[FM] The time my husband proposed an open relationship…so I decided to beat him to the punch

Hi all! This is an experience of mine from a little while ago. I had fun putting it all down in writing, so I really hope you like it. Please be gentle! (at least at first ;) )

My name is Tyler [F], and I root for the tigers. Not “Tigers,” not a sports team, like literal tigers. When you hear on the news that a tiger escaped from a zoo and zookeepers are working to try and catch it, most people hope the zookeepers can safely tranquilize it before it gets too far. But not me. I don’t want to see anyone hurt, but I can’t help wanting the tiger to make it out, like some weird four-legged Andy Dufresne. The tiger doesn’t really belong in the zoo, and she never asked to be in the zoo, so if she can find a way out, I say more power to her.

For me, being a housewife was like being a tiger in the zoo. I’d had some “wild” years earlier in my life, but by my mid thirties I’d settled down into a house in the ‘burbs with a husband and two young kids. If you haven’t experienced that kind of life, let me tell you: it is both the best and the worst thing in the world. I love my kids and I love my husband, but being a housewife is hard fucking work, and it is *way* more competitive than anything in the corporate world.

For a few years in my twenties I worked for Goldman Sachs. I know a little bit about competition, and scrutiny. In the corporate world, you are judged for everything you do in an eight or ten or twelve hour day, Monday to Friday. But in the suburbs, you are judged *twenty-four seven*. At morning yoga it’s a competition to see who has the latest and greatest from Fabletics…and who sweats the least. At daycare pickup and dropoff, it’s a competition to see who has the nicest crossover SUV and whose kids are dressed in the most pretentious shit from Alex and Alexa. When my husband gets home it’s a competition to see whether I can excite him more than the skinny little summer intern at his office. On nights when we have friends over, it’s a competition to see who can serve the least revolting snacks from Whole Foods, and which of the wives has the tightest ass. And don’t forget, the house itself has to be clean and the landscaping has to be perfect, because even when you’re not at home, people are judging you just by driving past your house

Then you get to take all of that and put it on the fucking Internet. Facebook and Instagram are like the Mommy Hunger Games. Whose kids are the most photogenic? Who can stage the best photo of the dessert they just made? Who can afford the most expensive vacation? I was a tiger locked in a neighborhood full of sheep, and somehow, the sheep were getting more likes!

I’ve been pretty independent my whole life, so to me the slats in the white picket fence felt more like bars on a prison cell. Every moment of my day was devoted to my kids (which is fine), my husband (also fine), or to keeping up with the Joneses (not remotely fine). I felt powerless, and I hated that feeling.

Things came to a head just a few weeks after my oldest started first grade. My husband, Justin, came home from work on his lunch break, as he sometimes did, and said he wanted to talk. He sat me down and in that awkward, roundabout way of his, told me he wanted to explore the idea of an open relationship. I was angry, but not for the reasons you’d think. I didn’t care that my husband wanted to fuck other women, I knew I was a better lay than anybody else he had his eye on and eventually he’d come crawling back anyway. And I trusted him enough to know that an open relationship would never really endanger the family we’d built together; he was just bored. I was angry because I’d busted my ass at the gym six days a week for years, and I’d been told by a number of people that they couldn’t believe I’d given birth to two kids. It felt like all that effort, all that fucking kale, had been for nothing. My husband wanted to sleep with me now just as much as he would if I weighed two hundred pounds and only ever wore my hair in a ratty topknot.

But as the conversation went on, my perspective began to change. I didn’t have to look at it like Justin was casting me aside for someone younger or skinnier, I could see this as an opportunity: the zookeeper had just asked the tiger if it was okay to unlock the cage. I was no longer the powerless, subservient housewife who existed only as an extension of her husband. I was Tyler Fucking Morgan, independent woman once again! (not my real last name, but definitely my real middle name ;) )

We set a few ground rules: no extramarital sex in the house and we had to at least be honest with each other about what we were doing, if not who we were doing it with. We agreed to try it for a month, and then sit down and discuss things to see whether we wanted to continue.

The more we talked, the more I could tell that Justin had proposed this because of a specific woman. He wasn’t trying to go out and sow his wild oats, he’d just jerked off one too many times thinking about somebody from work and now he’d convinced himself he had to have her. I didn’t know if it was the little coed intern or the coworker that had brought him cookies on his birthday, but at this point I didn’t care.

Justin breathed an audible sigh of relief and we finished the conversation with an awkward silence. I waited for a moment, then pushed myself to my feet and retrieved my bag from the counter.

“Where are you going?” He asked, a little surprised.

I chewed my lip for a moment, then looked him straight in the eye. “I think I’m going to go suck a dick.” Without another word, I turned and swept out the door to the garage. It had been his idea to unlock the cage, it wasn’t my fault if he was surprised when I pushed the door open and bounded off into the zoo.

My hands shook with adrenaline as I drove to the edge of the neighborhood. I made a beeline for a little coffee house called Vulture Roasters. Vulture wasn’t my regular; I’d defected to a nearby Starbucks ever since the elementary school had become part of my daily route. But this little independent shop made great lattes, and the regular barista there was all kinds of Abercrombie cute.

I pulled into the small parking lot. The lunch rush, if there ever was one here, must have been over. Mine was the only car in the lot. I felt my heart pounding in my chest, equal parts nervous and excited. With fumbling hands I grabbed my purse and stepped out into the sun.

The bell jangled above me as I pushed closed the shop’s rickety wooden door. The familiar smells hit me in a wave and I couldn’t help but smile.

The Vulture was not large. It had space enough for half a dozen two-person tables, clustered on either side of a long glass pastry case. In the mornings there could be two or three baristas working to handle all the orders, but when things slowed down there was usually only one employee. Today was my lucky day: Mr. Abercrombie was the only one here.

“Welcome to, oh, hey!” He said as he recognized me. We weren’t friends, I didn’t even know his name, but until recently I’d come in enough that he recognized me as a regular. We’d chatted politely a few times, and occasionally he’d even been complimentary/flirty. Of course, I’d always chalked it up to good old customer service. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” He asked with a smile.

“Yeah.” I said, smiling back. “My oldest just started school over at Franklin, so this is a little out of my way now.” Shit. Great opening move: tell the guy you’re trying to seduce about your child in elementary school.

“Oh, that’s too bad.” He said. “About the route, not about your kid starting school.” He added quickly. He flushed a little and the red brought out the dimples in his smile. The ‘Vulture Barista’ was well-known among the other sheep moms in the neighborhood. More than once I’d had private conversations with other ladies about how cute this guy was.

“My name is Tyler.” I said. Not sure where else to go with it. Damn was I out of practice.

“I’m Zach.” He replied.

No flirtyness this time. No nothing. Was I crazy to even think of doing something like this? What if I came onto him and he called the cops or something? That would be a *great* way to stick it to Justin. Ten years ago, when I was in my “wild” prime, I could have had this guy in the palm of my hand, based on nothing but my confidence. Was I still that girl? Could I be? I was all up in my head, second-guessing everything.

Fuck it. Tigers don’t tiptoe around, worrying about social niceties. They take what they want. I figured the worst that could happen was that this guy would freak out or shoot me down, then I wouldn’t ever be able to show my face here again. I could live with that, I’d already stopped going to Vulture almost entirely.

I decided to fake my confidence until it returned. IF it returned. I walked up to the counter. I was wearing a navy and white striped top with jeans cuffed above these cute little sandals I’d found at the Rack last year. My brown hair was in a ponytail, but I was having a good makeup day. If all those years of yoga didn’t do anything for my husband, it was time to see if they would do anything for anybody else.

“Zach, I think you’re really cute. I’ve thought so ever since I started coming here. I don’t know what your story is or if you’ve got a girlfriend, but I’d really like to suck you off. Right now.”

Tigers take what they want.

Zach’s brown eyes went wide and he flushed again, a much deeper red. “What?!” His eyes fell to the wedding ring on my finger.

“It’s not an issue.” I said, keeping eye contact.

“I…look, I think…” He let his eyes wander up and down my body and his lips parted almost involuntarily.

I leaned forward on the counter and looked up at him with my eyes wide and my mouth pouty and slightly open. “Don’t think. It’s a simple question and I promise no strings, whatsoever. I like you, and I’m finally in a place where I can do what I like. Are you in?”

A smile crept across his face. He took another beat to make sure this wasn’t some kind of joke, then nodded. “Shit yes.”

I dropped my bag on the counter and walked around behind the register. I pushed him back, behind the pastry case, and dropped to a crouch in front of him.

I looked up at him. He smiled and let his hand drop to caress my cheek. Now it was my turn to smile. I reached around to undo his black apron. As I tossed it up onto the counter next to my purse, Zach fumbled with his belt and fly. After a bit of difficulty, he reached in drew out his cock. It was on the smaller side, but that had never really mattered to me. It was attractive and well-groomed, and already hard as iron.

“Zach…” I whispered. “How old are you?” Better safe than in jail.

“Twenty-two.” He said. “Is that okay?”

“It’s perfect.” It occurred to me then that the Vulture sold bottles of local IPAs after eleven, so I hadn’t really needed to ask. Still, there was something I *really* liked about hearing him say it.

Without another word I reached out and grabbed him. The barista let out a sharp exhale as I pulled his cock into my mouth and ran my tongue along its underside. I’d last given Justin head less than a month ago, but this was somehow different. I could feel Zach’s lean body quiver as I moved my head back and forth and after a moment, his bony pelvis found my rhythm and we were undulating together in sync. The kid was enjoying this experience more than my husband ever had, and that made me feel all the more appreciated.

We hadn’t locked the door, and the tall pastry counter only shielded me from view if someone was looking at the register straight-on. If anyone came in and actually approached the register, they’d have an almost unobstructed view of a mid-thirties wife and mother of two, sucking the rock hard cock of a man fifteen years her junior.

There was a part of me that almost wanted that to happen. I was reclaiming my power, and I wanted the world to know it. More than that, I wanted one of those sheep mom to come strolling in and see me enjoying the lithe young barista in ways they could only ever fantasize about.

But it was not to be, at least not today. I’d only been at it for a couple exhilarating minutes when out of the corner of my eye I saw Zach’s right hand grip hard the wooden counter. His left hand slid behind my neck, under my ponytail, and held my head in place as he thrust faster and faster into my mouth. With my own right hand I grabbed a fistful of his tight ass and with my left, making sure he could see my wedding ring, I wrapped my fingers around the base of his shaft and squeezed.

His hips began to buck wildly beneath me and I felt his fingers dig into the back of my neck, sending shivers of pleasure down my spine. I held him tighter and bobbed faster as I looked up into his beautiful brown eyes.

The barista let out a groan and held my head in a vise grip between his hand and his pelvis. Cum shot out of him and I sucked and swallowed in one continuous motion. He spurted twice more, but I kept sucking and sucking even after his member began to deflate. It was so exhilarating that I didn’t want it to ever end.

He shivered once, twice, and I knew the head of his penis was getting too sensitive for me to continue. With some reluctance I slowly withdrew my head and let him fall out of my mouth. I swallowed once more and looked up at the young man, collapsed against the back of the pastry case and barely able to keep his feet.

With my own calves and hamstrings burning, I pushed myself upright. I ran a hand along Zach’s tight torso and left a light, brushing kiss on his neck. I adjusted my hair and grabbed my purse from the counter. I stepped toward the door, leaving the twenty-two year old still panting with his limp cock hanging from his open fly.

“When…when can I see you again?” He asked.

“Soon.” I promised. And I stalked through the wooden door and back into the jungle.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/905g9x/fm_the_time_my_husband_proposed_an_open