Pillow Talk, Just Pillow Talk

"Well, yeah."

"That will happen when Hell freezes over and when pigs can fly," she said putting a hand to her hip.

See, I told you and I certainly don't think of my wife as a pig. I think of her as more of a slut. Nonetheless, she's always saying that to me, especially when she wants to pontificate her point with something to make me understand that it will never happen.

"Gloria, I just thought that—"

"Paul, I thought you were kidding. I thought we were just having a little pillow talk. I didn't think you'd seriously want to strip me naked, tie me to the bed, and blindfold me, while you watched me having sex with another man," she said peering down the stairs to get a better look at him. "And I never figured you'd just bring someone home without telling me," she said lowering her voice to a hoarse whisper.

"Actually, Bill and Jim are coming over, too."

"Our neighbors Bill and Jim?

"Yeah. What's wrong with that?"

"What's wrong with that? What's wrong with you?"

"Gloria, I just thought that if you and Phil met and got better acquainted over a few cocktails, you might hit it off and—"

"Get him out of my house this instant. I've never been more embarrassed."

"Gloria."

"Now, Paul!"

"Just come down and meet—"

"Now, Paul! Now! And if you bring home another man, I swear, I'll kill you," she said stomping her foot and shooting me a look. She turned and opened her closet. "Where's my gun?"

"Okay, okay, he's leaving."

The fact that she said she'd kill me, if I brought another man home to watch her have sex with him, was early in our sexual exploration and has nothing to do with how she truly feels about our uninhibited, sexual lifestyle now. She overreacted then. Perhaps, she wasn't ready or attracted to the man I brought home with me that night. I think she was just embarrassed. She was kidding about killing me, I think. She forgave me when I gave diamond earrings.

At first, she was reluctant to talk about those things that I needed to imagine for it to excite me. She thought it reckless that I'd want her to have sex with a stranger, a friend or a neighbor, especially with a friend or a neighbor. Yet, it was more exciting for me to imagine her doing someone that I know. She thought it perverse that I needed to think of her with another man.

Afraid of sexually transmitted diseases and the social stigma that would surely attach itself to her reputation, as one who slept around; afraid of losing her respectability, she thought that no good would ever come of having an open marriage. She was so wrong. She was so naïve. She had a difficult time imagining how much fun she could have, by just playing along and going with the flow.

"You want me to wear what, while serving drinks to you and your poker buddies? What's wrong with what I'm wearing now?"

It was summer and she was wearing pants and a sleeveless mock turtleneck. She couldn't be more covered up if she wore a parka. I had picked up a little something from Victoria Secrets on the way home. I removed it from the box and tissue paper and handed it to her.

"I bought you this little outfit to wear when—"

"Paul, I'm not a whore. The only thing missing from this outfit is the wings that the Victoria Secret models wear," she said holding up the outfit with two fingers, as if afraid to touch it. "This is what a stripper wears before getting naked," she said throwing it in my face.

"Yeah," I said thinking about those Victoria Secret wings the models wear and wondering where I could buy them, while thinking about pigs flying and Hell finally freezing over. I caught the outfit, looked at it, and then looked back at her, "I know. So? Try it on for size. I can't wait to see you in it."

"I'm not wearing that in front of your friends. I'd be embarrassed to death. It's so sheer that it's see-thru. They could see my nipples, my pussy lips, and my ass crack through that skimpy outfit. I'd rather be naked than wear that."

"Sure, okay, if you're more comfortable naked and rather serve the drinks not wearing anything at all, that's okay with—"

"Paul! I was being sarcastic. I'll not be made a spectacle of, while your horny buddies leer at me, touch me, and feel me up in the hopes that I'll fuck them and suck their cocks. You only want me to do this, so that I'll jerk you off later before blowing you, while talking all about it over pillow talk. Well, that will never happen."

"Loosen up, Gloria. Get in the spirit of it and have some fun."

"Have you lost your mind? You don't even play poker. You play bridge and you're a terrible bridge player at that."

"I've been watching those poker games on television. I'm a fast learner. I even played a few games on the computer. I'd thought I'd get a game going with a few of—"

"No."

"Just try it on so that I—"

"No."

"Gloria, what if—"

"I don't want to have sex with anyone but you, Paul," she said slamming the bedroom door in my face. "I'm happy having sex with just you," she said through the door. "Okay? Do you understand? And if you continue down this perverse road, I won't even be having sex with you. Next you'll be buying me a pole and installing it in our bedroom."

"A pole? I never thought of that. I can do that. I never thought you'd want a pole. Do you want a pole? We have room for one in the sitting room. It will be hot to watch you twirling around that thing, before hanging upside down naked on it. It's good for that abs. It's great cardio. I'll call a bunch of the guys over to install it and to watch you and we'll even invite all their wives to take a turn."

"Paul, no, I was just being sarcastic. I don't want a pole. If you bring a pole in this house, I'll stick it up your ass."

She was only kidding about sticking the pole up my ass, I think. Still, I decided not to get her a pole, just incase she wasn't kidding. She told me she didn't need or want anyone else and was happy and satisfied with me. Yeah, right, tell me another one.

Yet, the older I grew, the more I wanted to talk about sex and, the more I wanted to talk about sex, the more brazen I became in my need for her to describe her wanton desire and how she felt about sexually experimenting with others outside of our marriage. I wanted to watch her having sex with someone else. I needed to know what she'd say and what she'd do while watching her fucking someone before sucking another man's cock or licking a pussy or having her pussy licked.

Even if we didn't swing and never did participate in the swinging lifestyle, it was still sexy fun for us to talk about an alternative lifestyle. Yet, after seeing her distasteful reactions to my sexual schemes, I knew she wasn't ready to have sex with others...yet. That was okay though because it was more fun for me to talk about her having sex with our friends and neighbors than it was for her to even entertain the thought of having sex with others.

I was eager to escalate the pillow talk to include men we'd pick up at the bar for her to fuck and suck, while I watched. I wished she was more of a complicit partner, in that regard, and was just as excited for me to watch her with another, as I was to watch her with someone else. Unfortunately, by her negative reactions to my sexy ideas, it was apparent to me now, that I needed to slow the pillow talk down, rather than to risk offending her by making her feel pressured to have sex with others.

Nearly as exciting as the actual affair, the pillow talk I hoped to have heightened my lust for her. Only, she had a knack of bringing me back to reality, whenever she peppered what I wanted her to do with someone outside of our marriage, a man, a woman, a man and a woman, or two men with her insightful words of wisdom.

"Over my dead body, Paul," and sometimes, she exchanged her words with, "Over your dead body, Paul."

I knew she was only kidding. I knew she was just teasing me while thoughtfully considering the possibilities of having sex with another, while I watched. Her way of protecting her reputation, I knew she was only saying that because she didn't want me to think less of her. She didn't want me to know that she was as interested in having sex with others, as I wanted to watch her having sex with others. Yet, after giving her my credit card and encouraging her to do some shopping at my expense, she was eager to make me happy and satisfy my sexual peccadilloes by giving me some hope with a delightful exchange of pillow talk later.

After she brought home all her purchases, she allowed me to whisper my hot fantasies in her ear, while I felt her naked body and she stroked my cock before blowing me. It was only pillow talk, after all. What harm can possibly come from having some hot pillow talk? We're just talking about sex. It isn't as if we're actually doing it with others.

Maybe that's the difference between older and younger men. We older guys want to savor the moment, relive the experience, and imagine what if. We more appreciate the titillation and the erotica of the sexual act, the possibilities, and all that it encompasses. We want to talk about it before, during, and after. Whereas the younger guys just want to hurry it up, do it, and move on to another conquest, so as not to have to commit to a long-term relationship with one woman, we more mature men love to watch the one we're with and the one we love, while she's having sex with one of our special friends.

At first, she was reluctant to even admit that she was attracted to other men. Yet, I knew she was. She didn't want to hurt my feelings, she confessed to me later, after I bought her that diamond tennis bracelet, along with my apology of pressuring her to have sex with other men. It was just pillow talk I told her. It had become obvious to me that persuading her to see my way of thinking about sex was quickly becoming a very expensive proposition.

I told her she wasn't hurting my feelings or making me jealous when talking about having sex with other men. I explained that she was stimulating my libido, while inflaming my desire for her by helping me to imagine her with another. It was erotic fun to imagine her being with a friend or a neighbor or a stranger. We laughed as much as we sexually excited ourselves with the thoughts of having a threesome, a foursome or with me in the room watching her doing a man, a woman, a man and a woman or two men. We laughed so hard that she cried tears of joy, at least, at the time; I thought her tears were happy tears.

After having one failed marriage, she feared failing with another and ruining what we had by playing this risky game. I can see now that it wasn't easy for her to release her sexual inhibitions and even talk about having sex with another, never mind actually watching her having sex with another. Only, for me, playing the sexy game of pillow talk was intoxicating. Imagining and wondering what it was like to watch her with others, while still maintaining and holding onto the safety net of our marriage, was my fantasy.

'Until death do you part' was still intact, so long as we eliminated our feelings of jealousy, possessiveness, and pettiness. Unfortunately, I failed to consider the consequences of losing her, while playing the game. All that I knew was that she made my cock hard and made me want her even more, whenever I imagined her with another man and/or a woman.

Every time we were out at the mall or the beach, I'd see her looking and her interest in someone else stimulated my desire to see her with whoever she was watching. She denied she was looking, of course. She didn't think I noticed her checking out other guys and staring at other men, younger men, while daydreaming of doing them, no doubt, but I did and I knew she was.

"Gloria, look at that guy in the Speedos. He has an erection and it's huge. It must be nine inches long."

"Eww! Paul, I'm not going to ogle some guy's package, just so it will give you something to talk about, while I masturbate you later before blowing you. That's gross."

Whenever I saw her looking at some young dude, later that night after she retired to bed, when she was too tired or not receptive to having a pillow talking session, I'd stay up for a nightcap and imagine her with him. While my hand slowly stroked my erection with my imagined thoughts of her with him, that fantasy always morphed to another, my favorite one. I'd think of her tied to the bed blindfolded in a pitch, black bedroom while, one by one, my friends had their way with her, as I watched.

Now, finally agreeable to go to the beach topless, especially after I bought her implants, she still is shy about going to a nude beach.

"It's all guys at the nude beach and most of them are gay, Paul. I'm not comfortable getting naked in front of a bunch of gay guys."

"Oh, so, if they weren't gay guys, you'd feel more comfortable and you'd get naked?"

"I don't mind exposing my tits, but I'm not comfortable being naked in public, period, Paul. Okay?"

"You tan naked in the backyard."

"That's different. No one can see me back there. It's private."

Nearly fanatical about her appearance, I figured she didn't want anyone to see her imagined flaws by going to a nude beach. She never left the house without her hair fixed just so. Never without her lipstick and makeup, the time she took choosing her outfit with my help, of course, even if only going to the market, bordered on neurotic and compulsive. Even her lingerie matched.

"For Christ sakes, Paul, I'm only going to the market. Why can't I wear jeans and a sweatshirt? Why must I dress up and make up my face every time I leave the house?"

I have to admit though that she always looked good and the way she looked made me feel proudly excited to be seen with her. She was my hot cookie. At the same time, in the way that she cared and fussed about her appearance, it made me wonder if she was cheating on me. I wouldn't care, so long as she told me. In the back of my mind, I always wondered if she was having a sordid affair with someone, someone who I had previously imagined.

I imagined following her and finding her with some guy with her reapplying her lipstick, before blowing him in the backseat of a car. I knew she wouldn't do that, of course. Yet, it was fun to imagine she would. She's a lady with more morals and class than that. Besides, she's the type who'd check in a posh hotel and have room service and champagne and lobster with her affair and charge it to her credit card that I pay.

Only, her having sex with someone else would be okay, so long as she told me about the affair in detail. Yet, just as I knew she wasn't cheating on me, I knew she wasn't a slut. Still, it was fun, exciting even, to imagine that she was on both points. Fantasizing about her was what I needed to get off.

More than a dozen years older than her when we married ten years ago, now that I was getting older, I was curious to know if I still measured up to her standards. I was curious to know if her standards had changed over the years and I wondered if I still sexually satisfied her. Now in my late fifties, I had hit my sexual peak more than thirty years earlier and with her in her early forties, she was still in the middle of enjoying hers.

I couldn't help but wonder if I was exciting enough for her with my Viagra drugged cock and my testosterone supplements or if she needed more. Sensing the change in her passion for me, I couldn't help but wonder if she wanted someone else and was thinking about another, someone she just met or someone she already knew, while having sex with me. As part of our pillow talk, after telling me about the sexual relationship she had with her first husband, those boyfriends she had before she married her ex, and those boyfriends she had after she divorced her ex and before she met and married me, it was exciting to imagine her with another man now.

Certainly, she was no virgin, but she was no whore either. In pressuring her to trust me by opening up and talk more about her sexual feelings, I admit that I was the captain of this ship, one that followed a treacherous course. Hoping not to hit a sandy patch of resistance and beach our little love canoe, I was willing to rock the boat a little to elicit a bit more turbulence to ride the waves in to shore. Still new at having pillow talk with her, I was searching for a safe harbor, one that we both felt secure enough and one that encouraged us to continue, expand, and explore our sexual horizons with a bit more private discussions, in regarding our joint decision to have an open marriage.

In letting out my sail with the wind at my back and the salt air in my face, while hoping to enjoy all that encompassed the freedom of an open marriage, we skimmed over the surfaces with pillow talk instead of real dialogue. Without first considering the consequences of our actions, we failed to examine all that could sink our ship and all that could go wrong. Anchored out too deep, I was hoping not to overturn our relationship and capsize our little love boat.

I admit that I was looking for a paradise that didn't exist, a tropical deserted island in the back of my mind that was safe from a tidal wave of accusations and acrimony. Hoping not to drift too far out to sea, I was seeking a land where we could share everything without feeling guilty and without taking a torpedo hit to our starboard side that would make this desire to have a swinging lifestyle blow up in our faces. Still excited by the thoughts of all of it, I wasn't prepared or ready to go down with the ship. I still wanted to set sail to faraway waters with her and experience even more erotica.

It was exciting to imagine watching her making love and giving oral sex to another man, while masturbating over the thoughts of it. Moreover, now that she was getting older, too, and was no longer a hot bitchin' babe, I wondered if she was suddenly attracted to younger men, men with harder cocks, who could make her feel younger and more attractive and sexually desirable than I ever could.

Perhaps, she needed those compliments and accolades now from a younger lover to make her feel sexy and wanted. I don't know, but I imagined she did and it was exciting for me to imagine her with a younger lover and, maybe by her imagining a younger lover, that was her motivation to continue with this pillow talk. Only, I wouldn't know, as she hasn't confessed that fantasy to me, yet, during our pillow talk but, no doubt, eventually, she will.

Now at this stage of my life, as long as she was sexually satisfied, even if by another, I was happy just to watch. I know I wrote it many times before, but it's my fantasy and I'd love to see her blindfolded, while tied to the bed. It excited me to imagine her being violated by several men, a gangbang, with her pulling a long train. I imagined her taking cock after cock in her pussy and her mouth, while I watched, of course.

Only, to be secure in a relationship, such as this, I had to set aside my feelings of jealousy, possessiveness, and pettiness. A side effect of aging and now relegated to taking more of a passive than aggressive sexual approach in romancing her, I was satisfied just to talk about what she wanted to do with whom, while she stroked my cock before blowing me.

Certainly, I knew that taking care of my sexual needs wasn't enough for her. Certainly, she wanted to cum, too, and too much for my weakened heart, she could still fuck for hours, while maintaining yoga like positions of the Karma Sutra. Only, the yin and the yang of it, when out in public with her, I couldn't help but feel how Michael Douglas must feel with a blonde version of Catherine Zeta Jones on his arm. Gloria always received a lot of attention. Guys gave her a lot of looks and I always imagined what they must think.

"Look at her with the old guy. Either that's her father or he's loaded. He's such a lucky bastard to have a hot broad like that," I imagined them saying and I am a lucky bastard to have Gloria. G-L-O-R-I-A, Gloria.