The Road Journey - Sex Stories

The Road Journey

... Roy. And of course, Amanda ordered two shots of whiskey like she always does. This is the playful side of my wife I love. We made small talk about insignificant things, such as the bar tender’s crooked bowtie and weird hair piece. It’s comforting to make fun of people while you’re waiting for the guy who will be fucking your wife the next night. Just a couple minutes late, Slate the bar and quickly identified us. He gracefully moved to me and extended his hand with a firm and friendly handshake. Next, he gave Amanda a respectful peck on the cheek and a quick brush of his hand on her shoulder. He apologized for being late -- there was an accident a few blocks away. The pictures on the website must have been recent because they were a spot-on match. I could tell from Amanda’s initial reaction she was pleased with his looks and even detected a faint blush on her gorgeous face in the flickering glow of the small, scented oil lamps on the table. When Cally came over with our drinks, he ordered a scotch and soda. Good choice, I thought. We asked her to add a third shot -- symbolic for the experience in store for us the next night. We sat and made the small, idle conversation one would expect in this situation. I was pleasantly surprised by Amanda’s assertiveness, but I could tell she was a little nervous. So was I, but Slate was adept at diffusing this energy. He put us at ease with light, non-invasive questions about our drive to Toronto and our stay in this wonderful ...

... international city. He had a charm and sense of humor that was surely a turn on for woman, and acceptance into “guydom” clubs the world over. He was no L.L. Cool J, but he was making an impression on us. We spent about an hour with Slate, and I mentioned it was time for me and my wife to move onto the next phase of our evening -- dinner at a French restaurant called Auberge du Pommier. “Oh,” Slate exclaimed. “You’ll love it. It’s wonderful and the staff is very attentive.” I thought it was interesting that he mentioned the “attentive” service, rather than the food. I reasoned he was focused on serving people. Over dinner, Amanda and I discussed the brief meeting with Slate. “So, what do you think?” I asked in a prodding, playful way. Amanda paused for a second, letting her opening to her response hang just a bit. “I… think he’s kinda hot!” I was at the same time surprised and elated by her answer, and thankful she could make an honest observation without worrying about my reaction. And I have to admit, I was a bit turned on with her enthusiasm. Searching for affirmation, I pressed on. “Should we invite him on a date?” “Sure,” came her response, with a slight uptick at the end, suggesting a daring curiosity. I promptly emailed Slate and asked him to meet my wife at 10 p.m. at Shoots, the hotel bar. When we got home that night, we fucked hard and with purpose. *** The night of the date, I wanted to be there when Amanda got ready. I wanted to tell her how much I loved her, and to enjoy the ...