Chapter 1

We'd been married for three years before my husband finally admitted that he wasn't all that thrilled with our sex life. Of course, he was sure I'd be terribly hurt, and he kept apologizing. But I stopped him and made the same sort of admission. I knew I wanted a lot more than I was getting. Drake looked completely flabbergasted when I said that. "But you always have a good time," he said. "You have orgasms."

"Not always, honey. Not always."

He stared at me. "So what am I doing wrong?"

I thought it about for a several moments. "It isn't about being wrong," I said. "Just different."

"Different how?"

"First you tell me something. Have you been with anyone else since we got married?"

"No," he said firmly, and I believed him. "But..."

"But what?"

"I do some other things."

"Such as," I asked, feeling a little temper rising.

"Nothing like cheating. Just fantasizing, you know, with magazines, some films, like that."

"You mean pictures of naked women, and porn movies."

"Like that, yeah." He was squirming a little.

"And what makes those women in the magazines and movies so special?"

"They're not," he said quickly. "I mean, they're not special like you are. It's just that you wouldn't ever want to be... um... act like they do, I mean do certain kinds of things. And I'd never expect you to, I mean you're not like that kind of woman who would do certain things."

"What exactly?"

He turned slightly red in the face. "I don't think we should discuss that."

"Why, how kinky is it?" I asked him point blank and he just stared at me.

He cleared his throat. "I think you'd find some things offensive, I mean they're not very ladylike, you know."

I had to laugh. He was thoroughly puzzled. "Drake. You treat me like some sort of stuck-up Victorian lady who barely likes sex, as if I'd go all to pieces if you said the word "fuck" in front of me."

He looked as if I'd slapped him. "I never thought you were stuck-up at all, that's ridiculous. I just wanted to treat you right and I thought, well, the things that turn me on aren't what nice girls do."

"Isn't that a little old-fashioned? Sounds like my mother talking. We 'girls' can do whatever turns us on, too, you know. But I never talked to you about it because I was so worried you'd think I was not the woman you thought you married. You know, Drake, I wasn't a virgin before I met you, and I told you that up front."

"Well, of course. I mean we were both in our twenties. It would be silly to expect that you hadn't been with anyone."

"But you never asked."

"I didn't really want to know," he replied.

"Then I may as well tell you the whole story of my college days, and grad school, too. But first I want you to tell me what it is that really turns you on, what makes you hot and makes your dick hard?"

He blinked several times, since I rarely talked that way. "I... that is... no, I can't."

It took almost half an hour to convince my dear husband to come clean about his particular inclinations. And he wasn't all that specific, but reading between the lines, what I began to realize is that Drake wanted to be a sexually dominant male, and he was holding back those needs because he thought it wasn't right to behave that way toward his wife.

I decided it was time to let him off the hook a little. "You know, honey, it's the same old story. Women never know quite what to be. Is it true that you want us to be whores in the bedroom and lacy, frilly homemakers the rest of the time? Or if we act like sluts in the bedroom, do you think less of us?"

"No," he said, "it isn't a bad thing if you enjoy yourself. I want you to enjoy yourself. I didn't realize you weren't."

"I wasn't all that honest about it, so what I'm going to tell you might come as a shock, but I'll take that chance. But promise me one thing."

"Before I start, I want you to go and get some of those magazines and videos of yours and bring them in here from wherever you've been hiding them. I won't look at them yet, but I will afterward."

He didn't look pleased, or willing, but he went out to the garage and after several minutes came back with a paper bag and put in on the coffee table.

"Okay," I said, taking a deep breath. "First of all, I masturbate every day... in the shower, in the bedroom, the living room, even the laundry room. I even sometimes do it at my desk at work with my office door closed."

His eyes widened.

"And some days more than once if it's a day we haven't made love. But here's the thing, Drake. Mostly I'm not fantasizing about you. And I'm sorry if that hurts your feelings. When I'm actually with you, I focus on you. But alone I get aroused by replaying some other experiences, and imagine ones I'd like to have. Now I told you I'd had lovers. How many did you suppose there were?"

"A few," he said cautiously.

"More than a few," I paused for effect, "and not all individually."

He swallowed hard, but I couldn't quite gauge his reaction yet.

"My first couple of boyfriends in high school were totally inept at sex, and I was disappointed, wondering what all the hype was about. Why was sex supposed to be so great when it was just these boys so desperate to get into my panties and they'd beg for it, and fumble around trying to get to touch them or more." I sat back on the sofa and got comfortable.

"Then the first year of college began and I started dating a guy from a fraternity, Philip. He was a senior, years older and good looking. I was flattered. And there was something about him that made me excited, sexually excited. The first time we did it was a little disappointing thought I wasn't sure why. He was very skillful, though at the time I wasn't experienced enough to know for sure, and took a great deal of time to ensure that I was enjoying myself, but he wasn't really all 'there' if you know what I mean. A couple of times he sort of stopped himself. Once he grabbed my tits kind of hard and shoved back down on the bed, and then immediately apologized. I said it was okay, and it was. That moment when he got aggressive sent this electric shock through me."

I paused and took a sip of wine. Drake was starting to look very interested in the story.

"A month or so later, we went to a fraternity party, and he got a lot more drunk than he ever had. He lived at the frat house, and had a room to himself. Of course, we ended up there, and I wasn't any too sober either. I expected something to happen after we sat down and got comfortable, but as soon as we got through the door and he locked it, he was all over me. No request, no sly fondling. He ripped my blouse open and the buttons flew everywhere. My first reaction was to be totally pissed off because I'd just bought that blouse and he'd ruined it. So I said something, called him a jackass or a son of a bitch or some other name, and he did what I didn't expect in a million years. He didn't apologize, or offer to buy me a new blouse, or anything. Instead, he sort of smiled, and said, 'If I want you naked, I don't care how you get that way. And I'm going to fuck your brains out because that's what you're here for.' And he put his hand on his crotch and squeezed it, drew my attention to it. I could see the outlines of his hard cock. He stood there looking at me up and down, and said, 'what are you waiting for, bitch? Strip and then get on your knees and start servicing me. This is your reward.'"

Drake had turned pale, and then red again. I wasn't sure what to make of it until I glanced down at his crotch. I almost smiled. A man's dick will give him away every time. My husband saw the direction I was looking and quickly crossed his legs, so I didn't comment on it. But I saw which way the wind was blowing and had a pretty good idea what sort of materials I'd find in the paper bag. I was feeling the beginnings of relief because for all I knew he could have been into boys, or underage girls, or something else out of the range of what I could understand, or satisfy.

"So what did you do?" he asked, his voice sort of squeaky.

"Believe it or not, I did what he said. I took off my bra and my skirt and pantyhose and panties, and got on my knees."

"But why? It was like he was going to rape you."

"If I hadn't been willing, then it would have been, and I would have screamed my head off. Of course the cops back then would have snickered and winked and let him go anyway. Date rape wasn't even acknowledged back then. And Phillip was big shot on campus. But that isn't what this was about, not really, although it took me quite a while to figure out. I didn't really want to say 'no, ' and I never did. For all I know, he might have backed off if I had. Or he might have had me anyway. Of course, the next day I was mortified at what I'd done, ashamed, feeling like a traitor to the female gender."

"But what did you actually do that was so... traitorous?" Drake was breathing a little heavier, and I knew the instinctive voyeur present in most men was coming to the surface.

"Everything he ordered me to do. I sucked his cock for as long he wanted, and as deep as he wanted to shove it into my mouth. I swallowed his cum, even though I'd never such a thing, because he told me to. I spread myself wide open, and offered my pussy to him because he demanded it. And later on I got on my hands and knees and begged him to fuck me from behind, doggie style. And when he asked me if I was a bitch in heat, his bitch, I said 'yes.'"

Drake was really squirming now, trying to disguise his own arousal. But I could feel it. This was what my husband found erotic, arousing. He wanted to behave just as my college frat boy had.

"You said you regretted it, though, the next day."

"Naturally. And I chalked it up to being drunk, and decided he must have slipped me some drug or other to make me act like a total slut. I couldn't accept that the girl who'd literally begged to have her pussy raped was me. I thought I'd been a 'bad girl'," I said. "As far as I knew, civilized, well brought up young women weren't supposed to act like brazen hussies."