Cuckold Story..Transformation..Part 1

Okay, folks, here is another story by the same guy and it's another long one. It's in 3 parts. The first one is a little slow but over all it's probably the best one I've ever read so stick with it. I'll post a new part every couple of days. Let me know if you like it and let me know if you want me to quit.




We dated all through high school, as
steady a couple as could be. Yet, I never
got past kissing her. "I'm saving myself for
my husband, Bob" is how Tina explained it.
Sometimes going to Catholic schools
instills great will power - it did for both of
us.

"I'm going to be your husband, someday" I
told her, not as a way to get past that
barrier, but because I really did love her.
At least, I loved her as much as high
school kids could love.

Then came that awful day in our senior
year. "Bob, I decided I'm going to become
a nun. I'm going to a convent, not to
college."

I took Ruth to the prom, and she taught me
that all Catholic girls weren't like Tina

God, I missed her, all though the rest of
my senior year, all through college, and for
four years after that. I dated a lot and
screwed around a lot. The woman who
shared my bed might have wanted more.
They were, often, surrogates for who I
really wanted there, and really, when I
rammed into them, I was in a way getting
even with Tina. The good thing was these
women knew so more about sex than I
did, and were willing teachers, too. "Touch
me there - a little softer, oh, yes, like that."

I was living on Long Island, a four hour's
drive from my home town of Pottsville, PA.
Life was working out just fine. I worked on
the technical side of an electronic
surveillance company. (Want to know
where the company trucks are going? Our
GPS unit kept track, and our mapping
software would show their route, almost to
an individual address's resolution..
Visual/Audio monitoring in a noisy
convention room? Come on, give me a
challenge!)

Mom made her usual Saturday morning
call (I called home on Wednesday
evenings). "Bob" she said, after the usual
family updates, "I've got some news for
you."

"What's up, mom?"

"Tina left the convent. She came by to visit
yesterday, and asked about you. I think
she still likes you. Why don't you give her
a call or something?"

Tina? Tina! You bet I called.

We set up a date for the next weekend.

Tina changed from high school girl cute
into something else, way past beautiful.
10, on a scale of 1 to 10, wasn't even
close.

We started dating again during my
monthly, then weekly, visits home. I was in
love again.

"Bob, honey, I'm still saving myself for my
husband" she said after I pushed a little
too hard one weekend.

"Is it that religious crap all over again?"

"No, honey. I even stopped going to
church. It's just that I think sex is for
marriage."

"Well, marry me!"

Seven months from the date she left to
convent, she did!

I should have expected some kind of
sexual problems. . After all, even though
she's awfully smart, anyone who had been
in Catholic schools all of her life, then went
to a convent for eight years before
deciding that being a nun wasn't the life for
her could be expected to have some hang-
ups.

She was so shy it coming close to us
breaking up.

She would always undress in the bath
room, and came to bed wearing stuff my
grandlady would have worn: not at all
sexy. Speaking of sex: it was always in the
dark, and although "the highest form of
expressing love" she'd say, it sure wasn't
erotic. After a while, having your wife
passively on her back, not moving, not
responding to anything I was allowed to
do, and not being allowed to do some of
the things I wanted -going down on her,
having her go down on me, for example -
became a huge problem.

I even told her, after another one-sided
intercourse session, that " I love you more
than anything, but you're lousy in bed!"

I wanted more than she could give in the
bedroom! I was so frustrated I went on to
tell her how good some of the other
women I screwed around with were while
she was still in the convent. Yeah, I know,
I'm a rat.

She cried herself to relax. The next
morning we agreed to get some
professional help.

Talk therapy didn't work for either of us.
Neither of us were willing to use
prescription pyschotropic medications,
either.

"Sexual inhabitions are often a problem.
Maybe 'flooding' would work, it does
sometimes" Dr. Span suggested.

He explained that flooding meant exposing
the subject to an overwhelming stimulation
of a phobia, in a safe environment. Once
that was done, in some cases at least, the
phobia was controlled. It could lead to a
breakthrough, if Tina wanted to change. I,
on the other hand, could take sometime to
reduce my own sex drive.

"Maybe something like that would make
me less ashamed of my body, more willing
to do what you want me to. I hope we can
find a way. . ."

There had to be a way.

"If you trust me, I know how we can beat
this thing" I assured her.

"I do trust you."

The following Saturday - it was July - I told
her we were going to Fire Island for
swimming and a picnic.

We went to Robert Moses State Park. We
parked our car in the lot closest to the light
house and I insisted we walk east.

Finally we came to my destination, a nude
beach - something Tina had never seen
before.

"But they're naked!"

"Yep" and I put down our pack, and spread
out the blanket.

"Here? You want to stay here?"

"Yep."

She watched, open mouthed, as I stripped,
wearing only sunglasses, and lay on my
belly, for obvious reamisters.

"Your turn."

"I can't. . ."

"Tina, if we can't get through this thing, I
don't know what I'm going to do. I can't
deal with it anymore. I love you, but I won't
go through life married to a woman who
doesn't enjoy sex and who's so shy her
husband can't even see her body. This is
flooding. It's still your turn. Strip!"

She lay on the blanket, pulled the towel
over her, and somehow squirmed out of
her clothing, holding back tears as she did.

"Lay down!"

She did, on her belly.

"I'm so ashamed. . ."

"Don't be. You're not the only woman on
this beach. Lots of people are naked here."

We lay for a while, me, ass hanging out,
exposed, an erection (why?) poking into
the sand, and Tina, also on her belly,
covered with a towel, on her blanket.

She lay very still, pretending to be arelax
whenever anyone walked by. I knew,
though, she watched men, some nude, and
women, also some nude, go to and from
the water, enjoying themselves.

"It's not so bad, is it?" I asked after an
hour.

"No, I guess not" she responded, her voice
not quivering so much anymore.

I noticed she had moved the towel
covering her so it exposed her back. I
could actually see part of the side of her
breast! In daylight!

"How long do you want to stay here?" she
wanted to know.

"A just little more, honey: I want you to be
proud of how nice your body is!"

And besides, it had me as turned on as I
could be. I DID NOT want to stand up!

I saw a group of three guys, fully clothed,
probably just in their early 20's walking
towards us. It was one of the problems
with this beach - voyeurs of either sex
came by, to ogle at the bodies. I had done
it myself.

"Tina, do you see those guys coming?"

"Yes."

"Tina, take the towel off of your body."

"Bob, I couldn't. . ."

I rolled over and sat up, and took it off her,
and used it to wipe perspiration from me.

We both watched, her on her belly, me
sitting, as the three men came closer,
altering their path so they'd walk within ten
feet of our feet. I saw one nudge the other,
as they looked at the pale body, the pale
ass, of my wife, as they walked by.

Then, they were gone.

"Bob, how could you do that to me?"

"Honey, we're going to beat this shyness
once and for all. We're flooding, like Dr.
Span said. It'll work."

She was sobbing a little, laying there,
looking at me, but after a few moments the
tears stopped. She looked again at me:
the towel couldn't quite hide the fact I was
aroused.

"You're enjoying this!"

"Yeah, I am. I don't often get the chance to
look at your body, and I don't think any
other guy has seen it either. I AM enjoying
it!"

"Some therapy. You get excited while I get
embarrassed!"

"You've got a nice body, honey, be proud
of it. I'm proud of it, and I like you showing
it off."

"Yeah, and you're getting off on it!"

She knew, and I confirmed her suspicions.
"Yeah, maybe a little. It's nice to get horny
over something you're doing once in a
while!"

She turned away from me, obviously stung
by what I'd said. You know, I was mad
enough and horny enough so that I didn't
care.

I watched as the threesome, off in the
distance, turned, and began walking back.

"Tina, those three guys are coming back."

"I guess you want them to get another
look at me."

"Yeah, I do. Show them more!"

"I can't do that!"

"I want you to show them everything, damn
it. Get over this shyness! Do it!"

They came closer, and again left walking
the water line so they'd pass closer to us.

I rolled on my belly, watching them, my
eyes still concealed by sunglasses. Tina
had her eyes shut tightly.

They were twenty feet away.

"Damn it, Tina, roll over now!"

And she did. She rolled over, her arms at
her side, just as the guys were at the foot
of our blanket.

"Oh, hi" one of them said, looking at legs,
pubic hair, vagina, breasts. . .

"Hello" Tina replied, in a soft voice, seeing
them, stare at her.

I couldn't help it. As they watched, my own
erection became demanding, and
untouched, I ejaculated as quietly as I
could, spreading seman onto my blanket.

And then they were gone.

"Let's leave now." She wasn't asking. That
was a demand.

Tina began dressing, and couldn't help
noticing the stain on the blanket under me
as I got dressed, too.

We gathered our stuff, and walked to the
car. It was a silent trip back home, and
silent into our house.

I went to the bathroom, and came out to
find Tina on the bed. Naked.

"Maybe you'd like to see what those guys
did, and do what they wanted to do."

Did I ever!

"And maybe", she said, as I mounted her,
"You can tell me what was so exciting
when you watched those guys looking at
me that you spread your semen all over
the blanket."

I couldn't explain my excitement to her
then.

She changed, after that, into a more willing
sexual partner, still not a good one, but
better than before. And after all, there's
more to a marriage than sex.

But there was still tension over what I had
said to her about her not being very good
at sex before we went for help, and for
what I wanted her to do on the beach.

Which leads to the real part of this story.

We bought a house in Northport, Long
Island, New York. For those of you who
live elsewhere, it works like this: a three
bedroom raised ranch, real estate taxes of
$6800 a year, electrical power bills of $200
a month! The house itself cost about
$225,000.

We decided to put in a one bedroom
furnished apartment. Her snowbird parents
would use the apartment in the summer,
and we would rent it furnished, including
linens, almost like a hotel suite, to short
term tenants the rest of the year. Because
it was for parents, some nasty zoning
restrictions about rentals in Northport were
overcome. The short term rental was a
great idea, too. People who were
transferring here needed a place to live
until they found permanent housing.
Professionals, visiting scientists at one of
the nearby research institutions (Cold
Spring Harbor Labs, Brookhaven National
Labs, or the like) would pay $2500 a
month or so rent for a furnished apartment
if that price included the costs of a
professional service coming by a couple of
times a week to clean and change linens,
too.

Since our house is on a bit of a hill (most
of Northport is hilly ) one whole side of the
basement is above ground. The
apartment, with its private entrance, and
patio, was really suitable for a
professional needing temporary quarters.

Finally, after a bunch of weekends' work,
the apartment was ready for a tenant.

Tina told me about Betty, one of her co-
workers, who was just separated from an
abusive husband. She needed a short
term place to live. She'd be an ideal first
tenant.

Betty moved in with a two month lease at a
discounted rental. It was a trial run for us.

It didn't take long before we knew Betty
was getting her social life back together.
We watched a stranger leave our driveway
in his car on a Sunday morning, after
being downstairs all night.

"I wonder what she does with them down
there?" Tina wanted to know.

"She fucks them!" I told her.

"I wish I knew just what she goes about
that: maybe I'd learn something."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah, I am."

For God's sake. My business is security - I
have cameras that look like six inch long
dowels. I could video-bug that apartment in
a heartbeat.

I told her so, and asked "Is that what you
want? Remember, her lease's up in a
week."

"Maybe it would help. Could you do it so
she wouldn't know?"

That would be young's play.

That afternoon, when Betty was at work, I
installed a camera in the living room, and
another in the bed room. It was easy - the
hvac ducts in the ceiling were ideally
positioned, and I could run the cables out
to my shop, and then A/B switch them to
the cable TV serving our bedroom. Some
wireless audio pickups finished the job.
They went to a receiver that talked to a
really fast noise reduction software
program. (One of our engineers used to
work on designing misterar software. Picking
voices out of noise is easy compared to
finding a submarine.)

What a disappointment! The first night we
saw her go into the bathroom - why do
people close bathroom doors when they're
home alone? - and come out dressed in
pajama's.

That was repeated the second night.

The third night I was happy to see a
strange car in the driveway. We went to
our bedroom, and watched what I hopefully
called channel 30. You know, XXX.

Our unkowing stars spent the time packing
her stuff into boxes. At their bedtime we
watched two people finally light a couple of
candles in the bedroom, undress each
other, and Helen went down on her
date/helper. Soon they were screwing, and
after that we saw them hug, kiss, and turn
off the light. Ah, technology - the cameras
worked in very low light environments.
Betty and her cock-bearing helper rolled
over, and went to relax!

Tina, finished watching channel 30, rolled
towards me, and insisted on hugging,

that changed to caressing,

and kissing,

so that, before too long, my hands were
under her nightgown, holding her buttocks,
and she found my groin, and a hardening
penis,

and then her nightgown was taken off, and
my pajama's, too,

and I was in her.

Her hands were on my hips, helping me
with each thrust, and her eyes were
closed, and I suspected - no, I knew - that
she was thinking about what we watched
only minutes earlier. My movements
became uncontrolled, my control went non
existent, and I erupted, pushing hard into
her.

After we both recovered, and were in each
other's arms, and were falling arelax, I
heard her whisper. . .

"I was thinking about what it would be like
to be like Betty, to do some of the things
she does. That's bad to think about, isn't
it?"

I knew what she meant, and it wasn't!

I couldn't help planting a seed for the idea
I had. "Think about this," I told her. "Think
about what it would be like to have a man
with you in bed, a new man. Think about
what it would be like to feel his cock in
your hand, and to feel it pushing in you,
and opening you, and spreading you, and
filling you up, and him coming in you, flling
you with his sperm."

My words got me horny again, and her,
too.

"I am thinking about that," she said, "I'm
thinking about what that would feel like. I
guess I'll never know."

Maybe not, maybe she'd never know, but
the idea was hot enough for us to
postpone falling arelax for a while.

Finally it was time for Betty to move out.
Tina, who helped Betty finish packing, had
become friends with our channel 30 star.
She asked Betty about her life as a new
single, and repeated the stories to me.
We both concluded each of them had
something the other wanted. Tina's stable
relationship looked unattainable to Betty,
and Betty's single's life style began to have
a real appeal to my wife.

I thought about it. My wife wished she had
had more experience with men. Hmmm.
And why, cock, does that thought start to
make you get hard?

Tina enjoyed telling me about it. "She's
been having all kinds of fun. I guess it's
rebounding after a divorce or something.
When she talks about romantic dinners out
with strangers, then bringing them back to
her place, well, it sounds so erotic and
sexy. Maybe I'm jealous."

I offered my opinion. "She's paying a high
price. Divorce is rotten, and she's just
making the best of a sorry situation."

"Yeah, I know."

"Active socially, isn't she? I guess when
your husband screws around, that's one
way you can remind yourself you're still an
attractive woman," I suggested.

"Maybe. She's dated more guys in a single
week than I did in a lifetime", was Tina's
reply.

"Well, you found the right man early -
twice." I shouldn't dig at her about leaving
me for the convent, I know. "Are you really
jealous of Betty?"

"Some times. I'm jealous of all of the new
men she's meeting. And of all the women
you dated, for that matter."

Tina was obviously mulling something
over, and finally asked a life changing
question. "Bob, I know you dated a lot
while I was in the convent."

"Yeah, Tina, I did. I'm sorry about
comparing you to them. Let's not go there
again, honey."

"Bob, I know you had a couple of serious
relationships."

"I probably shouldn't have told you about
them."

"How many serious relationships, Bob?"

"Just a couple, you know about Barbara
and Harriet."

"Do you mean you slept with two women
before you married me?"

"No, I was talking about serious
relationships, you know, where you think
you might have found someone you might
marry, serious like that. Having sex wasn't
the same as having a serious relationship
in my mind."

"How many women did you have sex with,
Bob? That's what's I want to know."

"I don't remember. . ."

"Bob, everybody remembers. Now tell me,
how many? I really want an honest
answer."

"Tina, why. . ."

"Bob, you've never lied to me: don't start
now. How many?"

"About twenty five."

"Twenty five! When did you start?"

"In high school, with Ruth, after the prom."

"Oh." Tina's eyes filled with tears. "I guess
I had that coming. Was she any good?"

"Come on, honey, we were just kids. We
didn't know anything."

"You mean, sort of like me, now? No
experience, pretty screwed up about sex,
not very good at it?"

. "No, not like that: besides, I do love you."

"Well, at least tell me this. The kinds of
things you want to do sexually: were you
taught them by some of your partners, or
did you make them up all by yourself?"

"Honey, please . . "

"Bob baby, you keep wanting me to be
better in bed. How should I learn? Can you
teach me?"

"I don't know," I replied, "because we have
so many hang-ups and habits with each
other now. I just don't know."

"I guess I was stupid, not doing anything
like when I was younger, or when I came
out of the convent . And, maybe that's why
you act as though sex with me isn't very
exciting. I don't have as much experience
as some of the other women you screwed
around with."

This was turning into a fight. I responded "I
think it's because you're very inhibited,
and now you're in the habit of being
inhibited with me."

"So you love me, but you'd rather fuck
other women?"

My "Of course not" didn't carry any weight.
Soon, we were arelax, with a physical and
emotional space between us.

I was afraid this subject wasn't closed, and
I was right.

The next evening the conversation
continued.

"Maybe I needed more sexual experience,
Bob, to be a good wife for you."

"No. I love you for who you are, not for
your sexual experience."

"How come," she went on, "you ejaculated
all over the blanket at the beach when
those guys were looking at me at Fire
Island last summer?" She did notice that!

I didn't have an answer.

But she did. "I've been thinking about it.
Maybe you're a voyeur!"

Now I was angry. "Well, I'd rather be that
than screw around!"

Again we went to relax, miles apart
emotionally

But the door was open. Our intimate
moments began to include some of Tina's
stories about Betty's dates, and I
encouraged her to tell me more about her
the kinds of experiences as a single
woman she'd have wanted to have.

She knew what she'd have wanted pretty
well: how she would have been touched,
what she touched, how dating progressed
to erotic weekends away. I at times
became a surrogate for these imagined
lovers, and at the same time all of this
awakened a strong voyeuristic aspect of
my own permisterality. Our intimate moments
often became more erotic than loving, and
each of us began liking that. The long
silent times, as our minds thought about
other people while our bodies were
coupled, often ended in mutual orgasms,
and then embarrassment. We are open
enough so we could at least hint about,
and joke about, what was on our minds
while we used each other's body.

Another piece fell in place for us.
Computer Associates, a major employer on
Long Island, was in a hiring frenzy. They
wanted to rent our apartment until May, at
a fixed monthly rate, for executives in
transit. But, it was going to remain empty
for the next four weeks. Paid for, but empty
until the end of January.

I was getting more interested in being a
real voyeur, and wondering what it would
be like to be willingly cuckolded. When I
held her, and thought about her with
another guy, I got horny.

What really gave me the courage to do
more than think about being a voyeur
happened between Christmas and New
Years. We agreed to meet after work for
dinner at Squadron 56, an interesting
restaurant nearby that also is an active
singles bar. We watched people meet at
the bar, and I turned to her, and said
"Hello, my name's Bob. What's yours?"

My wife's very smart, and very quick. She
reached for my hand, shook it, and said
"Tina".

I invited her to join me for dinner, and she
told me about having just separated from
her husband. After dinner she 'invited' me
to follow her home for an after dinner
take.

I had forgotten what it was like to date
someone. As a married couple, we'd
undress, get into night clothes, and meet
in bed. As strangers, it doesn't work that
way, and it was a LOT more fun.

She 'led' me to our house, and waited
while I parked the car. She took me by the
hand - and we went - to the apartment!

We started in the living room, sitting on the
sofa, having a cocktail.

And somehow, we were kissing each
other. And somehow we slid from sitting, to
laying beside each other, holding each
other, and the kissing became more
intense.

It's been too many years since I found
myself fumbling with the buttons on her
dress, and far too many since I felt
someone else's hand release my belt,
undo a pants clasp, and move against my
skin, my belly, and lower, until it found my
penis. And too many since my own hand
moved up a pantyhose clad leg, and hip, to
that place where the hose ended. And then
feeling skin, and soon, warmth and
moisture, too.

It was amazing and wonderful to watch as
my wife, the woman I picked up, sat up and
said "we really should go to my bedroom",
and led me there.

She played her role to perfection, and
excited me, aroused me, to the point
where she could have asked for, or done,
anything.

We awoke in each other's arms the next
morning. "Well, if you were a date, buster,
you couldn't have stayed the night. That's
only for 'special' men, like my husband."

She obviously liked the game, and I liked
it, too. I wanted to know how much she
was really into this: could it be as much as
I was?

She answered the question indirectly,
when she pointed to the hvac vents and
said "Just think. The landlord might have
been watching".

We were in each other's arms, still in the
bed that Betty had used not so long ago. I
asked "Like we watched Betty?"

"Yeah."

"How is she doing, being newly single?"

"She's still dating a lot. She hasn't found
anyone really special yet, but she sure is
having fun. She's having sex with a couple
of guys, too."

Tina made some of the motions that told
me she was still turned on Betty's
activities. Good! My own cock was erect
again, too, and Tina noticed that.

There were some more kisses, and
stroking and talking.

"What would you want to do if you had
been going out on dates before we got
married?" A leading question.

"I guess I'd do what Betty does."

"You mean, date a guy a couple of times,
and if you like him a little, take him home,
and. . ."

"Yeah."

"That really excites me."

"You don't have to tell me that" she said,
her hand stroking the evidence, "Too bad I
don't have stories, like Betty does, to tell
you."

I rolled on her, horny again. I couldn't help
saying "maybe you should get some
stories, like Betty's."

I told you Tina was smart. "So you can get
turned on by the stories or do you want to
use channel 30?" she wanted to know, as I
proved I was turned on, but not by the
stories, but by thinking what it would look
like to see someone between her legs, like
I was, right then.

At the height of that passion, her own
motions became more urgent. I didn't help
by suggesting a scenario.

"Maybe this could be like flooding. Maybe
you could pretend to be separated."

Now I could feel tension in her body, and
her pelvis was working in opposition to
mine, meeting mine hard, then us
withdrawing together, and meeting again,
matching me, stroke for stroke.

"You could pretend to live in the
apartment."

Her feet, which had been on the bed,
extended, and she wrapped her legs
around me.

"And you could bring your dates back
there."

Her breath became shallow, and fast. So
did mine.

"And if you liked them, maybe you'd let
them have sex with you."

There were gasps in her breathing, now,
and her legs were wrapped tightly around
me, her arms, too. I wasn't exactly calm,
either.

"And, " I continued, "All the time you'd be
fucking them, you'd know I'd be watching,
every move."

That thought, that statement, did me in,
made me come: she did, too.

After we cooled down, she had a
realization. "You want to watch, like you
did on the beach. . ."

"Yeah, if you did that, sure. After all, we
are married. And you couldn't fall in love or
anything: you'd be just dating, and getting
more experience, flooding. . ."

As we lay there afterwards, Tina pressed
the issue. "Look, don't be mad when I tell
you that just then I was pretending you
were someone I was dating. And I think
you were thinking about what it would be
like if I was, weren't you?"

I confessed.

She went on. "Getting married, then
dating, is kind of the wrong order. So's
fucking, then falling in love, or fucking, and
not loving the guy. But just fucking for fun
is kind of like masturbating, huh?"

"Maybe - mutual masturbation?"

She had an epiphany! "You want me to
date, don't you? To do that? Even though
I'm married to you?"

I was silent.

"Come on, big guy. 'Fess up. You want me
to do that, don't you?"

"Mmm hmmm."

"And have sex with someone?"

"Mmm Hmmm."

"While you were watching? - No, SO you
could watch. That's it, isn't it?"

"Maybe. When you say it out loud like that
it sounds awful, but maybe."

She wasn't angry at me when I said that.

I continued. "And I think watching you,
then having sex with you, would be the
sexiest thing in the world."

She still wasn't angry.

"Maybe. Maybe it would be," is how the
she ended the conversation.

The next night I took a huge chance, and
tried to move the idea along. I offered the
whole scenario I had imagined.

I wasn't subtle. "Tina, if you want to, you
can act single for a while, until Computer
Associates starts using the apartment next
month. We could take some of your things
down to the apartment, and you can
pretend to live there. We'll get a separate
phone number for you, and it'll ring up
here, too, and you can do what Betty does,
and still be married to me. You could tell
the guys you were moving out of state
soon, too, so they'd know it wasn't a long
term thing."

Then we were quiet, each lost in our own
thoughts, and ashamed to talk about them.

"Exactly what do you want?" she asked.

"You know, pretend you're divorced or
separated or something. You can meet
some guys, fool around and all, then break
it off, because you're moving away. . I
don't want you to get serious or emotional
about someone else, but, like, you know, I
do get turned on when I think about you
dating like that. Look, when people do
stuff like this they create what's called a
legend. Yours could be that what we've
been talking about, that you're separated,
and if you need a way to break off a
relationship you could say you're moving
out the end of the month, maybe back
home, to, oh I don't know, maybe where
Betty came from. Use her story as your
legend."

"And you'd want to watch everything I did,
huh?"

"Yeah, I'd watch. That would have to be
part of the deal. Otherwise, it would seem
like you were kind of cheating." What a
line of bullcuckolds brownie, and I believed it, too! "One
other thing, Tina. Only do it if you can
open yourself up to new experiences.
That's the whole point."

OK, we know the whole point was me
being a voyeur.

We had sex - she started it - again, and
again our minds at least had someone else
in the bed with us that night.

"I was talking to Betty about dating," Tina
told me the next night, after still another
night of sex, instigated by her.

"What did she say?"

"She meets guys through the permisteral ads
in Newsday."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, she talks with them a couple of
times on the phone, kind of screening
them. If she likes what she hears, they
arrange to meet for a take or dinner or
something.

"If that goes well, she may tell them where
she lives, and on the next date she gets
picked up at her place."

"So that's how it works, huh?"

"Yeah. Here's the thing though. She told
me if she likes the guy, they'll probably
have sex on the third or fourth date. If she
doesn't, there is no third date!"

"Oh! How often does she have a third or
fourth date?"

"Honey, she's had sex with about six guys
in the last couple of months. And now she
doesn't even see four of those guys
anymore - what ever attracted them
together wore off, and they just 'went away'
with no bad feelings or anything. She's
kind of serious about the other two, but so
far she's mainly just having fun. Honey,
she told me she had dated people within a
week of placing an ad."

"I didn't think people as old as we are (we,
dear readers, are in our late 20's now)
dated that much."

"They do here, Bob."

Well, she left it out there - it was an
unasked question.

I asked it. "Were you asking her about this
because you were curious, or were you
asking her because you're thinking about,
uh, doing it?"

"A little of both. Bob, I don't know anything
about dating or anything, except for what
Betty told me, and what we used to do."

"I guess you'd have to start by putting an
ad in the paper. Do like she does, talk to
them, decide which ones you'd like to
meet. You know, that part scares me. I
don't want you meeting guys you really like
- just guys you'd like to date a few times.
Then, I guess you'd meet some guys, date
a couple you like, stuff like that, stuff like
Betty does."

"You really want me to do this, don't you?"

"Just so long as you remember this is for
fun, and you are in real life married to me,
you could date them."

"How many guys?"

"The apartment's ours for only the rest of
the month. As many as you want, for the
month."

Tina likes to tease me. "Remember, honey,
Betty told me that if she liked some guy,
she'd bring him home on about the third
date. If I thought a guy was nice, honey,
how many times could I date him?"

My own cock was stirring.

She pushed through my silence.

"Could I date them three times?"

Instant erection.

"Bob, what if I wanted to date some guys
who weren't like you. You know, not
engineers, not 6 feet tall: as different as I
could find. Would that be OK?"

"Sure."

"And if I thought some of the guys was
nice, I would date them more than once."

She didn't often touch my penis, but she
had it in her hand, now, and was stoking it.

"Yes," I agreed with her statement, and
with her touching me.

"If I wanted to, I'd date some of them
three times."

The magic number!

Her hand was moving faster now.

"Because, these days, if you date
someone three times you're probably
going to fuck them."

I was very aware that my wife, an ex nun,
was masturbating me, and I could tell by
her expression, enjoying the power she
had over me at that instant.

"I'll do it. I'll do it if you say I can date them
three times, and screw them, Bob. . ."

My cock throbbed worse than it did on Fire
Island. We just had sex, I was empty, I
thought, but what she was doing, what she
was saying, all felt so good. "Yes, three
times. . ." I said, my penis throbbing.

"And?" she prompted, her hand moving
faster.

"And have sex with them" I puffed,
watching myself ejaculate, jetting from my
penis, over her hand, over her hip, to the
bed,

" I knew you'd say that."

And we slept in each other's arms, my last
thoughts were of her with someone else
downstairs, and her thoughts, probably, of
exactly the same thing.

I was out of the house before she awoke
the next morning. Just as well, I didn't want
to face her after last night. That's not the
kind of stuff I was brought up to think
about, and neither was she. Guilt and
shame were a big part of that whole day.

I got home with some "forgive us our
trespasses" roses that evening. I found her
at the computer writing ads.

She wasn't insulted or angry at all, and
accepted the roses with a big kiss - lots of
tongue, lots of promise for the night.

"Look!" She showed me the results of her
efforts on the computer.

"N/S WF 29 yrs, blond, 120 5-8, fit, ready
for fun, not ready for a serious
relationship. Respond with photo to box
TBD or leave voice mail at extension
5551589 extension TBD." the box number
and extension number are provided by the
newspaper.

"Where did this come from?"

"Well, it's kind of what Betty wrote."

"Are you really going to place it?"

"You place it for me!"

And, we were off to bed again.

And this husband, the next day, went to
the Newsday office and placed an ad his
wife wrote, for the express purpose of
getting dates so she could get fucked!
Does that make me a pimp? I went through
the next week really distracted. Sure, we
fucked and played around. "Is being a
voyeur worth being cuckold?" she asked,
more than once.

During the first ten days of January Tina
got 24 letters, and about as many voice
mail messages. The letters were much
more informative. About ten of them were
hardly readable, but five were written by
guys who knew who to write, and whose
photos were nice enough. All were
professionals, one obviously a light
skinned black man, a couple of dark haired
guys, and two light haired ones.

"You write a good ad, honey. Are you
going to call any of these guys?"

"How? I need a private phone line."

Bell Atlantic had a new dial tone on the
downstairs phone us in two days. I wired a
couple of extensions to our part of the
house. Now it was the twelfth. So, this
erotic adventure cost $45 for the ad, and
so far, $85 for a phone line. And I'd bet
95% of the voyeur husbands out there
would spend the money. There were 18
days left to the deadline we set for
ourselves.

I sat listening in (unscrew the mouthpiece
and take out the microphone, they'll never
know you're there). She was really into
role playing. "I'm going to pretend to be
Betty. I'll even use her first name." I
listened to her talk to the guys whose
letters she liked: one guy was so angry
about his marriage failing, he was a lousy
prospect. "I want a good time" Tina told me
after talking to him, "not baggage".

A few men talked about looking for the
"right woman". That made us both
uncomfortable. She wanted dates, not a
long term commitment.

There were three "possibles."

The black guy, Paul, was a manufacturing
manager, he had been divorced for three
years, and was going to be transferred out
of state in a month - that was an
advantage. He seemed a bit crude, but
that wasn't a problem for Tina.

Phil sounded like a nerd - a CPA, but
there was something about him that
appealed to Tina. He had never been
married. "Just playing the field, meeting
some wonderful people" he said.

Joseph was a cop. He'd been divorced
three times, he said, and decided he'd
rather be a cop than be married, but he
still liked to be around women. "So long as
you weren't kidding about not wanting to
get serious, we could have a good time" he
claimed.

By the end of the evening, she had a "let's
meet for a take" date with Paul, "dinner at
Marybelle's", a nice restaurant, with Phil,
the CPA.

Joseph, the cop, had an interesting line.
He soon established that Tina (AKA Betty)
had just separated. "Look, I know how
hard separation is. I've gone through it
three times. Cops don't make good
husbands, I guess, at least this one
doesn't. Anyhow, you have to start
somewhere. I don't want a serious
relationship, just like your ad says you
don't. Meet me for a cup of coffee or
something, and we'll be able to figure out if
we even want to see each other any
more."

Joseph had some other advantages as far
as I was concerned. He lived in Queens -
60 miles away. That, in the jargon of
singles here, makes him "geographically
undesirable". He's just too far away. Any
dates would be casual - and infrequent.

Tina agreed. "OK - where?"

No, it wasn't at Dunkin Donuts. They
agreed to meet at the Candlelight Diner, a
few miles from Northport, the next evening
after Joseph finished his shift.

"That's pretty quick" I told Tina when she
hung up.

"We only have three weeks, honey" she
reminded me. I'd like a couple of dates
before it's too late."

We were both as excited as teenagers the
next day, as Tina drove off on her first
date, for a cup of coffee!

She didn't return for two hours!

"What happened?" I demanded to know.

"We just sat and talked, and drank coffee.
He's really pretty nice, and you know,
maybe I have a thing for men in uniforms."

"Are you going to see him again? Did he
try to make a date or anything?"

"Yeah, he did. We're going to eat dinner
there tomorrow - is that all right?"

"You mean, at the diner?"

"Yeah - big deal, isn't it? But Joseph says
he has to be careful where he goes when
he's in his blue bag - that's what he calls
his uniform. He offered to take me to
dinner someplace else over the weekend
when he'd be off duty, but, you know, this
seemed like a good idea, so. . ."

"Is this like going to be your first real date
with him?"

"Bob, are you keeping score or
something? I don't think so, I'd count
tonight as a first date."

"Oh."

At bed time, Tina rolled to me, wanting to
be held, wanting loving and romance. "I'm
glad we're doing this." she said.

"Is Joseph someone you might, you know.
. ."

"I don't know. I do feel safe with him,
though, he's not aggressive or anything
the way I'd expect a cop to be. . ."

By then I had her nightgown pulled up to
her waist, and rolled onto her, erect, horny.

We started. "I wonder," she said, "if I could
really do this with someone else. . ."

And just a couple of minutes later, still
under me, actually moving with me, she
muttered, in a small voice. . .
" . .yeah, yes, I could. . ."

The next night after her dinner she came
home, eyes glistening. "He wanted a good
night kiss - he kissed me in the parking
field! And he hugged me really tight, and
even though he had on his uniform, I could
tell, I could tell. . ."

"Tell what!"

"I think he had an erection! He held me
tight against him, honey, and I think I felt
that!"

She talked about dinner, almost a fork by
fork description. Joseph's job took a lot out
of him, he told her. His wives, all three of
them, felt he was more married to it than to
them. "'And they were right,"' Tina
repeated what he told her, and she
reminded him that she sure didn't want a
serious relationship so soon after
separating, and besides, she was going to
move away soon anyhow.

"Even so, he wants me to eat with him
again tomorrow," she told me, and I
agreed. Is that OK?"

Three dates in three nights!

"Sure!" I agreed.

The special phone line rang early the next
evening. "Betty, we had a bit of a
emergency, and I'm working until 9 tonight.
I'm sorry," he said.

"I can meet you then," Tina offered.

"That's a problem. I'll still be in uniform,
and I wanted to get home and change, and
take you to a nice place. I'm really
disappointed. I'd like to see you again." I
remembered he lived a long way away - he
wasn't going to drive all the way home, and
back out here again.

"Uh, Betty, don't think I'm too forward or
anything, but maybe I could order a pizza
and bring some beer to your place?"

Tina paused, exchanged glances with me,
then without prompting, said "Sure. I like
that idea."

She gave him directions to her 'apartment.'
"I think it's OK to bring him here. This is all
so new to me," she said to me. That
evening she, wearing a simple button
down the front dress and sensible loafers,
went down to assume her role. "Wish me
luck!"
.
"I'm sorry you'll be moving away" were the
first words he uttered when Tina let him in.
"I think you're kind of special, and I wanted
to get to know you better."

He was in his full patrol uniform. "I gotta
get rid of some of this stuff."

His coat come off, and his equipment belt.
Tie off, shirt opened at the neck.

Damn what a tease ending, but a very good story so far. That would make a real hot set up.