Oh, Robbie!

“Oh, Robbie!” my wife hissed through clenched teeth as I ran my tongue ­repeatedly between her puffy labia, holding them apart with two fingers while I swabbed her slit, eventually pushing the tip of my tongue in her ­vagina. I was thrilled to hear the love of my life being so vocal while I pleasured her. There was just one little thing. My name isn’t Robbie.

Nevertheless, I continued working Debra’s pussy. If anything, her calling out another man’s name in the throes of passion inexplicably added to the intensity of the moment! I became even more aroused when she cried out again for Robbie as she came. When she finally finished coming, and I tried to lick the juices from her sex, she put her hand to my forehead and moved it away. Her snatch was so sensitive after climax, she couldn’t stand to be touched there.

I thought about it. It wasn’t just that I was so turned that it didn’t bother me to hear my wife call out another man’s name. As I said, I was actually excited by it. Maybe it tapped into a secret desire I wasn’t even aware I had! Possibly it would have had a different effect in a nonsexual context, but in the heat of coupling, I didn’t get angry or hurt, or indignant, I got even more aroused.

Debra, apparently unaware of what she’d said, stretched out on her back with her eyes closed, her bare breasts rising and lowering with her labored breathing, her legs wide apart, trying to relax after that intense climax. I put my wet thumb to her lips. Her tongue reached out and swiped her own moisture like it was tasty syrup.

I scooted up beside her and put my head by hers on the pillow. After a few minutes, when her breathing returned to near normal, she opened her eyes and turned her head toward me and smiled. I leaned over and kissed her, then asked, “Who’s Robbie?”

The blood drained out of her face, and her eyes opened wide as saucers. She lifted her head from the pillow.

“You called me Robbie,” I said with a smile. “Who’s Robbie?”

She said I must have misunderstood, but her face told a different story. I put my hand on her cheek and, still smiling, said, “It’s okay, sweetheart. But just before you came, you cried out, ‘Oh, Robbie!’” Keeping up the smile, and speaking as cheerfully as I could, I went on: “Because you were thinking of him while we had sex, I wondered who Rob­bie is. I’m not angry. I just wondered.”

The possibility that my wife had a lover actually thrilled me beyond anything I expected. The sexual potential felt overwhelming, although I didn’t understand why at the moment.

The look on my wife’s face left little doubt in my mind that she’d had one of those incredibly awkward moments we all dread, when you blurt out another person’s name at a time you shouldn’t, like when you’re in the throes of sex. It could be the name of an old flame (I’ve feared doing that for years!), or someone who’s in your mind while you’re having sex with your spouse, maybe because you’re wishing that person was the one you were fucking.

Debra was shaken, I could see. I could almost hear her mind working, searching for a way to explain. It bothered her so much that I felt sorry for her, and worked equally hard to convince her I wasn’t upset, that mostly I just wanted to know who he was.

“Don’t you work with a guy named Robbie?” I asked coolly, trying to picture who it was she had been thinking of. The idea that she had been thinking of someone else while she was being eaten gave me more excitement than I would have thought possible.

She stammered through a sentence or two, trying desperately to wrap her mind around it and come up with a believable explanation. She said maybe she did, she couldn’t remember, so I jogged her memory. “Yeah, you do,” I said. “Isn’t he that tall, handsome dude with the dark hair and great body? The one the women on the faculty all gush over? Teaches fifth or sixth grade? The personable guy at your orientation.”

Her reaction made it clear that this was, in fact, the Robbie whose name she had called out in her moment of total sexual abandon.

I thought about it for a few seconds, then smiled. “Are you fucking Robbie?” I said. “Or just wanting to?” I tried to make my tone nonthreatening. I really just wanted the information. However, Debra still appeared panicky, as if she’d been caught. She put her arms around me and pulled me close, squeezing so tightly that I had to fight to get a breath. Her gripping me was a confession of sorts, but I assured her that everything was fine, that I could handle her being sexually attracted to someone else.

Her long silence made it pretty clear that Robbie played a big part in her erotic imagination. Whether she’d ever actually fucked the guy was probably irrelevant. At least I knew she wanted to so badly that during our sex he was in her thoughts to the point where it was his name on her lips, not mine.

“Tell me about him,” I whispered.

Debra held me without speaking for nearly five minutes before she eased up on her death grip.

“Is he married?” I asked.

“No,” she whispered back, at least acknowledging that he did exist, she did know him, and she had spoken his name. “At least not yet,” she added. She didn’t move or speak for another three or four minutes, and I waited. “He’s engaged to one of the high school teachers,” she said softly. “He teaches sixth grade.”

“So there is a Robbie,” I said, planting a tender kiss on my wife’s cheek, trying to reassure her that I wasn’t upset, that I understood, and that her saying his name during our sex might open up a new dimension to our relationship. “So,” I said, “does my wife have a thing for a certain sixth-grade teacher?” She answered with a soft “uh-huh,” then kissed me back. “And does the teacher have a thing for her?” I felt her nodding more than I heard an answer.

“Ever been in the book room together, alone?” I asked gently. She raised her head from the pillow and looked in my face. Her expression showed the agony of a woman being discovered by her husband while kissing her lover in the dark school storeroom, caught fucking among the books. “That must have been exciting,” I said calmly.

When we were both young, Debra and I had fallen for the fairy-tale notion that once you fall in love you’ll never be attracted to anyone else or be tempted sexually. I realized a few years into marriage that it was foolishness, a myth that only happens in the movies, isn’t very likely and certainly isn’t as much fun.

Now I found myself knowing that my wife had the hots for someone else. As a young and naive male I’d expected to be the only man Debra was attracted to, and back then I would have been devastated. But after ten years of marriage, finding out that my wife had the hots for someone else wasn’t the same. I love her, that’s for sure, and I expect that she loves me, but life isn’t as certain as we thought. Here I was, turned on by learning she had a thing for someone else—and asking her to tell me about it!

For some incredible reason that flew in the face of all we had “learned” and believed before that moment, I felt no anger, no resentment, no pain. The only thought I had, actually, was how exciting it must have been for her in that book room. I wanted to hear all about it. I wanted her description to fill my mind with images I could enjoy of them fucking.

“It was exciting,” Debra whispered, finally conceding what I already knew. She spoke so softly, I could barely hear her. She was reassured at last by my composed demeanor. I felt her relax.

“Has he kissed you?” I asked close to her ear, my heart positively pounding with anticipation.
“Yes,” she said, again softly, as if being so quiet would help me accept her infidelity.

“No matter, his name was on your mind,” I said, my voice becoming hoarse with arousal. “It all sounds very sexy, very romantic.” She didn’t answer.

After that we held each other without talking for nearly an hour. She was trying to figure out, I was sure, what I was actually thinking about her kissing and being with this man Robbie, about her calling out his name during our sex.

While I waited for whatever was to come next, I imagined my wife in the book room with a handsome male colleague fondling her, doing what males and females do when they’re horny and in a dark, secret place. I pictured them kissing in the unlighted storeroom, fondling one another as surreptitious lovers do, as she and I had done when we first began having sex in hidden places around the school when we were in college. I imagined his hand inside her panties, feeling the wet folds of her vagina with an exploring finger, making her stomach muscles tighten and taking her breath away.

Most likely, I thought, as I remembered how hot she would get with me back in the stacks on the top floor of the university library, he had at least brought her to stifled orgasms with his fingers or tongue. I pictured her pulling her skirt up around her waist, lifting her legs to give access to her pussy as she had done so many times with me back in the day. In my mind I saw her pussy lips widen, her clit flex and his cockhead push into her.

Finally, I pulled away and lifted myself up and, holding my weight on my elbows, looked down at her on the bed, her head resting on the pillow. I kissed her again.

“Have you had sex with Robbie, or just wanted to?” I asked for the second time in a little over an hour, purposely saying his name.

“Just wanted to,” she confessed quietly, an embarrassed smile curling the corners of her mouth. “He made me come once with his finger in the book room, but we’ve always been too scared to go all the way.”

“You need a colleague, an accomplice,” I said, looking down at her, my heart hammering with excitement. “You know, someone to serve as a lookout while you fuck him. Is there anyone at the school who knows, who you can trust to help out?”

She looked up at me with renewed cheerfulness. “Well, Marge knows,” she said, “but—”

To know that her friend Marge knew about her budding affair gave me an additional and unexpected charge that I didn’t understand.

“Tell her that your husband knows and wants her to help,” I said. Debra thought about it, then nodded hesitantly. For the first time in over an hour she smiled, a big, broad smile that lit up her face as she nodded. I knew she wanted to fuck Robbie so much that she would risk being discovered at school, would even chance asking a friend to help.

“Let’s meet right here, on this pillow, after you do it,” I said, “and you can tell me all about your time in the book room with your friend Robbie.” Debra smiled and nodded, her face pink and flushed, colored by her excitement at being encouraged to have sex with Robbie.

We didn’t talk about Robbie again until two nights later at dinner, when Debra said, “Can we meet tonight on the pillow?” My heart raced when I realized this meant she had something to reveal. I pictured them screwing in the book room, imagined them kissing in the dark. I said I would meet her there, then spent the rest of the evening so excited, I couldn’t wait to get into bed.

When we got there, side by side on our pillow, I left the light on and rose above her, kissed her soft lips tenderly, then asked, “Did Marge help?” Debra nodded and grinned. “So, tell me,” I pleaded. “Tell me every detail.”

Marge was thrilled to help, living ­vicariously through her friend’s affair, having the excitement without the risk. She stood outside the door while Debra and Robbie went inside and locked the door. But everyone in the school had a key; that was why they needed Marge. Debra said she had taken her panties off before she left to meet Robbie in the book room. Inside, she said, he dropped his pants as they began to kiss. The weight of his keys and wallet dropped them to his ankles like a sack of rocks. She lifted her skirt and jumped up, wrap­ping her legs around his waist, position­ing his erection at her pussy, and they fucked like we did back in the day, with Marge standing guard.

Robbie came in her, and as he did, she thought how happy she was that she’d had her tubes tied the year before. He held her with his hands under her buttocks while she pushed down against his hips and the muscles of her vagina milked his balls, his cock shooting stream after stream in her. I couldn’t believe how hot it was to hear her describe their fuck session in the book room, while Marge watched outside to keep “intruders” away.

“I wouldn’t mind if you have him come here,” I said with a smile. “I’ll leave for a while, let you and Robbie have the run of the house.” She looked at me for a long time, trying to figure out why I would do that, why I would leave so she could fuck another man. “How about Saturday?” I said.

A few days after that big day in the book room, Debra began to get more relaxed with me about Robbie, telling me details of their times, their furtive touches and exchanged horny looks. It seems that their first time in the there he had helped her out of her panties, then kept them in his pocket all day while he was teaching his class. Which meant that that day my wife taught her class without wearing underwear! She confessed to me later how horny it had made her. She said she went to the ladies’ room twice to masturbate.

“My wife is having an affair,” I said smiling as we relaxed side by side in bed two days later, each of our heads on the “meeting pillow.” She smiled back and asked if I hated her. “I love you,” I said. “Sex isn’t love, but I am sure that a person can love two people at once. Do you love him?”

She shook her head, but said she liked him a lot. “Think about it,” I said. “And after he comes over this Saturday and fucks my wife here in our bed, you can tell me whether you love him or not.” She just smiled, and we both drifted off to sleep.

Those times when Robbie was at the house with Debra were the most sexually intense moments of my life. I was unbelievably aroused the entire four or five hours he was with her. I thought of them in every sexual position and situation I knew of. I pictured them kissing, imagined him with his cock in her pussy, with her pussy in his mouth, and with his erection buried deep in her lovely throat. I went over each possible scenario many times in my head, being at the verge of orgasm but holding myself off until just before it was time for me to return. I was so happy for her to be able to enjoy sex so much that I couldn’t wait to tell her I loved her and to hear every steamy detail.

The first Saturday Robbie came to our house to fuck Debra, I drove our camper van to the bluffs above the ocean, then spent the time she was with him on the bed in the back of the van or hiking down the trails to the beach. How many guys, I wondered as I strolled along the sand in bare feet, have stayed away so their wives could fuck a lover back at their house? How many guys actually felt sexually excited by the thought of another man fucking their wives? I loved to picture her pussy with his penis sliding in it. (At that time I hadn’t read letters from guys who did just that, but since that afternoon I’ve found Penthouse Letters and read with interest the many stories of couples involved in tales similar to ours.)

I asked Debra how she felt about Robbie being engaged, and how she would feel if he got married. “Oh, I like Ginny,” she said, “and I’m sure they will get married, and I do want them to be happy. I just hope she never finds out about us, because I love having sex with Robbie.” She looked at me for a long time and smiled. “Thank you for understanding,” she whispered.

We have become good friends with Robbie and Ginny, and I like being with them both, but I’m quite sure that she doesn’t know her husband and my wife have been having sex for nearly a year. Once a month, when Ginny is working in her classroom, Robbie comes over to be with Debra. I find something else to do to give them the time together, and the night after is always very good sex for Debra and me. Her mood picks up after she’s been with him, and I’m thankful for that.

Debra became much more comfortable talking about sex with Robbie, and would even tell me how much it turns her on to reveal details later of what they did. Part of that had to come from my enthusiasm for it, and she soon believed I was okay with it.

In September of the first year after I was called by another man’s name during sex with my wife, I got a phone call at work from Ginny, Robbie’s wife. She asked to meet with me after school, and I knew everything was about to hit the fan. For a few minutes after I sat down at the table with her, Ginny chatted about nothing in particular. I dreaded her announcement, knowing she was about to lower the boom on my wife and her husband, even on me for approving of it.

Instead she took a drink, looked at me over her glass, and said, “I know where Robbie goes on Saturday. I was the one who suggested that he ‘get to know’ Debra better in the book room. You see,” she said smiling, “I’ve been having an affair with a man at the high school where I work for five years. Robbie discovered it, and I suggested he get an ‘outside interest’ of his own. When he met your wife, he told me about her and said he really liked her. I told him to go for it. I love Robbie, but I was only looking for exciting sex when things started with Mike and me.”

“So the irony,” I said, “is that you and I have the same attitude about fidelity and sex and our spouses fucking.” She nodded and took another drink. “However, I’m not interested in having sex with anyone but Debra­—”

“No,” Ginny interrupted, “Mike and Robbie give me all the sex I need. But I figured you knew about my husband and your wife, and I hoped you would let them continue just as they are.”

I took a drink, raised my glass and said, “We’re in agreement.” I took a drink and reached for her hand. She said she, like me, thought the world of Debra, and loved her husband and their marriage, but she said she needs lots of sex.

The next time Debra and I had a meeting on our pillow after one of her Saturdays with Robbie, I told her about Ginny’s affair, and said I thought she and Robbie should fuck in the back of his pickup truck. “But he doesn’t have a camper shell,” she said with an intrigued smile.

“That’s what would make it exciting,” I said. The reality, I began to realize, was that I was living vicariously through my wife’s affair. The excitement of their fucking in bizarre places yielded hours of pleasure for me, both listening about it and reliving it in my head.

Debra and Robbie did go on a trip in his pickup, and when we met back at our pillow the night she returned, I got a detailed account of the sex they had on the side of the country road in the back of his truck.

Now it’s five-thirty Wednesday and Debra isn’t back from work. I’m pretty sure Robbie is plowing into her pussy as I write this. When she gets home, we will have dinner, watch a little television, chat about our days at school, then meet back at our pillow to talk about her afternoon with her lover.

I wonder if they worked up enough nerve to turn off the lights and fuck in one of their darkened classrooms. I’d love to hear that he fucked her while she bent over her desk, or ate her out while she sat on the counter with her panties off and her legs up, knees apart and a hand on the top of his head as she came in his mouth. Maybe while I eat her pussy ­tonight she’ll tell me all about how she blew him on the rug where the children meet for show-and-tell every morning!

—E.G., Tacoma, Washington