So, the fact of Susan’s being caught in her underwear in our yard is a funny anecdote and requires no further analysis. But how she felt about that fact is quite another thing.
It had excited her, thus leading her into a state of arousal. She’d already taken the stand on this point. Those were the plain facts. Perhaps it’s being an accident was the trigger to those feelings. In those underwear dreams we all have, we aren’t intentionally being caught in our underwear. There’s no culpability there. You’re a witness just as much as are those who witness the incident. Therefore, you’re also just a witness to the feelings that arise from incident—you’re not willing them.
I knew I was now treading too deeply and had probably trod deep enough. I had exonerated Susan, not that it was my intent to do so. I could see it plainly now. She had accidentally stepped into a new frontier and, beguiled by her feelings, had spoken openly to reconcile them to the facts of our marriage and bedroom.
Her honesty meant I had been dragged into this new frontier too, and I couldn’t be any happier for it. I was already a beneficiary. We’d made love twice in the past twenty-four hours, and both times were epic.
The cause? I still couldn’t be sure. Why would the idea of another man seeing my wife in her underwear or naked have such power? It was nonsensical.
And then there was the matter of Marci. Earlier in our bedroom, when we were “sex-talking”, she brought Marci into the picture. She and Susan would both be exposing themselves to Greg. It was at that moment that I felt a spike in my inability to continue “going slow”. I suspected Susan was simply keeping up the earlier theme of them sunbathing nude under the watchful eyes of Greg.
I decided to leave it there.
The kitchen door banged open announcing Susan’s return from errands. I helped her unload the car as another squall roamed through with some minor wind and fury.
We didn’t discuss her recent “accident” or points related to it, including our recent lovemaking. When bedtime rolled around, we were a little more frisky than was our usual routine. Without speaking we knew we were both too exhausted to make love, which didn’t keep me from having an erection. Susan held it gently as we fell asleep.
I felt I was in good hands.
Chapter 6: Revelations Over Lunch
RYAN GETS SCHOOLED
On all fronts Sunday was normal. We had prior activities planned which consumed the day, and Monday was a blur of work and meetings. A cool front followed the rains, and I didn’t once step onto the deck, though I did imagine it with two naked women sunbathing while my neighbor ogled them. Being a normal, red-blooded male, the prospect of two naked women on my deck still excited me.
There had been no further discussion about the underwear incident or Marci and Susan’s plan to expose themselves.
When lunch rolled around on Tuesday, I was nabbed by one of the few men left on the planet still named Harold. He was a senior partner like myself but a few years older. He’d been at the firm when my father was at the helm. He suggested we dine at his preferred steakhouse featuring “famous” filet mignons for a mere $40 each. They would include $10 worth of sizzling butter.
Harold, despite his name, was a handsome man already sporting a silver fox look and was much admired by women on our staff. As far as I knew, he kept to the straight and narrow and had been happily married for quite some time. He was one of the few men on our masthead with whom I could enjoy wide-ranging discussions and was my closest friend in the firm. Susan was very close to his wife, and we often spent time together as couples.
After a general conversation about work, news of the day and local gossip, we shifted into our personal lives.
“How’s Susan?” he asked.
“Fine. Thanks for asking. How’s Meg?”
“Same. Always happy.”
“Good.” His wife was very attractive and I considered her sexy. They made a handsome pair. It was his second marriage.
“How long have you and Susan been married now?” he asked.
“Six years, roundabouts.”
“Six years,” he repeated, somewhat whimsically. “You’re still newlyweds. The cement is still wet at six years.”
“How do you mean?”
“Nothing, really.” Harold absently rolled bread crumbs into a ball, possibly thinking over what he really meant. “You’re still settling in. Six years isn’t so long these days.”
“Longer than a lot of marriages out there.”
“True.” He smiled, revealing an immaculate mouthful of bright, straight teeth. They looked almost unnatural. “Meg and I hit a rough patch around year seven. They say it’s normal.”
“I hope not.” I contemplated sharing my funny anecdote about Susan’s exhibitionism.
“It’s nothing to worry about. When seven years come around, you tend to know everything there is to know about the other person. Your familiarity with each other tends to dull the atmosphere. There are no more surprises.”
“I have no doubt that’s true, in a way, but usually something comes along to startle you.”
Harold brightened. “Explain.” He was now drawing geometric shapes in the tablecloth with a single tine of his fork.
“Well, some quirk or another, you know. Something you didn’t know about the other person, and then it comes up.”
“Like an old flame they never mentioned before.”
I felt I could run with that though I didn’t necessarily view old flames as a quirk. They were a nuisance.
“Those are always interesting conversations,” I said. Susan and I hadn’t actually shared much on that front aside from generalizations. I put it in my back pocket for later retrieval in case her exhibitionism grew old.
“There are two phases, of course,” said Harold. “The ones they tell you about at the beginning of your relationship, and the ones that come out later. Those are the ones that shock you. It’s like they just happened.”
I assumed I knew,
