When Kelly and I met, I was a happily single 26-year-old building his career in the regional division of a national manufacturing company. I was in the sales department, Kelly was a new hire in the customer service department, so we had purely business-focused reasons to become acquainted. I had actually heard about her from three of my customers who told me about her exceptional ability to project a positive personality, even while troubleshooting problems in our company's product performance.
I soon had opportunities to experience Kelly in action, most memorably a session in our corporate conference room demanded by a truly outraged customer who needed to vent as much as seek specific solutions. It was incredible. She's an auburn-haired Irish lass who somehow kept her blue eyes smiling through the whole process. She was intelligent, articulate, and had taken a deep web-dive to learn that our outraged customer had a son in high school, two college-age daughters and a lifelong passion for Boston Celtics basketball. Long story short, our crisis was solved, our client relationship was saved, and I was dazzled.
It was late in the afternoon, so after we finished our follow-up report, I said, "I would love to buy you a celebration Guinness after that performance." She hesitated for a moment but apparently decided that our outcome was, indeed, worth a bit of celebration. "Okay, but a short one. I have plans later tonight."
So we met at O'Flaherty's Pub and I was dazzled again. Conversation was easy, partly because she knew the town I grew up in, the college I attended, and my reasonably significant success as a Division 2 baseball player. The eyes played a huge role, bright blue, happy sometimes, quizzical sometimes, concerned sometimes. She wasn't a beauty in a Hollywood sense, but people would probably use words like cute or perky or bubbly -- whatever you'd call it, she was an incredibly appealing human being.
Let's condense a three-month developing relationship into this summary. When we met, I had a lady-friend named Leslie. Kelly was still in a relationship with her college boyfriend, Jason. Our relationship was as pure as the driven snow in any sexual sense. In fact, it was the first time I had taken seriously the idea that a man and woman can be 'just friends.' I simply loved time I spent with her.
Then a change began, in me. She and I never discussed my Leslie or her Jason relationships at any intimacy level. But I was observant enough to realize that on some days, she was dressed a bit more provocatively than on other days -- but we're talking a TINY bit: neckline just a bit lower; skirt just a bit shorter; make-up different somehow. And then I figured out that those days were directly related to whether she had a date with Jason that night. And little by little, I became jealous of the son of a bitch.
Okay, you don't need to tell me it was unreasonable. I will confess here at the outset that I have jealousy issues. I don't want to belabor it or discuss whether I need a shrink; all I know is that I have issues going way back to childhood. It's never been violent jealousy. Just the kind that, when triggered, sits in the pit of your stomach and can control a major share of your conscious mind. So I was beginning to feel jealousy pangs about a guy I had never met. I can almost hear you saying, "WTF is wrong with you man?" Fair question.
Not surprisingly, Leslie and I didn't last long. Happily for me, something went south in the Kelly-Jason relationship. Kelly and I began dating, but on a limited basis because of a temporary job assignment that sent me to Chicago for days, sometimes a week, at a time. It's also true that our pre-marriage physical activity wasn't as intense as I expected. I worried some that she just didn't think sex was an important part of life, but I still loved being with her. So I proposed, she accepted, and we became man and wife. As we drove away from the church, she said, "Now I can relax and have some fun." I had no idea what that meant, in fact it seemed backward. Most people I knew did their having fun before marriage, but therein lies the rest of this story.
I thought that by "winning Kelly's hand," I had insulated myself from the jealously issue even before we walked the aisle. I had called, and she agreed to attend, a two-person relationship-planning meeting in which we pledged to never talk about previous relationships in any physical sense.
Well, the jealousy Genie stayed in its bottle for about 48 hours after our "I do's.". We honeymooned in Cancun. On the first afternoon, as we prepared for beach time, I was sipping a rum drink on the patio while she finished 'dressing.' She came through the sliding door behind me, tapped me on the shoulder and said, "What do you think of my outfit?"
I swiveled in my lounge chair; she put her arms above her head, ballet style, and did a slow 360, and I said, "HOLY SHIT..." The bikini was lime-green. It covered everything that's supposed to be covered, but we're talking barely. My heart was beating, maybe thundering, harder. I took a moment to compose myself, but didn't get very composed, and I started the process of teaching Mrs. Greg Henson how Greg Henson's wife will behave in regard to fashion selection. "There is no fucking way that you are going to the beach looking like..."
She leaned toward me, put two fingers across my lips, and set the tone for the rest of our marriage. "Greg, listen carefully. I am yours, forever. I said it in the church and I'll say it now. But you are about to learn that I'm a very sexual person. I like doing sexy things, and I won't be bullied by your insecurities. So you need to relax and enjoy it."
I tried once for some semblance of situational control.. "How the hell can I relax and enjoy knowing that other guys are... are...?"
And she said simply, "You'll need to figure that out."
So we went to the beach, and as I feared, she received major visual attention. Kelly is only 5'4." She's not voluptuous in any sense -- probably a 34-something bra size (I've never asked) -- but great legs... great, you know... just great everything. It seemed to me that every guy on the beach from age 15 to 75 was ogling my wife-- probably not, but jealously does strange things to perception.
On the way back to our room, she gave me her impish Irish smile, eyes dancing, "There, that wasn't so bad, was it?" I couldn't help laughing out loud, and couldn't help noticing the clear invitation in her expression. And HOLY SHIT, we had a sexual session during which the teenie-weenie-lime bikini lasted about ten seconds and I was on fire like never in my life.
Here's what I quickly learned. She did set the tone on the Cancun patio. Kelly isn't going to be controlled by my jealousy. But if I can "relax and enjoy," the benefits are spectacular. Of course, practical matter, I'm way better at the enjoying than the relaxing, but the result has been an active, continuously exciting sexual relationship that has endured for 18 years and has navigated two wonderful children and all the life distractions that can cause the sexual fire to go out if couples let it happen.
Before moving to this story's climax, let me describe just two of the many ways she has owned me, mind and body, and these are from early in our marriage. I came home from work. Kelly was waiting for me wearing a short little sun dress, scoop neck, mid-thigh length. She waited until I finished my after-work cocktail and said, "I need you to come to the kitchen table with me." Of course, I had no idea why, but have learned to be obedient in this kind of situation.
"Sit over there," she said, motioning to the chair across the kitchen table from where she was standing. So I continued my obedience. She said, "I'm worried about something that happened today."
I frowned, perplexed by what the hell might have happened that would cause me to be sitting at the far side of the kitchen table. "What are you worrying about?"
"I went to voter registration today, and the guy told me to sign a form, so I leaned over to sign... and I'm worried about how much he saw. See what you think." So she leaned over as if signing, and HOLY SHIT. Dress neckline fell open, no bra, nipples erect. I could see all the way to her stomach. I gulped, or something. Whatever happened, I couldn't speak for a moment.
She smiled her naughty smile. "Should we go upstairs and talk about how much he saw?"
I just said, "Oh my yes."
Worthy of mention regarding this particular cast study is that she has incredibly -- what's the word? -- 'responsive,' breasts. She had apparently managed to turn herself on by the voter registration scene, and she was well into orgasm #2 before I touched a body part other than her breasts. I did do some high-level touching: caresses and kisses and nipple pinches and tongue swirls that I know she likes. Then, like a man confident, that he has earned rewards of his own, I dealt aggressively with the mini-dress and little blue panties. She fought me briefly to keep her panties, a part of excitement-build that she knows I like. It was a short fight this time. And as I pulled her hips toward me and easily entered her, she said, "You got my panties, big guy, but I'll bet you can't make me come." She was oh-so-wrong about that.
A few months later she tortured me again with the same basic idea, except in this case she had found an old-fashioned shoe store where the salesman actually helps the customer find and try on shoes, using fitting stools.
"Greg, I'm worried about how much he saw," said my sweet wife who was wearing a mini jean-skirt. So we used a small step stool to recreate the scene and she showed me how much he saw of terrific legs with soft white thighs and the tiniest bikini panties I'd ever seen her wear She admitted noticing that the poor salesman's face was beet red, that his voice didn't work right, and he had a noticeable bulge in his trousers. This time she wanted me to pretend to be the sales guy who somehow followed her home, scolded her about being a cockteaser, and decided she needed punishment.
So off we went to the bedroom again. This time Greg the shoe salesman emphasized how naughty she had been with a light spanking, skirt up, panties down to her knees, incredible hips and legs squirming against the humiliation. It's hard to say whether Kelly or the shoe salesman was more turned on, but they were soon screwing vigorously -- panties removed but skirt still around her waist.. We reached the mountain at the same glorious moment, and it took a solid two minutes, holding each other tightly, to resume normal breathing.
She said, "Nicely done!"
I said, "Why thank you -- always glad to provide punishment when it's deserved.
"I hope you're not finished punishing me yet."
"Don't worry, I'm not."
The good fortune of the shoe salesman was an example of my imaginative bride using fantasy role-playing as part of her AMAZING campaign to keep our sex-life interesting... maybe vibrant is a better word. Many of my guy friends complain about needing to initiate any fresh sexual activities. I've been awash in fresh sexual activities. In our fantasy life, light bondage is a theme we enjoy. We have some equipment that is effective at securing wrists and ankles to achieve a vulnerable position that is seriously OMG sexy -- actually for whoever is bound and whoever is taking merciless advantage of complete helplessness.
Okay, we're back to our main scene, 15 years into our marriage. The kids are spending the week with grandparents. My phone rings at the office. "Greg, I need you to come home as soon as possible...I've got a bit of a problem." Her voice sounded different somehow."
"What? I mean, are you okay?"
"Well, yes, sorta. You'll see. Please come home as soon as you can."
So I quicky wrapped up a couple details and headed home, parked the car, rushed into the house, and called, "Kelly, I'm home."
"I'm up here," came her voice from upstairs.
I rushed up the stairs and opened the door to our bedroom. I still have trouble believing the scene, but I will assuredly never forget it. My sweet Kelly is on the bed, on her back, an oversized pillow beneath her hips, arms above her head, wrists tied together, thighs wide apart, ankles bound to the corners of the bed. And she is stark naked.
She said, "I told you I had a problem. I need some help."
My first thought was purely, rawly sexual. This was the sexiest single visual of a life I have tried to fill with sexy visuals. But then a scary reality hit me and I felt it catch in my throat. "How...how did you get like this?"
She paused for a second, then used the teasing tone I've heard so often, "Hernando helped me."
Talk about a HOLY SHIT moment. Hernando is new member of the landscaping crew that we've used for years. If you were going to cast a movie with a Latino stud, you'd cast Hernando. I was momentarily speechless. In a way we'd been here before, starting with a tiny bikini on our honeymoon, but WHAT THE FUCK?, this was at a new level by any standard I had ever imagined.
She seized the moment of astonished silence. "Are you mad at me?"
I sputtered, "I don't know what to be with you...I...I...?
"It's not as bad as you think. If you'll come over here and put your cock in me, I'll tell you what he did."
So whether because she had trained me well or because I was horny beyond words, I quickly shed all clothing and climbed onto the bed between her legs. "I love you," she purred. "Don't be mad. Just fuck me."
Without saying a word, I practically lunged at her and slid into a pussy that was obviously ready for my arrival, but I couldn't avoid wondering why she was so ready. I resisted the urge to begin rutting like an animal in mating season and lay still waiting for her explanation, but vividly aware of the feeling of being inside here.
"Okay, here's what happened," she whispered. "I had used my bikini to, you know, tease him a little while he was working alone behind the patio. I asked him if he'd come in for a minute to help me with something. He followed me in, and okay, I might have accidentally wiggled my ass for him a little, but really not that much, honest..."
Then she did whatever it is that women do to pussy squeeze a guy, and my cock decided on its own that we didn't need any more Hernando details. I moaned and gasped, "Oh Fuck, oh shit..." and exploded inside her in maybe the longest gasp and groan orgasm of my life. Then I fell forward, my head landing between her breasts.
She feigned dissapointment, "Don't you want to hear the rest?"
It hadn't happened since the days of rock-hard youth, but I was almost immediately fully erect, ready for more of the pain of Kelly-inspired jealousy. Presented below is the story she told me -- over about 45 minutes that included my orgasm number 2, then number 3. THAT HAD NEVER HAPPENED FOR ME! And my turn-on was even more intense because Kelly was in something like continuous orgasm as she whispered details.
"I offered him a glass of water and we talked for a minute or two while he gulped it down, then I told him to come with me so I could explain the chore. He said, 'Sure, senora,' but I think he was surprised to be following me up the stairs. When we got to the bedroom, I told him about my plan and how I wanted to surprise you, but that I obviously needed some help.
"I said it was important to me that he not, you know, touch me in the wrong way. He was really cool about it. Didn't even seem surprised, but he did smile at me and ask 'Are you wearing your bikini for your husband... or not?' Okay, he said it with kind of a, you know, flirty smile, but I was really comfortable with him, and I just smiled back and said 'Not'."
"So he nodded, cool as can be, and said, 'Then I have one condition, senora...that I may remove your bikini.' I had to think about that for a minute, knowing you might think I had gone too far, but I felt safe, and I really wanted to give you this surprise, so I said okay.
"Greg, I want to be really honest with you. While he was looking into my eyes and taking off my bikini top, then especially while he pulled down the bottom, I got a little hot. He didn't really, you know, touch me... sexually I mean. But I couldn't help it that, you know, it was hot and, and my nipples were, you know, really erect the whole time, and, and, well, you know how that goes...
"And then it got worse. He got on the bed with me to help me get the pillow under my hips. I mean, he was right there, and always smiling. After he got the pillow under me, he looked at me, kind of like concerned, and he asked me if I was okay, like, you know, comfortable. It surprised me, but then it made me laugh. I told him I wasn't exactly comfortable, but I thought you would appreciate it enough that it was worth the pain.
"He used the wrist-wraps to put my arms together, over my head, tied to the headboard. And, and I need to tell you more truth. While he was tying me, his head was really close to my cheek, and I really did think about kissing him or asking him to kiss me. It was almost like my body was doing the thinking instead of my brain. But I didn't, honest.
"And worst of all was when he spread me, and tied my ankles to the bed frame. You can imagine what I looked like to him. But he stayed super cool. Smiling at me, like he really liked me. But then I actually felt me hips starting to move, almost like my body was reaching out to him. I was actually afraid I might start moaning and, and might even come. But I didn't, honest.
"He finished binding me, and got off the bed; then he looked at me for what seemed like a long time, I could see that he had a hard-on, Greg. Like, really big. Then he came to the head of the bed, leaned over and gave me a kiss on the forehead, and he said, "You know, Senora Kelly, you are lucky I am an honorable man.' And he started walking toward the door. I really didn't want him to leave. I said, 'Hernando, come back for a minute.'
"He turned around, walked back and sat down on the edge of the bed. My mind and body were having a really hard time deciding what to do. It seemed like he was sitting there for a long time, and I kept thinking that with one hand or one kiss, he might push me past, you know, the point of no return. I mean, I knew he could make me come like... you know., easily... and then... you know.
"But I remembered the promise I made to you, and I took a deep breath and said, "I need for you to help me again. I need for you to get the phone that's over there on the dresser and call my husband and hold the phone up to my ear while we talk."
Unless you know the torture of jealousy turned to sexuality, Kelly's magic might be hard to understand, but here's the thing about my Kelly. She figured it all out, well before I had a clue she was doing any figuring. And she found ways to combine her own sexuality and mine to create 18 years and counting of sexual excitement in our marriage.
Here's proof positive of her hold on me. We have received ongoing benefits, putting it mildly, from her Hernando experience including fantasizing about alternatives to his gentlemanly behavior. I never imagined playing the role of a Latin lover, but in this fantasy game, it's a helllva lot of fun. Then, maybe a year ago, while we were both well into an evening of wine and fun, she told me that Hernando might have really happened, or it might have been part of a plan she hatched with a naughty-minded sorority sister who was in town that week.
As I write these words, I honestly can't tell you which I want to be true. It makes me crazy to think about a smiling, cool guy owning my wife every way but the coupling. But I'm getting excited again as I write this paragraph.
My Kelly knows that she owns me, and I love it.
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