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My mind ran wild at the imaginings of her. My cock was stiff whenever she was near. Of course, it was the thought of her with her other lovers that excited me. I wanted my wife to be sluttish, promiscuous, wanton, debauched. As she once was. But she would not have a bar of it. She had turned a corner in her life, and settled into monogamy, and we tapered off into a quiet routine of occasional, barely satisfying sex. Then I saw Catherine’s ad; found myself waiting in the bar to talk with someone, in whose high-heeled shoes, I wanted my own wife. Catherine was composed, quite lovely, elegantly dressed, and overwhelmingly desirable. I was one of the chosen three, along with the man who was organising the evening. The Arranger. I went up to Room 319 at the appointed time, and joined the other three men in suits, and took a glass of the offered champagne. Catherine came out from the bedroom alcove, dressed in an outfit that screamed lust, celebration, and unfettered womanhood. She wore. I could tell the moment she realized where she was and what had happened. She pulled back with a jerk and started apologizing. The funny thing was, if she'd done something like this before the party I'd have suspected something, but now I just reached up and put a finger over her lips."Val, don't worry. I know you didn't mean anything. You just needed somebody to cry on. That's what friends are for sometimes." I was almost afraid that was going to set her off again. Instead she just gave me a quick look of gratitude as she stood up."Thank you, Tommy. I don't know what I did to deserve a friend like you, but thank you." With that she grabbed her backpack and left, looking back just as she walked out the door as if to make sure it was me sitting there and not a chimera and that our conversation had really happened. She left me wondering again about what makes people tick and how many layers there are to each of us. Well, that, and a damp shirt.I was getting all my stuff together when.
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