Ainsely had been sitting on a picnic table next to the parking lot at my company barracks chatting with a little group of smokers and jokers hanging out there. We only had one car so to use it any given day, she had to come pick me up after work. The picnic tables were kind of a social area for guys from the barracks, guys coming back to the messhall from the motor pool. Usually there would be other girls there, wives or girlfriends waiting for their guys to come out.

That's where she had first seen Javon, one of several Black soldiers that would hang out there, not in the least because of the cute young girls, my twenty year old wife being one of them. It seems this particular table had been taken over by the Blacks in the unit, the whites having been warned off. And they were not at all shy about checking out the girls, talking to them and hitting on them if they thought they could get away with it, usually without much success. But Javon was a smooth talking muscular young guy from Louisville who zeroed in on my wife from the first time he saw her.

On the ride home, she always told me about these obnoxious guys hitting on girls out front of the company area, telling me how some of the girls were afraid to sit out there any more, but Ainsely was resolved that she wasn't going to run and hide like a scared little girl. She said she was going to talk to anyone she wanted to, and she'd put them in their place if they said something offensive. There may have been some sharp exchanges—Ainsely could hold her own in a match of wits—but she soon found herself getting comfortable with the guys out there to the point that she was flirting with Javon, exchanging witty barbs, and liking it.

The regulars quickly picked up on their little exchanges, and while she denied anything going on, everyone was soon teasing Javon about his white girlfriend.

******

“So what was all that?” I asked her as we got in the car.

“What?” she asked innocently, turning to look at me. “Javon?”

“Yeah... Javon,” I snorted. “Coming out the door to see my wife giving some Black guy a hug is a little uncomfortable. They're already ragging on me about your 'new boyfriend.'”

“We were just talking,” she said matter-of-factly, “and he told me about his aunt fighting cancer. She like, raised him, you know.”

“Oh good, I though it was something serious between you two,” I sneered. “Any other Black guys with sick aunts you need to go hug.”

“Quit being a jerk,” she told me. “You know he's like a friend now. We talk all the time since you make me sit out here on my ass waiting for you every day. Or would you rather me just not talk to anyone.” It was a pretty chilly ride home. It was a pretty chilly dinner as well before we had a drink or two and took some time to talk about it. Tired of my silence, she started.

“He's just a nice guy that seems to like me, and honestly I kinda like him too. Don't you want me to have friends?”

“You know it's not that, I told her. I want you to have friends, and I'm okay with him being one of them. Honestly, I kind of like that he's interested in you. I'm sorry to sound so immature about it, but it really bugs me that it's so out in front of everyone.”

She just watched me talk, thinking. “What are you saying?”

“Well you said you think he's cute. And you just told me you like him... a lot.”

“Yeah,” she smiled wistfully.

“Well the rumor is that he's crushing on you something fierce.” She couldn't hide the deep blush. “I know what he wants. I know what all guys want. It's pretty obvious he really likes you.” I looked over at her. “So are you going to do something about it?” More quiet. More thinking.

“I wouldn't know what to do,” she said finally, immediately realizing how stupid that sounded. She needed a little nudge.

“Well I'm inviting him over to our place Friday night. We can grill some hotdogs, watch a movie or something.

******

The next afternoon, Ainsely was nervous about coming to pick me up. She asked me to tell her exactly when I'd be ready because she didn't want to sit around too long. Actually, she waited so long I was ready to go before she arrived. But I stayed in the office until I saw her arrive so she'd have to talk to Javon again. I'd already invited him over so he knew he was coming over. I let them have several minutes to talk, but Javon left as soon as I came out.

“I'm sorry,” she pouted. “I know I said I like him. I really do like him... but why would you bring him here?”

“Oh, c'mon Ains. You like him and he likes you. Do I have to draw you a picture?" She knows what I'm saying. She looks away, trying to figure out what she really wants, slowly forming her thoughts. She knows my fantasies for her. We've played with them in the bedroom and pillow talked them over and over. But nothing had ever happened.

“So what do you really want?” she says, exasperated. She looks hard at me. “Tell me. Tell me what you want. Do you want me to make out with him or something, maybe 'get it on' with him,” she says with a sneer in her voice. Her eyes start to moisten as she waits for the answer she already knows I'm going to give her.

“Yes,” I tell her softly, deliberately. “I want you to fuck him.” She blinks. “I know you like him. I know you want him. And he wants you too.” She looks down at her hands. The fact that she didn't blow up on the spot and reject the idea out of hand ignites a hope in me that I have to push.

“I want you to be nice to him. Sit on the sofa with him. Make out with him. Let him feel you up. Let him finger fuck you, undress you. I want him to take you upstairs and fuck you. I want you to have orgasms with him. I want you to let him cum in you while you're kissing him and holding him tight. And I want you to do it more than once. Lots more than once.”

She looks down at the floorboard, crying softly. “This just isn't right,” she says. “It just isn't fair. I know he wants me, and I want him to, but this could ruin us... it could ruin everything.” I hate the thought of the struggle she must be going through as her desire, her long suppressed lust, pushes against her traditional Southern upbringing. Little white Episcopal choir girls are pretty heavily indoctrinated it seems.

She's so totally convinced that if she actually violated her three months old wedding vows her marriage, indeed her whole life would be over. She'd never be able to look at her family or friends again. How could I help her get over all that baggage?

“Don't think like that, baby,” I told her. “You don't have to do anything you don't want to do. And more importantly, you can do whatever you want to. See it like that. Just fuck him, and then we'll go on from there.” Parking the car, I hold her and wipe away her tears, assuring her over and over that nothing will ever make me stop loving her.

But as she softly sobs, she opens her heart to me with that squeaky little teary voice, and for the first time I think I begin to understand her greatest fear. “I'm so afraid... terrified really,” she say softly. “I know if I do this, it wouldn't end there. It couldn't possibly be just once.” I love stroking her long light brown hair as I listen to her, let it sink in, and then slowly answer her.

“Of course it won't be, Ains. You know once he gets in your pants, he'll be after you all the time. You're going to fuck him a lot... whenever you want... whenever he wants. I want him to know that whenever he wants white pussy, he's welcome to come over and fuck my wife.” She just kept shaking her head, denying it to herself as much as to me that such a thing could happen.

She got quiet as I kissed her and stroked her, pulling up her t-shirt and slipping my hand down her panties. If she could just 'get going' as she called having an orgasm, her whole focus, and any reservations would dissappear. I knew it.