Rex Taylor - Overeager wife

"Shields Avenue," Ted muttered. Only one of his eyes was on the road. "Do you see it?"

"No, I don't," Maggie replied, just a bit too sharply as another unexpected tingle raced through her cunt. She didn't care if he ever found the street for which he searched. She didn't care at all. This whole thing was insane.

"There it is," Ted said triumphantly. He made a quick left and the car scooted into the mouth of Shields Avenue.

Maggie sighed. She would have rubbed her lips with her hand but right now all ten of her fingers were laced together in a tight knot. Her feet shifted uncomfortably on the floor of the car. She wished she were somewhere else.

This was a very nice section of town, she thought. Most of the houses were old, elegant in a turn-of-the-century style Maggie found captivating. Or would have, if she'd been in the proper frame of mind.

What was wrong with Ted? she asked herself. Or was she at fault? They'd been married two and a half years – no children yet, for they were still unsettled. So far as Maggie was concerned they enjoyed a full and rich sex life that was everything it should have been. Eight months ago they'd come to Dawson, where Ted had found a good job. He was director of the local Community Services program, euphemism for a broad range of welfare activities. His job paid well and they lived in a nice new house on the southern edge of town, and until a few weeks ago there had been no problem at all.

And then Mrs. Belinda Rodgers had come down to volunteer her services at the community center. She was a young woman, Maggie's age or a bit less, of a prominent local family. Her husband was an attorney in Dawson – he'd run for county attorney in the last election only to be defeated when Dawson County went Democratic for the first time in forty years – and Maggie had seen their pictures in the newspaper quite a few times.

There was more to it than that. Belinda Rodgers wasn't just a dedicated young Illinois matron. Maggie hadn't met her, but Ted had spoken of little else since she had started to work. It was "Mrs. Rodgers" this and "Mrs. Rodgers" that, and the next day it had been "Belinda", until Maggie wondered if her young husband had any other topics of conversation.

And for the last two weeks Ted had been talking not only about Belinda but about something he called "swinging". It took Maggie a while to understand what he meant and, when she did, she was horrified. Apparently Belinda and her husband David were devotees of the practice of mate swapping with other couples. And just as apparently Belinda had been giving Ted a sales pitch at the office, trying to convince him that he and his wife should give it a try.

"It's disgusting," Maggie had told Ted. "It's horrible even to think about. How could you consider it?"

He gave her his answers as fluidly as though they were a well-memorized school recitation. It was neither disgusting nor horrible. Belinda and her husband were attractive, well-adjusted people. They loved one another but they realized that the impulses of love and sex were not completely identical. If anything, their experiences with swinging ha strengthened what they felt for one another. Why shouldn't he and Maggie try it as well? It would be broadening for their minds and their bodies.

"After all," he pointed out, "sometimes I look at other woman and I desire them. I don't doubt you've felt the same about other men, if you'd only be truthful with yourself. Someone new and exciting, whose eyes seem to leap at you across a room and suddenly, in your mind, the two of you are already rolling in bed. Hasn't that happened?"

Maggie shook her head frantically. Never, she told herself. Never. Knowing that to a small degree it was true. Sometimes she fantasized. All women did. When Maggie was younger she had often masturbated, pretending that some idealized man was fucking her – some dreamy boy from school, or perhaps an actor, a singer. She could still remember her trembling girlish orgasms in the arms of a ghost-image Paul Newman or Steve McQueen or Tom Jones. Her head shook angrily then, trying to clear away the thoughts which troubled her, and she would not say another word.

But other days had brought other words, and each day Ted seemed to have some new insight passed his way by Belinda. One day he brought home an issue of a men's magazine from the newsstand downtown. The last fifteen pages or so, he pointed out, were devoted to ads from couples and singles all over the country who were into swinging. Maggie pursed her mouth as she looked at the ads, three columns to a page and plenty of photos and she noticed that the Midwest was liberally represented.

"All right!" she cried, throwing down the magazine. "If it means that much to you, then let me meet them. I'm not promising anything but I'll talk to your precious Belinda and her precious husband."

And now they were almost there. Ted was cruising slowly down Shields Avenue, his eyes scanning both sides of the street for some sign that they'd found the right house. Maggie saw him smile and he turned into a driveway, parking behind a small foreign car which she assumed belonged to one of the Rodgers'. He rushed around to open Maggie's door and walked her toward the house. He held her hand tight in his, as if he feared she might run away from him before he could ring the doorbell. Maggie's feet seemed to be made of lead. She walked with dragging steps, blushes stinging her face, and she wondered for the millionth time today why she'd consented even to a get-acquainted session with Ted's newfound swinging friends. Once more she wished she were somewhere else.

Maggie sat on the parlor sofa with her husband, a splendidly mixed Vodka Collins in her hand. She was still trying to hate Belinda and David but she couldn't keep up the pretense much longer. It was impossible not to like them – at least a little bit.

Belinda was a sparkling girl, long honey hair framing her finely chiseled oval of a face. Her blue eyes were full of life and her hands moved in graceful animation as she talked. She was simply but expensively dressed in a flattering sweater/slacks combination, and from the interesting jiggle of her plump round tits it was obvious that she wasn't wearing a bra. Maggie's own brassiere began to feel uncomfortably tight and confining as she watched the free swing of Belinda's tits.

David, on the other hand, carried himself with the professional assurance of the professional man he was. His face was serious as well as pleasing to look upon, but when he smiled he seemed to be a boy once again, grinning at some prank. He was much slimmer than Ted and not so obviously muscled, a type Maggie had not cared for. Until now.

She sat quietly for the most part, replying once in a while when a question came her way, but Ted and the Rodgers' did nearly all the talking. He and Belinda were discussing something that had happened at the office a few days ago, laughing about it, sharing the memory. Maggie felt excluded and she could manage only a weak, forced smile when she saw that David's eyes were on her. He looked at her frankly, appraisingly, or so it seemed, and she blushed once again.

But why shouldn't he stare at her that way? Obviously he knew that Maggie and Ted had come over to discuss the possibility of swinging with him and Belinda, even though the subject had not yet been broached. She wished she could look behind the even facade of his eyes and see what he thought of her.

There was no reason for David not to like what he was looking at. Maggie was an attractive woman, twenty-three yeas old and well built. Her hair was dark and curly, shoulder-length, while the dress she wore flattered her trim figure and showed off her legs, longer than Belinda's and supporting a rather taller frame. Maggie's nose was her only drawback, or so she felt. It was too sharp for beauty, and every time she looked at Belinda she envied the other wife the cute button nature had given her.