I saw that you’re new to the site, so you’re probably being hounded by messages. If you ever have any questions for someone who’s been around the block a few times—I’m here. It can be a sketchy place, especially for couples.
Welcome to the lifestyle.
The lifestyle. Was that the term for it? I clicked on the link to his profile and clicked through his photos. Mid-thirties and clean-cut. Not bad looking. A nice smile. He had a picture of himself at the beach, a dog leash in hand. A nice body. I looked for a dick pic and was surprised and pleased when he didn’t have one.
I set my phone on the counter and took a bottle of wine from the fridge, twisting off the lid and pouring the cheap moscato into a glass.
I could respond. Out of the fifty-four messages I’d received so far, I hadn’t responded to any. But this one I could handle. He was offering his help and I did have a lot of questions. I picked my phone back up and leaned against the counter.
Hey Kurt. This is
I paused. We hadn’t put any names in our profile, and using Elle… though common enough to hide my identity, just seemed wrong. I settled on my middle name.
Hey Kurt. This is Rachel. I’m the wife. Thank you for the warm welcome. We are still feeling out the site and figuring out if it is something we want to get into.
I sent the message and watched the indicator change to delivered. While it wasn’t going to win any Pulitzers, I was happy with it. Simple and non-committal. Which was good, since the chances were high that he’d turn into one of the three types soon enough.
I took a sip of wine and wondered what Easton was doing in Los Angeles. It’d been forty-five minutes since his last text message, when he’d checked in and told me that they were headed out for drinks with Nicole’s agent.
My stomach knotted and I took another sip, pushing away the bit of doubt that liked to creep into my head when he was out of town. I’d met Nicole and gotten a strong lesbian vibe. Still… the last time he’d been out of town alone was Phoenix, and he’d confessed of a flirtation at the bar, one he had enjoyed a little too much. I knew that he would never do anything, that he was fiercely loyal but…the uneasy feeling persisted. My phone chimed and I returned my attention to it, opening the newest message from OrlandoC11.
Take your time. It can be intimidating at first. Have you guys tried anything already or are you complete newbies?
I set down the wine glass.
Not complete newbies. We had a threesome with a friend of ours. We don’t want to mess up that friendship, so are hoping to find a replacement for him.
I pinpointed the root of my concern at the exact moment that I sent the reply. My nerves weren’t about Easton, they were about me. It felt like I was being sketchy. Looking at men. Reading messages from them. And now—chatting with one. Even if my communication with Kurt was innocent, I understood what he was doing. Easing me in. Making me feel comfortable. At some point, maybe later tonight, after three more glasses of wine and a dozen more emails… our conversation would change. Twist. Deepen. Maybe he’d send that dick pic I was suddenly curious for. Maybe he’d ask for a nude pic of me.
A volley of messages passed between us, and with each one, my comfort with Kurt, and my unease with the situation, grew. I finished off the glass and texted Easton.
I’ve been going through our messages on the site. Lots of crude and creepy ones. Found one guy who seems nice. We’ve messaged back and forth a few times.
I watched as it was delivered and then read. A minute passed before Easton replied.
Give me a minute to step outside.
I refilled my glass and took it into the living room. Wayland was lying on the couch and I eyed him, then let the forbidden location slide. Settling back into the recliner, I pulled a blanket over my legs. My phone rang. “Hey.”
“I’m getting jealous.”
I winced. “To be honest, it feels sketchy, chatting with guys without you here.”
“Oh, there’s multiple guys?”
“Well, I’ve only responded to one. An accountant out of Orlando. He’s nice. It’s been a G-rated conversation so far. Maybe PG.”
“An accountant? Sexy.”
“I know. At least he’s being honest. I don’t think anyone would lie about being an accountant.” I picked up the remote and flipped through the guide.
“What’s his dick like?”
I laughed. “I don’t know. He doesn’t have it on his profile.”
“Good. It’s probably small. Miniscule.”
“You know, you sound a little insecure,” I teased.
“I’m three thousand miles away from my sexy wife. I’m hella insecure.”