The Dancers

5 min read

photo: Robert Collins on Unsplash

I have never been able to speak to anyone about this. It’s a source of some shame, I suppose. I mean, I’m not really ashamed of the feelings, but I would be ashamed to speak about them to anybody. Because it does seem to indicate that I am diametrically opposed to most men, who would fume at the idea of their women cheating on them. But to me, the idea is pure bliss.

I discovered this trait almost immediately after Christine and I got married, during my last year at law school. I was thirty, I had worked as an accountant for three years before applying to Loyola. Christine had just graduated from UCLA dance and had started her own dance company. I even gave her a little money to help get it going. Whenever I would watch her dance, in rehearsal or in performance, I would become especially aroused when she danced with male partners. They never get too hot and heavy in dance, but there definitely is a lot of intimate physical contact, pressing bodies against each other. I loved to watch strong dancers pick up my petite wife and spin her around.

A lot of times I would masturbate to fantasies of my wife being spun around and around by the lead dancer. Too bad he was gay. Most of the men in her company were. But then they got a visiting dancer from Portland. He came down because none of the other dancers had the ballet training that was needed for this particular dance Christine had choreographed. It was based on Leda and the Swan, where Zeus disguises himself as a swan to ravish the fair Leda. My wife was Leda, of course. Garreth was the swan. The rest of the dancers played birds and other gods and goddesses. It was quite a show.

And Garreth was very straight.

There was a kiss in the dance. The first time I saw it in rehearsal, the kiss was just lips pressing against lips. But when I returned to rehearsal a week later, Garreth was full French kissing my wife.

“He’s sticking his tongue in your mouth,” I complained to her that night.

“Oh don’t be silly,” she said. “It just looks that way. It’s a stage kiss. I’ll show you how we do it.”

She showed me the technique of the stage kiss. The tongue never comes out of the mouth, but the lips move side to side so it looks like the two people are French kissing.

On the first night of the performance, though, I saw both their tongues come out of their mouths. They made out for about a minute. And my wife looked like she enjoyed it.

And so did I.

“That was not a stage kiss,” I said to my wife afterwards.

“I know,” she said. “He took me by surprise. I told him not to do that again.”

“Oh, no,” I said. “I thought it was very sexy. The whole audience did. I would leave it in. Did you like it?”

“It wasn’t bad,” she said. “But doesn’t it make you jealous?”

“No, it makes me horny,” I said. “Come here and let me fuck you.”

The next night the “stage kiss” was even longer. By end of the two week run it had evolved into a full makeout session with him grabbing her ass and kissing down the front of her tunic down to her breasts, putting his hand in between her legs. The audience ate it up. And so did I.

“I’m sorry you have to watch me all over your wife,” Garreth said to me at the cast party at our house at the end of the run. He would be going back to Portland. This was it for him.

“No, no,” I said. “I liked watching it. I wouldn’t mind watching the two of you fucking. You’re both so beautiful.”

He laughed. “You’re a strange one.”

I was a strange one, I guess. A tax lawyer, among all these artists. He didn’t understand me. How could he? But lawyers and accountants have sexual fantasies, too. We’re humans. We have strange ideas all the time.

We all got drunk that night at the party at our apartment. Christina and Garreth had been dancing to the pop music on our sound system all night. I don’t like to dance. They had even been making out toward the end. That was a little strange, I mean the other dancers and the people at the party must have seen them. I guess I got my first taste of superpower telepathy that night. I could read their thoughts. “Jesus, she’s making out with Garreth right in front of Phil. How does that make him feel? What the fuck is going on with Christina?” Etc.

Finally, I guess I passed out from the drinking. I woke up in my bed and poked my head out into the living room of the apartment. Garreth had been sleeping on our couch the last two weeks. But he wasn’t sleeping. He was kissing my wife. He was shirtless, in his jeans. His dancer’s pecs were rippling in the low light of the candles that were lit there. He had pulled down her little black dress and was kissing her bare breasts. She was moaning with delight.

I stayed by the door, out of sight. My wife was drunk, I could see that. So was Garreth. They didn’t want to be cheating on me, but they couldn’t help themselves.

“We should probably stop,” Garreth said.

“Yeah,” my wife agreed. “I’ll go get you your sleeping bag, I left it in the laundry room.”

She went out into the kitchen. Garreth went over to the couch and took off his jeans. He was standing there in his briefs and his cock was hard. When my wife came back with the sleeping bag, she saw his hard on.

“Oh jeez,” she said. “Look at you.”

“I know,” he apologized. “I’m sorry.”

“Alright,” she said. “Phil is passed out. I’ll jerk you off. But I won’t fuck you. And you must swear you will never tell him, alright?”

“Sure,” he said.

She pulled down his underwear and started stroking his cock while she made out with him. Soon, somehow, her skirt was off, and her panties went flying and he was fingering her as she stroked his big cock.

“We should stop,” he said. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to come between you guys.”

“Well,” she said. “He’s kind of weird. He might not even mind, actually. I think the idea of it kind of turns him on.”

She understood! My darling wife. She understood my strangeness.

Then he was putting his cock on her breasts. And on her clit. She was moaning. And suddenly he was in her and fucking the shit out of her.

I started masturbating at the door, in the darkness. Furiously.

They switched positions and my wife fucked him on top. Then she lay back with her ankles above his shoulders. He made her come a few times. Not as many as she comes now. A woman comes more as she gets older. Then he pulled out and he came all over her tits. It was a lot of come.

“Sorry,” he said. “It’s been a while. It’s been building up in me.”

“It was building up in me, too,” she said. “Ever since we started the rehearsals.”

“We shouldn’t have done this,” he said. “You know I’m with Catherine.”

“I love Catherine,” she said. Catherine had been in the dance program at UCLA and now lived in Portland. That’s how Christina found out about Garreth.

“This never happened,” she said.

“It was good,” he said.

“It sure as hell was,” she agreed.

That’s when I came.

I came all over the door. Then I stumbled back to bed and passed out.

The next morning Christine brought me some tea and woke me up.

“So,” I said to her. “Did you fuck Garreth last night?”

“What!” she said, feigning surprise and shock.

I said, “You guys were kissing. I passed out. Did you get up to anything naughty?”

“Well,” she said. “I guess so.”

“How naughty?” I pressed her.

“How naughty can you get?” she said. “I’m sorry. I was too young. We should have waited a few years to get married. I still have… desires.”

“Hush,” I said. “It’s fine.”

I pulled her onto the bed and I kissed her then. And I pulled off her panties and I started eating her. I tasted Garreth in that pussy. I tasted a pussy that had been given a workout. I never tasted anything so good.

“Oh God!” she said, and she came as I jerked myself off at the same time and we came together.

“So you’re not mad,” she said, afterwards.

We laughed. She knew I was not mad. She knew then, I was different.

I was a cuckold.

Read the full length erotic novel, of which this is but one chapter, here

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