The swap Marina planned for that night

I met Marina through one of those apps where you’re supposedly looking for friendship but something more always ends up happening. She was married, and at first she fooled herself by saying that was all she wanted too: conversation, someone to talk to because she felt lonely in her house. It didn’t take long for her to admit what was really going on: her husband hadn’t touched her the way she needed in years. With that confession, the door to everything else was already open.

At the time, I didn’t have a partner. I was free to do as I pleased with whomever I wanted, without answering to anyone. That’s why what she had to offer was so appealing to me: the risk was all hers, and far from putting me off, that turned me on.

The first time we met, we arranged to have coffee in a shopping mall on the outskirts. We didn’t talk about much besides nonsense, but the tension between us was so obvious it was hard to hide. She, however, was more worried about making sure no familiar face saw her sitting with a man who wasn’t her husband. The idea of being discovered terrified her. Every time someone walked near the table, she went rigid.

—Relax —I told her—. Nobody’s looking at us.

—You don’t know this town —she replied with a nervous half smile.

***

We met again a few days later, and this time we decided to get in my car and drive out of town, to a secluded road where we wouldn’t have to worry about anyone recognizing us. That was where we had our first real contact, though it was limited to her slowly jerking me off, looking me in the eyes as if she wanted to memorize my reaction. It was enough for us to be unable to stop after that.

The meetings kept repeating. Sometimes in the car, with the windows fogged and the fear of headlights drawing near; other times in hotel rooms where we could finally let everything loose without a clock or anyone watching. We had an extraordinary connection in bed. We sought each other out, understood each other without words, enjoyed ourselves like two teenagers discovering something new at every date.

This isn’t going to end well, I sometimes thought. But I never said it out loud.

And in one of those furtive encounters, still naked on the rumpled sheets of a roadside hotel, Marina proposed something I hadn’t expected.

—I want to propose a game —she said, resting her chin on my chest.

—Go on.

—A wife swap.

I propped myself up a little to look at her. She had thought of everything, down to the last detail. She had a friend, Patricia, who according to her had been crazy about her husband for a long time. The plan was for me to pretend to be Patricia’s partner, for us to set up a dinner for the four of us, and then, when the time came, it would end with her and my wife, and me and Marina. To me, the idea was insanely arousing in a way that’s hard to explain. I’d still be sleeping with a married woman, yes, but this time with the husband’s own consent, right under his nose.

—What if your husband realizes you and I already know each other? —I asked.

—He won’t realize a thing —she said with a confidence that made me think.

***

Marina introduced me to Patricia a few days later, at another neutral café. Her friend seemed thrilled with the idea from the first minute; maybe too thrilled. I didn’t particularly like her. She talked fast, laughed too loudly, and I had the feeling she was going to ruin everything. I was worried that, by the time of the swap, it would be obvious she and I weren’t really a couple, that we had nothing in common, that we didn’t even know each other’s parents’ names.

We met at Marina’s place for dinner, the four of us, on a Saturday night. I picked Patricia up at her apartment, and all through the drive we built our own little story: how we’d met, how long we’d been together, some invented anecdote, the basic details every couple knows about each other. All of it to make the lie seem solid.

—If they ask how we met, say at my cousin’s wedding —I told her.

—Done. And you say you hated me at first. It sounds more believable —she replied, amused.

The truth is we hadn’t needed to prepare so much. Dinner was quick and there was almost no conversation; the only thing missing was talking about the weather to complete the cliché. All four of us knew perfectly well why we were there, and the anticipation of getting to the important part hung in the air. Marina’s husband, a big, quiet man, showed the slightest interest in getting to know us. He merely stared, without the slightest attempt at subtlety, at Patricia’s cleavage, which she had dressed up for the occasion.

***

After dinner came the drinks, and with the drinks, the moment. Marina, by far the boldest of the four, was the one who brought it up. She started by asking whether we’d ever been to a swingers club, whether we knew people who did swaps, whether we thought it was something natural or a taboo. From hints she moved to outright statements with a naturalness that surprised me. Looking at her husband, she let slip that she knew perfectly well Patricia fancied him, and that perhaps the time had come to see what happened.

She practically pushed her husband toward Patricia, who didn’t need much encouragement. They left the two of us at one end of the sofa and came to sit beside me at the other. I still thought the husband would notice something, that he’d sense the familiarity between us, that he’d realize this was no first meeting. But the man only had eyes for the neckline in front of him. Marina and I looked at each other and, without saying a word, we had already said everything.

The other couple started off with a few kisses that were a little clumsy, timid on Patricia’s part, more determined on his. Seeing things were moving along, Marina suggested that, to have some privacy and be more comfortable, they should go to the bedroom. Her husband didn’t need to be told twice. He got up, dragging Patricia by the hand, and they disappeared down the hallway.

And there we were, the two of us alone, in the dimly lit living room.

***

Without a word, Marina pushed me back against the sofa until I was sitting deep in it. She climbed on top of me, straddling me, and started kissing me with a hunger she hadn’t shown all night. She pressed her body against mine, grabbed me by the back, rubbed her crotch against mine with a slow, deliberate sway. She moved as if she’d been holding herself back for hours, and that was probably exactly it.

It didn’t take her long to pull her blouse over her head and throw it to the floor. She had small, round breasts that had always seemed perfect to me, with pink nipples, hard in the little light coming in from the kitchen. I lowered my mouth to them and began to work over them, nibbling softly with my lips while she tipped her head back and let out a long sigh.

My hand slid down her back to her ass and I pulled her closer. In the hallway, we could already hear the first noises from the bedroom, which seemed to spur her on even more. I slid my fingers between her thighs and, through the tight leggings she was wearing, felt that she was completely soaked.

—Take those off —I whispered in her ear.

She sat up a little so I could undo my pants and free myself. Meanwhile, I tried to slip a finger farther back, probing, but she twisted and firmly slapped my hand away.

—Not there —she whispered, with a look that mixed desire and warning.

She stood for a second, yanked her leggings down in one pull, and turned around, giving me her back.

***

She sat back down on my lap, facing away from me, and with her own hand guided my cock to the entrance of her sex. At first she only let it brush against her, grinding to soak me, teasing with the tip. Then, without warning, she lowered herself all the way and felt it slide in completely. She stayed still for a few seconds, as if savoring the sensation, breathing in broken little gasps.

Then she began to move slowly, tracing small circles with her hips. I held her by the waist, but she controlled the rhythm from beginning to end. The circles turned into a forward-and-back sway, slow, lingering in every movement, enjoying every inch. I clenched my teeth to hold on.

And then she started riding me for real. She went up and down with thrusts that grew harder and faster, completely unrestrained. At one point the rhythm was almost rough, but there was no stopping her and no desire to. She moaned like I’d never heard her moan before, without restraint, and I suspected she was doing it partly so her husband could hear her from the other room. Far from bothering me, that idea took me right to the edge.

—Wait —she panted without stopping—. Hold on a little, I want us to come at the same time.

I clenched my jaw and forced myself to hold back, digging my fingers into her hips. She sped up even more, chasing her own finish, and when I felt her whole body tighten and start to tremble, I finally let go. I bit her shoulder while I emptied myself inside her, not caring about leaving marks she’d have to explain the next day. We came at the same time, clinging to each other, breath in tatters.

We ended up exhausted, her collapsed against my chest, both of us slick with sweat. It was, without a doubt, the best fuck we ever had together.

***

On the other side of the hallway, the noises had died down long before. Patricia came out shortly after, adjusting her clothes with a silly smile, and I barely exchanged two words with her on the way back to her place.

I never heard from that friend again, and Marina and I never repeated any swap. We kept seeing each other a few more times, in hotels and in the car, and although we always had a good time, it was never as intense as that night in her living room.

Over time, she started talking about leaving her husband and starting something serious with me. I wasn’t interested in that, and I told her as honestly as I could. We stopped seeing each other shortly after. I haven’t heard anything from Marina since, but I’m sure life has treated her well. She was an extraordinary woman, one of those you don’t forget.