I playfully wrestled on the bed with my wife, Monica, late one night. I had one of her hands pinned above her head while I stretched with my other arm to reach the lamp on our bedside table. Just as my fingertips had barely touched the light switch, she bit me on the shoulder, causing me to recoil.

"Ow!" I yelped. "That hurt!"

"Don't be such a baby," she teased.

"Baby? You're the baby! Why won't you ever let me turn on the light?"

"Shhh," she whispered. "You'll wake up Kaitlyn."

Our daughter had just graduated from high school a few months earlier. I was counting down the days until she went away to college, leaving us with an empty house, which would allow us to make a little noise in bed for the first time in nearly twenty years. Exasperated, I flopped onto the mattress beside her. She rested her head on my shoulder and gently scratched at my bare chest with her long fingernails. I inhaled the sweet fragrance of her dark red hair.

"You're not going to pout, are you?" she asked. She kissed my cheek and her hand slid under the blanket and caressed my semi-erect cock through my boxer shorts. "Do you want me to take care of this or not?"

"I just don't get it," I said. "Why won't you let me turn the light on?"

"Because I don't want you looking at my fat body while we make love," she said.

"And I've told you before, you're not fat," I said. "You're perfect."

"And you're delusional," she said. "Sweet, but delusional."

"It's just that sex has become so routine," I said. "It's the same thing every Friday night. Always in bed with the lights off, after eleven o'clock, being as quiet as we possibly can. You're not bored with that?"

She withdrew her hand from my cock and turned away from me. "You think I'm boring?"

"I didn't say you're boring," I sighed, spooning her from behind. "I said our sex life is boring - and that's something we can fix. I'm just trying to add a little variety, that's all."

"I think you have it pretty good," she responded. "My sister says that she and David only have sex once a month."

"Yeah, well, your sister is an ice queen," I remarked, and then immediately winced after her elbow jabbed into my rib cage. "What's so wrong about wanting to see my gorgeous wife while I'm fucking her?"

"Do you have to talk like that?" she scolded.

"Do you have to be such a good little Catholic girl all the time?"

"Hey, I was a good little Catholic girl when you married me," she reminded me. This was true. Although Monica and I committed a major sin by having premarital sex, I had already proposed to her by then, so it was a bit of a loophole, I suppose.

We met in high school. She was so naïve and sexually inexperienced that I had to supply her with her sexual education. Not that I had much experience myself. Before meeting Monica, I managed to get to second base with a neighbor girl down the street. She stuck her hand down my pants and jacked me off. I came in my pants in less than a minute. That was the entirety of my sexual resume when I met my wife, and yet even that pathetic resume was longer than hers.

The drastic difference between my libido and Monica's had been the one and only bone of contention in our marriage. I had always been highly-sexual, while sex simply wasn't all that important to her. Aside from that one disparity, our marriage was rock-solid. Although I would never have changed my decision to marry Monica, I had always wondered if I had missed out on something by not "playing the field" a little more before meeting her.

I had tried every trick I knew to boost her libido. I bought sex toys. I bought lingerie. We tried role-playing (with laughable results.) I tried being more affectionate, doing more work around the house, and all the other things that women claim as excuses for not having sex more often. Nothing seemed to work.

"We used to make love during the day all the time," I reminded her. "Hell, there were a few times we did it outdoors! Remember that time at the park?"

She laughed. "Honey, I was nineteen years old. I was young and foolish - and hot. I didn't mind you seeing my naked body in the light of day back then."

"You're still hot," I insisted. "And you used to be a little kinky, too. Remember that weekend I proposed to you? You brought a can of whipped cream into the bedroom, covered my entire body with it, and licked it off! That was amazing!"

She shrugged. "That was a long time ago, honey. I'm now a frumpy old wife and mother."

"You're hardly frumpy!" I protested. "I think you're hotter than ever! I keep telling you that, but you just don't listen."

One of the many traits that drew me toward Monica when we first met was that she didn't seem to realize how beautiful she was. She had luxurious, soft, light auburn hair with natural waves down to her shoulders, and emerald-green eyes that sparkled when she smiled. That smile of hers sent bolts of lightning straight to my heart. She was a petite little thing with an athletic little body and an angelic face peppered with tiny freckles. Oddly enough, the trait that I found so endearing when we met had become an irritation. How could she not see how beautiful she was?

She sighed loudly. "Yeah, well, I'm sorry to say my kinky sexy days are long behind me. I'm afraid you'll have to take what you get. Now, are you going to 'fuck' me or what?"

"Ooh, dirty talk!" I said, climbing on top of her. "I say that's progress."

***

The following Friday, just before Monica turned out the lights, I handed her a small gift bag. She gave me a suspicious glare and peaked into the bag.

"Is this what I think it is?" she groaned.

I grinned and nodded enthusiastically. "It's lingerie. I bought it a few days ago. Will you wear it?"

Another groan. "Honey, you know I don't like lingerie. We've been through this before. You see something on a mannequin and you think it'll look the same on me. It never does."

"Just try it on," I insisted. "Please?"

I made an exaggerated "sad puppy" face. She never could resist that expression. Rolling her eyes like a petulant teenager, she stepped into the bathroom and shut the door behind her. Frankly, I was a little surprised she agreed to do it. The extra glass of wine I poured for her at dinner may have influenced her decision. Moments later she emerged wearing the outfit I had purchased. As I stood with my eyes wide and mouth agape, she performed a sarcastic pirouette to give me the full view.

"See what I mean?" she said. "My boobs hardly fit into this thing and my big butt is about to burst the seams of those tiny panties you bought me."

For some reason, Monica thought she was overweight. She was such a tiny girl when we met, and I guess she assumed she would remain that way forever. After giving birth to Kaitlyn, however, her breasts expanded two cup sizes and her hips and ass grew wonderfully fuller. She was hardly fat by any stretch of the definition. If you asked me, she looked "womanly."

"Nonsense," I said, still ogling her like a horny schoolboy. "You look hot as hell, trust me. You've never looked better, in fact."

She shook her head and rolled her eyes. "I wish I could borrow your eyes so I can see what you see."

"I wish you could, too," I said. Just then, I was struck by inspiration. "I have an idea. Now, I know what you're going to say, but just hear me out."

"I don't like where this is going," she said, and self-consciously folded her arms over her chest.

I picked up my cellphone from the dresser. "Let me take a few photos of you—"

"Oh, hell no!" she laughed.

"Just hear me out!" I protested. "I'll take a few pics—and don't worry, I'll take them from the neck down, okay? And I'll post them online—"

"Oh, hell no!" she repeated. "Are you insane? I'm a school teacher, for god's sake!"

"Like I said, your face won't be visible, I promise. No one will know it's you. You can even review the pictures with me before I post them."

"Why on earth do you think I'd agree to this?" she said with a derisive chuckle.

"Because I want you to see that you really are a stone-cold hottie," I said, trying to impress her with my hip lingo, which I was sure was several years out of date. "I'll post the photos online and you'll get to read the comments from guys like me. You'll see that it's not just me that thinks you're gorgeous."

"Where online?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Uh-oh. "It's just a site where men can share pictures," I stammered. "Some guys share pictures of their wives."

"Oh?" she said with a crooked grin. "And how do you know about this site?"

The temperature in the room seemed to rise several degrees. "Never mind that. Will you let me do it?"

She shook her head and sighed. "I don't want a bunch of perverts ogling me."

"I'll give you a fantastic massage afterward," I promised. "And I'll do the dishes for a week—no, two weeks! Pretty please?"

I gave her that sad puppy look again. "Ugh!" she groaned. "Fine. But if I don't like any of the pictures, then we don't do this."

"Deal!" I said. I pumped my fist and began to direct her into various poses, both standing and on the bed. Although she was reluctant at first, she eventually seemed to relax a bit and took my directions. I pushed her boundaries a little too far when I suggested she show a little more skin. She shut down our impromptu photo session that instant.

We reviewed the photos one by one. The first dozen photos were not up to her standards, and she insisted I delete them immediately. For a moment I thought she would have me delete all of them. It would've been a shame, because I thought every picture looked fantastic. Finally, she settled on three pictures that she decided weren't entirely unflattering. I rushed to my laptop to upload them to the website.

I clicked the submit button. "This is kind of exciting!" I exclaimed. I stood and wrapped my arms around her. My hands glided over the smooth silk fabric of her lingerie and settled on her ample rear-end. I kissed her, and to my delight, she returned my kiss with unusual enthusiasm.

"I think you're excited, too," I noted. "Maybe just a little?"

She reached down, grabbed my hard cock, and pulled me toward the bed. I reached toward the lamp to turn it off, but she stopped me and shook her head.

"Leave it on tonight," she said.

***

When I checked the website the following morning, I was pleased to see that several people had left flattering comments on the pictures I posted. In addition to the comments, there were over a dozen messages in our in-box with complimentary comments and requests to chat privately. I ignored those requests and read the comments out loud to Monica over our morning coffee. She simply smiled and blushed.

"I told you you're smoking hot," I said. "Even PeeWee59 agrees with me. See?" I pointed to PeeWee's comment on the monitor and she shook her head.

"You're all a bunch of perverts," she said.

She was in an especially good mood that week. As more and more men - and women - complimented her online, I could almost see her ego swell. It was funny; I had told her for years how beautiful she is, but it took the compliments of complete strangers for her to believe it.

She was more affectionate than usual that week, giving me spontaneous hugs, kisses, and massages. I followed her lead by showing her more affection as well. The kissing and heavy petting led to some very hot sex on a Wednesday night, which broke the pattern of Friday-only sex that had been established for years. If I had known that something as simple as sharing sexy photos with strangers would have had such an effect on our sex life, I would have done it years ago!

The following Friday night, it was Monica who actually suggested that we take more pictures. I was completely stunned, but happily obliged. I was further stunned when she removed her top and allowed me to take several photos of her bare-chested. For a thirty-nine-year-old woman, her breasts were exceptionally firm. I could tell by her hardened nipples that she was excited to display them for an audience of strangers.

We reviewed the new batch of photos and selected three more to upload to the website. The comments we received the following day were more than complimentary. Some of them were downright lewd, as men described in great detail what they would do to my wife's tits if they had the opportunity. If any of them had made such vulgar suggestions to my face, they'd be staring at the ceiling a second later, but with the safety of anonymity I didn't mind it as much. In fact, I felt an odd sense of pride. Damn right her tits are fuckable. And those tits are all mine!

***

One night, Monica was feeling especially frisky. "I was thinking," she said, "about what some of those guys said about my breasts. One of them said he would cover them in...you know. I'm thinking we should show them what that looks like."

To say that I was surprised would be an understatement. Monica had always been grossed out by my cum. She wouldn't allow me to cum on her, and always quickly ran to the bathroom when I came inside her. I made the mistake of briefly cumming in her mouth before warning her when we were dating, and she nearly vomited. Cumming on a woman's face or in her mouth had been a fetish of mine since I watched my first porno flick, but it was a fetish that Monica refused to indulge.

I must have looked ridiculous judging by her giggle. I was too stunned to speak, but eventually found my voice. "Uh...o-okay," I stammered. "H-how do you want to do this?"

She removed her shirt and bra, and then dropped to her knees in front of me. I knew I was in for a special treat. Although she hated giving head when we first met, she eventually learned to enjoy it. She realized that she had a great deal of power over me despite being in that position of seeming submission. She would ask me what I liked and didn't like, and over the years had turned cocksucking into an art form. She had even learned to relax her gag reflex, and was able to take my entire length into her throat.

After only a few minutes of her expertise, I was ready to burst. "You'll let me know when, right?" she asked. I responded with a nod, and she went back to work. A moment later I gave her the warning, and she quickly removed my cock from her mouth and furiously stroked it. An impressive stream of cum splattered one of her tits, and then the other. She continued stroking until she had completely drained me.

"Quick!" she said, waving her hands frantically. "Take a picture!"

I scrambled for my cellphone and snapped a few up-close photos. She then scurried into the bathroom to clean up. Needless to say, the reaction to that photo online was overwhelming. We received more comments and private chat requests than ever. I watched as Monica read the comments, and I could tell by the way she grinned that she enjoyed having this naughty new secret identity.

Our sex life greatly improved over the next several weeks. It improved even further when Kaitlyn moved into her college dormitory, leaving us with the house to ourselves. We actually managed to have sex in every room of the house - something I had wanted to do since we bought the place. It took a while to break old habits, but we eventually became more vocal while making love. Even Monica broke her silence with loud moaning and an occasional dirty word.

We continued to upload photos to our favorite new website every now and then. The more time that passed, the bolder we became. I eventually convinced Monica to pose fully nude. We posted a few more photos of us having sex. As usual, the comments came pouring in. The guys were particularly impressed with Monica's deepthroating ability. I even received a few compliments myself - hopefully from women - on the size and shape of my cock.

I ignored most of the private messages and chat requests, but there was one that I felt it would be too impolite to ignore. A guy going by the user name of "Chicpl93" wrote us a lengthy private message that was greatly complimentary of the two of us. He thanked us profusely for sharing our naughty photos, and asked if we would be interested in chatting sometime. Unlike most of the Neanderthals who sent us such requests, this guy seemed civilized and articulate.

I didn't have much inclination to discuss my sex life with complete strangers, but I felt it would rude to simply ignore him. I responded by thanking him for the kind words and politely declined his request to chat. He quickly responded by assuring me that it was understandable that I didn't want to chat. He then invited me to look at a few of the photos he posted on the same site.

When I clicked the link he sent, I was instantly impressed. Unlike the amateurish photos we had posted, the photos of him and his wife were practically fine art. Like our photos, their faces were obscured, but they found clever ways of doing it. Their poses were natural, and they were both in excellent shape, physically. I could tell they spent a lot of time in the gym.

As I clicked through their photos, I paused when I came across one in particular. It showed the wife's face, cleverly obscured, and covered with cum. My heart raced and my cock swelled. The wife in the photo was smiling adorably, and I could see a trace of cum leaking from the corner of her mouth. She didn't seem to mind at all.

Needless to say, I was intrigued. I had so many questions. Did they do that type of thing often, or did they stage it solely for the purpose of that photo? Did he share the same fetish as I did? Or even better, did she?

I continued my correspondence with this guy, and learned that it wasn't only the husband who wrote to me, but his wife as well. It was at that point that I asked Monica to review what we had all written, as I didn't want to keep her out of the loop. At first, she was embarrassed to learn that I had been chatting with someone online about sex, but she soon discovered what I had learned: this couple, who had given us the names of Luke and Eva, seemed completely normal.

We had a lot in common, in fact. They were the same age as Monica and me. Like us, they married at a young age and had a daughter in college. Like me, Luke was raised in a family of modest means, worked hard, and now enjoyed a great deal of success running his own business. They had begun posting photos of themselves on the website at around the same time and for the same reason: to spice things up in the bedroom. Like us, they had never done anything like that before. The only difference was that it was Eva's idea, and not Luke's.

We continued our online conversation with Luke and Eva for several weeks. Despite meeting the way we did, our conversations often had nothing to do with sex. They traveled quite a bit and led an interesting life. They both seemed to have a good sense of humor, and didn't take themselves too seriously. If we had met in any other way, and didn't live half a country apart, it would have been easy to picture us all becoming good friends.

When we became comfortable enough with each other, we eventually shared pictures of our faces. They were an attractive couple by anyone's standards. He was bald, had piercing blue eyes, and a muscular body. She had an exotic look to her, with a dark complexion, dazzling dark eyes, full lips, and curly black hair down to her shoulders. When they received our photos, Luke quipped that he always had a thing for red-haired Irish girls. To my surprise, Monica responded that she always had a thing for bald guys! The physical distance between us seemed to provide enough of a cushion that it emboldened her to be a little risqué.

At some point during one of our conversations, Luke bragged about Eva's oral sex skills. I couldn't help but brag about Monica's talent, as I truly believed there could be no one better in that regard. I mentioned that she had learned to deepthroat and Luke was greatly intrigued.

"You're a lucky man," he typed.

"Thanks," I replied. "So, Eva isn't able to do that?"

"No," he wrote, "she gags about halfway down. And it's not because I'm huge, trust me. I've seen your photos, and you have me beat."

I laughed. "Well, it's a shame. It feels amazing."

"I'll bet it does," he responded. Then, after a pause, he wrote, "I wonder if Monica would be willing to show us her talent."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Do you have a Skype account?"

I was very hesitant to mention Luke's request to Monica, as I wasn't sure how she would respond. Convincing her to let me post naughty photos of her had been easier than I had imagined, though. Maybe her adventurous side was blossoming quicker than I ever imagined.

I gathered my courage and shared Luke's proposal after a couple of glasses of wine the next night. As expected, she adamantly refused at first. I could tell, though, that somewhere deep down, she wanted to do it. I got the impression she wanted to show off her skills to an appreciative audience. In the end, it didn't take much cajoling to convince her.

I set up our laptop at a strategic height and positioned Monica in front of it. She insisted on wearing an old Marti Gras-style mask she found in a junk drawer to hide her identity, as she was paranoid about Luke and Eva surreptitiously recording the Skype session. I assured her that they would never do something like that, but she didn't want to take any chances. I had to admire that she was always very cautious about protecting her reputation.

Luke and Eva appeared on our screen while our own image appeared in a box in the corner. They smiled and waved at us, and seemed almost giddy with excitement. Monica returned their salutation while I stood awkwardly off-camera, completely naked. I was so excited about what was happening that my dick was already standing at full attention.

Monica chatted with the two of them for quite a while, as if she were trying to postpone her performance for as long as possible. For a minute, I actually thought she would chicken-out, but then she turned and smiled at me, and beckoned me with her index finger.

When I stepped in front of the camera, I paid close attention to Eva's expression. Her eyes widened and she nodded her head and smiled. "Wow," she said. "Impressive cock you have there, Neil!"

My ego swelled instantly. I chuckled and gave her the thumbs-up sign. Monica didn't waste any time getting down to business. She grabbed me by the cock and pulled me toward her. She kissed the tip and then slowly and dramatically took it into her mouth. With each inch that disappeared from view, I felt her swirling her tongue, just as I had taught her so many years ago. It felt as amazing as it did the very first time.

After spending quite a bit of time building up to the big moment, she took my cock completely out of her mouth and paused for just a moment, as if admiring a glistening work of art. I never took my eyes off of Eva. She was absolutely captivated. Her lips parted, and I could tell she was breathing heavily. Monica's mouth made its descent down my shaft toward its final destination. Eva's eyes widened, as did Luke's. I felt Monica's nose nestle into my pubic hair, and I knew she had swallowed the full length. She held herself there for a dramatic pause before slowly retreating.

She removed my cock from her mouth, turned to the camera and smiled. "Ta-da!" she exclaimed with a giggle, raising her hands in the air.

Luke and Eva both applauded and congratulated her. "Amazing!" Luke exclaimed.

"I'm impressed," Eva added. A bit of an awkward moment followed. No one had considered what would follow her demonstration. At last, Eva spoke. "Well? Are you going to leave the poor guy with blue balls? Look at it! It's twitching!"

Monica laughed. "I'll take care of him; don't worry." She patted my cock like it was a puppy.

"While you do that, he's going to take care of me," Eva said. "I'm all hot and bothered after that performance!"

We bid them good night and Monica made good on her promise. I took care of her as well - three times, by my count.

***

We continued our correspondence with Eva and Luke for the next several weeks. The ladies seemed to get along like old friends, and Luke and I had developed an odd sort of kinship as well. Although our conversations touched upon every topic imaginable, sex was clearly at the forefront. Plenty of flirtatious remarks and sexy innuendos were exchanged, and everything was shared openly in our group conversation. After a while, it seemed natural to share so much personal information with these strangers. Through the course of those conversations, I even learned a few things about my own wife.

Monica had always been very reluctant to share her sexual fantasies with me. Every time I brought up the topic in the past, she would insist that she didn't have any fantasies. I would insist that she was holding back from me, and sometimes that led to some mild arguments in bed. I found it impossible to believe that someone could have no fantasies, as sex had tended to dominate my thoughts since puberty.

During one of our conversations with Luke and Eva, we were sharing our most outrageous sexual fantasies. Eva admitted that she was a little curious what it would be like to be with a woman. To my surprise, Monica admitted that she, too, was a little curious.

That night, while lying in bed together, I tried to coax more deep, dark secrets out of her. As always, she was reluctant to share.

"Let's not have this conversation again," she groaned.

"Well, why not? You've really opened up in the past couple of months. Look at how adventurous you've become! Hasn't it been fun? All this time, I never knew you had such a naughty side to you. It only took a little nudge to release that inner slut!"

"I'm not a slut!" she protested, slapping me hard on the shoulder.

"You're my slut," I said with a wink. "And I like it when you show your slutty side. It's exciting! So tell me what other naughty thoughts you have trapped inside that beautiful brain of yours."

"I've told you before," she said, "I'm not as sex-obsessed as you are! I don't really have any fantasies. I've had a few naughty dreams, but that's about it."

"Okay, tell me about one of your dreams."

She sighed. "I...ugh...it's embarrassing. How about you tell me what your fantasies are instead."

"Only if you go first," I said.

Another sigh. "Fine. I had a dream once where I was blindfolded and couldn't move. I was lying on a bed or a rug or maybe even the grass outdoors. I suddenly felt all these hands all over my body, touching and rubbing me everywhere. Then I felt lips and tongues and...other body parts...all over. Then I woke up. That's it."

"That's hot," I said. "See? That wasn't so bad sharing that, was it?"

"Now what about you?" she asked.

"Well, you know my fantasy about cumming on—"

"Eww, yes," she groaned. "I know about that. What else?"

"Okay, well, I suppose it's every man's fantasy to have a threesome."

"Well, that's never going to happen," she said with a chuckle.

"Of course not," I said. "That's why they're called fantasies. I have so many other fantasies that will never be anything more than that. Believe me, I've come to grips with the fact that most of my fantasies will never happen. I'm rapidly approaching the Big Four-Oh. The time to sow my wild oats passed a long time ago."

She was quiet for a long time. The words seemed to weigh heavily on her. She wrapped her arm around me and rested her head on my chest. "I feel guilty, like I've denied you some experience that I can or won't give you. Sex has never been that important to me, but I know it is to you. I feel like I've been selfish."

"Nonsense," I said, stroking her hair. "You're the perfect wife, and I'm perfectly happy. Sex is important, but it isn't all that there is. Our marriage is far more important to me than any fantasy. The older I get, the more I realize that there are certain things that I will never do. I'd love to play shortstop for the Cubs, but that ain't happening. It's not as if I've denied myself some experience that I can't live without. If I made it seem that way, I didn't mean it. I'm very happy with the life we have, and I don't need anything more, trust me."

***

The invitation seemed innocent enough. "We should get together sometime" is often repeated among long-time friends as an expression of politeness. Although the sentiment is genuine, it is often forgotten shortly after it is uttered. When Eva made that suggestion during one of our online chat sessions, I responded with a polite and non-committal, "Yeah, that would be fun."

"Do you really want to get together with them?" Monica asked after reading that message. "I mean, we don't even know these people."

"I'd argue that we know them better than most people," I said. "But I was just being polite. I hadn't really considered actually meeting with them for real."

We lived just outside of Chicago, while Eva and Luke lived in the suburbs of Boston. The distance between us had allowed us to be more comfortable chatting with them, as we assumed there was no chance we would ever encounter them. In reality, they were only a three-hour plane ride away.

"What do you think they mean by 'get together'?" Monica pressed me. "Like, just meet them for dinner and drinks? Maybe go bowling together? Or do you think when they say 'get together' they mean..."

Honestly, that suggestion hadn't even occurred to me. "I don't think they mean sex, honey! I mean...they're like us. They've never been with anyone but each other. They like to flirt online with us, just like we do with them, but I don't think they actually mean we should all have sex with each other...do they?"

"I...I don't know," she said, nervously. "I mean, I like them both. They seem like so much fun, and I'm sure we'd all have a blast together. But hopping in bed together?"

"We don't know that's what they're proposing," I reminded her. "All they said was 'let's get together.' That could be anything; something completely innocent. Let's just not mention it again unless they do."

More than a week went by before Luke sent us a message formerly inviting us to stay with them in Boston. In an earlier chat session, I learned that Luke and I shared the same favorite band. That band was touring for their final time ever, and would be performing in Boston in June, during the first week of Monica's summer vacation. It was perfect timing, really. The concert was on a Thursday night, and they suggested that we could stay at their place as long as we'd like.

"He says there are a bunch of great Irish pubs near their place," I said to Monica. "And some outrageous seafood places. It could be a really fun long weekend."

"I don't know," she said. She twirled her hair on the end of her fingertip, which was one of her nervous habits. "It just seems weird to me, hanging out with people we met online. People we've seen naked - and vice-versa! I don't want it to be awkward. If they're thinking we're there to have sex with them..."

"I don't know why they would think that," I responded.

"Oh, I don't know," she laughed, "maybe because we all talk about sex all the time and we've even watched each other have sex! I mean...we've practically had sex with them already!"

I rolled my eyes. "Come on. Don't be ridiculous. I'll just ask them, straight-up. Then we'll know for sure."

"That's embarrassing!" she exclaimed.

"After everything we've said and done with them, how much more embarrassing could it get? It's a legitimate question."

I was conflicted as to the response I was hoping to get from my question. On the one hand, I had never considered having sex with these people, and the mere thought of it unnerved me. On the other hand, I couldn't deny that the idea was exciting. At the very least, it was exciting to think about it.

I wrote to Luke that night and asked him as diplomatically as possible about their expectations for our proposed visit. He responded diplomatically as well: "Well, that's up to you two, really. We have no expectations. If you two just want to hang out, that's fine with us. If you're looking to push the envelope a little, I think we would be open to that, but there's no pressure either way. We're just looking to have a fun time with good people."

***

I was stirring some sauce in a pan on the stovetop, waiting for the chicken parmesan in the oven to finish cooking, when Monica received a phone call on her cellphone. I would have thought nothing of it, but turned around quickly when I heard her gasp loudly. She placed her hand over her mouth and her eyes reddened. I froze in place and waited for her to finish her call.

She nodded several times and sniffled. Her eyes welled with tears. I waited patiently, completely perplexed as to what could have prompted this reaction. Naturally, my first thoughts went to the darkest places. Had something happened to Kaitlyn? Or maybe Monica's mom or dad?

After an excruciating amount of time, Monica removed the phone from her ear and turned toward me with a horrified expression. "That was Maureen," she said. "Jim had a massive heart attack last night. He's dead."

Maureen and Monica had been friends since childhood. They grew up on the same street together and attended school together from kindergarten through high school. The four of us got together on a fairly regular basis, sharing holidays and special occasions. Maureen married Jim two years after our wedding. He was only a few years older than all of us, but he kept himself in top shape, and raced in at least one marathon each year. As far as we knew, he never had any health problems whatsoever.

Monica spent a great deal of time at Maureen's house over the next two weeks helping with the arrangements, coordinating travel and lodging plans for their family, and supporting her friend in any other way possible. Needless to say, our ongoing conversation with Luke and Eva was placed on the backburner indefinitely. I explained to them what happened, and they completely understood and offered their condolences.

Monica and I were both devastated by the loss of our mutual friend. We spent many nights simply holding each other. No words were necessary. The unspoken words were as powerful as any we could have articulated. Jim's life was taken from him without any warning. It was a grim reminder of just how fragile our lives are, and how swiftly and unpredictably they can be taken. It made us appreciate the moments we had together even more than we did before.

The services came and went. Eventually, as it always does, life returned to normal. Monica and I returned to our daily routines. I would come home from work and cook dinner while she graded papers or prepared her lessons for the following day. After dinner, we would spend some quality time together in the living room, watching television or reading. We would then retire to the bedroom and repeat the same pattern the next day.

Our sex life returned to "normal" as well, with the bar of normality set to where it had been before our online exploits. We returned to our Friday night schedule, always in bed, and always with the lights out. I didn't complain. We were still in mourning, and sex hardly seemed to be a top priority for either of us.

On a Monday night in bed, I had just closed my eyes when Monica spoke.

"I was thinking," she said, "maybe we should make that trip to Boston."

It had been so long since we discussed it that it took a moment for me to realize what she meant. "Really?" I said. "What made you think of that?"

"I've been thinking a lot about what you said before; about getting too old to do all the things on our bucket list. The older we get, the more things we'll be forced to erase from that list forever. I'm sure Jim had a long list of things on his bucket list. He probably thought he had plenty of time to check them off. But look what happened."

Maybe it was the glass of wine I had consumed before heading to bed, but I felt like I wasn't fully comprehending the magnitude of what she was suggesting. "Honey, what bucket list items are we talking about here?"

She hesitated for an extended moment. "You know. The fantasies that you were talking about. We could make them all happen. What's stopping us?"

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "Monica, what are you saying? You think we should have sex with them?"

"I was just thinking...why not? Like, what's stopping us?"

I rolled over and flipped on the lamp so that I could read the expression on her face. She appeared to be serious.

"I...I don't even know how to respond to that. I've never actually considered either one of us having sex with anyone but each other."

It was true. In all our years of marriage, I hadn't ever seriously considered having sex with anyone but her. Sure, there was the occasional fleeting thought. I'd see an attractive woman somewhere and think, "boy, would I like to bang her." But to act on that impulse is something that never crossed my mind.

Similarly, the thought of Monica ever having sex with anyone but me was absurd. She was always so prim and proper. I know that she must have been propositioned daily throughout our marriage, yet I was one-hundred-percent certain that she never gave in to temptation even once. I highly doubted she had ever considered it.

"Okay," I said after considerable thought, "let's make a mental list of pro's and con's."

She rolled her eyes and sighed. She always hated my pros and cons idea, but she had learned to live with it. It was just how my mind worked.

"Con," I began. "Could you really let me have sex with another woman? Could I let you have sex with another guy?"

"That's not a con," she said, "that's a question. That's the question we're trying to answer with your dopey pro/con method."

"Okay," I replied. "Pro, I guess: it would be fun. Something different. Exciting. Something out of our comfort zone."

"Pro," she replied, "you can do that thing you've always wanted that completely grosses me out. And maybe even experience a threesome."

"You'd really let me do that?" I asked.

She thought about it a moment and then nodded and flashed a wicked grin. "Why not? You only live once!"

"Okay," I said, "this is probably the biggest con I have: what if this hurts our marriage? What if one of us falls in love?"

She laughed. "You really think that's a risk? Are you going to fall in love with Eva just because you have sex with her? Will she be so good in bed that she'll cast a magical spell on you?"

"Well, I read somewhere about hormones and intercourse," I said. "It's a chemical reaction. Science."

"Okay, you're talking to a science teacher here, remember?" she scoffed. "What you're talking about is a temporary reaction. A rush of endorphins. A fleeting high. Trust me, I've known plenty of women in my lifetime who have had sex and didn't fall in love. As much as you men would like to believe it, your sperm isn't a love potion."

"Okay, fine," I said. "Pro: you get to be with a muscular bald man, who apparently you're into."

She laughed. "I've always liked bald men. You know that. I've told you for years about my crush on Vin Diesel."

"Yeah, but that's a safe crush," I noted. "The odds of you ever running into Vin Diesel are practically nil. Luke is an actual man who you can actually have sex with."

"True," she said, "but so what? Would you be jealous?"

"I...I don't know," I said. "What if he's better in bed than I am?"

She chuckled again and shook her head. "Honey, I've never been with anyone else, so I have no way of comparing you to anyone else. I don't care how good anyone else is in bed. I would still rather have sex with you. Besides that, they live halfway across the country. It's not like we would ever have to see them again."

"I guess you're right." I began to feel ridiculous. Why was I worried about my wife being with someone better in bed than I was? I was pretty certain I was good in bed. Even if I wasn't, though, I could learn to become better. No matter how good any other man may be, he couldn't match everything that Monica and I had shared together. We had survived every pitfall and hardship that came our way and shared experiences that could never be replicated by anyone.

"Would you feel better about it if you could guarantee he'd be a lousy lay?" she asked.

"Of course not," I said. "I'd want you to enjoy yourself. I mean, what's the point of doing this if we don't enjoy ourselves?"

"Exactly," she said. "I wouldn't mind seeing you enjoy yourself, either. I have no doubt that Eva is kinkier in bed than I am, and I know you like to get kinky. I get the feeling she would be willing to do pretty much anything with you."

I gave her a strange look. "It's almost like you're turned on by that."

She thought about it for a moment and grinned. "In a really strange way, I guess I am."

"Okay, another con," I said. "What about catching a disease?"

"We could use condoms," she replied.

"I hate condoms," I noted. "You know that. I haven't even worn one in twenty years! I'm not even sure I remember how to use one!"

"Listen...honey...we're talking about a faithful married couple who have been together as long as we have—"

"Faithful as far as we know," I noted.

She rolled her eyes. "You're right. They could have lied about that. We could either trust that they told us the truth or we could take that risk. Nothing worth experiencing in life comes without risk. Do you really believe either of them is secretly carrying some nasty STD?"

"What about pregnancy?"

She laughed. "You had a vasectomy! And so did he, remember? At our age, that risk is pretty low, regardless."

I tried to think of another pro or con, but came up empty. "You've really thought this through, haven't you?" I said.

She shrugged and flashed me a crooked grin.

"Are we seriously considering doing this?" I asked. "For real?"

"It's up to you," she said. "I've already made up my mind. Life is too short. We've wasted enough time already denying ourselves certain experiences. We should grab every opportunity we can to broaden our horizons and enjoy life to its fullest. I'm on board with it if you are."