The Letter

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This seemed to be a typical Saturday, with Mr. Dawson mowing his lawn and the boys playing basketball in the driveway. I loved the way the sun warmed my face as I stepped beyond the shadows of the house. I thought how this was a perfect day to celebrate our fifteenth wedding anniversary. Well, it would have been except for the fact that Dave had been called away at the last minute to settle a labor problem in their east coast branch—something about a pending strike. It was unusual for him to travel, but who am I to complain? Dave has always provided well for me and the kids. I’ve been blessed to have all we do.

The mail box was full. I sorted it out as I walked back into the house. The damp grass felt wonderful squeezing through my toes. Our mail mostly consisted of advertisers and some utility bills. Hmmm… what’s this? A letter from David? Probably an anniversary card. He was always thoughtful that way. I couldn’t remember him ever missing an anniversary or birthday for me and the kids.

I filed the junk mail in the trash compactor and poured myself a cup of coffee. Sitting at the kitchen bar, I started to tear open Dave’s letter, when Robby popped his head in the door and asked, “Mom, can Rick and I go to the park? Allen says there’s a pickup game.”

“Don’t you want me to fix you two some lunch?”

“Naw, we’re good, Mom.”

“Okay, have fun. No fighting and be back before dark.” I truly sound like a mom, I chuckled to myself.

I smiled, thinking how Robby and Rick were inseparable. Even though they looked identical, they were fraternal twins. They’ve been such a blessing to me—my little miracles. I was told after their birth I needed a partial hysterectomy because of some abnormal growth. That meant I couldn’t have more children, so it was a stroke of luck I had twins. Except for having to take hormones daily, I completely recovered.

I went back to the letter and pulled out an anniversary card. It was a lovely scented card. Inside was a note, hand written, that said, “Thank you for being the best wife and mother any man could dream of. I love you with all my heart. See you soon. Counting the days until I’m home. Love, Your husband, Dave.”

Inside the envelope there was also a letter. I opened it and began to read. The first thing I noticed was the letter, like the card, was also hand written. I took a sip of coffee and began to read.

My dearest wife Jenny,

In almost sixteen years, I can’t recall ever writing you a letter before. Why am I now? It is because every time I try to bring this subject up, the words just stick in my throat.

First, I want to say I love you and need you more than air. You are everything to me. I’ve never ever been attracted to anyone the way I am to you. I know I’ve disappointed you at times but you never make me feel anything but supported and loved, even in my failures. I watch other wives nag their husbands, but you never do that because we’ve always had great communication. I always feel your encouragement.

So, why this letter? I’ve been struggling with certain issues in my life that started about five years ago—things I just recently began seeing a therapist about. It started as a passing thought and has grown into a full-fledged obsession. My therapist said I should talk to you about this and God knows I have tried. That is the reason I waited until I was on this two-week business trip to share what he suggested. He says I am clinically what he would classify as a Wittol. Look it up. I don’t know the exact definition.

We as a couple, click on all levels. Well, almost all. The only thing I have seen lacking in our relationship is our diminishing sex life. It’s not anyone’s fault and I’m certainly not blaming you. I think we have just grown too familiar with each other. Sex kind of went from hot and steamy to… functional….

You are probably the sexiest thirty-five year-old woman on the planet. Sometimes I watch you dress and find your body even hotter today than when we first married. So many women your age let themselves go, but not you, even after giving birth to two wonderful kids. Your total dedication to health and fitness have paid off big-time. I don’t think you know how sexy you are. Which brings me back to why I wrote this letter.

About five years ago, when we used to go to the gym together, I was watching you workout in that skin-tight leotard. You know, the one you always wore to the gym that fit like a second skin. You were on the stair climber and I was using the bench press. I couldn’t take my eyes off you. Your large breasts were swaying as you pumped the machine and your firm, shapely butt was perfection in motion.

I wasn’t the only one that noticed you. The guy next to me saw me staring at you and said, “I’m seeing the same thing, mate. I’d give a month’s pay to get her between the sheets. If she were my woman, I couldn’t keep my hands off her.”

For some reason, this stranger’s lustful admission excited me. That was the first time I ever fantasized about you being with another man… but it wouldn’t canlı bahis be the last. After that day, the seed that was planted started to grow. I began to regularly picture you with different men we know. I knew this was wrong, but I couldn’t control it. The fantasies continued.

I would get angry at myself for thinking such deviant thoughts about the woman I loved, causing periods where I’d withdraw. At first, I just told myself it was nothing but a passing phase, but it grew into a full-fledged obsession. That’s why I sought counseling. I figured you would find out about the therapy when you saw the checks I wrote to the therapist.

My love, I would never do anything to jeopardize our marriage. I just can’t help myself. I truly have this hidden desire to see you with another man. There, I said it! I know when you read this, all kinds of things will go through your mind. So, to dispel any thoughts you might have that I want to be with other women, I have no such thoughts or intentions. I want none other than you. I’ve always believed your body is yours and yours alone. What you do with it is, always has been, and always will be your choice. It is an extreme privilege to be your partner in life.

I can’t expect you to understand my feelings. I don’t understand them myself. I would take little events and build them into my fantasy, like the time you were dancing with Carl at the Christmas party and he was getting fresh, feeling you up. I knew we all had had too much to drink and you eventually pushed him away, but not after a substantial groping. I should have got angry and intervened, but all I could think about was what was he whispering in your ear? What stands out to me the most about that night was when we got home, you almost raped me. I knew the stimulation you received from Carl sparked desires in you—desires I joyfully benefited from.

Then there was the time you were getting help from that personal trainer. I can’t remember his name—the body builder. I gasped aloud when I saw him stretching you out. From the bulge he was packing, I’m sure he wanted to stretch more than your legs. I watched you giggle and flirt with him. When I saw his hands trace down your sides over your hips, I should have been furious, but strangely, it excited me and added fuel to my fantasy.

I can’t imagine what you must be thinking at this point. I could keep hiding these feelings, but I wanted you to know the truth of why I’m going to therapy. I love you with every fiber of my being, and pray this does not harm our marriage. I shouldn’t ask this, but have you ever fantasized being with another man? I know by the way you look, that you must be propositioned constantly. Are you ever tempted? Does knowing how I feel change anything?

After reading this, text me back if you want to discuss this. If you don’t, dispose of this letter and I won’t ever bring it up again.

Your loving, faithful husband, David After reading his letter the second time, I wasn’t sure how to react. Should I be angry, sympathetic, disappointed or just shocked? Shocked was my initial reaction. I thought about his options and considered taking option two, to just shred this and never think about it again. However, I love Dave and I should be able to discuss anything with him. We’d always been able to work through anything.

I picked up my phone and texted him: I received your letter.

I waited for a response. About five minutes later, I heard my phone beep for a new text. It simply said: I’m in a meeting. We can talk at seven.

I tried to get back to my chores, but my mind was never far from that letter. It’s not every day a wife gets told her husband wants to share her with others. I took out my tablet and googled “Wittol.”

It said: “Noun: wittol (plural wittols) (archaic) A man who knows, condones, and even encourages his wife’s enjoyment of coitus with another man or men: a contented cuckold.”

That had to be one of the most bizarre things I’d ever read. It made no sense. What could a husband get out of his wife having sex with another man? Moreover, how could a loving wife do that?

I thought back to Dave’s example of when I was dancing with Carl. I hadn’t even been aware of Dave watching, but It’s good that he didn’t see everything: like when I went into the kitchen and Carl followed. I’d been a bit tipsy and Carl took advantage by kissing me and groping my breasts. I had pushed him away and slapped him… eventually. And yes, I admit I was turned on.

Just past noon, the doorbell rang. It was FTD with a bouquet of roses. I put them in a vase and read through the letter again. This whole thing seemed so weird and contrary to how I knew my husband of fifteen years.

It was about four-fifteen when my phone rang. I rushed to answer and tapped that little green phone icon.

“Hey, babe,” I said. “I thought you were not going to be available until seven.”

“It’s after seven, my time.”

“Oh… I forgot about the time difference. I miss, you. How’s it going there?””Miss you more,” Dave replied. “Happy anniversary. bahis siteleri These negotiations are going poorly, but that is to be expected. There is a lot of blustering in the beginning. How are the kids?”

“They are still at the park. I swear they would sleep with those basketballs if I’d let them.”

There was a pause in the conversation. We were both avoiding the elephant in the room. Then Dave asked softly, “Jen… did you get my card?”

“Yes, it was beautiful and so were the roses.” I said, avoiding what he truly wanted to know.

“Um, did you read my letter?” he asked.

I paused and hesitated at first. “Yes… several times. Dave, I don’t know what to say. I was pretty shocked.”

“I figured you would be. I tried to talk about it several times but couldn’t find the words. Then I decided that a letter would allow me to express all my thoughts without interruption. Can you possibly forgive me?”

“Sweetheart, what is there to forgive? What have you done besides share something you’ve been struggling with? We will talk more about it when you get home. I love you, big boy.”

“Hun, I need to get a bite to eat. I couldn’t digest any food until we talked. And sweetheart… thank you.”

“For what?” I said.

“For being the most awesome wife on earth, that’s what.”

“Awwww! Flattery is going to get you everywhere. Go eat. We’ll talk more later.”

“I’m gonna Subway and hit the sack. Love, you. Goodnight.”

“Sleep tight. Love you more.”

-oOo-

The next few days were normal. We talked twice a day and neither one of us broached the subject of his letter. However, there seemed to be this unspoken tension between us regarding his intentions for me. I couldn’t get a handle on the whole thing. I kept my emotions in check and didn’t say anything, fearing it would cause a rift between us.

I needed more information, so I decided to research this whole ‘wittol’ thing, but google kept referring me to “cuckold.” When I clicked on cuckold, thousands of websites popped up—literally, thousands. It appeared to be a popular subject. There were support groups, porn sites, how-to manuals, story sites, hookup sites, clothing, toys… the list was endless. I was flabbergasted. It appeared that hundreds of thousands or even millions were involved in this lifestyle.

I decided to read more and find out what my husband was into. I ordered a book called Becoming a Hot-wife for my kindle. Over the next couple days, I read every chance I could. I was shocked, but undeniably aroused. I started to give my vibrator a real workout. Somehow, after knowing Dave’s intentions for me, I felt bolder and more confident. Why? Was it because my husband wanted me to have sex with others? This was troubling to me, so I decided to talk further with Dave Thursday evening.

I waited for his call but he was late. He missed his regular time. I had so many things to ask him. The kids were in their room playing Nintendo and I was looking at the news with my phone in lap. Soon it was time to put the kids to bed. I worried something had happened. I decided to phone him. He picked up on the third ring. I could hear loud talking and music in the background.

“Hi babe! What’s up?” he asked.

“Where are you? It’s after midnight where you’re at.”

“Sorry, Hun, I’m in some bar. We are celebrating.”

“Celebrating what? I can hardly hear you.”

“We made a preliminary agreement pending the lawyers’ review. I tell you what, let me inform the guys I’m going back to my hotel.”

“Dave, don’t you dare drive!”

“No worries, princess. My hotel is across the street. I’ll call you back in ten.”

“Okay. Don’t walk out in front of a car! Talk soon.”

I poured a cup of coffee and stared at the clock. Ten minutes passed, then twenty… finally the buzz. I picked up immediately.

“Hi, Dave, are you alone?”

“Of course I’m alone. The only hot chick in my life is you.” He chuckled. “What’s up? You sound stressed.”

“I just miss you, David. It’s lonely without you.”

“Jen, I miss you, too. But there’s something more, isn’t there?” He could always read me.

“Yes, there is. I want to talk with you more about your letter.”

There was a pause and then he replied, “What do you want to know?”

“Why would you even think of such a thing?”

“I’ve been struggling with that same question for years. My therapist says those desires are not uncommon. He says it’s a universal desire for many men over a wide range of races, cultures, and economic classes. He explained that husbands tend to feel less effective as lovers as they age. In turn, that triggers a response of wanting his wife or significant other to be pleasured by another man.”

“That’s nuts. You’re not old, and you’re a wonderful lover.”

“Be honest, Jenny. Don’t you miss the passion we once shared? Remember how we couldn’t keep our hands off each other? Now our love making seems like… functional maintenance.”

“Well, this is just a sign that we need to work on a few things, that’s all. bahis şirketleri I would never cheat on you, no matter what. I love you.”

“I love you, too. But what I was fantasizing about was not cheating.”

“How would me making love to another man not be cheating?”

“First, you wouldn’t be making love with another man, you’d be fucking him. Making love is reserved for me. Cheating is sneaking around behind your spouse’s back. What you’d be doing would be with my support and encouragement.”

“And I suppose this gives you the green light to fool around at the conferences you go on?”

“No! I’d never ever do that. I’m not even tempted. This is about you taking lovers, not me. I know it sounds nuts.”

“Yes, it does! Totally crazy! This is a lot to take in,” I sighed.

“You sound upset. I apologize for upsetting you.”

“David, for a guy with a 140 IQ, you can be so incredibly dumb at times. I looked up ‘wittol’ and ‘cuckold,’ I even downloaded a book. I can’t believe you want me to have unrestrained sex while you just… watch? What do you get out of this arrangement?”

“It’s hard to explain.”

“This is a good time to explain, don’t you think?”

“Well… I get the satisfaction of knowing you are well taken care of.”

“Bullshit! Do you want a divorce? Is that it? Go ahead, admit it!” I started to cry.

“No way! I don’t want a divorce. I love you with every fiber of my being. I’d die without you.”

“I’m going to hang up now, David. This is too upsetting.”

“Please don’t hang up. This is what I feared. Jen, I love you and I am not going to force you to have sex with another man. If you ever act on this, the choice is all yours. All I ask is that you are honest and tell me.”

“You do realize you’re not playing with a full deck, buster? So… hypothetically, how did you envision this was going to happen?”

“Well, I’ve never really got that far, but hypothetically speaking of course, I suppose you’d take one of those offers that I’m sure comes your way so frequently.”

“And where is this ‘hypothetical rendezvous’ supposed to take place? Have you considered we have two children at home?”

“Wait a second, sweetheart, are we actually planning on having this happen?”

“Of course, not! I could never in a million years cheat on you,” I said breathlessly. “However, the book I’m reading suggests to try it at least once for an experimental trial run, then evaluate your feelings with one another before pursuing it further. How does that idea strike you?” I could hear the hope in Dave’s voice. “I couldn’t possibly cheat on you,” I reiterated. “We have a family. There is too much at stake.”

“It’s not cheating if I know where you are and what you’re doing, but I’ve already said that. We’re just going in circles now. Let’s sleep on it. I’ve got a long day tomorrow. If we can wrap up this agreement, I’ll be home Saturday.”

“Good night, crazy husband.”

“Good night, wife.”

-oOo-

I attempted to sleep, but every time I tried, I was haunted by my thoughts. This whole thing had me incredibly worked up. I was now actually remembering how I was before I met David. We first saw each other in the school library. He was so handsome that my toes curled (my toes are my hot-guy barometer). When he saw that I was staring at him, he smiled. My heart melted. He sweetly asked if he could use my table. I instantly agreed, thinking he could use anything of mine. Except for a few pleasantries, we didn’t talk. From the stack of books he was reading, I could tell he was extremely intelligent. Intelligent guys turned me on. Hell, any hot guy turned me on.

The next day, I was walking to my biology class when I felt a hand on my arm. I turned and faced this dreamboat, staring deeply into his hazel eyes.

“Excuse me, aren’t you the girl from the library?”

“Yep, that’s me, library girl.” I could hardly speak.

“I’m glad I found you. I think you left this on the table.” He fished out my chemistry notes from his stack of folders.

“Oh my God! Thank you, thank you, thank you! I was searching everywhere for them.” I dropped my books and gave him a hug that almost knocked him over.

After he recovered from being tackled by a crazy blonde chick, he said, “I’m David Cooper.”

“Glad to meet you, David Cooper, I’m Jennifer Maxwell.” I curtsied and lifted the hem of my skirt.

“Hahaha, you’re just too cute. I’ve never done this before, but would you care to have dinner with me?”

“Really? You’ve never had dinner before?” I looked serious.

“Please tell me that you don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Okay. I don’t have a boyfriend,” I lied.

We were married three months later. But what David never knew was that I was a campus slut. He should have had a clue when I fucked his brains out on our first date. Dinner wasn’t even that good, but I made sure his dessert was something to write home about.

We were still very much in love and apparently on the verge of a new adventure. I realized from our last conversation this had shifted from “if” to “how.” A week ago, I never would have thought I’d be thinking about possible lovers. All this hot-wife talk was igniting embers in me I thought had burned out long ago. I was becoming a girl on fire.

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