My Wife and I Saw Magic Mike

Before I got my regular job, fresh out of grad school, I used to play in country rock bands. It was a fun gig when my schedule allowed me to stay up until four and still get to my earliest class at eleven o'clock. But real life intruded and I needed to work at what I euphemistically call my nine-to-five job. Would that I actually had that schedule! But I can still record songs and play in a cover band to scratch my itch.

But I still miss being a performer. I miss the attention. I miss doing something that people were interested in. I really felt good about doing something that makes people happy, which my job managing standards for corporate governance seriously does not do. Oh well. That's pretty much what being a grownup is. At least I got a decent paying job out of it, which is more than a lot of people can say. Times are hard and you won't hear me complain, I'm just a little bit wistful is all.

So after I played a Saturday afternoon show with the cover band at some corporate function or another, my wife suggested we go see a movie so we could both unwind a bit. She suggested Magic Mike XXL. Now, I'm not straight, but I'm also not gay. However, who am I to deny the appeal of Channing Tatum and Big Dick Ritchie? It's just common sense.

I asked my wife if she liked it. She said that she very much did. The appeal of such attractive men gyrating and grinding for women is obvious. And I was a little envious.

So I asked her if she wants to watch male strippers. I'm confident in her love and attraction for me so I don't mind if she has a wandering eye. Who among us in a committed and monogamous relationship hasn't had their bell rung by somebody other than their partner? That's life and I'm not threatened.

So I asked her if she wanted to go see some "male performers," as the movie refers to the strippers.

She hesitantly said, "yes."

I asked her if that meant someone other than me. This wasn't my favorite thing in the world but watching a show isn't having a fling or a relationship with somebody else. We don't have or want on open relationship. Not, to quote Seinfeld, that there's anything wrong with that.

But she did say that she maybe wants me to be her male stripper.

This has always been a fantasy of mine, not the she knows about it! so I "relented."

"I don't know, asshole, I might be too self-conscious. It's a little silly." 'Asshole,' by the way, is our pet name for each other. It's one of our charming eccentricities as a couple. "you know I can't dance," I said. But I pretended to give in so that she could get her wish. Secretly I couldn't have been more happy.

The gig sweat on me was sticky (even a corporate gig has hot lights and heavy amps!) so I needed to take a shower before I did anything. While the hot water ran over my body I thought about what I could do to surprise her and give her the sensation of seeing someone new. We'd never really been into shaving so, while in the shower, I grabbed an electric razor and removed my pubic hair. Surprise is a fun thing in a relationship. We both love being married for ten-odd years with all of the familiar intimacy involved, but there's still nothing like the excitement of being with a new partner, even if the sex is predictably bad. It takes time to learn one's partner's preferences after all. But there's still the thrill of something new and unexpected.

Freshly denuded and with a self-satisfied smirk concealed behind the bathroom door, I got out of the shower.

Afterwards I dressed in my customary jeans, a tank top, and my customary western shirt with snaps in place of buttons.

I asked my wife, already keyed up from Magic Mike XXL to have a seat on a chair and told her it was time for her show. She hummed at me and got a certain look in her eye.

Because I'm kind of a dork, I started Pandora with the song "Pony" by Ginuwine. She likes the funny. She giggled for a bit as I tried to dance. Despite playing in bands, I have very little sense of rhythm and can't translate even that I have into dance.

But I kept trying, bumping and grinding my best until she seemed to accept it as a real, sexual thing. And accept it she did.

I sat on her lap and began popping the snaps on my western shirt one-by-one. She smiled and rubbed my chest. "No touching!" I said.

After gyrating on her for a few moments that seemed an eternity, it was time to remove my tank top. Unlike my shirt, I needed to pull it over my head and my glasses. I tried to do it sexily but ended up spilling my glasses on the floor and needing to look around for them. Oh well, Magic Mike was basically a comedy.

So I eventually pulled my shirt off and she caressed my chest. That's not allowed but I'll make an exception, even if the twisted nipples hurt a bit. I gently blew into her ear and we shared a sigh.

My pants were the next step. Unfortunately, I'd forgotten to take off my shoes and fell to the floor. We both giggled and eventually I stood before her in only my boxers. She put her head near my crotch and said, "mmm, smells like cock." Would that I'd thought to wear the banana hammock that was a souvenir of a drunken night on Amazon with my friends back in college. Why do I even still have that thing around? Being in the moment, I forgot that I was wearing shoes. After I fell over backwards she laughed and took the time to take off my shoes and socks. What's sex without a few minutes of giggles and recognized awkwardness. I mean, seriously, do any of us not look silly when we orgasm? Let's own it.

So I stood in front of her in my boxers. I asked her what she wanted and she said that she didn't know. Based on the movie I thought I'd try a lap dance. So I sat on top of her and started grinding. Again I regretted not rocking the g-string.

She played along. She reached into her purse and started stuffing singles into the elastic of my underwear. They kept falling out but neither of us cared. She kept running her hands down my chest getting closer and closer to my crotch. While I was busy slapping her hands away (because I was in character after all!) I felt what wa definitely not the first stirring in my loins.

She was wearing a cotton tank top and a light skirt. In the spirit of the movie I dropped my head in her lap and caressed her thighs. Beneath the sharp tang of her walking commute I detected the sweet earthy scent of her arousal. The is no more wonderful scent in the world and all I wanted to do was prolong it and, hopefully, increase it.

My erection escaped my underwear and thrust itself through the fly of my boxers causing the remaining dollar bills to fall to the floor, where they were thoroughly ignored. She both giggled and grabbed at me as I quickly withdrew from her grasp. "No touching," I reminded. While she resigned herself to momentary cocklessness, she did put her fingers just under the front waistband of my sole remaining garment. She felt the stubble and looked up as me in confusion and, dare I say it, anticipation.

The moment for the full monty, as it were, had arrived. I hooked my thumbs into the thin cotton and, with a swift movement, dropped the remnants of my modesty to the floor.

"Did you? You did. My god," she said as she reached for my doubly exposed member.

"No touching," I admonished, "but you can tell me what you want to see or what you want me to do. Taking my best guess, I sat in her lap and rubbed my erection against her clothed body. She moaned in response. Honestly, I was doing a little moaning myself.

"I want to watch you, I want to see you."

Playing coy, I pretended to not know what she was asking. "Watch what?" I said.

"You know, if I can't touch it at least you can..." She trailed off.

My hand fell toward my crotch. I smiled at her with my penis at eye level and she exhaled, "Yes... Please..." So I fanned out my fingers and began gently stimulating the underside of my penis. Being naked in front of a clothed woman and touching myself in front of her was such a thrill that I was already near release.

She placed her head near me and I could feel her hot breath on my cock. She inhaled sharply and I knew it took everything she had to not engulf it with her mouth.

"Do it," she said. "I know that I can't touch but that doesn't mean that I can't taste. So I want you to cum for me."

Far be it from me to disagree. I stood up in front of her while she remained in her chair. My crotch was directly in front of her face.

As she asked, I wrapped my index finger and my thumb around my cock and began to slowly move my hand back and forth. And back and forth again. She stared at me from inches away and again I felt her breath.

"Do it," She said. "I want it in my mouth."

"I want it on me," she continued.

When she opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue I lost the last shred of self-control that I had. I exploded on her outstretched tongue as she moaned. She lost control and the excess dripped out of her mouth staining her black tank top. She moaned as she swallowed and her hands rubbed her face and her breasts where my seed had landed.

There was a distinct smirk of satisfaction on her face.

We shared a moment where we both caught our breath.

Then she took my hand and led me toward the bedroom.

"I think it's time for me to return the favor," she said.

Reader, I followed her.