Ash Wednesday, 10pm
“That was nice, Joe,” Jen says, smiling peacefully, as I roll off of her.
“Yes, it was, my love.” After years of our sex life gradually dwindling into something bland and infrequent (though still kind and loving), it suddenly revived a few months ago.
What revived it was an affair, but not quite in the usual way. In forced retirement, I had started helping out at the church last year, striking up a man-to-man dalliance with fellow volunteer Jerry. After the truth was revealed, Jen didn’t see him as competition for her – at least, I hoped not – but more as a complement to her, because she no longer felt solely responsible for fulfilling my sexual needs. Officially revoking sex as a “wifely duty” radically transformed her perspective on the act. In the absence of pressure, it has reverted from a chore back to a way we express our love for each other, as it had been when we were young. And that change alone has made us feel younger.
We still only do it a couple of times a month, but that’s a lot more than it had gotten down to, and now there’s no guilt about the frequency. Especially on an emotional level, I still cherish sex with my true beloved in many ways. But Jerry does give a wicked blowjob.
We even had a threesome with him on Christmas Day, Jen thoroughly enjoying the double male attention. Not to mention watching, wide-eyed, as I swallowed the erect penis of another man. And devoured his semen. But, fully aware of the potential risks from inviting Jerry too far into our marriage, we have vowed not to let it be a regular thing.
Now, on this Ash Wednesday evening, Jen has a playful look on her face. She reaches between her legs, then brings her finger to my forehead and draws a cross on it with a mixture of pussy juice and cum, smearing it over the ashes the pastor applied several hours earlier.
“From cum you have come, and to dust you shall return,” she says, reverently. Come to think of it, this is more factually correct than the usual wording, “From dust you have come.” She then draws the same sign on her own forehead.
“Isn’t that kind of sacrilegious?” I casually ask, not actually offended. We might be religious, but we are relaxed about it, figuring God is strong enough to survive a playful joke.
“Joe, our marriage is a sacrament before God. And even those Fundamentalists agree that making love is a consecration of that. So I don’t see how anyone could consider it heresy.”
“Fair point.”
“Now, if it was Jerry’s stuff on my finger, that would be different.”
“I suppose.”
“Speaking of which … I was thinking of us giving something up for Lent.”
I wonder where this is going. “Speaking of which?” … “Us?” How does this relate to Jerry? Or his cum? Does she want me to abstain from him? I would not be thrilled to do that, but I would do it for her. Would she also then abstain from Diane, the vivacious eighty-year-old widow who has become her occasional – come to think about it, recently frequent – lover? Jen has been with Diane more than with me lately. And that’s fine, because I have been with Jerry more lately. What’s good for the gander is certainly good for the goose.
Anyway, while we Protestants aren’t required to give anything up for Lent, we occasionally do. Jen and I have previously given up junk food or made an effort to be physically active. Those instances were more about taking care of our bodies than of our souls, I suppose, except in the sense of our bodies as God’s temples.
“What do you want to give up?”
“Monogamy.”
I almost do a spit-take, and since I’m lying down, I accidentally aspirate a bit of saliva and have a coughing fit. What does that mean? I wonder. We are already non-mon, at least if you count our regular same-sex partners. Must this mean she wants to do something with Jerry again? Again, not something we should do frequently, but I could be into it again.
“Go on,” I prompt after recovering.
“Well, there’s something I might be interested in trying. I know it sounds crazy …”
“I won’t judge. Let’s talk about it and then decide.”
“You remember, back in the ‘olden days’ when we were young, we’d sometimes hear stories about couples swapping?”
“Yeah … ?”
“I’ve never really shared this with you, so maybe it will shock you. But secretly, the idea always held this forbidden appeal for me. It’s not just taking a casual turn of exploring someone else’s body that turns me on,” she says, more affectionately continuing, “but also the idea of a hard stop, always returning to our real partners.” She reminds me, “And we both have already been with Jerry and Diane,” who are effectively functioning as a couple, at least when Jerry isn’t going in bed with me.
She concludes the thought regarding having been with both Jerry and Diane: “But we haven’t been with them one-on-one.” That is true. The one time she’s been with Jerry, I was with her too. And likewise, Jerry was part of the one, very enjoyable, time I had with Diane.
“So you want to be alone with Jerry?” I ask. “I can handle that. I trust you both.”
“Or … maybe a different man. I’ve been talking to a couple online.”
I almost do another spit-take. “Not to nitpick semantics, Jen, but I think bringing in a third couple isn’t swapping. It’s swinging.”
“I know!” she beams naughtily. More conciliatorily, she softens with, “I realize it’s a lot to ask, especially at our age. You can say no to the whole thing.”
“I’m not saying no, and given where we are now, it’s not so much to ask. We both know it wouldn’t be a threat to our marriage. Sure, why not have some fun and try it?”
< = = = = = = = = >
Second full week of Lent
I’ve talked to Jerry, who has absolutely no problem with the idea. This absolutely does not surprise me. He says Diane is also enthused to try it. This does not surprise me either.
Jen and I have a video chat with the couple in question, who live an hour away. Bill and Patty are mature like us and have some experience with “the Lifestyle,” as it is apparently known. But they are fairly new to it, having only swung three times so far, each time discreetly rather than in any kind of party situation. They don’t feel ready for that, nor do we.
They both seem nice, and even on the computer screen I find Patty very attractive, with bright eyes, rich black hair, sharp, lovely features and a brassy personality. Bill looks nice too, and my imagination drifts towards making his the second cock to enter my mouth. But he makes clear that he is not bisexual, although he is not bothered by the fact that Jerry and I are bi. I do sense that he would rather Jerry and I not do much of anything with each other in his presence. No problem. I can restrain myself.
After Jerry and Diane have their own video chat with Bill and Patty, Jen and I have a second one, this one a bit more flirty. Everyone gives the thumbs-up, and we set a date three weeks out, in part because of Jerry’s planned Spring Break trip with his wife Beth and their grandkids. That’s still within the Lenten window that Jen suggested, although only by a week. We agree to gather for dinner at Jen’s and my house. We set ground rules that if we all decide to go forward with a swap, we will do it for exactly one hour. After that, we could agree to swing the other way for a second hour. Then Bill and Patty will head home, the four of us swinging back to our regular partners for the night.
< = = = = = = = = >
Palm Sunday Eve
It’s a remarkably warm Spring Saturday when the actual “date” rolls around, nice enough that we hang out on lounge chairs in the backyard. Jen serves hors d’oeuvres and drinks while I grill us a nice meal. We all seem to get on well with each other, though none of us eats ravenously, presumably due to the anxious anticipation.
At one point, Jerry surprises no one by brusquely cutting to the chase. “Well, I think we all know why we’re here.”
Patty bubbles, “And … is everyone in?”
All six of us are smiling and nodding. Lest any nosy neighbors sniff out our plans, we head back inside, leaving the patio table a mess.
Jerry and Patty have already been making eyes at each other, and Bill has been checking out my Jen all night, so they pair up that way. Jen takes Bill to our bedroom, the symbolism of which does not bother me at all, and Jerry takes Patty to the guest room.
That leaves me in the living room with Diane. She smiles broadly, enthuses, “Finally, Joe, I get you to myself!” and engages me in a ten-second tongue kiss, undoing a couple of buttons on her blouse while she’s pressed up against me. This causes her cantaloupes to squeeze against the gap she has opened, unsuccessful in escaping their textile prison. “What would you like to do first?” she inquires encouragingly.
“Well, you,” I leer, looking her up and down.
“Ooh, you know how to flatter this old girl, but I’m still going to make you earn your way into my pants. How about you start by getting on your knees and worshipping my tits?”
I kneel in front of her and she steps closer, her still-confined boobs pressing against my face.
I place my tongue just above the topmost button that is still closed, running it up her deep cleavage, flicking it back and forth as it widens higher up. “Oh, great breasts of Diane, I am in thrall to your majesty.”
“If you love them, set them free,” she commands, running her fingers through my hair.
“Oh, your majesties,” I tell her bosoms, “I confess that my eyes are in bondage to you and I cannot free myself. But I can free you from your bondage and release them … to my waiting mouth.” I undo the rest of the buttons, letting her blouse hang free, not to mention her boobs, not having been constrained by a bra. I start cupping and feeling the big mams, easily more than twice the size of Jen’s. They might hang down a bit at eighty, but who cares? They are soft and pliant and marvelous, with big, pink areolae. I suck one throbbing nipple and then the other, squeezing them between my fingers as I suck on them.
I have her put one foot up on the couch so I can crouch between her legs, licking her inner majesty. Already knowing that she enjoys ass play, I slick up a finger and slide it into her anus. I continue eating and probing for a few minutes, getting her worked up before lying back and having her ride me, her wondrous sag-bags in my face again. Having already gotten pretty excited from my carpet-munching, she climaxes quickly, but keeps riding until I follow suit. Once I do, she moves up and empties her mango cream pie back into my mouth, using her hand to then smear the goo playfully all over my face.
< = = = = = = = = >
It is at that point that the oven timer dings and Patty walks in on this scene of me lying on the floor, my face dripping with our combined sexual fluids.
Diane greets Patty with a quick kiss – something I wish I could slow down to one-hundredth speed and watch again and again – then heads to the guest room to be with Bill. I hope he enjoys the sloppy seconds I have left for him, though it’s possible he may not.
Meanwhile, clearly approving of what she sees, Patty jumps right in to take Diane’s place, licking the mess off my face. Her tongue eventually snakes its way into my mouth, and we enjoy a surprisingly intense kiss. She lowers her medium tits to my face for me to suck on, then flips around and starts licking my cock clean while she drops her cunt onto my mouth. Patty seems extra tasty and tangy, but maybe what I’m tasting is simply the thrill of being with someone new. That said, she’s also producing a familiar, contrasting flavor that I recognize as Jerry’s essence. We continue the sixty-nine for a few minutes, and then she asks to be taken from behind.
It might be called doggy-style, but I do this a lot better than any four-legged creature ever could, pawing Patty’s clit using one hand and clawing her titties with the other as I stroke in and out of her hole. It takes a few minutes, but fully enjoying the novelty of a new woman, I eventually release a small but very satisfying load into her. She seems to reach her peak not long afterward. Even though we have almost half an hour left, I’m pretty spent. I take a few minutes to gently lick her, until she admits she is a bit sore too. So, we spend the rest of our allotted hour simply cuddling, kissing gently and enjoying being naked together. It’s blissful, and perhaps a bit more intimate than the ground rules accounted for.
It’s so blissful, in fact, that we snooze lightly, not noticing that the timer has dinged and the others have returned to the room. Oops. Diane and Jen, both freshly filled by Bill and Jerry, prank us by standing over us and emptying their cunts of a few cumdrizzles. How is it that I find myself lying on the rug with cum all over me for a second time?
Perhaps not having been properly cautioned about bisexual activity in front of Bill, Jerry swoops in to clean Patty and me up. I suspect this triggers Bill, who takes this as his cue to thank us for a lovely time and get dressed. Reveling in Jerry’s cleanup, Patty seems a bit more reluctant to leave, but dutifully follows suit. We bid them both adieu, everyone agreeing, “We should do this again sometime,” although Bill seems the most equivocal about it. Well, I’d gladly do it again. I wish we could just get Patty next time. I like her. Possibly too much.
After Jerry and I admit that we may not be able to perform penetration again, Jen suggests that swinging back to our “regular partners” for the night should mean our regular same-sex sex partners. No one objects.
< = = = = = = = = >
It doesn’t occur to me that there might be an ulterior reason for pairing off this way until after Jerry and I head to the guest room and climb into bed, still nude. We might be too spent to fuck, I hope we’re not too spent to suck. I’d be willing to try an oral round with Jerry before drifting to sleep with him, the latter a luxury I don’t often get.
“Joe, I have some news to share,” he announces. “While we were in Hawaii last week, Beth announced she’s divorcing me.”
“Oh, shit! I know she threatened divorce if word ever got out about your side fun. Did someone find out about you and Diane? Or … about you and me?”
“Not that I’m aware. She’s just decided that we’ve grown apart. I’ve been denying it, but she’s right.”
“Hmm. I suppose that makes things easier for you and Diane, anyway.”
“It does. And it was starting to get a lot harder, because after four months together, we’re really falling in love, emotionally.” He pauses. “Which brings us to my other big news. After Beth and I got back home last night, I asked Diane to marry me.”
“What! Wow, congratulations! I’m so happy for you both!” I kiss him on the cheek, which is unusual for me.
“And .. okay, there is something about our coming marriage that I need to talk to you about, Joe. You see, Diane and I truly want to be emotional and life partners, like you and Jen. And sexually … well, you’ve seen how Diane can seem like a dynamo at times, but honestly, we can both tell that we aren’t always going to satisfy each other. After seeing what it did for you and Jen to not be responsible for each other’s sexual pleasure anymore, we want that in our marriage from the get-go.”
“You mean …”
“I mean that even though Diane and I are marrying, I hope you and I can keep doing what we’ve been doing. I need us to. And Diane would like to continue with Jen.”
“Huh. So you’re taking Diane as your life wife and me as your … uh, sex wife?” Completely joking, I blurt, “Are you gonna propose to me too?” Although I meant it teasingly, I’m surprised to find my cock tingling at this crazy idea.
“Well, I was mostly trying to reassure you that I want to continue with you after I marry Diane. Really, Joe, ‘lover’ would have been a fine term for it, or maybe even ‘boyfriend.’ But, you know? With everything else in my life flipped upside-down, maybe my own subconscious was looking for the same reassurance of at least something not changing.”
After a few moments of silence, he smirkingly exclaims, “Fuck it!” He flings off the covers, getting on one knee in front of me. He holds his cock in his hand, just the glans sticking through the ring of his thumb and forefinger as if presenting a prospective bride with a ring. Actually, it does have a sparkling jewel on the end. Of precum, that is. “Joe, will you take me as your ‘sex wife?’ And be mine?”
“Be mine?” Jesus, Valentine’s Day was six weeks ago. But somehow making an official plan to continue satisfying each other has me rock-hard and oozing precum myself. “Why don’t I answer your question,” I luridly suggest, “by kissing the ‘bride?'” I plant a kiss on his spongy glans and smear that precum all over my lips. I stare up at Jerry while I lick it off my lips and savor the taste, before licking up and down his prong, ultimately taking him in my mouth for a loving blowjob.
“I take that as a yes!” observes Jerry, throwing his head back in ecstasy, apparently okay with having his cock referred to as a “bride.” “Here, let me kiss the other bride,” he offers, rearranging us into a sixty-nine, our favorite position for exchanging mutual pleasure. With this reminder of just how good his blowjobs are, I am especially grateful that his new marriage will allow for our unconventional arrangement to continue.
After a few minutes of mutual enjoyment, I pull off and joke, “So does this mean we need to exchange … cock rings?”
Jerry laughs out loud around my prick, still in his mouth.
“And will the ladies want to be each other’s sex husbands?” I continue.
“I don’t think anyone has called it that,” our mutual suckfest pausing briefly, “but I suppose that’s more or less the idea. Even before I proposed life-marriage to Diane, she was already referring to Jen as her ‘girlfriend.’ I suspect that’s why Jen was so excited about this swapping idea. She said something to Diane about one having big fling with men before ‘settling down’ with Diane as her regular … well, whatever they decide to call each other. And – of course! – Jen continuing to be your life wife.”
“Damn, that woman is always a step ahead.”
“They usually are, Joe. That’s what we love about them, isn’t it? But here’s what I love about you,” he says, licking the length and circumference of my cock, then around my big old-man balls.
“Same to you, Jerry,” I reply.
We immediately resume licking and sucking each other, back and forth, back and forth, one of the greatest benefits of sixty-nine being the ability to instantly respond to your partner’s ministrations in kind. Another benefit is that, especially having learned our way around each other’s bodies, Jerry and I know how to time our pleasurings so that we cum almost simultaneously. And nothing is more mutual than that.
After we have crested and coated each other’s mouths, I surprise myself by drawing Jerry’s head towards mine, exchanging a messy, semen-syrupy cumkiss. Even more surprising is that he actually returns it, and with remarkable passion. We’ve only kissed a few times, and only when we were deep in the throes of penetrating each other’s rectal depths. I doubt it will become a habit, though, nor do I need it to.
He flops onto his back, looking up at the ceiling. As we’re drifting off to sleep, Jerry quietly says, “Joe, I swore I wouldn’t get all mushy on you, but I can hardly tell you how goddamned happy I am about marrying Diane, and at the same time continuing to have sex with you. I might only say this once, and it is not the same as with a woman, but … you do know that on some level I love you, don’t you, Joe?”
“Yes, Jer, I know,” I reply warmly. “I mean, you just sex-wife proposed to me, for Chrissake.” We both chuckle at this. Our relationship may be primarily sexual, but some kind of intimate emotional connection is unavoidable in an ongoing physical relationship, even for guys like us. “My heart and my soul belong to Jen, but my dick is yours, Jer. So, on whatever level that is, yes, I love you too.”
“Good,” he announces. “Glad we cleared that up so we don’t have to say it again.”
And we fall asleep blissfully next to each other.
< = = = = = = = = >
Palm Sunday
When morning arrives, the four of us have a lot to catch up on. Diane and Jerry’s official life-wedding won’t happen until October, but we hold what I guess you could call some sort of ceremony commemorating the marriage-perpendicular sexual unions that we have all agreed to.
Since we’re all comfortable being nude and sexual around each other, Diane and Jen consecrate their connection by making sweet girlish love in full view of Jerry and me as witnesses. We, in turn, get so excited from our first observation of live lesbian sex that, in front of the women, we take turns demonstrating how we men make love, penetrating each other’s asses, missionary-style. We even make out while we do it because … well, the ladies requested it.
Dear God, we are all such fucking perverts.
This ceremony certainly beats the regular Palm Sunday service that we have all skipped this morning. Even if it is missing a donkey.
