Chapter 8

We didn't get a chance to talk on Friday morning, at least not about what was foremost in our minds. Murphy's Law struck again, as the kids woke up early and joined us in the bedroom, bubbling with life and making noises and all, and soon we were all engaged in the usual morning routines of a family. After breakfast I kissed everybody goodbye and left for work, slightly saddened at the prospect of waiting 14-15 hours, before I could talk to my lovely Helen without the kids listening in.

Well, as it turned out I didn't have to wait that long. At about ten o'clock Helen called me at the office.

"Hi, Allan. How are you?"

"Fine, but I'd rather be with you."

"I'd love that. Well, this morning, right after you left, your mom and dad called. They've been given some free tickets to Legoland and the saltwater aquarium in Esbjerg, so they wanted to take the kids over there, and stay at Hans and Lisbeth's farm for the weekend. The kids were wildly enthusiastic about it, you know how much they love to ride the horses there, so I said OK, and your parents will pick them up from school and go to Jylland directly. I hope you don't mind."

"How could I very well. Gives me a chance to be alone with my pretty wife for another weekend. How lucky can you get? I might even take you to a late dinner at Kong Hans'."

"Oh, dear. Did you win the Lotto?"

"Ha, ha. No, I just love you. See you later."

"Yeah, bye, bye."

Fortunately this Friday was terribly busy at work, and before I knew it I was on my way home. The ten minute walk through the old quarter of Copenhagen was a treat every day. A little exercise, something nice to look at, and sufficient time to put the office behind me, and set my mind for family life. I really enjoyed each day when I didn't have to drive my car or ride a bus. One of the extra benefits of living in the centre of town.

She was waiting for me in one of the armchairs in the living room. A pot of my favourite Columbian mountain coffee and a glass of Black Renault was on the low table by the sofa, and Helen was dressed in the same yellow summer dress, but now it was washed and freshly ironed. She looked so beautiful that I got a little lump in my throat. Her long, ash blonde hair was brushed to a shiny glimmer, hanging down below her shoulders, and her diamond blue eyes beneath her dark, full eyebrows were sparkling with... with what? I don't know. But at that moment I should gladly have changed the red and white of our national flag to those colours: Yellow, ashen greyish and diamond blue.

"Welcome home, dear. Had a hard day?"

"No, not really. Busy, fortunately, but not strenuous. But busy enough to keep my mind occupied, so I wouldn't have to think of you all the time."

"oK. And who was speaking now, the flatterer or my horny husband?"

"Aaww, you know. I'll always flatter you, but for now it's your horny and curious husband, as you very well know. And who is speaking to me?"

"I'll admit it's your horny and not so innocent wife. Do you mind?"

"That's what I was hoping for, and you know it."

"MMMmmm, I sure do. And I appreciate it, you know. Not many husbands would send their wife to a hotel, to be fucked silly by his 14 year old cousin." These last words were said with a big smile on her wide mouth. And, God, did they ignite the fires again. I remembered her condition for going there, that she would tell, but only in her own tempo, and I wondered, how much she was going to tell me. I was soon to be enlightened!

"Did you like the way I smelled and felt when I came home yesterday?"

"It excited me no end to see you in that condition. You truly looked fucked out."

"MMmmm. And you liked to see me that way, because I WAS fucked out, didn't you?"

"My God, yes !"

"Trust me, I loved how horny it made you." She picked up her glass of cognac and raised it. "I propose a toast to many wild hours with my horny husband. I'll tell him, in bits and pieces, what I did. Just enough to excite him wildly, but certainly not all of it at once. Will you drink that toast with me?"

The glutton in me protested against such a toast, but I heard my voice say 'yes' - as if coming from afar. I guess it was in that moment that I learned something about myself, which I had not realised before: My greatest kick really was not getting what I wanted, or doing certain acts from my catalogue of fantasies. My greatest kick was to feel her lust, my greatest pleasure was to feel her excitement, the most effective trigger of my orgasm was to feel her coming around my cock because I had made her horny. Probably the reason why fantasies of rape and coercion never entered my mind. Funny how sometimes long chains of thoughts can flash through your brain in a split second.