River Valley

My husband and I had known Diana and Tom for over a decade. We initially met when we lived in a townhouse development after the both of us married. Over time, we both had children and moved on to new homes, but remained close friends, as our husbands and children got along well. Our children attended the same schools, husbands coached youth baseball together and twice we vacationed together.

Over the years, Diana and Tom became one of those near-perfect couples who organized events at the school or chaired the fundraising campaigns around town. Their children were just as successful; no surprise as they came from a steady, supportive home.

Tom had begun his career in banking, initially working for a small, community bank, before moving on to start his own lending company. Despite his skill, he wasn’t able to totally avoid the downfall of the housing crash in ’08. For over a year, Tom was swamped at work, eventually having to return to his old employer at a substantial pay cut and they faced foreclosure on their own home for over a year.

We fared little better, and lost our investment on our weekend-getaway cabin, but were able to continue much as before.

It was around this time that Diana confided in me that she and Tom had gone to counseling and were advised to divorce. I was surprised by this suggestion (isn’t that exactly what a counselor is meant to avoid?) and urged her to be patient and continue to work on their marriage. A few months later, I noticed that her mood had improved remarkably: her old smile was back, she seemed continuously upbeat, even better than me. It was only after a drink one night that she told me that she and her husband had been prescribed anti-depressants.

Not knowing much about them, I was happy for her. Her marriage was saved and the family was still together.

A year passed and my husband and I confided to each other about what we witnessed between our friends. There is a difference between how the two sexes confide between ourselves.

“Have you noticed anything about Diana and Tom?” I asked my husband one night in bed.

“Yeah, you said they were going through some trouble.”

“… And they’d both been prescribed …”

“Yeah, I remember. They don’t seem as tense to be around as before.”

“I know. Isn’t that great?”

“Hmm.”

“What?”

He paused for a moment and gave me the “don’t repeat this” look.

“There are some drawbacks.”

“Like what?”

He looked at me. “She’s lost interest.”

“What? They’re still married. And they look happy.”

“She’s lost interest. He hasn’t slept with her in over a year.”

“What? Really?” I ignored for a moment how this news came to my husband, but realized they must’ve confided this during one of their afternoons spent watching a game at the sports bar.

“He was on the stuff for a few months, but it began to bother him. I guess it helped get him out of his depression, but nothing was happening. She wasn’t interested and he couldn’t have gotten it up if he wanted to.”

I looked at him amazed he knew so much.

“So he got himself off the stuff, while she stayed on. It’s been over a year.”

“That’s not good.”

“Tell me about it. He’s staying devoted to her ‘in sickness and in health’ he figures.”

Months passed and we stayed current with them both, supporting them in any way we could.

But slowly and steadily I began to notice some changes to her behavior: becoming flirty with a waiter, telling risque jokes when she’d never done so before, dressing slightly more provocatively. I did my best to ignore these things and tried to turn the conversation away when she would make mention of certain topics. I knew she was returning home each night and figured she was just letting off steam when we got together. I figured the best route was to stay supportive.

We joined a gym together and began taking a Pilates class together on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Soon we began the routine of going from class to stopping for a salad on the way home, sometimes having a glass of wine back at her house. Eventually, a few others began to join us, making for a co-ed group.

It was on one of these times that I accompanied her back to her house with the instructor, Ben. Not wanting to leave them alone, I stayed until it was time to pick up the kids from school.

The next week we did the same thing and had another friend join me, Ben and Diana.

As I drove home, I sensed that something was going on between the two. I struggled to admit this to myself and worried that I’d become complicit in it.

The next week, nothing out of the ordinary happened, but the following, she invited me over again. While there, we enjoyed lunch, getting slightly lubricated, before Ben and another instructor (Allie) joined us. As we sipped, Allie nonchalantly pulled out a joint, lit it and offered it to me. I refused at first, but then took a light, token puff as I didn’t want to be stuffy.

“Come on, let’s check it out,” she winked at me.

I followed her upstairs and she led me to the master bedroom. Somewhat buzzed, I didn’t know what to expect, but she quietly opened the door and waved me over.

I stood for a minute processing what I witnessed: Diana was atop her white comforter, completely naked and Ben was beneath her. At first, I didn’t want to believe it, somehow trying to make an excuse (stretching?), but then I realized I could see him penetrating her.

“Man, that’s really big, isn’t it?” Allie whispered as she stood behind me, blocking my retreat.

I nodded, hoping she wouldn’t continue, holding the door from being opened further and blowing our cover.

It would only last a minute longer, as Ben tensed up and grabbed her hips, moaning loudly in the process. Diana collapsed onto him and held herself atop him.

“Way to go Ben!” laughed Allie at two, as they embraced atop the bed.

“Hey!” was all they could reply in their post-coital bliss, both seeing me staring through the doorway at them, both smiling and laughing.

I darted away, hoping that we’d both pretend I didn’t witness what I clearly had.

Several days passed and we went to class the next Tuesday, neither of us making mention of the incident, hoping that it was just a one-time indiscretion I’d happened to witness. In fact, the scene dominated my waking thoughts for the days following, as I couldn’t discuss it with anyone. I nearly mentioned it to my husband one night, but reasoned against it as the fallout might be overwhelming for the both of us.

I wrestled on how to discuss it with Diana after our next class, hoping to at least suggest to her that it might be dangerous to her homelife. We returned to her house again, and before I could say anything, she left to shower, leaving me to answer the door for Ben and Allie. Within a minute, Allie lit up a joint again, which I shared, hoping to calm my nerves, before speaking to Diana.

“How long have you known Ben?” I asked.

“Hmm, year or so I guess. Since I started working with him at the studio.”

“And him and Diana … ?”

“Hmm, not sure. Want to go check on them?” she grinned, pulling herself off the couch.

“No, we really shouldn’t.”

“They don’t mind.”

“What?”

“That’s what he told me. Said they kind of got off on it. Come on, let’s go.”

Against my better judgement, I followed her upstairs. This time, they left the door open and, as we approached, made no secret of their activity.

Allie leaned against the doorway and waved me over. The two were again atop the sheets, this time with Ben slowly moving his naked hips into hers as the two kissed. We watched for several minutes as the two graduated from one position to the next before finally noticing us.

“We’ve got spectators,” he laughed.

Diana lifted her head from the pillow and laughed. “Hey, you guys. Come on in.”

Allie smiled and moved into the room, leaving me standing frozen in the doorway.

“There’s another chair here,” she continued, waving me in.

Trance-like I took the seat adjacent to Allie and watched as the two continued their lovemaking.

“Nice cock,” Allie laughed as we watched him thrust into her from behind. The comment would bring a laugh to the room, even easing the tension for me. In fact, he was fairly well-endowed: the girth appeared to be significantly more generous than my husband’s.

Diana moved from one position to the next, merrily engaging in the new sensations that each one brought.

“Make her come,” Allie giggled.

“He already did,” Diana responded, “he went down on me before.”

“So? Do it again Ben,” she laughed in response.

Ben smiled and pulled her legs up over his shoulders and began thrusting hard and quick into her hips, the bed beginning to strain under his energy.

Diana grew silent, her head now leaning over the edge, breasts jiggling with him, her mouth agape trying to keep with her breathing. We watched as he steadily and rhythmically thrust into her, watching her face for a signal. A minute later, she began to whimper, then let into a wail,

“Fffffffffffffuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu,” she cried, unable to complete the thought before her body shuddered into a mess.

We all sat for several moments, waiting for her announcement.

“Well?” he whispered, his staff still impaled into her.

She nodded, leaning up to kiss him.

“Good, cause I can’t hold it any longer.”

Several thrusts later, he pulled himself out and rapidly finished himself across her torso, his streams covering her breasts.

“Cooool!” Allie laughed as he did.

Ben rolled off her and the two giggled as they tried to catch their breath.

“You ever come like that before?” Allie asked.

“You mean with Tom? No. Hell no.”

I was amazed at her bluntness. Not only that, but we all admitted to her husband at that moment. She looked over at me and grinned, as if we were now sharing her secret together.

“Look,” Allie giggled, “he’s spent. I love guys’ cocks after they’re done. Like they’re defeated.”

Our eyes all focused on him for a moment, as he laughed.

Diana smiled and gave him a playful stroke.

And, just as quickly as it had begun, it ended.

We all made our way back downstairs and out the door, exchanging pleasant goodbyes.

As I drove away, I was completely at peace. Had anyone told me what my reaction would be if I’d witnessed that, I’d have told them I would be in a complete and utter rage to put it mildly.

But that day, I wasn’t. And I couldn’t tell anyone.

The next week, we attended class together and Diana made a few references to Tom, each indicating that the two were on good terms. In fact, they planned to spend the weekend visiting his parents out of state. Other talk revolved around them organizing a golf outing for their church.

Feeling the need build up within me, I casually mentioned the couple to my husband the next evening.

“Are they still going to counseling?” he asked.

“Hmm, not sure, she didn’t mention it.”

“I don’t know how anyone can live like that.”

“How?”

“You know, no … you know. I mean …”

It was always one of the things I liked about my husband: he never said anything bluntly. Whenever he bordered on it, I pretended to be shocked.

“I mean, he’s gone over a year … eventually …”

“You think he’s going outside … ?”

“No, he just suffers through it I guess. I don’t bring it up, it’s obviously a sore subject for him.”

We left it at that, both of us bordering on the discomfort that the topic brought to us, each for separate reasons.

As Thursday approached, I felt myself less worrying about the whole scandalous aspect and more anticipating the post-workout get-together. In fact, on our way back to her house after class, I made my first reference to it outside the setting, casually mentioning the topic to Diana.

“You ever worry about … you know, about … someone finding out about …”

To my surprise, she laughed. “No, not really.”

I took it as a sign of bravery on her part.

We made no pretense of it over lunch. In fact, I easily poured the two their wine before they made hint. I noticed Allie hadn’t come with him and inquired about her, as I cleaned up after our lunch.

“She’s visiting her folks this week,” Ben replied.

“Aw, that’s too bad.”

Just as I said it, Diana retrieved a small box from beneath her sink and handed me a joint. “Here, you can borrow one of mine,” she laughed, before leaving the room with Ben.

I smiled and lit it on the burner of the stove, realizing just then that she must’ve spoken with Allie about our ritual.

A few minutes later, I headed upstairs and quietly took me seat in the chair across from the bed and watched as the two progressed. Diana just finished bringing him to fullness before she hitched herself backwards to the bed, pulling his lips to hers. The two giggled as she spread the same saliva across him as she’d just done to his member. He lowered himself slowly and parted her thighs, before quietly beginning his procedure on her. As he did, she looked over at me and smiled, and I nodded back, before she lowered her eyelids and let the feelings overtake her. She would shudder quickly, announcing his successful completion, before pulling his head upwards. The two would kiss again, sharing his slickened face, as they giggled together. By now, he’d entered her and they began their scene.

For me, the mood began to overtake me. I loosened the drawstring on my yoga pants and slipped and hand into my waistband. Initially, I told myself it was to adjust the seam, but as I brushed across myself, I felt myself twitch. Carefully, I shielded myself from view as the two continued their session. Focusing on my attention on the top edge, I watched as his narrow hips rotated into her, his lean, boyish butt flexing with each thrust. Once I’d let the thought of myself being in her place, I felt a rush run through my body.

I pulled my hand out before they realized and pinched my knees together. As I watched her hold the headboard as she rode him, I reached into my sportsbra and pinched a nipple, feeling the release almost as quickly. With her facing away, I reached over and lightly stroked his ankle, just giving me a sense of reality as I watched the two. I don’t think he noticed, but if he did, he made no recognition. A few minutes later, he finished, this time from behind, as she cried into her pillow.

We made light conversation as the two lay atop the bed, Diana holding her position face-down as he stroked her butt while leaning on his side.

I waited in my chair, conversing and complimenting his skill, for a few minutes before he rose to excuse himself to the bathroom. I’d been married long enough to know that nearly all sessions ended this way, with either one answering the necessary call. Subconsciously, I guess.

Because just as he did, pulling his legs over the side, I made eye contact with him and smiled. Aside from his fit physique, I didn’t find him exceptionally attractive, above average I would rank him. But his smile at that moment sent a message between us.

He must’ve noticed me admiring him as he paused. I reached up and took hold of his spent member – still slick from her, a trickle of his ejaculate still dripping from it, and held it gently. He paused, letting me continue. My eyes darted back to his before lowering again. I gazed at the enlarged head and full veins that ran the length. I gave it a slow milking, pulling the remainder from him to my hand before smiling and releasing him. He grinned and moved past me quietly to the bath. I looked at the fluid in my palm and, without thinking, moved it to my lips.