Chapter 1

"Hi honey, I'm home."

It's my standard, and totally unnecessary, announcement when I drag through the door at the end of each workday. My bride knows who it is and where he is. I'm Mr. Reliable. Steadfast, dependable, dull.

"In here."

The usual response from an equally steady lady that I've been married to for just over sixteen years.

As I pass through the darkened living room, headed toward the response from the kitchen, I dump my jacket over the back of the couch and pull the life strangling tie off and pitch it in the same direction.

"Damn, that smells good." I say as I hug up to her butt and plant a kiss on the side of her neck. "What's for din-din?"

"New England boiled dinner. Your favorite."

"Great. What's the occasion?"

"Charles called this afternoon. He's in town for the rest of the week."

I feel a surge in my serge. That changes everything. Charles.

"And... ?" I leave the question in the air.

"He'll be here about six."

"What about the kids?"

"Katie has a meeting with the glee club that will go until about ten and Kerrie is going to a movie with some of the girls."

Katie is our fifteen year old beauty queen, cheerleader wanna-be, heart breaking, spoiled brat. Kerrie is the book worm, nerd, daddy's girl, twelve-almost-thirteen-year-old.

"Great. We should be clear for two or three hours of fun and games then. You horny?" I know it's a silly question as I run my hand down her front and cup her crotch through her thin housecoat. She just humps it into my palm.

"God yes. It's been nearly two weeks."

I probably should slow down at this point and explain a few things. This marital exchange isn't exactly the "Leave It To Beaver" Dad-gets-home-from-work conversation. With very good reason.

You see, about seven years ago, Jen and I started a little pillow talk fantasy exchange to spice up a sagging sex life for both of us. We had gotten pretty complacent at that point and the rut we were in was dragging us both down.

We started small.

At first it was the "let's close our eyes and pretend we are someone else" kind of thing. Then we compared notes on who we thought was hot and who we thought was not. Some very surprising names came up in those whispered exchanges.

I brought home a couple of porn videos. She ordered some outrageous lingerie from an on-line catalogue. She got satin sheets and scented candles. I found her a vibrator with a five horsepower Briggs and Stratton engine.

Get the picture?

OK. Good.

I guess it happens in most marriages sooner or later. It's probably more survivable if it's later.

I surfed some on-line porn and discovered within myself an interest in interracial wife sharing. That kicked it up a notch. I down loaded some stories and some videos featuring black men and white wives and shared them with Jen. She discovered a corresponding interest in interracial wife sharing.

Isn't it wonderful when husbands and wives have interests in common?

It didn't happen overnight. It took months for us to get on the same page and really dig into our inner thoughts. We only talked about it when we were both so worked up that almost anything would set us off. I even invested in a fifty dollar penis replica of some guy that must be in the ninety ninth percentile on the size curve. In black of course. It's too big for Jen to use comfortably but just looking at it trips her trigger. It's still in her night stand drawer.

About three years ago, we went from the "Oh, god, I want to do it so bad..." to the "We really shouldn't. What would people think?" to "OK, but we have to be careful" to the "What do we want from this and how do we do it?" stage. We then started to seriously explore the possibility of actually including a black man in our sex life. We fucked twice a day for more than a month when we both realized that we were going to jump off that cliff together.

Our ad read:

"Married white couple in their mid 30's would like to meet a professional black man for a long term relationship. Please be in good shape and healthy. About our age or a little older. Large and dark preferred. We are new to this and the man that can take charge will be well rewarded. We will not respond unless you are in our region and include photographs. Nude nice but not necessary."

We included four photos of Jen in various stages of undress, and two of us together. All G or R rated with our faces either obscured or turned away. Why ask for trouble? Web sites catering to our new experiment abound so we used as many as we could find to broaden our exposure.

When I shut down the computer that day, I realized that Jen's fingernails had left dents in my leg where she had gripped me while we were charting a path that would change our lives forever. She didn't realize the strength of her excitement. I wasn't feeling any pain in mine.

We had a weekend away with the kids so we didn't get back to check our inbox until the following Monday. We started right after dinner and read responses until nearly 2 AM. Hundreds. From all over the world. A lot of them were just crazy. Too far away. Too young. Too brief. Several were from white men that wanted to watch. Some were just gross. There must have been a half mile of black cocks represented in the photos attached.

We narrowed the mob down to about fifty and went to bed. Too tired to fuck but too excited to sleep. I left work early the next day and we did both.

By the end of that week we had answered about a dozen promising candidates that all lived within a couple hundred miles of us or said they travelled into our area frequently. Jen was like a teen ager. I let her write most of the answers. She did it naked, sitting at the computer, on a towel, just to get into the mood.

We included two very X rated photos of her in our replies but still concealed her face. Something I should say about Jen. She's no prude and never was one. She's pretty. She's sexy. She's bright. Blond with freckles. Grey/blue eyes. Medium build. Nice boobs and a booty to die for. We shaved her pussy for the required gynecological close-ups.

Within a couple days, we had dates to meet seven or eight of the guys for drinks in a local watering hole. The fourth one was Charles. Charles.

The deal was that we would have a drink or two and go our separate ways to consider a second, much more interesting meeting. We spread the meetings out over a couple of weeks, planning to meet not more than one guy each evening. It worked with the first guy, he was attractive and a gentleman and we planned to meet him sometime in the very near future. We left when the second guy went to the restroom. The third guy didn't show up.

Then we met Charles. Charles.

As planned, we had a drink. Charles was a delight. He is big, very black, with a slight British accent.

When he excused himself to the restroom, Jen said, "He's the one."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

"It's your funeral." Did I say Charles is big?

We had a second drink and Jen flirted like a high school sophomore. She even embarrassed me. She giggled at nearly everything he said. I doubt if she was even listening to him. She scratched his hand lightly with her nails as she looked deep into his eyes and gave him the keys to the kingdom. The family chastity belt, at least.

Charles turned to me as he called the waitress over, giving her his card.

"Let's go outside." He said.

He signed the bill and stood to pull Jen's chair out. From then on that night, Charles was in charge. Jen and I had agreed that someone confident and maybe a little forceful would be good to help us start our journey. Charles was exactly that. A lot more, we would learn later.

In the parking lot, Charles guided us to his Lincoln Navigator and tossed me the keys. Big black man. Big black car.

"You drive." It wasn't a question.

"Where?" I asked, as his big hand in the middle of her back guided Jen to the passenger side.

"Somewhere we can talk a little more privately." He replied, opening the door and handing my pride and joy up onto the soft leather seat across the console from me.

"What a gentleman." I thought. But just for the second or two it took me to realize he was going to share that seat with Jen. Like nothing, he hefted her up out of his way and sat down. Then pulled her down onto his lap. Her legs splayed with the unexpected move and her little summer dress rucked up to her hips.

I didn't see any need to go further than the dark end of the grocery store parking lot adjacent to the motel parking lot we had been parked in next to the bar. By the time I turned off the ignition and looked over at them, Jen and Charles were in the first part of their conversation. Wordless. If you don't count the pitiful moan from Jen.

That was the first time I ever felt completely useless. Like the time in seventh grade at the front of the class reciting some forgotten history report. I didn't have a clue what to do with my hands. I didn't know where to look. I should have been somewhere else. I didn't know whether to clear my throat or take a walk.