You, my wife of ten years, enter the coffee shop and wave as you see me, quickly walking my way. You sit down at the table. I’ve already ordered your favorite, a fancy latte, and it’s on the table right in front of you. Gosh you look gorgeous. You have just taken your lunch break from work, you are in your work clothes. Your hair put up in a professional bun, giving me lots of chances to gaze at your long sexy neck. Your eyes are lit up, obviously work has been going well. A conservative, white work blouse. You know those business types. No messing around with those briefs. Professional, not much flair, nothing but the slightest hint of the luscious DDs hidden beneath. All topped off, or should I say bottomed out, with a nice pair of slacks. No skirts at work. You like to be taken seriously.
I adjust the hem of my own slacks and tighten my tie as you look at me quizzically.
“What is it, babe? What was so important that you had to meet me right now? What couldn’t we talk about at home?”
“Remember last weekend?”, I say. You blush lightly, raising a napkin to your mouth.
“Yes”, you reply. “It was, well….are you sure you want to talk about it here?”
We came to a conclusion early in our marriage that sex was vital. We had seen too many long term relationships turn to dust, out of bickering, ugly fights, and far too often what tore the marriage to shreds, what made everything worse, was the death of sex.
We knew that we would never let that happen. So we planned events, shall you say. Don’t think like that. Not with other people, at least not yet. It hasn’t come up. No, we plan in little adventures that keep us interested and invested in each other, that keep the spark alive.
“Those handcuffs were quite something”, you say, looking around the room. “I enjoyed your technique.”
“Well thank you”, I reply. “And I have realized what I want you to do for me to pay me back”, I reply running a hand through my full head of hair.
“What’s that, your newest fantasy?”, you say, taking a sip of your latte. “Hours of sex on an island in the Caribbean.”
“Not exactly. Quite the opposite”, I say with a smile. And with that I disclose my fantasy.
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“You want to be teased? You want me to be a cocktease? What on Earth is that?”, you ask after I start the conversation.
“I’ve always fantasized about it, but there are so few real cockteases out there these days, women with that much pazazz, that much…..”, my sentence drops to a lull.
“I want you to tease me for two whole days. I don’t want you to touch me. I don’t want you to have sex with me. I want to be teased for two whole days straight. And then I want you to fuck me like you’ve never fucked before.”
“But haven’t we done that?”, you ask. “We waited, well….a good month when we were dating. We didn’t rush into things.”
“And that was great”, I say. “But a cocktease is more. A cocktease knows what she has got and makes men want it. She is sure of herself. And she gets a thrill from it.”
“I see”, you reply. “Well, I don’t really think that is me. I mean, we are married.”
“Can you try?”, I ask you. And you think it over.
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[to be continued]