A Wife Sharing Romance
Becky and Jeff have a wonderful marriage.
When Jeff reveals that he is fascinated by her former husband, Quentin, Becky discovers a side of Jeff
she didn't know about.
The two embark on an exploration of the boundaries of their union.
“Beck? Becky? You sleeping?”
Becky purred like a kitten before rolling over to
stare at me through the darkness. “Mmm?”
My gaze wandered over her pretty features, dipping
toward her abundant chest amply filling out the
old white t-shirt she slept in. “Were you
A smile flickered on one corner of her mouth. “I
was trying,” she whispered. Her innocent
expression was delicious. Mostly because I was
sure she knew exactly what I was trying to get but
pretended not to anyway.
She thought she knew, that is. She thought it was
what most men wanted from their wives at the end
of a long day. It was, but with a darker twist.
Becky was a beautiful bundle of contradictions. It
was what had inspired my intense and immediate
attraction to her when we first met.
A blonde ornithologist that dressed like a bimbo
and wore thick, dark-rimmed glasses which only
served to make that particular juxtaposition all
the more jarring. She peppered endless
descriptions of birds with a barrage of f-bombs
that would have made a sailor blush. Reared
running barefoot in the Appalachian mountains by
what can only be described as hillbillies, she’d
harnessed a latent genetic inheritance of genius
and finished her PhD in her mid-twenties. She
loved a drink, wouldn’t say no to a smoke if one
was offered and took her coffee black, preferably
as thick as tar.
But for some reason she refused the usual uniforms
of academia, pant suits for professional women,
opting instead for too-tight blouses, top buttons
undone to reveal her generous cleavage and skirts
that covered only half her toned thighs.
She was, in short, a bombshell and a brilliant
dork rolled into one delicious, curvy package. And
while the revealing outfits might have implied a
roaring libido, she was fairly sexually
conservative. Eager to please but mostly on her
back with her legs in the air. Nothing kinky.
This was the only part of her I swore to change
the moment she accepted my engagement ring with
teary eyes and hands cupped over her mouth. The
reason for this, what would become my obsession,
my precious and dirty little secret, came as a
surprise, even to me.
There was one thing about Becky that tickled a
funny part inside me that I previously hadn’t even
known was there. She’d been married previously. In
keeping with her stubborn lack of genre, that
marriage had been to a very large, very handsome
and very athletic black man named Quentin.
I still remember the moment on our third date when
she casually divulged this information. It caused
the strangest swell of arousal to well through me,
so potent that I spent the rest of the meal
struggling to control it.
Her recounting of their relationship was brief, as
if the whole thing had been a mere footnote in her
life up to that point.
They’d met in college, dated for a year, married
and divorced two years later. No kids. No
explanation as to why. No other details. This in
itself was a stark contrast to her usual
soliloquy's on the most mundane aspects of her
It drove me to the very edge of insanity.
“Were you going to ask me something? Or just keep
staring at my chest?”
A blush rose to my cheeks at the way her gentle
chiding pulled me from my thoughts and back into
the moment. I tore my eyes away from her breasts
and looked into hers again. I’d spent the last six
months of our marriage trying to ignore the
question that was now on the tip of my tongue. Six
months of burying it, pretending it didn’t exist,
trying to cram it back into the corner of my mind
it had crawled from.
I’d realized that day that it wasn’t going away. I
had no idea what her reaction would be to me
asking it. I had no idea how my life would change
knowing the answer. The only thing I was certain
about was that if I didn’t at least try to address
it, it might just tear me in two.
“Still waiting,” Becky said, caressing my cheek
lightly with a finger. “I’m not just handing it
over you know,” she teased. “You have to at least
ask for it.”
A shiver raced through me.
“You know my grandmother used to say once a month
was more than enough for any man,” she purred, her
Her twisting smile caused my own lips to curl.
“What did your grandfather have to say about
that?” I asked.
Becky giggled. “He didn’t talk much,” she
admitted. “Too busy philandering.”
I took a deep breath and steeled myself for what I
was about to do. “Well I’m only interested in
philandering you,” I whispered.
One eyebrow shot up as Becky looked up toward the
ceiling. “I don’t think…” She paused, then shook
her head. “Never mind. Not the most romantic
fucking proposition but I guess it’ll do,” she
said. Grabbing a hold of her shirt she began to
haul it up her stomach to pull it off over her
I put a hand on her arm. “Wait.”
Becky raised an eyebrow again. “Wait?” she echoed.
“I want to ask you a question first.”
Her arms settled back down onto the bed. She
rolled onto her side, propped her head up with a
hand, the smile fading from her lips. “What’s the
I wiped my mouth with a clammy palm. This was it,
the moment I’d been planning for weeks. I could
barely keep myself from shaking. “I want to know
about Quentin,” I whispered.
Becky’s brow furrowed. Her eyes roamed back and
forth along the bed. “Quentin?” she said.
I nodded, eyes riveted to her expression, gauging
her reaction. “Quentin.”
“What about him?” she said, shaking her head,
clearly puzzled by the question.
“It’s just…you’re so…you know, like, it seems so
unlike you. You’re so different than…”
Becky adjusted herself on the bed which made her
breasts jiggle in a very distracting way. “You
want to hear about Quentin? Right before we’re
about to have sex?”