I'm fucking your wife.
I'm fucking your wife because you won't. Sure, you'll stick your dick in her, move it around a bit, get your rocks off. But that's not fucking her, except in a non-sexual sense.
I'm fucking your wife because I can, because I love the soft hills and valleys of her body, so beautiful. I know every dimple on her butt, her two slightly crooked teeth; she has three gray hairs and I know exactly where they are. When she's in the mood, her brown eyes darken almost to black and her lips swell red as poppies and just as intoxicating. I know exactly where to find her clit, that pink saltwater pearl; one touch sends her straight to the bottom of the ocean. I like to hold it on the tip of my tongue, feel her quiver with anticipation. I can soothe her, surprise her, make her shake, make her beg. I can make her come, make her wail and cling to me like an infant as sweat breaks out between her breasts and on her face. I love to feel her contract around my fingers, feel her soft and wet as summer rain.
I'm fucking your wife because I love how she fucks me. We lie together for ages, just kissing, touching, talking, playing. Has she ever told you what she likes? Do you know that she loves to have her feet worshipped, that she takes such good care of them because she knows that when I see her again, I will kiss them? I love to feel her small, soft hands cup my breasts and I ache for the moment when those quick fingers reach between my legs. I love to lie back and let her work on me. She tells me that she likes my eyes, then her mouth closes over my nipple and three of her fingers push deep into my cunt, and I'm lost again, lost to this wonderful woman. I love what she does to me.
I'm fucking your wife because she came to me one day in tears. Whatever magic had done its work before the wedding day had long since worn off. It's funny because I know you, and in other situations, you're a caring, reasonable man, but to your wife, you're little better than a petty tyrant. You woke her up at three in the morning because you couldn't find your keys. You complain when dinner is late, not bothering to thank her for having made it for you in the first place. She washes the socks you don't have the courtesy to even put in the hamper. She has to fish them out from under the bed, she does this for you, too, and you don't even notice. For her last birthday, you got her a new washer. She didn't need it, doesn't like it, but she has to use it or you'll get angry at her for being ungrateful.
So she came to me and cried and cried about how tired she was, how she hangs on for the kids, and I held her and comforted her, and then something happened. It wasn't a kiss. That came later, one of the most memorable of my life. Your wife can kiss like the world will never end and her mouth tastes like a good Riesling. I don't think she's "really a lesbian," which is what you'd say. I think she just likes sex, likes it best with someone she loves, doesn't care whether that someone is male or female. You married one of the most sensual women I have ever met, a woman who blazes in my arms like a supernova. When it is over, we are both exhausted, exhilarated, drenched in sweat and giggling, and even still she is playful, cuddling up next to me and kissing my neck. In bed, she is like an open book, a long one that I never want to end, one that I will read over and over because I love it so much. I'm fucking your wife and it's wonderful.
Oddly, I think it's why you're still married. I think if it weren't for sex with me, she would have left you. She could. Just because she's been a housewife for the last seven years doesn't mean she's stupid. She has a degree, remember? She wants so much, though, for herself and her children, and it's for her children that she stays. You cannot see this. I don't know what you think it is that keeps her with you, but the thread is very thin, thinner than you know, just the girl next door whose got some time on her hands and a very talented tongue. It's so easy to make your wife come.
So I'm fucking your wife. She comes to me on Wednesday afternoons and we burn up the sheets together, then make daiquiris with whatever fruit suits our fancy and sip them naked in the sun on my back porch, our thighs and fingers sticky with sex. It doesn't end until day camp is out, when she goes to pick up her children, your children. We get to spend the whole day in bed together, rolling like waves, feasting on each other. By the time she leaves, I'm drunk and spacey because I've forgotten all about lunch. I've been too busy fucking your wife.
So that's why I laughed when you asked me. I couldn't help it. I already know what you're like in bed and I want no part of it. I know all about you. You see, I'm fucking your wife.
by A.R.