During my fifty years on this planet, I’ve noticed how my sexual fantasies have changed. My early fantasies were simple. I would be with some pretty girl I knew. A real girl I had no chance of actually getting my hands on. These fantasies remained popular until my mid teens when my mind introduced imaginary women. These imaginary women didn’t replace my real girls, they supplemented them along with two and three girls at once.
I love fantasy. There’s no limitations. In real life I’m lucky to satisfy one woman, but in my imagination, I can handle any number of lovers. Over my early fantasy years, there were times when I was with real women, but eventual my mind would keep them out of my imaginary world. There was a break where I no longer wanted real women in my sex dreams. Real woman aren’t perfect and can’t compete with my usually faceless fuck toys.
At twenty four, I thought marriage would end my fantasies. Emotionally immature for my age, I figured now that I was married, I could have all the real sex I wanted and would need to fantasize or masterbate. That concept didn’t survive the honeymoon. If anything, being limited to one woman, I not only used fantasy for thrills, I also used it to spice up my married sex.
In my twenties I had some major double standards. While checking out other women, I was very jealous of another man looking at my wife. Mary is an attractive woman and I couldn’t stand the idea of another guy lusting over her. Fortunately for me, Mary wasn’t a party girl and didn’t give me any grief. As for me, I didn’t cheat on her, but I’m not sure if it was morals or lack of courage and opportunity. In any case, I’ve managed to keep my cheating to the fantasy realm.
I’m not sure how or when my fantasies changed next. I guess it was some time in my mid thirties and it was gradual. Looking back, it seems odd how my early fears were now starting to turn me on. Thinking about Mary with another man used to be my worse nightmare, but somehow the thought began to turn me on and in time I started thinking about it on purpose. In a way, my fantasy life came full circle and my main character once again had a name and a face. I was having sex fantasies about my own wife. And of course a varying number of guest stars.
I never told my wife about these fantasies. We don’t have that kind of marriage. When it comes to fantasies, we’re a don’t ask, don’t tell couple. The only exception to this rule was on the rare occasions when we were both really drunk, and even then we never talked about it the next day even if we remembered.
As the years passed and we celebrated our twenty fifth anniversary, I can honestly say I never made plans to live out my fantasies. Still emotionally immature and nearly fifty, I at least understood the dangers. I not only love my wife, I need her. Mary keeps my world in order and takes care of all the grown up stuff. And she’s kind enough to let me believe I have something to do with it. And for some reason, Mary really loves me. I wouldn’t risk that for some sexual thrill. That was my frame of mind when I went to Mike’s to watch Monday night football.
Mary and I don’t have guy and girl nights, so when Mike invited me over, he knew Mary would be with me. Nobody ever complains because my wife isn’t a pain in the ass. She doesn’t bitch or try to control people. She’s not big on football, but Mary does like spending time with me. I don’t know why, she just does.
We got to Mike’s at about seven and carried in two cases of beer. Our friend is twice divorced and paying a shit load of child support. We try to help out by supplying the beer and Charlie, another divorced friend, brings the snacks.
Carrying everything to the basement, I put the beer in the fridge while Mary hangs up our coats and says hello to Eric and Tony. They’re married men, but their wives only attend things they like, and football isn’t one of them.
Cracking open a beer, I knew this would be a special night. By special, I mean there’s a good chance I’d get hammered. The beer tasted so good, and went down easy. I tend to be a binge drinker, and I haven’t tied one on for some time. Within a few minutes, I was well into my second beer.
My wife never tries to stop me from drinking too much. Instead, she usually does damage control by keeping me out of the hospital, out of jail and away from fire. The third item was added last year when I stumbled into a camp fire and caught my pants on fire. I also tend to get mouthy when I drink and she tries to keep me from getting my ass kicked. Buy the time I get that stupid my motor skills are long gone and I’m an easy target.
When I’m drinking Mary doesn’t. But tonight she made an exception because we’re off tomorrow and Mike has an extra bedroom to spend the night. I fix Mary her favorite drink, a strawberry daiquiri, and we settle in for the game. I can’t remember who was playing.
By halftime, I’m in my know it all stage and my wife if feeling cuddly. When I’m like this the guys can bring up anything and I’ll be an instant expert. At least in my head. If I don’t know it, you can bet I’ll make something up. Or I’ll take a crumb of real information and make it sound like a text book. So while I’m rambling on, Mary curls up on my lap.
Sitting on the couch, my wife distracts me and I forget what I’m talking about. She’s leaning against my chest and my left arm wraps around her. Mary only weight about 115lb and I’m comfortable when I notice I can see her bra between the buttons on her blouse. Seeing my wife’s bra pushed me into the impulsive stage. My right hand is free and I slide in between the buttons of her blouse, under her bra and cup her tit. Mary sighs, turns slightly and muzzles against my chest.
Now I can feel, but I can’t see. I’d lost my angle and my hand is filling the opening in her blouse. Her tit feels great, but I need to see damn it! Gently sliding my hand back out, I slowly unbutton her blouse while I talk to my friends. If I keep talking about something else, my wife won’t notice while I expose her. I was only going to do a button or two, but I just kept going because I was busy talking. Eventually, I ran out of buttons. Looking down, I saw skin peeking between the material of her blouse, plus the whiteness of her bra. My heart was pounding as I pulled one side open, and then the other.
Babbling on, I looked at the guys and realized something when I saw them staring at Mary’s chest. If I could see, so could my buddies. The guys looked confused. My actions stunned them and I was the center of attention. Mary was my instrument, but I was the real show. I slid my hand back under my wife’s bra, expecting Mary to stop me and put her blouse in order. She didn’t.
Mary’s tit was warm, but the bra was limiting my movement. I needed to loosen it, so with my left arm, I eased my wife forward and pinched her bra clasp. It popped free and my right hand was free. Mary looked up at me and smiled.
“Let’s take your bra off baby,” I said.”I want to play with your tits.”