair, and closed his eyes, his hand adjusting himself in the shorts, grabbing at his crotch. This is the man who my wife chose to turn "maybe someday" into "today". In a minute he left the room.


Two minutes later Marsha came to the cubby door.


"Doesn't he look sexy?" she asked the door, and it responded "Yes!"


"It's going to be fun seducing him."


The voice in the dark cubby could hardly speak it was so horny, but eventually I could squawk a "yeah" from behind parched lips.


Now she turned down the bed, folding the cover on a long diagonal, making it look inviting, exposing the sheets. More advertising.


Later I heard Marsha say "The bathroom's in the same place". I went to watch through the louvers as Jim came to the bedroom again, sweatier still. He paused, obviously noticed the bed, and touched the negligee, and went to the bathroom, leaving the door open. This time Marsha came into the bedroom too, and was standing there as we heard him urinate, heard him wash his hands, and saw him come out, drying them on a towel he had in his back pocket.


"I'm sorry, I didn't know you were in here" he stuttered, when he saw her.


"No problem, it's just a bedroom" she said, walking over to the chair, picking up the nightgown.


"It's a nice room" he said, watching her, as she held the flowing material in her hands.


"I like it too" she said, looking at him, looking at her, as she held the garment he'd want her to have on so he could take it off of her body. I think he had an erection his shorts couldn't quite hide.


He left, and Marsha came to talk to me. "It's going to happen pretty soon."


"Good."


Part 2


An hour later she came into the bed room, blew a kiss at the cubby, and whispered. "He's finished, and just cleaning up. It's not too late to say 'Uncle'."


"Aunt."


"OK. You asked for it. Pay attention, now."


She took the night clothing from the chair, quickly took off her skirt and blouse, bra and panties, and put them on the chair, so that the replacement of night clothes with the clothes she had on was noticeable.


I had seen her nude before, but never like this, getting ready to display herself, to seduce, to fuck, someone else. It's quite an experience, guys.


She sat at her cosmetics dresser, dabbed some perfume behind her ears, in her cleavage.


She put on the negligee—red, knee high, cleavage exposed, back exposed, smooth except where the smoothness was interrupted by the swelling of her breasts, by her erect nipples. Subtle, but the change of color, from tanned skin to white, was hinted at. The darkness of her areolae were suggested, and her thatch of pubic hair created a little more than a shadow. Subtle, but when she walked in front of the window, outlines of her body, my wife's body, were vividly displayed.


"Last chance, honey," she said. "Do you want to unwrap this package, or do you want Jim to unwrap it?"


I made a squawking noise, an affirmative one, again.


She pulled the robe on. Two layers of the same material made it look modest. Sexy in a subdued way, but I knew better. She came into the cubby. We kissed, I touched her, and felt heat, moisture. Moisture that was to make it easy for a different cock to move, there.


"Go easy, honey, you'll be getting yours, soon, and getting your fantasy fulfilled even sooner" she muttered, in my arms.


Fifteen minutes later he called her.


"All done," he was shouting.


"That's what he thinks," she said to me. She left the cubby, and the bedroom, and I heard her say "Wait for me in the bed room, I'll pay you".


I noticed it was just 1pm.


He came in, sweaty, looking a little surprised at the pile of clothes where her night clothing had been, at her, at the bed folded back, the sheets inviting… something.


In a few minutes Marsha came in, robe flowing on her body, a can of beer in one hand, a mixed drink for her in the other. She handed him the beer, sipped the drink, and went to the desk.


The expression on his face was priceless. This was the stuff letters to Penthouse were made of. Maybe stories to a.s.s.m, too. Maybe he'd write one!


Marsha, her back to him, didn't his face, but she knew what was going on.


"I'll write your check. My purse and checkbook are right here" she said, opening the drawer. She got out the check book, and he stood behind her. The movement as she bent forward parted the robe, so that her legs, covered with the translucent nightgown, were exposed.


Oh, there's no question that this was going to work.


I watched as she began opening the book. I saw him drain the beer, put his hand on the robe covering her shoulder. She wrote the check, tore it out, and handed it to him, over her shoulder.


He pocketed it with one hand, then began to rub her shoulders.


She stopped, looked at him over her shoulder. She does that over the shoulder glance so well…


She sipped her drink. "That feels so nice," she said, "you do more than carpentry".


"When I can" he said, rubbing more.


"I love it."


He continued for a moment.


"Jim?"


"Yes, ma'am?"


"What exactly did you mean yesterday, when you said 'I was pretty for an older woman?'"


"I meant" he stuttered, "that compared to the girls I date you're like a real woman…"


"Just what do you know about women who are ten years older than you?"


"Nothing—just to be respected—just, you know, beautiful, sophisticated, more experienced, I mean worldly, not like the girls I date, like, you're married, untouchable, kind of mysterious…"


"Untouchable?"


"Kind of…"


"Do I look untouchable?"


"You look beautiful and sexy".


"Do I look untouchable?"


"Maybe."


Marsha stood, facing him. She shrugged the robe off, revealing the negligee, with a back that reached almost to her buttocks, shoulder straps holding a deep vee neckline, showing the sides of her breasts.


Jim was looking around the room, like a deer caught in the headlights of a car at night.


"Untouchable?"


"No, not now."


"Do you like what you see?"


"It's—you're—incredible."


She turned around, modeling, then faced him.


I never appreciated how revealing it was. The thin straps at the shoulders and deep neckline were stunning, and I saw that it exposed most of her back. I had seen see all of that, and knew that so could Jim.


"Not too old?"


"It's beautiful—I mean, it's beautiful on you, I mean…"


She continued slowly turning, for his inspection.


"So you like it on me, an 'older woman'.


"I didn't mean to say that yesterday, or insult you."


She moved towards him.


"Your husband…"


"His car is being serviced. He can't do anything until I get him."


"Uh,"


"You've been wondering about me all the time you've been working here haven't you?"


"Uh,"


"I'll bet you wondered what it would be like to be like this, in this bedroom…"


"Maybe…"


"You like the idea, don't you?"


She stood in front of him, her back to me.


"Do you think you know to please an older woman? How would you please me, so I could please you in return?"


He didn't answer, but she was, in an instant, wrapped in his arms, his hands stroking the skin of her back, then over the material, to stroke her ass.


"Have any of your girlfriends ever seduced you… " she asked, holding him as his arms and hands explored her back.


"Never."


"Have you ever made love to a woman much older than you?"


"Never…"


She broke his embrace. She turned her back to him, and looked at him over her shoulder. I wish the people reading this could see how she looks when she looks at you like that, her body almost hidden, almost revealed, her hair to her shoulders, her back, her legs. The negligee, draping, exposed more of the sides of her breasts, and the start of the cleavage between her buttocks.


She smiled, reached behind her for his hand, took it, and took him, this man who just might live a fantasy while filling ours, to the bed.


My wife is wonderful!


She sat him down, and in a moment had his sneakers and socks off.


Another push, and his still sweaty body was flat on its back.


The bed was beside the cubby, I watched in profile as my wife lifted the nightgown above her knees so she could straddle him. Then, when she was in position, it puddled between her legs, which were exposed to about mid thigh. I'm sure her crotch, naked, was resting on his shorts.


She doesn't do things half way, does she? I hoped this wouldn't end prematurely, either.


She sat upright, looking down at this young man, prone, under her.


"Older women are more experienced, Jim. We know how to please ourselves, and men we have sex with."


He lay there, watching, as she moved her right arm to her left shoulder, found the strap, moved it out over the end of her shoulder, and pulled her left arm through it, holding the flimsy material over her breast with her hand.


She leaned forward, he raised his head, nuzzled at her cleavage, then her breast, through the material.


The first real sexual contact!


I watched my wife slowly lower her arm, so that the cloth was held over her breast only by his mouth.


And I watched him pull his head back, so the material could fall away, exposing her breast, her nipple.


And I saw his mouth once again open, taking in the brown nugget, suckling at her tit.


My own erection was almost painful. I may be the one who's premature.


His hands were behind her, holding her to him, while she leaned into him, back arched, enjoying the new experience, this new mouth, one of her hands supporting herself on the headboard, the other, under her breast, lifting it, presenting its nipple, to his mouth.


He stopped, lay back, looking at this woman, now more upright, sitting on him, on his pelvis, one breast exposed, the other nipple evident, as she leaned over him, arms on the headboard.


His hands moved to her cloth covered hips, then over the pooled material, down her legs, until they were on the flesh of her outer thighs.


Touching her skin!


"I know how to please women," he said, running his hands up her thighs, now under the material, lifting it, as his hands moved to her hips, then further, as he did a bit of a crunch, to her buttocks.


I could see him pulling at her, as he lay back down, as she sat a little more upright, her legs on either side of him, knees moving, sliding on the satin, up along his body, and he pulled more, and now I could see the garment was lifted, draped over his forearms, her pelvis was probably exposed, and she was moving, being moved, up his body, her vagina no longer over his shorts, but now on his belly, then his chest.


Could he feel, even now, how wet she was?


She looked down at this man, both of her hands now holding onto the bed's head board, as he pulled some more, his eyes not focused on her face anymore, but rather, along and between his arms, under her negligee, at her pubic mount, and he continued to pull, her knees moving and slipping on the satin, until they were beside his shoulders, her vagina was at his chin.


He wasn't shy about looking into what must have been the open lips of her vagina. She wasn't shy, either, about having it on view.


He pulled still more and more and then she gasped—arched her back.


Her vagina lips were at his mouth, as his tongue touched, explored, and found what was, at this instant, her most sensitive part.


Her hips begin rocking, but not enough to prevent him from tasting what he wanted.


His hands left her buttocks, moved instead, over and around her legs, meeting at her vagina,


and his fingers spread it, opening it more,


holding her, spread wide, in place, while he licked, and sucked, and nibbled at her.


I saw her hips moving in that timeless rhythm, her back arched, one uncovered nipple erect one breast still covered, his mouth open, tongue touching, sucking, her face red, mouth open, panting, until, until she made a whimpering cry, until she shuttered,


the stiff arch of her back collapsing, her head resting on her arms on the headboard, her body sagging over him, on him.


There were still small shivers—small spasms.


Then her body was quiet.


Satisfied.


That was not a fake orgasm!


Neither was mine.


I realized how important it was to me that she enjoy this encounter.


A moment passed.


He lifted her by the hips from him. His face was awash with moisture.


He put her beside him.


Sat up.


Pulled her to a sitting, then a kneeling position.


Pulled at her negligee.


"Take it off!"


This woman, this wife, my wife, still flushed, was no longer in control.


He was.


She was now a vessel for him, a vessel for him to empty his passion, his lust.


I watched as she freed the garment from under her body.


I watched as she reached behind her neck, and pulled its back up.


How, with her hands behind her, she lifted it hand over hand, and how it lifted from her ass, exposing her back again.


This exposure, though, as she lifted this barrier, was very different than the back that showed earlier. This was the back of a women I loved, the back, I hoped, wanted, to be pressed into the bed by his weight.


The material was draped over her lap. Then, she moved from kneeling with her buttocks on her heels, to kneeling upright, and then, still with that hand over hand motion, lifted the negligee from her lap, too, and over her breasts, and then there was a moment when it covered only her head and her arms, held above her head, with all of the rest of her body, upright, exposed, available: that wonderful neck, those breasts, the triangle of pubic hair.


And that moment ended, too, as she put the flowing, red, her last barrier, aside.


And my wife was undressed, nude, exposed, kneeling there, looking incredibly sexy, in front of this man.


I know he had tasted every important part of her, but the image of that nightgown coming off over her head while he watched, and I watched, and all it symbolized, will stay with me forever.


He had been standing at the foot of the bed, watching as this married woman prepared herself for him. his cock. his passion. his semen.


Part 3


His hand moved to his belt. So did my wife's.


"That's better. You do it."


She moved to the edge of the bed, sat, legs apart, he was standing between them.


She unhooked the belt.


Unbuttoned the waistband.


Lowered the zipper.


Put a hand on either side of his hips, which still glistened with sweat.


Looked up at his face, as he stood there, hands on hips, watching her.


I watched my wife as she pulled downwards, moving shorts and white briefs lower, exposing a tan line, a wide patch of dark hair that narrowed, vectoring downward, and then, a first an inch of shaft, then another, and another, until finally the head of his penis was free, pulsing, ready to be touched, to be immersed, in her, in my wife, where for the past years only mine had been.


The intensity on his face, the engorged size of his cock, gave proof that he, and it, were going to appreciate using this present, this body made for sex, this woman with an active imagination, filling this "maybe someday" concept, on the bed…


The shorts, now unencumbered, fell to the floor.


He stepped out of his clothing, and now they were both nude—no, naked. Her torso, and his, tanned except white where bathing suits covered them, were, with those tan lines, all the more naked, sexy, almost obscene.


My own hand was gripping my own erection now, again, as he moved my wife prone, on her back.


"This is what I like to do" he said, kneeling beside her. He bent over, his tongue found her ear.


She shuttered, began blushing.


He leaned, and his tongue dragged along her neck.


He moved more, his knees beside her head, and his mouth covered her breast.


Another movement, and his head was at her navel, and his cock was near her head.


It was getting to be a classic position.


"You know what to do, don't you? My girlfriends do."


Her hands went to his hips,


she pulled,


he moved, and now his knees were on either side of her head.


Her hands took his cock.


His tongue by now was at her pubic hair, his hands were spreading her, again.


"Is this what they do?" she asked.


She looked at the erect penis just above her face, and I saw her tongue wetting her lips, anticipating.


I saw her move, and saw what I had until now fantasized about, saw her mouth open, saw him lift, and move, to accommodate her, until


until


until he was in her mouth, and then out, and now her mouth was on his scrotum, and back to the side of his shaft, and her hands controlled what she sucked on and bit and licked. Her mouth was busy, and her legs were bent at the knees, her hips heaving, as if the treasure between her legs was also being invaded by the treasure at her mouth, instead of his tongue.


He stopped doing her, and looked, instead, up along their bodies so he could watch her do what she was doing, as she did him…


She was giving pleasure to this man who until now had been pleasing her.


Giving pleasure to me, too, as I realized how important it was to me that she play an active role in this, and not just be a body for him to use.


He watched as his cock and balls were being serviced by this woman. He saw her mouth open, take its head, suck. He saw her tongue lick its shaft, its underside, kiss at his scrotum.


He saw all of that, watching, almost as a spectator, like me, as she explored and tasted every part of his sex.


Then, he stopped her.


"It's not going to end that way, that easy!"


he said, and moved away from her body, both his cock and his face wet now.


He knelt, straddling her knees.


Took one of her legs, put it outside his.


Repeated the same thing with the other leg.


Now he was kneeling between her legs.


He took an ankle in each hand,


forcing her knees up, and apart. But not much force was needed, those legs positioned themselves as he wanted, willingly.


He put a hand beside her cheek,


she turned, kissed the fingers, sucked on them, directed them to her breast.


Those fingers pinched at her nipples, traced further down, over her pubic mount, to her cunt.


Her mouth opened with a sharp breath as they found a warm, wet pocket, ready for them, ready for more than fingers.


He knelt there between her legs, his cock in one hand, looking at her, so exposed, so available.


"I like to do this to women I date!"


He released his cock, got his hands on her hips, lifted. Her hand reached toward his cock as she ached her body, supporting herself on her feet and the small of her back, bringing her vagina closer to that erect penis. As she had done for me only last night, she took his erection and led it to her cunt, and moved closer.


Her hand was on his cock, guiding, his on her hips, lifting, centering her vagina, suspended there, open, hungry, in front of him.


I saw her mouth open, heard a sharp intake of breath, as he thrust with his hips, entering her. Obviously his cock found little resistance, since that vagina had been fucked only that morning, and excited for the last while. His weight pushed her raised pelvis and ass onto the bed.


My own mouth fell open—until now it was foreplay—serious, but foreplay. Now, though, it was intercourse—fucking!


Concepts of fidelity, love, crowded into my mind. I realized what was happening had nothing, or everything, to do with them—it was for our mutual pleasure. I loved it. All of it!


All of that, in the instant it took for her legs to go flat, then circle his body, ankles crossed, holding him to her.


I saw his hips rock back and forth as he entered, withdrew, entered again, saw her hips lift, only to be pushed down by his weight, as he fucked her, and she, him. I could see flashes of erect penis, wet, glistening, then disappearing as he penetrated her.


I could see her own hip movements, moving in opposition to his, withdrawing as he withdrew, lifting and thrusting as he pushed in. I heard the slapping of pelvises, their grunts, and my own, as I masturbated in time with their own movements.


I by now had ejaculated all over the door as I watched: he moved with longer, slower strokes than I do. He had one hand sometimes gripping her breast, sometimes between the both of them, and then to his own mouth as he tasted the mixture of her lubrication and saliva, and then he moistened his fingers again with the fluids that were flowing, and I heard his say—no, demand—"taste us!", and I saw her, licking his fingers, meeting his thrusts with her own, making whimpering noises that meant she was close to another orgasm, then having it,


as she fucked him.


In only a few minutes I heard him say "I can't hold off any longer" and he went rigid, as she rose to meet him, as his pace changed, and the thrusts were harder, hard enough to make her release her legs from around him, hard enough so that they remained open, knees bent, as this engine between them drove harder and deeper, and he stayed in her longer, and he emptied himself into my wife.


And then, after a last thrust, and another, he rolled off, spent. It was over.


Young men can't keep it up as long as older ones, I guess.


A few minutes rest, and he looked at the clock. "It's 1:30. I got to go."


1:30! It only took a half hour! Incredible!


He left the bed. In moments he had his shorts and shoes on.


In another moment, she had on her robe.


Without a word, he grabbed her, for a final—and I realized, also a first kiss, and pulled open her robe, and groped at the playthings under it he had enjoyed, and, he left.


I was out of the cubby as soon as he left the room, stripped naked by the time the front door closed.


Marsha came in tentatively : "Are you all right?"


I didn't say a word.


I did grab her robe, roughly pulled it from her, getting her as naked as she had been a few minutes earlier.


I pushed her to the bed, over the dark stains on the satin sheets where her ass was pushed down, where someone else's cock caused her lubrication to flow, and got my almost erect cock into her. (Come on, guys, I'm in my mid thirties, I had sex three times last night, again this morning, and had been masturbating. for the last half hour. Even Viagra wouldn't help.) I felt her return the movement, as my cock found this expanded, dilated, recently fucked vagina, already wet, her pubic hair already wearing drying seman pearls, her face already moist with her own saliva, having had Jim's cock on it, in her mouth. I thought of that, covered her mouth with mine, my tongue found hers, found what I want to think is a taste of him, too, just as my cock was finding itself moistened with seman not its own. The sensations, a bed wet and cool and stained with someone else's juices mixed with hers, the scent of him on her, the look on her face, satiated, satisfied, lusty, were more than I could experience and maintain any kind of control. Sometimes older men can't keep it up, either.


And I came again, feebly this time. So did she, not feebly.


A few minutes recovery, and we went into the shower together, washing the evidence away, loving each other, loving the experience.


We stripped the bed that we had prepared only hours before, got the bedding into the wash.


And put fresh bedding in its place, and Marsha and me back in bed, holding each other, loving the moment, the memories.


All of the evidence WAS gone, except the memories.


It affirmed for me that my wife was still as beautiful and as sexy as I thought.


And I learned about myself, too, and how much a turn on for me to see what I had seen.


She learned, too, that having sex with a new man while I watched was exciting, fun, erotic.


Fun, for both of us, to this extent.


Next week, in the personals, our newspaper on Long Island (not Newsday) will carry this ad:


Wanted, N/S W/BM 30-40, tall, into fitness and exercise, serious about having fun. This adventurous WF, 35, 5'4", blond, 125 lbs, is serious about the same things.