Lenore had been with at least one other man since our marriage but that's
another  story that took place long ago in another world, though it happened
right behind my back just a couple of years ago. But this night I am watching
and waiting as my Lenore prepares for her first guest at home. I conjure a Marc
Antony, rowing as fast as he can be rowed to a waiting Cleopatra, who reclines
on a gilded barge, her shining, erect nipples bared to a blue Egyptian
twilight, being rouged by Nubian drag queens. Not even close.
 A dab of pigment here, a tug there, a layer of something shiny,  a spritz of
expensive, artificial pherenomes bearing the name of a once sexually active
celebrity; translucent lace over scarlet satin, and of course a black garter
belt with shiny, metal clasps stretching tight lace stockings over the
smoothest, softest, barest, whitest most exquisitely formed thighs since the
Weimar Republic--O Christ--O God--O Liberty!
 The time passed like those protracted instants during serious accidents during
which one can note the specials posted on nearby stores as one's car jumps the
curb to plow through the laundromat. For a while I was able to resolve
fantasies out of her innocent preparations which became ends in themselves
until I began to wonder if she were preparing to attempt to alter a young
gentleman's most deep-seated convictions, or just let him fuck her. When a very
young man is invited, with apparent lascivious intent, to the apartment of a
petite, full-breasted, 35 year old red-head with legs that (hell, look at the
photos), close to public transportation and convenient parking, are they ever
late? He was early.
 And while I'm asking questions: How about the sight of your own lovely wife,
the woman more precious than your own dick, dressed like a tramp from a better
world than we can imagine, dancing across the dining room and down the hallway
to answer the door like Tinker Bell on Spanish Fly? I tell you, I was wide
awake and paying attention!
 From over her shoulder he seemed to be about 20 or 21, a couple of inches
taller than Lenore's 5'3" in those big, mean heels she wears when she wants to
gild the lily, and rather thin with a large head and an unlined face and a shy
grin which made him seem like a horny child. Introductions were pleasant and
jovial and just a little tense, and I noticed as I shook his hand that it
fairly swallowed mine, and I was reminded of Rasputin, who was alleged to have
had very large hands and a large head. This meant two things of course: large
gloves, and a large hat.
 We gave Lenore's young man a tour of our apartment so that we might get
acquainted and answer questions about what's displayed on our walls. He was
very impressed with my mounted Samurai Sword replica but Lenore guided him
right past my Marlin to an old photo of her in a tiny, pleated skirt, legs
spread wide, three feet off a polished floor, waving pompoms at a bleacher full
of excited boys and jealous girls. Her toy stuffed animals which had always
seemed to me quaint artifacts from her days as a little teen-aged
trouble-maker, now became sexual talismans, placed strategically so that Lenore
might stretch herself to reach for them, displaying them and herself in a
series of poses demurely suggesting a prelude to something daringly modern, yet
traditionally pagan in nature. An overture is of course what it was, and many
more would follow while he watched in delight and increasing arousal, and we
all drank wine whose scent mingled the perfumed whisper of lace drawn over
satin warmed by Lenore's soft flesh--flushed and hotter now, reaching across
her young man to light yet another candle or spill a little more wine. I
thought soon he must progress past the banter which had finally become risque,
if not Proustian--soon he must reach out to touch her intimately in such a way
as to perhaps shock her slightly and--

 Can more than a handful of men appreciate what I was feeling? Once I
thought I had invented auto eroticism, then I was forced to acknowledge
that  I may have merely discovered it; finally, I realized that I had to
share the credit with many others. So it was with my obsession with
watching Lenore have sex with other men. At first I just didn’t
understand it.Though mad with jealousy, I was yet distracted by looming
erotic daemons so powerful I had to use the archaic spelling--

 Hi, this is Lenore interrupting old Q who talks too much without saying
anything. Without the philosophy and everything I can say that I was on
a kind of giddy high from that morning with the knowledge that my
husband  who used to suffer like a tenor when I even looked at another
guy was going to be watching one fuck me. (A guy I mean, not necessarily
a tenor) We decided to let my “date” make the first move because Q
thought we might enjoy it more that way (thinking for me) so I only
flirted and made myself look available until Q went out of the room for
a minute. Then I just reached out and felt the guy’s (we also decided no
names) crotch and unzipped his pants and took his cock out and licked
it, just to see what would happen. When I heard the toilet flush and the
bathroom door open I called out, “Sweetie, our guest is exposing
himself!” Then Q walked into the room and said, “I suppose he licked
himself, too.”  Can’t fool Q. I was wet anyway by now, and I think they
both noticed because those tight little pink panties were about all I
was wearing besides the heels and stockings and garter belt that I wear
just to feel good about myself.

 Yeah, I talk too much, but there was a lot happening, too, and I felt a
little overwhelmed. I had guessed Lenore would start something as soon
as I left the room but I couldn’t wait any longer, and when I got to the
toilet I could hardly go, I was so aroused by our little game, so I
guess she got impatient while I was in there trying to piss through what
had been a penis, but was now a vibrating dildo. Lenore started
giggling, supposedly uncontrollably, and the remaining tension drained
out of this near stranger and he reached for Lenore’s breasts and
caressed them very gently at first of course, and drew the tips of his
fingers slowly down her stomach and over her hips--she unfastened her
garter belt and hooked her thumbs in the strings of her panties and
slipped them down to mid thigh, and the warmth and light of the candles
reflected from her perspiration as she became seriously excited made the
curls between her legs shine reddish gold and her perfume drifting
between them was like a warning to the pure of heart  but a brazen
invitation to the profane and he finally remembered which one he was as
Lenore slowly folded her legs open and back and smiled at him and he
parted her pubic hair with a trembling finger and put his open mouth on
her and kissed her sweet, trim and anxious ass, curling his tongue into
her like a spoon while she tried almost successfully to hold still for
him, her body following his mouth hungrily as he licked her. With the
fingers of one hand stroking his long, blonde hair, she reached down
with the other for his cock and put her thumb at the base and wrapped
her fingers underneath and around as far as she could go and squeezed
just a little, and the shiny, red-purple head of his uncut cock started
to emerge like something angry and determined, fuming hot and starting
to emit lava and steam and his aroma mingled with hers was like a
varsity locker room filled with tropical flowers--a basketball team in a
rain forest. Those pink panties? She had them halfway down by this time
but a thong got torn anyway, and with a flop and a pin he was straddling
her waist, his cock bobbing over her stomach like a damp dashboard
ornament, wondering where to put it first until she--who at first had
allowed herself to be mounted, arms flung back, mouth open in delighted
wonderment and completely passive--sat up suddenly and grabbed his head
and pulled his mouth down on hers and I could see her tongue dart out as
they closed and his oozing cock fell on her breast with the dull slap of
a cod on a pier.

 Jesus, Q’s a real sport, isn’t he? I think he’s the perfect husband,
and oh God, that young guy was so sweet and tender but hard and quick,
too. I’ll tell you more about it if you want. I don’t think Quelkin
quite gets it. Too literary. Vote for me if you like this stuff. There’s
more of me in the Husbands’ section. Q’s in there too, but only as a
prop.
Best,
Lenore 

 Well, to finish "Lenore's Story" for Quelkin who can get too horny
to write, we went to the bedroom and I was able to dwell over my young
man for a few minutes and pay the kind of attention to him that I felt
he deserved while he was tired enough not to interfere. I rested my
cheek on his naked legs with his lovely, wet cock draped over his balls
an inch from my face and just breathed him in and savored him while he
stroked my hair. When he did start to get aroused again, I threw one leg
over him and reached down between my legs for him to put him in me. I
held my body as far away as I could with my breasts swinging in his face
and just that angry, red, round knob at the end of his cock barely in me
until he started to moan and then I just ground my body down on him hard
and squirmed while he was coming in me, imagining that hot, anxious
stuff squirting and flushing and pooling in me like hot candy.
    I lay down between them that night in our bed. I watched my young
stud sleep until I drifted off myself. I awoke later to see his face in
the flickering light of the last rutting candle, smiling into mine as he
spread my legs to insert himself again. I felt pretty used and he was as
hard as he had been all evening but this time he was very dreamy slow
and it's funny but that was the time I really came hard but he never
really got soft and I'm not even sure he came that time though I
remember really wanting him to.
    Q told me he just lay there all night, listening for the boy to
reach for me, as he did, furtively, for whatever reason, just once more.
I woke up when I heard the toilet flush at dawn . When my naked
man/child  tip-toed back into the bedroom, gorgeous white tool full of
blood and dirty thoughts dangling from a flaxen nest, bopping and
swaying in a morning jazz dance,  Quelkin was just starting to hump me
like a horny old fool so I pushed him off and sat up and grabbed that
beautiful young cock one more time and put it in my mouth and grabbed
his ass and pulled, looking up at him with big, puppy eyes until he
realized I wanted him to come right now. When he did, praise youth, I
helped him on with his clothes, tucking IT in very slowly and carefully,
and pulled on a halter top and a leather miniskirt and escorted him
barefoot to the back gate and told him good bye as if he were going off
to a war which he would be prevented from winning.
    Later, Quelkin said I'd looked like I was swallowing a whole string
of pearls and told me that I had done just what he hoped I'd do. Then he
wanted to take a polaroid of my vagina before I cooled it off in the
shower and became a faithful wife again. Now that we've discovered this
site, he wants to add it to the WIFE PHOTOS contest and is already
wondering what to do next. He thinks maybe flashing an older guy like a
Republican on Viagra and maybe getting the the guy off in my hand and
showing it to him while on public transportation or in a chain hardware
store. I said only if we're going somewhere or I need something! What is
it with you guys, anyway?
Yours,
Lenore