You won’t be surprised to learn I spent a good part of that
Saturday and Sunday fantasizing.

Sunday night: the weekend was over.

Bedtime.

We cuddled as we usually do. “Uh, Bruce?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you still serious about that Hans thing?”

I pulled her tight against me.

“Damned right.”

“So, if he asks me again, is it OK if I say OK?”

“Damned right!”

“I want to understand — it’s OK with you to be cockeyed –”

I interrupted: “The word is cuckold, and the other word is
‘voyeur’, and if it takes the first for me to the second, the answer
is ‘Yes’.”

“I’ll think about it some more. Goodnight, sexy old man.”

” ‘Night, sexy woman.”

It wasn’t unusual that I left home before Betty was awake — I had
a lot to do at work, and early morning is a good creative time for
me.

At noon my phone rang.

“Hi, hon,” my wife’s voice said when I identified myself.

“Hi!”

“Honey, what’s that street we turn onto from the highway, to go
to Martha’s house?”

“It’s left on Dewart, then right on Beaver Brook. Why?”

“Hans emailed me about going to dinner tonight, honey. If I
accept I could have him pick me up at Martha’s. If I go I’m going
to have to give him directions, if my going’s all right with you.”

Talk about losing concentration!

“Well?” the voice on the phone asked.

“Well what?”

“Well, do I accept, do I give him directions?”

I thought of being outside, looking in, of the images I’d see, and I
couldn’t find a way to take a breath!

“If you don’t want me to, tell me, please,” the voice spoke again.

I somehow got enough air into my lungs even though the knot in
my stomach reached to my throat.

It was more a croak than a voice: “Accept the invitation, Betty. I
want you to.”

“OK. I will. I’ll see you at home, honey, but if I make the date I’ll
be leaving for Martha’s early, OK?”

“OK.”

“Think about this. A couple of hours after that, you’ll probably be
seeing me — vicariously. ‘Bye.”

The longest 5 hours of my life were from noon until I left work.
I’m glad I got to work early, my productivity in the afternoon was
zero! I got home in time to find Betty finishing dressing. “I have
to hurry, he’s going to pick me up at 7.”

Her hair, long enough to reach her shoulders, was swept up,
exposing her neck. I kissed her there – it’s one of her hot spots.

“Don’t get me started, Bruce! I’m already so nervous I can hardly
stand it.” She looked carefully at me. “Is this still all right with
you?”

“Look,” I told her, pointing at my crotch. It looked like that old
May West joke – “are you carrying a gun, or are you happy to
see me?” I wasn’t carrying a gun.

“I see. It’s still OK.”

She turned her back to me. “Zip me up, please.”

The simple black dress she was wearing looked wonderful on
her. It wasn’t extreme, reaching to her knees, and the scoop
neckline was modest enough, but like I told her, “If it was dinner
time, I’d want you to be the main course.”

“Well, Bruce, if I understand you correctly, what you want is to
look at the desert tray, and maybe have some leftovers. When
are you going over to Martha’s? I hope now, with me. I gotta go
pretty soon.”

We took her car, and somehow managed to get to Martha’s
without driving off the road. Not that I was allowed to touch her —
“I don’t want to get all messed up, and if you start I know we
won’t stop,” she said, and she was right about that.

She went right to the bathroom. “You know me, I have to touch
up my makeup.”

A minute later I knocked on the door. “There’s a car coming up
the driveway, baby. It’s time!”

I watched from an at home office window as this youngster – he
looked no older than 20 — came to the front door. I heard the
knocker sound, and a moment later the murmur of voices. Within
a minute my wife was being lead to a car. Hans opened the
passenger door, Betty slipped inside, and in a moment the car
disappeared down the driveway.

How long does dinner take? If it was me, with the evening I
hoped for, it would be Mickie D’s take out — 10 minutes, max!

A couple of hours, I decided. They’d be gone until 9 or so. How
can I make a couple of hours go by?

A drink! I’d have one of those, first.

That used up 10 minutes. Now what?

I had better reconnoiter, and be sure sight lines are OK. They
were. The bedroom curtains were lacy enough to offer clear
views, the living room draperies did the same from the edges.

OK, that was done. What next?

I wen into the Master (Mistress?) bedroom — Betty was a wild
woman there just a couple of nights ago.

Hmm. I decided to check out an dresser.

Wow! Martha may be a single woman, but the nightwear she
had would entertain any guy – sexy stuff: On top was the teddy
thing Betty wore a couple of nights ago — so this is where she
found it, she went through these drawers, too! I wondered if
she’d be using anything from here to entertain Hans.

I lay on the bed, thinking about what we did. Thinking about
what we were planning she do here in a little while.

I confess. I unzipped, and eyes closed, thought about Betty, and
in no time at all was fully erect, and stroking.

I’m glad there was a tissue box on the bedside table.

I looked at my watch. 8 PM. Interesting, most times after I
ejaculate I’m done with sex, I lose interest. Not now. I lost my
erection, but not interest. Well, if things go according to plan, I
thought, my penis won’t be the one that had to be erect.

I revised that thought. It would have to be, later, after the show,
after I became — what did Betty call it? Cockeyed! You know,
this whole thing is cockeyed, she was right.

I got myself organized, prick back in pants, pants zipped, and
the bed straightened out.

It was time to get ready to spend some time outside. I mixed a
big martini: that should hold me.

I found a kind of small beach chair in the garage, and set it up
near a window. I sat, testing viewpoints. Man, this was as close
to ringside as I’d ever be! It was no more than 6 feet from the
window to the sofa in the living room, with sort of a quarter –
front view, from the bedroom window I was looking across the
bed at an angle from its foot. An ideal Peeping Tom
arrangement.

I sat, waiting. It seemed like a year later – although my watch
claimed it was 45 minutes, there was the sound of a car.

At last!!

A car door closed. Only one car door? Wasn’t he coming in?

A second door shut. Yes, he was.

Betty came into sight in the living room, turning on a single table
lamp, then leading Hans, and pointing to where he was to sit.
She turned to the wet bar, poured a wine for herself, and
obviously asked him what he’d like. It looked like he drank
straight Beefeaters, a man with good taste.

Hans settled onto a chair – a chair! while Betty did her hostess
duties, and returned with two glasses.

“Betty, you’ve got to stop looking at the windows!” I sent as
strong a telepathic message as I could. She kept looking right at
where she knew I was!

She settled onto the sofa, and raised her glass in a toast toward
Hans. He raised his, and I raised mine, too, in a mock salute to
the evening.

There were a few minutes conversation, and then I saw Betty
tap the sofa next to her.

That woke Hans up, he moved from chair to sofa, setting down
next to Betty.

And just sat there!

Finally, after a few minutes, they turned towards each other, and
Betty made that small womanly move with her head that can’t be
described but that every man knows means. “Kiss me.” I guess
it’s a universal move, understood by men from Denmark, too,
because Hans moved toward her, and there it was! He was
kissing my wife!

Oh man — my erection returned.

There was another kiss, and he was caressing her face, too. It
was starting.

But going no further. Their lips must have met a dozen time, but
he did no more than that, and his fingers moved from lips, to ear,
to neck, but no lower. He was being a god damned gentleman.

And now they moved a little apart, returning to their drinks. Betty
was on the side of the sofa away from me, so when she turned
to Hans, she was also facing me. I could see her face was a little
red, a little flushed.

There was some more conversation, a little smiling, a little
laughter, a little more sipping at drinks.

I watched carefully. If my reading of body language was correct,
Hans was actually thinking about getting ready to leave! I almost
screamed “No, no, Betty, don’t let that happen!”

Betty stood, taking his glass, and walked to the wet bar to refill
it. I had the sense he protested, but she poured him another,
anyway. After she handed it to him, she stood in front of him for
a moment, said something to which he nodded agreement, then
she walked out of the room. What the hell was going on?

I saw the light go on in the bedroom, so I moved the 20 feet or
so to look in that window.

Betty was looking in the dresser, and finally reached in, finding
what she wanted. She extracted another negligee, not the teddy
one, but a full length thing. She went into the bathroom, and in
as short a time as I’ve ever known her to undress, reappeared,
wearing this satiny looking thing that wasn’t exactly flimsy, but
was as sexy as anything I had ever seen. It hung from two thin
shoulder straps, and the material just either draped beautifully or
clung to the curve of her hips and breasts as she moved. The
neckline was modest enough, but the back was almost no there
– I mean, it was a vee that started at the shoulder straps and
descended to at least her waist. It took my breath away.

She reached for a matching robe, and pulled it on. Bare footed,
covered, but she couldn’t lose two hands of strip poker without
being naked.

Betty spent a moment looking at herself in the mirror – I looked
too, but then went back to the living room window. I wanted to
see her entrance and its effect on Hans.

Hans was standing near the sliding doors that opened to a
garden outside the living room. My spy hole was a side window
on the same wall – God, I’m glad he didn’t opt to look out this
window!

I saw Betty at the entrance to the room, saw Hans turn, do a
classic double take as he saw her, dressed in a satin robe,
standing there, waiting for him, looking nervous, looking as
though she didn’t know how this overture would be accepted.
Silly girl!

Hans took a step towards her, then another. Another.

Betty smiled tentatively, and started to raise her arms towards
him, and moved towards him, too.

He took the last several steps, they met, and there was an
embrace, another kiss, a long one. I could see her arms, one
around his neck, the other on his back. His I couldn’t see, but his
shoulders suggested they were moving along her back.

How long can a man my age maintain an erection if he
masturbated himself silly just an hour ago? I was going to find
out.

They broke apart, and Betty went to her drink, her liquid
courage. She raised it to her lips, while Hans, finding his gin,
raised his in a toast toward Betty.

Betty acknowledged the toast with her own glass, then drained
it.

By now Hans was sitting on the sofa again, and Betty moved
towards him, to sit next to him.

He stopped her.

He leaned forward, holding her by the hips, and she bent,
meeting his lips.

Oh God, that looked sexy.

In a moment she was standing in front of him, and he pulled her
between his legs, and leaned toward her, until he was able to
nuzzle at her torso, at her stomach. Oh, he was getting the idea,
all right.