If it hadn’t been for the hidden video, I probably would have remained clueless and would have lost her altogether. Aira and I had been married for nearly three years, and whereas Aira was the first woman I’d done more than a quick fuck of release with, I had no illusions about her experience. In fact, she had been dating a big black guy named Buck when I met her and she made no attempt to hide his sexual prowess from me. I was amazed then as much as now that she agreed to marry me.

I thought our sex life was just fine—at least she managed to get me off quickly, which was helped by her big blue eyes; pendulous breasts; long, flowing white-blonde hair; and that tantalizing little Scandinavian accent of hers. And she seemed satisfied with our lovemaking—or at least I thought so until I happened upon that homemade video she’d been keeping secret from me.

We’d had an electrical storm go through downtown Manhattan one day while we were both at work. She’d telephoned me that she had to work late, and so when I got home, I went around to all of our electronic gear to make sure the storm hadn’t screwed any of them up. She’d left the DVD in the TV set in her office area. I flipped it on to make sure the TV was still working and there she was, in living color. It was a film of her and a black guy—Buck, I assumed—having sex.

I was mad, of course, at first. My first reaction was that I was being cuckolded. Then I decided that this must have been filmed before Aira and I had started dating, and Aira had been honest with me about what she and Buck had done—in fact she’d told me what they’d done so graphically that I blushed, as only red heads like me could do so vividly. At the time, though, it had aroused me and the next couple of times Aira and I did it were both athletic and fully satisfying.

The anger from the discovery of the video turned to a sense of hurt, confusion, and frustration. If Aira was watching a DVD like this secretly, even if it was from before we got together, what did this tell me about how well I satisfied her in bed?

I sat down and started watching, trying to figure out what he was doing that I didn’t. Aira was moaning and crying out for him and writhing under his attentions in ways she never did for me. It was disturbing, yes, but as I watched, it was also highly arousing. Not just her but him as well. Neophyte that I was, it took me the longest time to figure out what he was doing to her. She was kneeling on all fours at the end of the bed, and he was behind her and pumping into her. It was only when I saw one of his beefy hands snake around her waist and palm itself low on her flat belly and when she lurched and cried out as a finger snaked down and entered her that I realized that he was fucking her in the ass.

I was mesmerized and didn’t even realize that I’d lost my pants and was stroking myself with one hand and probing my own ass with a finger while I watched the black dude fucking my wife in the ass until I jacked off right there in front of her TV set. He also had a cock a lot thicker and longer than mine. I heard folks say size meant nothing, but I didn’t believe it than and I don’t believe it now. And, as I was finding out now, seeing a big black cock in erection aroused me, no matter that it was a guy. I’d long known that a man’s body could turn me on as well as a woman’s, but I’d been suppressing that knowledge. Still, I’d never been able to dismiss the idea that we all are basically bisexual, motivated by the need, not the gender.

I told Aira nothing about what I saw, but I went out and bought myself a big black, cock-shaped dildo, with standout veins and all. I found where she was hiding the DVD—behind laundry detergent stuff on the shelf about the washer, which, I had to admit, was a very clever place for her to hide it. And then when I knew Aira would be gone, I played the film over and over again and became quite proficient at using the black dildo on my ass while I watched the black guy service Aira’s ass on the TV.

I had had no idea how much sexual satisfaction this could give me. I started having fantasies of taking a real cock in my ass. At the same time, I kept having to tell myself that I was experimenting like this to improve the sex life of my wife and me.

So, I introduced Aira to the dildo too, trying to achieve the same lust level from her by working her ass with the dildo while I fucked her. She never quite got to the same moaning level as she had done on the DVD, although she certainly seemed to respond to the dildo in her ass better than my cock inside her cunt, even though I had nothing to be ashamed of in the size of my equipment or my staying power. That said, I was no big black Buck bull. I kept watching the film, and I decided that the problem wasn’t with Aira; it was with me. The black dude was in such ecstasy when he was pumping Aira on the DVD that I decided this was the missing ingredient. I wasn’t being aroused enough in sex to heighten Aira’s arousal. I loved that dildo up my ass as much as she did.

I went out and bought a strap-on belt to go with the dildo and tried to interest Aira in putting that on and doing me during our lovemaking, but she didn’t really show interest in doing that.

And then life became so tense for both of us that Aira declared she wanted to go back to Helsinki to see her family, that she was homesick for Finland. Of course I let her go. The worst thing for our relationship would be me trying to hold her here. We were just shy of our third anniversary, though, and I was wondering if it was all over for us in such a short time just because I was a twinky redhead instead of hulking black guy.

I had to do something. I didn’t want to lose Aira.

I made my plans and, fortuitously, was able to set up a short rotation to my company’s London office. This enabled me to convince Aira to meet me in Copenhagen on our anniversary to mark the occasion.

“I can only fly there for a day,” Aira had said. “My favorite aunt is coming down from the north especially to see me. I haven’t seen her for years.”

“That should be enough time, I hope,” I said. And then I rushed on. “I just think we should spend our anniversary together.”

“Will you be meeting me at the airport?” Aira asked.

“It might be hard for me to know which flight you’ll be on at this late date,” I said. “How about just meeting where we’ll start the celebration?” It sounded pretty lame to me too, but I was still excited just that she’d agreed to the trip.

“Where?”

“Do you think you can find a place called Big Dick’s on Radhusstræde near the university? Say 4:00 p.m.?”

She wasn’t more than fifteen minutes late, which was pretty much how she scheduled her entrances anyway. And a startling entrance she made at Big Dick’s. Every head, male and female alike, snapped around to the door when she appeared there, all white-blonde beauty with those long, long legs and those big breasts. She was wearing a sun dress with straps holding up the halter top and a hemline above the knees and miles above the floor. She was as stunning as the first day I’d seen her, and my heart nearly burst with longing and the pride that she was mine—if I could keep her.

I was sitting at the long bar, at one end, on the side away from the small band that was playing, in the shadows. Big Dick was behind the bar, along with two other bartenders, and it was a slow enough afternoon that he’d taken time to talk with me at length. He left no doubt that he found me attractive. I’d known about his story. Richard Featherstone, or Big Dick as he had been known by, had been a fullback for the New York Giants football team ten years earlier. He was a bulky, strapping black guy with the looks that attracted lucrative endorsements but the appetites that contributed to his downfall. He’d been caught up in an athlete doping scandal—and he had the beefed-up musculature to support the charge he was on enhancement drugs. He still was magnificently beefed up. Before it got to the indictment stage, however, he’d quit football, left the country, and opened up this bar in the red light district of Copenhagen, Denmark.

I had warned him about Aira, but I could see from the look in his eyes and the drool on his chin when she’d shown up at the door that I hadn’t done her full justice in the description. Aira saw me and sauntered over and sat back on the bar stool next to me.

I’d know Big Dick did men, because that had been whispered about when he played in New York, and because his reaction to me on previous visits to his bar had been obvious. In New York, he’d always had a leggy blonde on his arm and I’d been harboring hope that he was bisexual—that, for him, sex was sex was sex and he’d take it wherever he could get it. The way he looked at Aira when she entered the bar gave me hope that the plan I was forming would work out.

For the next half hour, Big Dick lost all interest in the rest of his clientele and stood there at the other side of the bar, chatting up both Aira and me. Happily, what I’d heard about him when I’d asked around back in New York panned out—he was paying as much attention to me as he was to Aira. But that was a lot of attention. He was turning from one to the other, running his fingers up and down our forearms, and talking up a storm to both of us, capturing our attention with meaningful dark looks with his eyes. It wasn’t long until he told the other bartenders to take over and he came around the bar, lifted Aira off her seat, sat down himself, and then brought Aira’s rear back into his lap.

I was watching Aira’s eyes, and they lit up, as I thought they might, when her ass came in contact with Big Dick’s basket. Big Dick must have caught my gaze, because he took a big mitt of his and reached out and placed it on the back of my head and brought my face to his and gave me a lip-lock kiss that started off in a question and ended up with hungry possession.

Big Dick was being forward, yes, and moving faster than I realized he would. But I’d told him already what I wanted, what I hoped for, and he was just giving me what I’d said I wanted—and what I’d paid him to give.