I do too. It's why we're still sharing Dee after four years. It's why I continue to write this blog.
Each week, just about, I am privileged to behold love making in all its raw passion, its tender affection, its amazing ability to meld the souls of persons joined together intimately. That my own soulmate is one of the participants and that I'm comfortably captivated on the sidelines by what she is doing with another man is both totally irrelevant and wholly relevant at one and the same time in regard to the richness of emotion I experience in witnessing the act which joins her to him completely.
I've been saying since I started this venture in attempting to express my own feelings about sharing Dee that it's not just about sex. It was never just about sex. Not from the first time a man wrote to Dee about having seen her nude pictures online and asked her to consider making love with him. Not since the first time I saw Dee's eyes totally lost in Don's before he even touched her. Not since that first night when Don's cock entered Dee to make her into a shared wife and later when I thought she might lose consciousness from the pleasure I heard her implore, "Cum for me, Don! I want you to cum inside me!"
I confess my enigmatic nature here. It's not only about the sex, but it's very much about the sex. Yes, my cock throbs and flows with precum when I'm watching another guy's hard dick sliding in and out of my wife's mouth, her pussy, her ass. Agreed, while I'm taking pictures of them doing it all I'm waiting to lick her pussy after her lover cums in her. I'm thinking about how good her hole is going to feel when my cock opens her juicy folds all wet from having fucked another man.
The sex is riveting. Watching it is truly mind blowing. Yet, during it all, my heart is always there. My romantic heart that loves chick flicks and the hard core Russian composers with their minor sevenths crying to whomever in heaven or hell might listen with baleful tones of anguished and unrequited passion. My heart is very much there savoring the tender, more subtle exchanges between my wife and her lover(s) in testimony to the very real affection, (Dare I say love?), between them at least for the time that his body is inside hers. What need is there to hold a woman's hand when the tip of your glans is pressed firmly against her cervix and her wet, warm vaginal folds are caressing every square millimeter of your excited cock, unless you're seeking to express something beyond what your dick can speak of your feelings?
When a man holds Dee's hand, especially when he's inside her, I know that he's truly worthy of the profound intimacy that my wife gives to him with all her being. The difference between fucking and making love? Sometimes it's as simple as holding hands.
Though we only got to see Ted a few times when he was here
on business a few years ago, the affections he expressed for
Dee with simple gestures such as holding her hand while he was
making love with her, enriched everything that he did with her.
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