To my dismay I have just discovered that this blog does not keep ALL posts -- and deleted the beginnings of this journey. (I guess it rotates after a few months or something). However I do not think it is possible for a blog reader to understand where we're going if you don't know where we've come from. So I am going to repost my original opening paragraphs for this blog, which does start at the beginning.
I think I will open a "Prelude" to this blog for anyone who does want to start at the beginning. Meanwhile here is the opening blog posts from Day 1
“Ten toes up, ten toes down, two bare asses going round and around” The punchline to an old joke, but it is a rough paraphrase of the scene in front of me. Underneath the rising and falling black male ass are two long tanned widespread white legs, knees pulled up to her shoulders. Between those spread legs I can see her very swollen pussy lips parted by his condom-encased cock, glistening with her moist juices as he withdraws. Her pussy moves, seeming to cling to his cock with every thrust in and out.
I could close my eyes and know when he thrusts in, because at the depth of every stroke there is a soft grunt, and then an audible “ahhhh” as he withdraws a little, along with an occasional whimper or an “Oh god, I love it.”
I am there, watching this scene, standing behind a video camera.
The white woman underneath this well hung black guy, the woman moaning in pleasure from the strong fucking she is receiving, is my wife of many years. And she is fucking like this with my full knowledge, consent—and encouragement.
This is a long way from the young girl I met in high school and was the first man (boy at the time) to enjoy the pleasure of making love with her.
How she (and we) journeyed from that naïve, inhibited, straightlaced teenager to what, by her own definition, is today a “bona-fide slut for black cock” is the purpose for this blog.
We are from a small town where if our lifestyle choices of today were known it would be a scandal—so we must be discreet. But frankly we enjoy talking about the hotwife/interracial lifestyle or those who want to be in the lifestyle. Maybe we can accomplish that with this blog.
When I first saw her it was love and lust at first site. She was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen and I wanted her so bad. I pursued her, even to the point that when I asked her to go steady she told me she was seeing this other guy—and she had to see him one last time before she would go steady for me. If that was what it took to get her, then that was what I was willing to do.
In conversations on dates she revealed that she hated clothes, and wished everyone could run around nude. I had found my perfect mate, I thought, because I did know after sneaking out my Dad’s Playboys that I wanted a beautiful woman like the ones in the centerfold who didn’t mind being naked! And she was on that level.
We dated for years during high school and had no had other sexual partners. I popped here cherry in the front seat of my Dad’s car while some friends of ours were making out in the back seat.
We broke up eventually, only for a couple of weeks, and I vividly recall walking into a dance late, catching a glimpse of her back as she walked out the door to leave (early) with another guy. It was obvious they were going to parking and making out—and since she and I were fucking I was absolutely racked with the painful idea of her fucking someone else, just to see what someone else would be like, and I immediately pursued her and got her back. She had not fucked him—as she said, girls did such things on first dates in those days. We married just out of high school.
I was insecure about my hold on her, and worried that at some point some other guy might take her away from me. My gut told me that. Years later she would tell me, “Well honestly I just married you to get out of a bad situation at home. I didn’t love you then. But I love you now.” Another time she told me, “I thought I would stay with you until someone better came along—but they never did, and not I love you.” But I’m getting ahead of my story.
My remedy for my insecurities was to be jealous, critical of anything she wore even remotely revealing, and going to great pains to insure that she wasn’t alone with other men and therefore able to become intimate with them and drift away. Of course as a beautiful woman she fought it, as she had always been a terrible flirt and loved teasing.
She did dress modestly though. I was just young and stupid—especially in getting along with the opposite sex.
We did not have a lot of sexual experience, but that didn’t mean we were not sexually curious. With me taking the lead we got into me taking photos of her, eventually getting to the point she would let me photograph her nude with an self-developing camera and not throw the photos away immediately.
We would fuck and video ourselves, we would try to make our own pornos with her in a wig and me in different clothes for different scenes, I would tie her up and fuck her, and in my own mind thought this was making up for our lack of other partners. I went so far as to blindfold her, using some pillows, and with a realistic dildo construct a makeshift dummy in the floor and have her ride it with the dildo inside her while she sucked my cock.
I was searching to unlock the place that was hiding the young girl who told me she hated clothes back in high school. I tried having her read Penthouse letters, but she would usually find one that turned her off, and she would stop reading and get angry, so I took to photocopying the ones that turned me on, assuming they would turn her on. Later I learned that some of the anger she expressed at me was anger at herself for being aroused by it. But understanding that would come much later too.
I though it was a safe way to live out my sexual fantasies and desires. I wanted her to open up sexually—I felt there was a sexy, slutty side she was holding in that I desperately wanted to see her let out. But with me alone.
Through all this I didn’t see that she was feeling guilt, insecurity of her own, and going through her own mental headgames which would later be diagnosed as chronic depression. At the time she was blaming me for all the bad feelings she had, and I couldn’t see it. A lot of the anger she felt was directed at me for my actions – by the role playing, the toys, the stories, I was the force behind the cause of the arousal—then the guilt.
We later learned what she was doing is called “passive aggression.” Every new sexual thing we tried would get her pussy pouring. But once she realized her body had revealed she was turned on to the idea , she would turn off mentally. Especially if I liked the idea.
With that as background I saw a talk show about women’s fantasies, which were described as a triad being a woman’s number one fantasy. So I asked her. She said yes. And instantly I had a new theme for our role playing and pornos to buy.
Our business was struggling, we were both working in it and had a huge stress load otherwise, and in her passive aggression mode she thought, “Well if that’s what he wants this is what he will get.”
She was nearing 30, and had remarked that I had robbed her of her dating life by only dating her during high school and marrying so soon.
As I said she is a beautiful woman, and flirty, and through business she met a guy who was a player, and she responded to his attention. In her frame of mind at that time she was basically a piece of pussy looking for a place to get fucked, and it happened. He seduced her with very little resistance on his part. She later told me she listed a long list of reasons she shouldn’t, only one or two reasons she should, and she went ahead and did it anyway.
She met him for a drink at a local bar on the other side of town. They just talked, but when she was leaving in her car, stopped waiting on traffic, he pulled up behind her in his truck, and got out, walking toward her. She lowered her window and he leaned in the window and kissed her. She thought that was romantic.
She started meeting him in an isolated spot in the woods off a local park, where they were making out, getting further each time of course, but they had not fucked. Then one day as they were fondling each other she told him, “I want you.”
A few days later when I was out of town he called in sick, she put the kids in day care and went to meet her lover. She was apprehensive, but determined to go through with it. As he took her clothes off she said she worried that her boobs would be big enough to please him, and had all these insecurities. He ate her pussy. Her insecurities faded quickly once he got his cock inside her. Without a rubber. He fucked her on her back, quickly, and she lay there with him, cuddling, and then rose up, sucked him back to hardness, and straddled his cock with her boobs hanging down in his face, till he came in her a second time.
He fucked her so hard that she bled a bit onto the sheets, his wife called about the time. They noticed her leaking, and he freaked. He was trying to wash the sheet and dry it out with a hairdryer. They decided not to use his house again.
The next time he borrowed a friends house (I was in town this time), and fucked her on his friend’s bed. They got naked, he got his cock inside her and was pounding her hard enough that some glass bottles on the headboard fell on the bed nearly hitting her in the head, but they were interrupted by a delivery man before they could cum. The interruption spoiled the moment. They got dressed and left without starting up again.
The next time she waited until I was out of town and with the kids in day care fucked him in our den, in my favorite chair, with her legs pulled up to her shoulders, he on his knees in the floor, and really got her off. By then, after four fucks, she was really letting go that time, eager, willing, and wanting to give him the best fuck he’d ever had. She said the sex that time was great.
A couple of weeks later she knew where he was supposed to be that night, I was out of town, and she went a club to surprise him and she did, she caught him with another woman (other than his wife). She got even more depressed after that, and the next few years made my life a living hell. On the way out she wrote “asshole” in the dust of his car window.
She was not through with him yet though. A couple of years later she calls him, they start talking more on the phone, and one day he mentions a store he will be going to. She meets him, goes out into his van, and starts to give him a blow job. A woman walking by looks in the window, and it interrupts them, but not for long. He gets out of van, asks if he can help her, she gets in her car and leaves. He gets back into the van and she finishes sucking him off. A few days later she fucks him at our house again, in our bedroom, in our bed.
Every time she fucks him during the day that night is one of her most aggressive that she is with me sexually. When she fucks him she fucks me as soon after as possible, she later tells me. She’s fucking two men only hours apart.
Then one night he is supposed to come by our house when his night shift job ends, when I am out of town, and spend the night with her, with our kids in the house, coming in after they have gone to sleep. She is supposed to leave the porch light on if it is ok. Late that night she has her hand on the light switch and comes to her senses, and says to herself that this is crazy, and she leaves the light off. She has learned that his wife is pregnant. He doesn’t call back and the affair fades away.
There is a time lag of about three years between the episodes, so she never really quite got him out of her system until later.
I’m oblivious to all this, but I know things are very wrong with our marriage, but we have kids and I hang around for them. Our sex life during this time was adequate, and sometimes she would let get and be the woman I thought I had married, but then she would go back in her shell, after giving me just a glimpse of that woman.
During this time she avoided being alone with me, as I would tend to steer the conversation to trying to analyze what happened during what I called our “dark times.” I was seeking understand, and in reality she had all the answers, and was giving none of them. She dared not drink, or let down her guard, lest something slip. So I was suffering her distancing from me. She felt trapped, as when we would be alone I would bring it up, usually on long car trips—she all but refused to go on a long trip alone with me.
For our 20th anniversary we went to the Caribbean which I had researched to find a resort that was topless (next to a nude beach as well) she would not lay in the topless area where there were plenty of people around—but she would go down the nude beach to an isolated area where we lay naked. People were walking by but no one noticed. She wouldn’t walk down the beach nude though. It was great, I was relaxed, I had seen the woman I fell in love with re-emerging on that trip. She said later that was the trip where she really fell in love with me.
Of course I had had some suspicions about her affair, there had been little things that just didn’t add up when they all jelled in my subconscious—but I didn’t say anything. But I had to know. The only way was for her to tell me. So I wrote her a long letter, explaining my suspicions—telling her that I forgave her for them if she had—but the only thing I wanted to know was the truth. With the letter I gave her a 1-carat solitaire diamond as a token of my sincerity. She later said she went down to the beach while I was taking a nap and cried like a baby. But she didn’t tell me the truth. In fact she looked me right in the face that night and told me she had not fucked anyone.
I was relieved, trashing myself for the years of worry and suspicion over nothing. I think it is called blissful ignorance. But I was a new man, my suspicions had been wrong, because she would not lie after what I had done to insure the truth from her.
A year or so later we went to Maui, went to a small nude beach with bother her because of several people there with clothes on—and later that night, with a flowered lei around her neck (and nothing else) I bent her over the rail on the balcony of our hotel and fucked her. She was totally visible to anyone who looked up, and the U shaped hotel overlooked a garden area and a bar in the middle of it, with quite a bit of foliage. It was one of the hottest things she’d ever done—and still speaks of it fondly. It was more for the danger of being seen, or her desire to be seen and show off, I’m not sure which—but it certainly worked.