Chapter 1

My name is John. Heather is my wife and we were both nineteen when we got married. Where the present day is, we live in Houston, and both have good jobs that let us live in comfort. We’ve been married for a little over two years and our sex life is still very active.

We have always been adventurous, from the very first time we had sex, which I’ll describe later, to the role playing we did. We both loved for her to dress up and tease men. She teased them in stores, and restaurants, and even at the bus station. She’d get all fired up and need me to make love to her. One of her favorite outfits to do this was a black leather mini dress. She’d wear a thong with it and manage to need to bend over, which bared at least the bottom halves of her butt cheeks.

When we first got married the concept of “fucking” caused negative feelings in both of us. We made love, both before and after marriage. Eventually, though, there grew a distinction between the two concepts where “fucking” just became another way for us to make love. When she said, “I want you to fuck me,” I knew what kind of mood she was in, and what kind of things she wanted me to do.

We tossed around all manner of ideas about sex. One night, as we lay there catching our breath, I asked her if she ever wished I was bigger.

“I don’t know. I never thought about it,” she said. “You’re fine for me.”

“Yes, but if you could have a bigger one, wouldn’t you want to try it?”

“Are you saying you’d let another man fuck me?”

“Only if you wanted to,” I said. “I think it would be hot to see you get worked up with another man and ... do things.”

“What kind of things?”

“The same kind of things we’ve done,” I said.

Her hand came to land on my thigh, not far from my limp dick.

“My brother had a friend who came over all the time. We had a pool in the back yard and this guy came over to swim in it all the time. His father was black and met his mother Japan when he was stationed there in the army. One day I saw him changing into his swim suit. I remember thinking he must be deformed, because his cock hung half way down his thigh, and it was soft. I was walking past the room he was in so I kept walking. He teased me all the time and I didn’t like it, so I didn’t think of him as a potential partner. Now I realize he must have liked me and was trying to get my attention. If I had liked him, and if he had popped my cherry, I’m pretty sure the guy I was with right now would have to have a big cock like that.”

“Wow,” I said. “Do you ever look at a black guy or an Asian guy now and wonder what’s in his pants?”

“No. But I will from now on. I can’t un-think about this conversation.”

“What if you could go on a date with a guy who had a big dick and bring him home and mess around?”

“With you there?”

“I’m not going to leave you alone with a stranger who will be trying to get you naked,” I said.

“Hmmm,” she went. “So many possibilities. Should I let him get me naked? Should I tell him to be naked, too? Hugging that way would be interesting. And what about kissing? Kissing is very intimate. If we were naked and started kissing, then we’d start copping feels. If it got that far he’d probably be able to get his dick in me. What would you do then?”

“Probably cum, because if I watched you make out and get naked with the guy I’d be so hard I’d have to beat off.”

“So when he was cumming in me, you’d be cumming in a Kleenex?”

“Well, of course he couldn’t actually cum in you. We’re trying to have a baby. But while you were finishing him with your hand I might go off.”

“Who would this mysterious big-cocked man be?” she asked.

“It can’t be any of our friends, because that would be awkward later. We could interview some guys and pick one that way.”

“How does one go about finding five men to interview about dating and getting frisky with your wife?” she asked. “And who are required to have big cocks?”

“There are websites where people talk about what they like and what they want or wish they had. We find a website that is about big dicks and put a small personal add there.”

“Hmmm,” she went again. “Let’s sleep on it.”

When Heather and I met, it was at a frat party. I did not belong to the frat and two of her friends dragged her there to meet guys. She was, at that time, trying to fly under the radar because in high school she was a cheerleader and the prom queen and after prom her date got aggressive with her and fucked her. He said he did it because he had to fuck the most beautiful woman in the world. He thought he was her boyfriend so he kept taking her out and being aggressive about fucking her. When summer came she didn’t want to have anything to do with boys.

So, when she got to college, she cut her hair to her jawline and didn’t wear makeup. She camouflaged her body with loose clothing and put her nose in her books. The way she saw it, her good looks were only good for getting herself in trouble. She even went out and found the heaviest, black-framed fake glasses she could and wore those when she was around people.

So her two friends tried to “save” her from a year of loneliness and masturbation (their words) and almost physically dragged her to this party.

I had gone just to see what the inside of a frat house looked like. I hadn’t joined one and had no desire to, really, but the frat houses were big and old and made of stone and sort of looked like castles, so I wanted to find out if they were as impressive on the inside as they were on the outside.

I saw Heather sitting at one end of a big couch on which there were two couples. She was almost squeezed in there and she was just staring straight ahead. On impulse, and because she looked as much an outsider as I felt, I went over to her and offered her my hand. She stared at me like I was some horrifying apparition, so I leaned down and yelled over the music that I wasn’t in the frat and wondered if she wanted to go somewhere quiet and talk. She asked me where and I told her it would be her choice.

So she took my hand and got up and a drunk guy ran into her and knocked her into my arms. The body I felt against me did not match the face and hair and I got curious. I associated bodies like I felt with ... well ... porn. But she obviously wasn’t a porn star so I wanted to find out who she was.

We left the house and it was October and pretty chilly, so I put my jacket on her because her friends had basically kidnapped her from her room and didn’t pay attention to jackets. The Library was open and it was only four blocks so we walked there and went downstairs to the study rooms. It being a Friday night they were empty so I picked one and opened the door and stuck my arm out to usher her in.

“Why would I go into a sound proof room with a boy I met fifteen minutes ago and whose name I don’t even know? A girl could get raped that way,” she said.

“So could a guy,” I responded.

“Why do you want to talk to me?”

“Why not? I came to college to meet interesting people. You looked interesting, sitting there looking completely out of place, like a turd on a restaurant floor.”

“So I’m a turd?”

“No, of course not. That was a metaphor.

“Are you going to rape me?” she asked. She sounded serious so I said, “Not unless you rape me.”

So we went in and sat down at this table, on opposite sides, and I asked her why she was so uncomfortable at the party. We talked about everything and nothing until suddenly, the lights went out. There were no windows in the basement, of course and maybe that’s why there were little round night lights every ten feet or so down low on the wall.

So Heather looked at her phone and said, “Two o’clock. They close the library at two.”

We went upstairs, expecting to find somebody locking the doors or whatever but they had been quick about it and nobody answered our calls.

“We’re locked in,” I said.

“There are push bars on the doors,” she pointed out.

“Okay, everybody else is locked out.”

She turned and looked at me and said, “Are you going to rape me now?”

Again, I couldn’t tell if she was serious or not.

“Are you feeling a need to be raped?” I asked.

She waited a long time and then said, “Maybe.”

Well, talk about being able to be blown over by a light wind, I was very confused. She had talked about the jock in high school and I had called him a jerk, and she had heard my own sad story about coming from a town so small that the consolidated senior class only had seven people in the graduating class. It had not been a target rich environment, as far as girls to date. And if you did get alone with a girl, all you did was talk. It was just that way.

So both of us were fish out of water, in one sense. I was flopping around because I had no social skills and she was trying to stay out of the water, where all the sharks swam. So I knew she was nervous around men, though she seemed to be okay with me.

“I can’t rape you right now,” I said. “I don’t even know how to kiss a girl. I know girls have good parts but I’ve never seen them. What if I got it in the wrong hole?”

I thought I had made a joke but she turned and barked, “If you try to put it in the wrong hole I’ll inform you!”

“Joke,” I said. “It was just a joke. I really don’t know anything about girls, other than how to talk to them, like we’ve been talking. I do know that when that guy knocked you against me you felt really good in my arms. That was kind of the highlight of the night.”

“So talking to me was boring,” she said.

“Will you come off of it for a little bit. You don’t have to be defensive with me. I just like talking to you.”

“So, since you met me, how many times did you think about trying to get me in bed?”

I tried to make another joke by counting on my fingers and looking up and saying, times three, but then I said, “I’m a guy. I may not have been able to be with a girl in the way you’re talking about, but I know what you do with one, if I ever got the chance. I don’t remember having a specific thought about getting you in bed, but I do remember being astonished that a mousy looking girl like you could have big, soft breasts. That was when that guy ran into you and I caught you. And I do think your eyes are beautiful and if I look at your lips too long I have to lick mine. But the turnoff is this rape business. If I ever get to make love to a woman, like my parents made love, it wouldn’t be rape. She’d have to want to do it with me, maybe even ask me to do it.”

“Girls don’t ask guys to fuck them,” she said.

“In your world, maybe that’s true. But there has to be a woman out there who will look at me and have naughty thoughts and then try to get me into bed.”

She stared at me for a minute and then said, “Let’s go explore. I’ve never been locked in a library before. Maybe there are ghosts, or security guards we have to dodge. It could be an adventure.”

It was an adventure. By this time we had spent eight hours together and during that entire time she had not felt any nervousness or fear or angst about me. Her comments about rape were to reinforce unspoken rules, but she wasn’t actually worried I was going to do that. I had not touched her, either, and every guy she’d been alone with had tried to touch her all over the place. Her comment about maybe being ready to be raped sent a taser-like shock into me, but tasers don’t last and by the time we got to the top floor, which was five stories up, I had forgotten it.

The whole building had huge glass windows and at night, on the fifth floor of the building, you could see clear across campus. There were other tall buildings scattered around, but the dorms were the tallest buildings on campus and they were off to the left side, almost invisible. The lights looked like stars and we could even see the glow in the sky that was the town.

“It’s beautiful,” I said.

Her hand bumped mine and her fingers gripped the side of my hand.

“If you want, I could teach you how to kiss,” she said.

She was looking straight ahead but it sounded legit.

“I can’t think of anything I’d rather do,” I said.

Well, I wasn’t an aggressive kisser and when she told me to feel her body I wasn’t aggressive about that, either. I felt like somebody had handed me one of those Russian Fabergé Eggs and I was allowed to fondle it and inspect it. And she felt like she had found a boy she liked who wasn’t pushy or rude and she had never been with a guy like me, so she was curious about what it might be like to be intimate with me.

The kissing lessons were exactly that. I knew how to kiss my aunts and grandma. My mother never kissed me. And I knew how to kiss something very precious, like the letter I got that gave me an academic scholarship to a famous university, but that was all. She used all that and told me to kiss her on the cheek, but not pull back like I would with an aunt. So there were my lips on her skin and she told me to move them around and massage the side of her face and when I did that I felt zings in my crotch. She told me how nice it felt to have my lips sliding softly over her skin and eventually my lips found the corner if her mouth and then slid onto her lips.

We did that kind of kiss for what felt like five minutes. All we did was brush lips.

“That feels nice,” she breathed.

“I agree,” I said.

Then she said to press harder and I kissed a girl seriously for the first time in my life. Heather is a very passionate woman and she had never really had an outlet for it, in terms of sex. Her “boyfriend” made her feel physically good, but not fabulous. She felt enough to know that having a penis in you could be really, really good, but had never actually felt that. She had bottled up her passion for half a year by that point if you start the time where she was excited about prom and was having romantic thoughts about how it might be after prom.

Basically, the passion started coming into her kisses like a tiny hole in a dike, and then the hole got bigger and bigger until we were French kissing and her hands were running across my back and she was pressing her breasts against me. She pushed me away and taught me how to touch a woman, and how to undress a woman and how to let a woman undress me, and I lost my virginity on a conference table on the fifth floor of the Richardson Library.