Page 1 of Crossing the Line

Before

Julia

Last night I told my husband we could have sex if he took me quickly from behind and gave me a back massage at the same time, because it’d be good time management. One of the kids had just left for work and the other would be home soon from an outing to the cinema, so we didn’t have a big window of opportunity. And my back was truly sore from sitting at the computer all day at work.

Tam is nothing if not cooperative. In fact, he was in and out so quick he barely had time to touch my back and afterward, when he dashed away to watch the football on television, my muscles still ached like hell. I sat amongst the rumpled sheets of our bed and tried not to make any noise while hot tears welled. The huge suffocating ache clogging up my throat refused to shift, even when I gave in and let the tears fall. It’s hard to cry quietly when all you want to do is open your mouth wide and howl, but I didn’t want him to come in and see me like this. He wouldn’t understand. He’d think it a personal attack against him or his sexual prowess and it had nothing to do with that. I love Tam, I really do, but … is this it? After almost twenty-two years together, is this all we can expect from our relationship?

I was clutching the bed sheet so tight it’s a wonder I didn’t tear a hole in the Egyptian cotton fabric. Twelve hundred count. Our one good set. Slowly, I unclenched my fingers and let go. Time to wash my face—and my fanny which was still slick from his hastily released load—and get on with life. Time to go tackle that pile of dirty dishes in the kitchen.

****

Today at work I can’t stop thinking about last night. Not because it was good, but because it so spectacularly wasn’t. And that’s as much my fault as his. How could I have used those words and phrases—make love to me, massage me, and time management—all in the same sentence? Poor Tam. It’s a wonder he could still get it up at all. No surprise he scurried off fast to his favorite spot in front of the TV. He probably gets more titillation out of watching all those hunky guys run around on the football field than he does from our relationship these days. And I don’t blame him.

Thinking about sexy football guys gets me wondering again about this “thing” I’ve been toying with for a while, and before I know it, I’ve opened up a search page on the screen and typed in “dating sites for couples.” My desk in this city-based insurance company is right in the middle of an open-plan office and I glance furtively around to see if any colleagues are looking my way. Nope. There’s what seems to be an informal meeting underway in the far corner of the room and the coast is clear, for a few minutes at least. My finger hovers over the Enter key. Do I? Don’t I? What will Tam think? How will he react?

A ménage tryst.

We’ve teased each other about it several times over the years, in that half-serious way where you’re not sure if the other person really means what they’re saying. On our wedding anniversary last year, we spent the night in a luxury city hotel and openly talked about what it’d be like to have another man or woman join us. Tam admitted he’d be open to either, as long as I was okay with it, too. He’s a breast man, my Tam, always making jokes about the more breasts the merrier, but he’s also mentioned a couple of times that’s he’s curious about what it’d be like to taste another man or to feel part of someone else’s body actually seated deep inside of him.

I remember our nervous laughter, but there was something in his soft grey eyes that hinted at more than simple teasing. Our lovemaking that night was so much more passionate than usual, and based on that experience I finally got up the courage to order a strap-on dildo and harness and try it out with Tam. The couple of times we used it he definitely had fun, as did I, but at the end of the day it was still only role-play.

A threesome. For real. What if he really is as open to this crazy idea as I am? What if it brings us closer together? Or will it tear apart half a lifetime’s worth of love and trust instead?

Maybe Tam doesn’t feel the same way. Maybe he’s happy with the way things are now and the joking around is exactly what it seems. Maybe the teasing is just meant to titillate and his enjoyment of the strap-on the couple of times I used it on him is enough to satisfy his fantasies?

Maybe, unlike me, he doesn’t have this secret yearning for more when he thinks about our sex life. I wouldn’t know either way, because these past few months we’ve hardly spoken at all except for mundane stuff like what we’ll have for dinner or when the car is due for a service, or whose turn it is to take our pets to the vet for their annual shots. My craving for something more keeps getting stronger as the months and years go on, but is ménage the answer? Is it really worth the risk?

I hope so, because for me the status quo is no longer working.

Forgive me, Tam.

I push the Enter key and start scrolling.

****

My dating profile has only been active three days but my message inbox is flooding with interested queries. Who knew there were so many people out there actually willing to indulge in a ménage experience with a married couple? Tam’s out at his usual Thursday darts night, and I’m in my favorite chair by the fire, aimlessly browsing the net on my laptop. I spend an hour scrolling through the dating site messages, deleting and un-matching as I go. There’s a couple of women, but most seem to be men. Loser. Wanker. Player. Another wanker. My God, that one sounds like a straight-out lunatic.

What in the heck was I thinking? This is crazy. A whole aspect of life that Tam and I have had no real desire or inclination to seek out, let alone actively try to become involved in. We met at university when we were both twenty years old, and we’ve been together ever since. Until recently, I’ve never considered being with anyone else, and even now I can’t envision leaving my husband or cheating on him. That’s how this whole ménage idea came into being. Imagine if Tam really is open to the idea of a threesome, and we meet someone who would join us both in the bedroom…

I know that men often want another woman, but for me, if we do this, I think it will have to be a guy. The thought of being sandwiched between Tam and another man, making love with both at the same time, gets me so damp in my panties I almost orgasm here on the couch. If only he were home right now, he’d have a damn sight better time than our last attempt at sex. I press my legs together, trying to control the ache, but that only makes it worse. My clit is starved of attention.

Sex with my beloved Tam, and a total stranger to join us? Yes. I want this. I want it so bad the thought is starting to consume me, but what if he leaves me over it? What if he thinks I’m disgusting? I couldn’t bear that. I love him so much.

I look again at some of the messages coming through, and my ardor wanes. It’s not worth risking my marriage. Not for these less-than-adequate choices. I’m about to log out of my dating account when a name catches my eye. Darcy. My heart does a funny little skip and my mouth curves into a reluctant grin as I wonder if that’s really his name. Mister Darcy, both as a name and as a character in books and movies, has become symbolic for a whole generation of women as the quintessential romantic figure. That’s exactly what I’m seeking here, for myself and hopefully also for Tam. Romance. Passion. Something more.

Does this guy know what the name Darcy means to the average suburban housewife? Is that why he’s given himself that particular pseudonym? Curiosity blooms as I click on his profile photo and the image pops up full-size on the screen, and again my heart does a strange flip flop. Sudden excitement creates unfamiliar butterflies in my belly.

Well, well, well. So that’s Darcy. He’s handsome. I mean, really handsome. A hint of grey at his temples in the otherwise thick dark hair provides a clue as to his age even before I discover from his profile information that he’s thirty-eight. Three years younger than Tam and me. Those piercing blue eyes looking straight into the camera hold a hint of sardonic humor that grabs my attention like no one has been able to since the day I first met my husband. And that mouth, so wide and sensual-looking, curves up at one corner as if he knows the exact effect he has on the viewer’s pulse rate.

My God, imagine that mouth sucking hard on one of my breasts, or sliding up and down Tam’s eager cock while I listen to their competing moans. Who would make louder noises in the throes of passion—Tam … or Darcy? My nipples pebble and harden to points as my thoughts continue to meander along previously forbidden paths. His image on the screen makes it suddenly seem more real. It’s as if I can feel the moist heat of Darcy’s ragged breath caress my skin, and the strong suction of that sexy mouth drawing one of my breasts deep into its greedy well. He would be skilled enough to concentrate not only on the rosy tipped nipple, but also on the swell of flesh surrounding it, I’m sure. He would use his tongue, his lips, and perhaps even his teeth to elicit a reaction from my body. Maybe Tam would watch for a while, or perhaps he’d rather join in, feasting first on my other breast before sliding lower to find and pleasure the eager bud between my pussy lips.

When we do find the time to make love Tam knows just how I like it down there. A slow build of rhythm and pressure until finally the pinnacle is reached, and with one more swipe of the tongue across my clit, he tips me easily over the edge to exquisite release.

The thoughts drive my craving to an unbearable level. I reach down between my legs to flick the bud in question with a questing finger, and right then and there, within only a couple of strokes, shudders take my body as I climax. I’m quiet, as I always am, even though there’s no one else home. It’s habit for Tam and me. Never make any sound when having sex, in case the kids hear and get freaked out. Our kids are all grown up, but the habit remains. I want to moan and scream out loud sometimes, like they do in the movies when sex is fantastic, but somehow it never seems appropriate.

Darcy’s profile states that he’s looking for an established couple for fun times and a possible relationship. Sounds perfect. Too perfect? A voice whispers doubts somewhere deep in my mind, but I shake my head to dispel the uncertainty. The beauty of this situation is that my husband will be there to support me, and vice versa. If we change our minds, we can just ask this man to leave. And if he is exactly what we’ve been searching for all these years, the one who’ll give us that sense of completion, then surely it will be worth the risk?

I believe in soul mates, and I know I’ve already found mine in Tam. But what if there’s more than one soul mate for every person? Don’t we owe it to ourselves to test out that theory? What if Darcy’s the one who’s finally going to restore some spice to our too-comfortable relationship?