Chapter 1: Wife on fire

It was the summer of 1996 and this was my first trip to Gran Canaria. It was still hard for me to believe that I was there as a freelance writer working on assignment for a porn magazine, but it was true! I had written a short story based upon my personal experiences with dating bisexual couples through sex-contact ads a couple of months earlier, and to my surprise Aktuell Rapport, the largest porn publication in Norway and Sweden had published it. Imagine my delight when I received a paycheck and a note from the magazine. Arne, a happily impressed story editor at Aktuell Rapport was very eager to meet with me.

A few days later I met with my editor at a coffee place on Aker Brygge, a beautiful and lively waterfront area in Oslo. We chose an outside table were we could talk business in private and also enjoy the view of water, boats, yachts, street performers, scantily clad women and shirtless guys as they enjoyed the warmth of our beautiful nordic summer.

“You are ... getting paid again ... next week,” Arne informed me with a warm smile.

“Really?”

“You are ... being published in our ... Swedish edition as well!”

“Oh, wow!” I exclaimed with joy. “Don’t know what to say ... thank you!”

“You ... are welcome,” Arne said with an even warmer smile.

“You did a great job with the Norwegian translation,” I plauded my editor.

Let me explain; my original text was written in Swedish, but I had submitted it to the Norwegian division of the publication, because I was living in Norway at the time. So in addition to editing my text, Arne also had to translate it to Norwegian for the local edition of Aktuell Rapport. I write in Swedish because I am from Sweden. Contrary to some popular belief, Norway is not a city in Sweden; it is a totally different country with a similar but different language and a culture of its own, which again is similar but different.

Now, where were we? Yes...

“You did a great job with the Norwegian translation,” I praised my editor. “Thank you.”

“My wife did that,” Arne admitted. “She ... well ... you can maybe ... thank her in person some ... day?”

“I sure will,” I said, not sure what he meant by that, but surely he was trying to tell me something?

“So ... the story ... is it ... I mean ... true?” Arne started questioning me, taking long stutter-like pauses in the middle of his sentences.

“Yup!” I replied truthfully and firmly.

“How true?” he asked. “Based on truth ... or inspired by true events ... or?”

“One hundred percent true,” I said. “I only changed some names and a couple of locations...”

“Oh?”

“Yeah!”

“Anyway ... I really loved it,” Arne confessed. “I took it home and read it ... then gave it to my wife. She is also ... an editor ... edits the more unusual stories for us. At first I didn’t think ... I mean people are weird about reading the ... gay stuff. So I gave your story ... to my wife. She loved ... your story ... it ... in her own words ... set her on fire. You know ... she and I have been married for a long time ... and sex in a marriage like ours ... becomes mundane after a while ... even worse, it becomes very ... kinda ... happens rarely. Reading your story ... reignited the fire ... that I thought was lost ... gone forever. I have had more sex with her ... in the past couple of months than my entire marriage ... expect for our ... honeymoon period ... of course.”

“Really?” I mused, thinking he must be exaggerating the effect of my humble, little tale about a naughty couple fucking the shit out of a young guy had on his wife. I had no reason to doubt Arne’s claims; he sounded sincere, and for some reason he wanted to talk to me about his wife, marriage and their sex life. Suddenly the truth hit me like a heavy, semi-hard cock in the face.

Arne wanted to fuck me!

“I am shitting you not ... young man!” Arne insisted. “Now she wants me ... to bring her ... a young guy like your hot protagonist ... a guy just like you ... she fantasizes that I am you ... when I am doing it with her ... and she wants to watch me ... uh ... do a guy,,, like you in front of her. I’ve never done anything like that ... I mean ... I really want to ... she knows I had some ... fun with a couple of dudes before I met her. But look at me now ... how am I ... I mean you know. Working for a porn publication ... doesn’t make you ... some sleazy-suave Casanova like ... Hefner. I mean ... where do I ... even begin ... to look for a ... a ... a ... hot guy ... like you?”

The closer Arne got to asking me to have a threesome with him and his wife, the longer and more often he paused and dragged his sentences.

“Yeah, I totally understand,” I teased my frustrated friend, knowing perfectly well that he had every intention of asking me to roll in some hay with him and his wife, and hopefully his wife really existed and was as horny and hot for young cock as he was claiming. “But you don’t need to be Casanova to find a horny young guy for you and the missus. Just put an ad in your magazine and you’ll definitely get lots of responses and loads of dudes to choose from.”

Arne looked at me with his kind, puppy dog eyes and almost started to ask what I knew he wanted to ask me, but then decided against it and changed the subject.

“You know ... thanks to your ... story ... the number of dating ads in our magazine ... has almost quadrupled,” Arne said, smiling proudly. “Sales have gone up ... too ... and we expect the numbers to rise ... a lot more by next month.”

“Wow!” I exclaimed.

“That’s why I need ... you to ... write another story for me ... I liked your format ... a true story and an article in one ... brilliant,” Arne encouraged me. “But this time ... go bigger. Go to Playa ... del Ingles. There’s a growing community ... of mostly retired Scandinavian ... and German swingers living in that area. Talk to them ... or uh ... do whatever you gotta do ... with them and bring me a ... juicy one.”

“Will the publication pay for my trip?”

“I don’t know ... I’ll try to get ... I have to ask...”

“Oh come on, Arne. I know the assignment is your idea and you probably have access to expense funds.”

“It’s not ... like that, we have ... uh, but I will get the money ... so ... I was thinking ... you ... uh,” Arne said, slowly mustering the courage to ask his question. “Good looking young ... man like you ... I mean I understand why men and women wanna fu ... play with you. Heck, if I knew you could be ... interested ... I’d be asking you ... in a heartbeat!”

“Are you?” I asked the enthusiastic but shy editor, flashing my mostest handsomest grin at him.

“Am I what?” Arne asked, blushing like a cute cherub.

.

“Hitting on me?”

“I ... I ... what if I was?”

“I would consider it!” I said, surprising the shit out of him. “But I am only interested in a threeway relationship with you and your lady.”

“Of ... of course ... the whole thing was her idea ... she wanted me to see if you ... were as hot as you ... and then ask you ... you’’l have ... I mean ... you ... sleep with me ... us? Really?”

“Yes,” I said without hesitation.

“Just like you did with those ... in your story?”

“Yeah,” I said nonchalantly. “I’ll fuck you and your lady and you can fuck me too.”

“But ... you ... sex with me?” Arne asked incredulously and then started to ramble excitedly, “ ... and my lady is ... hot and a ... few years younger and ... definitely much hotter than me.”

Oh, I forgot to mention that Arne was in his mid fifties, and with his piercing dark-brown eyes, rough large hands, husky body type, thick mustache and full head of salt and pepper hair, he looked more like a whisky drinking, woodchopping, handyman-carpenter-outdoorsman than a story editor. He looked like Nick Offerman from Parks and Recreation, only a bit older and much less confident.

“Have you looked at yourself in a mirror lately, Arne?” I said with a smile and a wink. “You are a very handsome manly-man, and also you seem like a nice and honest man, and that my friend makes you much hotter than you can imagine. I also feel obligated to help your wife fulfill her fantasy. After all; she is my biggest fan so far. So, yes I will sleep with you guys.”

“Oh my ... goodness ... you are the best,” Arne enthused, his burly face glowing like a bright-red christmas light. “So it’s a ... date? You will really come over ... to our place and ... do ... the thing?”

“I sure will,” I confirmed, smiling brightly at the happiest mustache in the world. “We’ll do the ‘thing’ at your place!”

“But ... but ... but ... can I ask you for a ... favor?” Arne asked bashfully.

“Shoot!”

“Can you ... will you ... let me be...” Arne paused longer than usual, almost a minute. “Can I be the one ... to do ... you? I mean ... can you be the one getting it ... you know?”

“Yeah I get the idea,” I said. “You want to play the big cheese in front of your wife, right?”

“Yes!“ the shy fuck-story editor exclaimed, looking as if the weight of the world had just been lifted off his shoulders.

“I get it, boss!” I said. “You can fuck my brains out all you want in front of the missus and pound your chest like a silverback gorilla afterwards. I will let you be the manliest man ever!”

“Oh, thank you ... Denn...”

“But I have to ask you one thing though,” I said, looking directly into Arne’s eyes.

“Sh ... sure!”

“This assignment, and paying me, it’s not just some sort of ploy to get me into bed with you guys, I hope!”

“NO!“ Arne almost yelled. “I ... you ... I ... I mean ... if you ... we can ... you can...”

Fearing that the poor guy was about to have a stroke, I placed my hand over his and squeezed lightly.

“Do you wanna do this tonight? It’s Friday and we’ll have the whole weekend to do the do-do,” I said, smiling reassuringly at my over-excited friend.

“I ... my ... tonight?” Arne was so excited that he couldn’t even form a reply. “I ... we ... yes ... of course ... I mean...”

“Now ... you need to breathe, Arne. Breathe! That’s it buddy. Inhale. Exhale.”

By this point I had a huge hardon, so I stopped teasing my new boss and let go of his shaking hand.

“Nina will ... be ... so pleased ... oh my god ... I did it,” Arne muttered as he wrote down his address on a piece of paper. “She said ... ask him ... if he is as good-looking as he says ... it won’t hurt. She won’t believe ... this. I gotta call ... her ... she will be...”

Marriage therapy

Arne and Nina lived in a very nice house in an upscale area a few miles outside of Oslo. I felt a passing breeze of nervousness right before I rang the doorbell, but then I took a deep breath and my confidence was fully restored. This wasn’t my first rodeo; I was about to have my eighth date with a couple since I had started doing this two years earlier at the tender age of eighteen. I had experienced all sorts of people and scenarios; extremely horny and selfish couples - especially my first time - who treated me like a sexy fuck-toy and used and borderline abused me, older couples who treated me like a son who they never had or the son they likely had and secretly wanted to fuck, and others who used me to add some spice to their marriage. Every single encounter had taught me valuable lessons about fun, love, friendship, lust, sex, compersion, jealousy and confidence. So no, I was no longer a nervous wreck when meeting a new couple for the first time.

“Oh, my goodness!“ the lovely woman who opened the door exclaimed as she saw me standing in front of her with a bouquet of roses and a respectably priced bottle of white wine in my hands. “Oh, sweetheart ... you didn’t have to bring us anything. Come on in! Oh, these flowers are so beautiful. Thank you so much. You are so sweet! And you are oh so incredibly handsome!”

As I entered the house, my lovely hostess disappeared around a corner and said, “You have to excuse me for a moment. I need to find a vase for these beautiful flowers. I’ll be right with you.”

As far as part-time-editor-housewives go, Nina was a super-hot one. She was probably in her late thirties or early forties, and she radiated a youthful kind of exuberance that made her extremely attractive to me. Wavy shoulder-length brown hair, naughty clear-blue eyes, small but full lips, heavenly bouncy breasts that were trying their best to escape the confines of her mini-slip summer dress, voluptuous-curvy body type and a smile graced with pinch-worthy, smoochable cheeks and cutest dimples i had ever seen on a woman; she was definitely a warm, unassumingly sexy and instantly likeable lady.

Let me give you a little visual help to picture Nina in your mind; Tiffani Thiessen! If you don’t think Ms.Thiessen is hot, please do me a favor; first slap yourself in the face really hard, and then cast someone else in the role of Nina the hotwife in your head.

Yes, I was saying...

Nina’s voice was soft and elegant, and unlike her mumbling husband, she spoke clearly and eloquently. I could detect a hint of joyful nervousness in those first few sentences, like when someone knows they shouldn’t be doing something, but it sounds so much fucking fun that they are going to do it anyway, or like when a woman giggles bashfully and then cheerfully announces, “Oops! I just peed a little in my panties!”

“Follow me, handsome!” Nina said in a vibrant tone as she walked toward the back of the house. “Arne’s on the veranda, smoking his pipe.”

She walked in front of me, carrying a tray of freshly baked cookies, and I followed her to the veranda where her husband was lounging. Wearing only gym shorts and nothing else, Arne was smoking a bulldog tobacco pipe as the pleasantly warm summer sun caressed his hairy chest...

“He brought us the most beautiful flowers and a really nice chardonnay!” Nina said joyously. “You can have the flowers and I’ll have the wine.”

“All right!” Arne laughed, then looked at me and said, “Thank you!”

“Oh, you’re welcome,” I replied as I glanced at Nina who was trying to mask her nervousness with chipper banter.

“I think I will pour myself a glass of wine right now,” Nina announced as she started to walk back into the house. “Do you boys want some too?”

“Wine and cookies?” Arne asked sarcastically. “I thought you were serving coffee.”

“I need some wine,” Nina’s voice came from the kitchen. “Do you want some too, Dennis?”

“Oh, I want some,” I replied loudly enough for Nina to hear. “Not wine though!”

“Oh, god!” Nina laughed wholeheartedly. “You are a bad boy!“