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Wife Swappers

Plumes of the Peacock's Stories

Lace, Frills and Rubber by Plumes of the Peacock

Lace, Frills and Rubber

Part I Seymour's Voice

The boredom of my prudish though pretty wife -- slightly petty, mostly quiet as evening arrives -- I find her company at best compensatory for the loneliness I know would await me without her. In my possession, like a spy's intrepid documents, are secrets I long to confess; need to divulge to her but so far, I have found no solutions. For what reason do I feel compelled speak? Because, indubitably, despite all my frustrations with her, I ultimately love her.

Initially I began writing to Eva. Long, detailed paragraphs inscribed with my particular feminine font. Successively, I tore each page not long after I reached a sexual climax from my intensive reminiscences.

My older brother, Owen first introduced me to ideas of art and eroticism. Seven years older than me, his breadth of knowledge was immense compared to my own. Intently I would listen to him, admiring him as he informed me of intimate things. In many ways he was my father figure; a male confidant.

Sometimes during my teen years he began showing me various films that he felt had artistic merit. Wondrously I watched dozens of different movies from all over the world and would, afterward, patiently listen to his comments.

My wife too, enjoys good films. She's a great admirer of Campion, Akira Kurosawa, Almodovar and several others which is somewhat a surprise considering the sexual openness and intensity that is revealed in their work. The extent of the human condition which is examined in the films we watch are replete with all the horrors and beauties of real life.

One film in particular: Murmur of the Heart, influences me extensively. I was perhaps fourteen at the time -- pubescent and easily aroused. When Owen asked me what I thought in regard to Louis Malle's film, I did not know where to begin. To even think of having intercourse with one's mother seemed an atrocious yet terribly sensuous: a great, stirring ambivalence awakened in me.

"Mom would probably be pissed if she knew I was showing you all of these things... I haven't even considered the ratings but, I figure you're old enough to understand and think about things on your own. When I was your age I use to watch all kinds of movies..."

"What's the name of that one we watched last night," I asked, while sitting on my older brother's sofa.

"Murmur of the Heart?"

"Yeah, that one..."

"You like it?"

"Very much..."

"And probably for all the wrong reasons... but that's okay, I'm sure I did too. What was your favorite part?"

"Well, I liked it when he laid his mother's underwear all over the bed... it was a little weird, but wild too," I said, leaning down on the floor to look at Owen's other movies and videos.

"Have you ever thought about Mom like that?"

"No!" I said vehemently.

"It's all right... a lot of young boys do. I did..."

"Really? Why? Did Mom ever find out?"

"No, she never did--it all happened not long after dad left us ... you were seven at the time and she needed someone to confide in--sort of like me and you but with her it was different," he said, leaning back, making a gesture of a leisurely stretch. As he did his belly showed along with the rim of his underwear. "The closest it ever got was me jacking off under the sheets when she talked to me at night--"

"Hey ... what are you wearing?"

"What are you talking about, Seymour?"

"Nothing. Just looked like you were wearing panties..."

"I am... I wear them almost all the time; all my girlfriends have either given me a pair of I've stolen them..."

"But why?"

"They feel good. They feel sexy..."


"Of course... would you like to try a pair?"

"I don't know..."

"Come on," Owen said, walking toward the second floor of his apartment.

In his bedroom he opened several drawers filled with lace and other frilly, female garments. Such a strange, arousing sight suddenly made me feel free and titillated.

"Would you like to try a pair?"

"I don't know..."

"Truly, it's okay... it's not like I'm going to tell anyone. Are you going to tell anyone?"

"No," I said with instant protest.

"Well, choose a pair you think would feel good," he said, unbuttoning his jeans. "These are a pair of French bikinis--see how they come up high on my thighs?"

I nodded affirmatively. "You shave your legs?"

"I do. They feel sexy that way... listen, you decide what you would like to wear--take your time... I'm going out tonight anyhow... the place will be yours--just don't burn it down. Mom would have a fit if she knew I was leaving you by yourself but I believe you're old enough."

That evening I tried on a variety of silk and satin under garments. The image of my brother's thick and overtly manly cock sprouting between his effeminate legs stirred in my imagination. Several times while thinking about his body and garments, I would masturbate. By the time I fell asleep in Owen's bed I left several sullied pairs of panties at the side and along his queen size mattress.

"Shh," I heard Owen's voice saying to someone. "My little brother's asleep..."

"You never told me you had a little... hey, what's all of this," a female voice said. Through the narrow slit of my falsely sleeping eyes I saw an older woman picking up a pair of the panties I had used to wipe my ejaculations. "Seems like your little brother is a lot like you."

"I told him to try some on if he wanted..."

"You didn't..."

"I did... of course I did. He asks me thing and I give him straight forward answers--it's not like I'm worried about corrupting him."

"Is he cute?"

"I think so..."

"Do you think he's wearing a pair right now?"

"Possibly," heard my brother saying. "Probably..."

"Would you think I'm horrible if I took a peak?"

When I heard the rich tone of the older, motherly looking woman say this my cock was instantly erect. Laying on my belly I could feel the cool air embracing my back as a soft light was turned on.

"He has such a cute body," she said. "And those panties are just darling on him... he has an adorable butt..."

"Would you like to feel it?"

"Stop--are you trying to tease and tempt me more?"

"Of course... I think it would be terribly arousing to watch you play with my little brother..."

"You're terrible, you know that?"

"Remember when you told me how you've fantasized about your son? Well this is the perfect opportunity to pretend--"

"You are really getting aroused by this, aren't you?"

"Of course ... look at my crotch..."

"Did you ever jack off thinking about me and my son?"

"Yes ... all the time..."

"Really? Did you know his sister dresses him up in woman's clothing? I don't know why but I've caught them before ... it made me think all sorts of naughty things like I am right now... thinking horrible, nasty things that I want to do," she said, tenderly smoothing her hand over my satin covered buttocks. "It's so tight."

"Take off your clothes and rub his butt," Owen said.

Listening with eavesdrop ears I heard the rustling of clothes and the sound of zippers.

"Lay in bed beside him," Owen continued. I could tell by his voice that he was aroused and masturbating furiously.

As the mattress dimpled and formed to the unknown woman's weight, I felt a bare, warm thigh rub against my legs.

"Now, rub his butt and between his legs..."

"Look at you. You're so hard... do you like me feeling him?"

"Yes," my brother said with an excessive use of S's.

"O' my, he's got a little stiffy and what soft balls..."

"I bet he's awake... Seymour, are you awake?"

Uncertain what to do I remained idle for some moments, still pretending as though I was sleeping. With my eyes closed I felt the woman ease forward and with a large, bare breast resting promptly along my back I heard her whisper, "it's all right. I know you're awake... don't be embarrassed by your erection... I think it's lovely and so does your brother."

Shyly rolling over to face her and Owen, I felt exposed; exhilarated unto the point of passing out. I will never forget what happened.

Since then, I have been stimulated often but rarely, if ever with the same scope of feelings.

My wife is so quiet about our sexual dances. Love making is a chore and our bedroom has become almost exclusively a chamber for sleep and long, uninterrupted dreams. Our passions are turning to quiet orange embers soon to be ashes.

Occasionally, to rejuvenate some of my youthful, sexual intensity I will rent one of the erotic films my brother makes. Still, this is nothing like my first full sexual awakening and I fear that a stifling dullness may settle in my life.

Finding no simple way of explaining myself, I have chosen to wait patiently, though nervously in our family room.

Part II Eva's Voice

I've never been able to talk to my husband -- really talk to him that is. Most of my girlfriends are in agreement. They can't hold intimate conversations with their mates either and though this does not surprise me, it sadness me nonetheless.

What I cannot understand about Seymour is how insensitive he can be about sex. He has no sense of foreplay (or fair play) and a few times, (though I say this with hesitation) I've thought he was repulsed by my body. Not by my figure exactly, but as if the female form in general bothered him or somehow caused tension for him. I've voiced some concern to my closer friends that I've worried he may be gay or have homosexual proclivities. Though he is not aware of it, I know his older brother makes pornographic movies which often deal with homosexual, bi sexual and all sorts of taboo subjects. (Embarrassingly, my mother slept with Owen when she was younger and I do not wish to tell how I discovered this information. In short, all I have to say for Seymour's brother is, that he is a true ass). All his movies are very hush-hush among the upper--intellectual classes. At the university where I teach I've heard some of my students mention Owen's work. I think it's amusing and absurd to pawn pornography as an artistic endeavor but apparently people buy into this subterfuge. At a few parties I've found some of the more popular titled hidden under desks, in drawers and beneath mattresses. I'm quite the busybody, noisy wife who does deviant things because her husband doesn't seem to know how to either fuck, have sex or make love.

Of course, I'm not completely blaming Seymour, nor am I claiming innocence.

I fell in love with him because he was effeminate; almost boyish. In some ways he reminded me of my little brother with whom, as a young girl I use to dress up in mine or our mother's clothing because he was more fun and life like than my dolls.

Like aristocrats, we had tea and cakes. I'd pretend to be the father because our paternal role model had left Mom to her own devices when my brother and I were quite young. Eating sweet tasting morsels we chatted like mothers and fathers or at least in the manner that we thought they might converse. This was a composite of the many dull meals we had with our parents and my mother's live in boyfriends.

"I don't like any of the sporting teams this year my dahling," I would say, pretending to be an uptight, money hungry man: a banker or economist.

"You don't, oh dear," my little brother would respond, trying to be lady like. Though his gestures were comical his physique fit well in the dress. His young thighs slid wonderfully into the stockings and he was easily able to wear most of my panties. He never seemed to mind these mild ordeals and though a modicum of the naughty was involved in our role playing, I feel (or rationalize) that the majority of what we were doing was innocent.

What my husband doesn't know about me I suppose won't harm him.

I take our marriage seriously and though I don't cheat on him I do like going to cross dressing bars with some of my belletristic colleagues.

"Cocks in frocks," they say in union, "we love cocks in frocks."

At my most devious, I would probably like to go back in time and perhaps pursue some of the sexual possibilities with my brother. Since this is impossible, I am resolved to live out my fantasies by watching stranger's dress in woman's clothing.

Part III A Resolution in dialogue; two voices entwined

"Seymour," I said, startled at the sight of my husband. It was difficult to believe he was sitting at ease in the family room wearing one of my summer dresses. His face was painted nicely, sparingly even with rouge, eye liner, luscious lip stick and my perfume greeted my ravenous olfactory with a delightful, flower scented breath.

"I had to tell you somehow," I said, feeling Eva's hose wrap tightly around my pulsating cock. My voice was nervously hesitant.

"You pull it off nicely--"

"I do... I thought you'd be stunned?"

"I am. In a very pleasant way I am... it seems like there is a great deal that we've hidden from each other."

"So you're not mad," I asked, gazing pleasingly toward my wife.

"Not at all, I love you more than ever, but I think we need to talk."

"I agree," I said, as Eva sat next to me, preparing to converse at length about our past, our lusts and wants. She was so patient and understanding and in return, as her husband, I too listened dutifully to all she had to tell me about her brother. Odd are the comedies of the human circumstances and folly.

"Well," I said, taking everything into consideration about Seymour's older brother, "that's quite a bit to ingest ... but I think I can manage your request... just let me go to the restroom and change into the proper attire."

"I haven't been this excited since Owen showed me his videos or let me sleep with one of his girlfriends," I said, listening to my wife disrobe in the loo.

"We'll discuss your brother in a moment," I said, shifting everything to its proper place. "All right, are you ready?"

"Yes... I'm so ready to make love to you--"

"What if I want to just fuck you," I said, still standing behind the bath room door, feeling strangely virile.

"I would be obedient to your wishes," I said, aroused and waiting for my wife's entrance.

When she opened the door we instantly embraced, kissing and fondling. We had been starved of our passions and intimacies.

"Stop," I said, and my wife paused with a curious expression. "I'm a nice girl and I'm not ready for you to feel between my legs," I stated tenderly in a soft, whispering voice. Eva's face went red with arousal.

"Then, would you like to feel between my legs?"

"I never had before, with any boy..."

"It's all right... I would love it if you did," I said, gently caressing Seymour's hand, guiding it persuasively to my crotch.

"Oh my," I said, lovingly playing my role.

"Let me show you," I said, as I unzipped my trousers. Pulling out my rubber, strap on cock my husbands eyes became large and bold. "You want to suck it?" I whispered. "Go ahead little girl and suck my cock," I whispered and moaned like I thought a man might as I felt my husband press his mouth against my large, fake erection. The interior pressed against my fiery clit and wedged further into my deliciously moist pussy.

As I penetrated my husband's ass -- much to his eclectic and erotic delight -- I said rather forcefully to him, "you know what your older brother did to you was wrong... and that older woman, whoever the fuck she was should never have felt you and she certainly shouldn't have copulated with you," I said, saddened and angered that my husband had been abused. The more I thought about it, presenting myself with imaginary sequences involving his brother and this bitch of an older woman, I began fucking my husband's oiled ass hole more vigorously.

"Yes," I said, barely able to breath due to the immense pleasure and pain, a reminiscent feeling of Owen's thick, probing manhood lodged deeply at the base of my pubescent fundament. You're right ... always right my love," I said, feeling the first of an intense orgasm build, ready to thrust through my cock. As my wife continued, moaning and pushing further inside me--my dress thrown haphazardly to the side of my firm rump, I felt the first violent white shot released. After several more jolts and sporadic twitches of my well pleasured body, I rolled over on the sofa to face my lovely, darling wife Eva. She was happy and tearful and very much in love with me as I was endearingly in love with her.

"Now, I said, preparing to remove our masks--my husband's dress and my masculine, forthright extension... I want you to make love to me like the first night."

I smiled as we both began to discard our costumes. Beneath these shed layers existed our true selves, our foibles and weaknesses and all the simple qualities of our love: kindness, forgiveness, trust, and a willingness to listen.

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