The Night My Wife Gave Me to Another Woman

My name is Marcos, and I’ve been married to Carla for twenty-two years. I’m telling it like this from the start, because without that detail what happened that night means nothing. Two decades is a lot of identical nights, a lot of identical Fridays, a lot of sex you already know by heart before you even begin. We didn’t get along badly. On the contrary. The problem was exactly that: we got along too well, and comfort had eaten away at desire without either of us noticing.

At first it was magazines. Then a few toys we bought half as a joke. And one day, almost without talking about it, we started reading forums for the swinging scene at two in the morning, with the phone light illuminating our faces. We fantasized in low voices, like two teenagers. We imagined another couple in our bedroom and laughed, but the laughter soon died away and we ended up touching each other with an urgency we hadn’t felt in years.

—What if we did it for real? —she asked one night, with her back to me.

—Did what? —I replied, even though I knew perfectly well.

I knew, and my mouth went dry.

We joined a chat network for couples more out of curiosity than anything else. I’m dark-haired, slim, and at forty-eight I still look after myself. Carla is blonde, has an amazing figure, and a filthy look that comes to her naturally when she gets turned on. We put up a couple of discreet photos and started talking to people. Most of them said nothing to us. Until they showed up.

They called themselves Lorena and Andrés. Our age, our city, quite experienced in all this, and with a way of writing that was addictive: direct without being rude, funny, without that anxiety newcomers have. Andrés was dark-haired, a little shorter than me, with an ordinary look about him. Lorena, from the photos, was something else. Brunette, smiling, with a body that didn’t seem real.

We talked every night. About sex, experiences, what we liked and what we didn’t. Nude photos started coming through, ours and theirs, and with each exchange things heated up a notch. It was inevitable that sooner or later someone would suggest meeting up. Lorena did, as she did almost everything.

—Dinner —she wrote—. No strings. If there’s chemistry, great. If not, we’ll have had a good meal.

That sentence took the fear away from us. Or almost.

***

The days leading up to it were a nervous wreck. Carla changed her mind four times. One morning she was determined, and by afternoon she was telling me it was madness, that at our age, what for. I let her talk. I knew we’d end up going, because curiosity had already bitten us and there’s no going back from that.

Before we left, she set me just one condition, looking at me very seriously while she put on her lipstick.

—If I don’t like him, nothing happens. I decide. Deal?

—Deal —I said.

We got ourselves ready in a way we hadn’t in years. I shaved, put on a cologne she adores. Carla chose a silk blouse, tight trousers and, underneath, a nearly sheer black thong she’d bought for the occasion. When she showed it to me, lifting her blouse a little with a mischievous grin, I almost suggested we stay home.

The restaurant had been chosen by them. We arrived five minutes late on purpose, so we wouldn’t seem eager, and there they were. In person, Lorena was even better than in the photos. She wore a loose dress, no bra, and breasts that were obviously perfect every time she moved. Andrés stood up to greet us with a calm smile that was disarming.

Dinner was much easier than we’d feared. We laughed, told silly stories, drank a wine that went to our heads just enough. Little by little the conversation dropped a gear, like loosening a knot slowly. A hand on an arm. A knee brushing another under the table. Carla was radiant, though more restrained than Lorena, who was playing openly.

In the middle of dinner I got up to go to the bathroom. Lorena immediately stood as well.

—Wait, I’ll come with you —she said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

We went down the stairs together toward the restrooms. On the last step, where nobody could see us, she shoved me against the wall and kissed me. It wasn’t a polite kiss. It was a long, deep kiss, with tongue and hands, a kiss that left me breathless and my heart pounding as if I were twenty again. When she let go, she went into the women’s bathroom without saying a word, leaving me standing there, completely turned on.

I waited for her. When she came out, she took my hand, opened it, and placed something inside. It was her thong. It was wet.

—In case you want to keep smelling what you’re going to eat later —she whispered in my ear, and winked at me before going back upstairs as if nothing had happened.

I went back to the table trying not to show it, but nothing gets past Carla.

***

We asked for the check, and when we were getting up, Andrés made the offer we were both expecting.

—A drink to finish? We know a quiet place on the outskirts.

—What place? —I asked.

—A club. Swinging. You know what I mean.

We said yes. But as soon as Carla and I got into our car, she grabbed my arm before I started the engine.

—Listen —she said, and I could tell she was serious—. You like her, it shows. If you want, do it with her, you’ve got the green light. But not with him for me. He just hasn’t really done it for me. I’ll keep him busy, distract him, and you do your thing.

I didn’t fully like the arrangement. It had something of a consolation prize, as if they were giving me permission for something that kept my wife out of it. I almost turned around and sent them a message saying the night had gotten complicated. But I started the car. And I drove behind their car along a dark road to a gate.

The club was a secluded villa, with no sign at all. To get in, you had to say a word into the intercom. Andrés said it and the door opened by itself. Inside, it was pub-like: low sofas spread through private booths, warm lighting, a huge jacuzzi in the back giving off steam, and several doors leading to closed rooms. Good music was playing, neither too loud nor too soft. There were other couples doing their own thing, unhurried, not looking at anyone. It wasn’t anything spectacular, but it had something that put the body on alert.

We sat crosswise as couples: me with Lorena, Carla with Andrés. And from there everything moved fast.

I was already hot from the restaurant, with her thong still in my pocket, so no buildup was needed. Lorena sat almost on top of me and started kissing me while sliding her hand up my thigh. With no underwear under her dress, she was the one who took my hand and put it between her legs. She was shaved, wet, burning. I stroked her slowly, feeling her breathing break against my neck.

Out of the corner of my eye I could see Carla. Andrés was rubbing her nipples through the silk blouse and she had her eyes closed, her head tilted back. I knew her well enough to know that this wasn’t an act. She was letting herself go more than she had planned in the car, and seeing that, far from bothering me, pushed me all the way over the edge.

Lorena opened my trousers and leaned over me. What happened next was hard to hide: she sucked me off without rushing, looking up at me from time to time, enjoying having me at her mercy. I held her by the nape and let her set the pace, because anything she did was right.

At the other side of the booth, Andrés tried to put his hands on Carla, but her tight trousers made it difficult. And then something happened I hadn’t expected. My wife, the same woman who half an hour earlier had sworn to me that nothing would happen with him, lifted herself up a little and unbuttoned her trousers herself to give him access. She didn’t say yes with her mouth. She said it with that gesture. Andrés was caressing her and Carla was biting the air, and I, with Lorena between my legs, couldn’t stop looking at her.

***

It was Lorena who brought order to that chaos.

—Let’s go to a room —she said, standing up and taking my hand—. There are too many people here.

We went into one of the private rooms with a bed and closed the door. What happened inside doesn’t have an orderly account, because it wasn’t orderly. There were hands, mouths, clothes that got in the way, positions we sought out on our own. Lorena had the confidence of someone who knows exactly what she wants, and I let her take me until I completely lost track of time and place. At some point I stopped thinking about Carla, about the car, about the conditions. It was just her and me, and sweat, and broken breathing against the pillow.

When we came out of the room, the night had completely fallen apart. We had gone in at midnight and it was already five in the morning. Carla was sitting on one of the sofas, hair disheveled, blouse half open, with a smile I hadn’t seen on her in a long time. No explanations were needed. We looked at each other and both knew that something had broken, but in a good way.

We ended the night the four of us in the jacuzzi, no sex anymore, just hot water, tired skin and soft drunken laughter at dawn. Lorena had her head resting on Carla’s shoulder. Andrés handed me a drink. And at that moment, with the steam rising, I thought that this hadn’t been an ending, but the beginning of something.

That’s how we entered the world of swinging: no training, no patience, from one day to the next. Come in and ignite. With that first couple we kept meeting for years, to the point of becoming real friends, almost family. Today we still see each other, although for some time now whatever happens between us stays between the four of us. But that, as they say, is another story.