the prostitute

"I want to talk to you about something, but I'm scared," I said.

"Mmhm," he said.

"Tell me I don't need to be scared...because you love me unconditionally and because nothing can shock you--you're a nurse."  I laughed because that's an old joke of ours.

"You don't need to be scared--I love you unconditionally, and nothing can shock me--I'm a nurse!" he said.

I'm always so afraid he's going to think I'm dirty because of my fantasies and stop loving me.  I don't know why I'm so afraid of that.  But maybe I get off on the fear too.

Eventually, after more comfort and false starts, I began.

"So," I said.  "Today's the day you're going to the prostitute.  You get to the hotel room and open the door.  What do you see?"

I got him to tell me my own fantasy.  We talked about the prostitute.

"What do you say?" I asked.

"Hello," he said.

We talked about what the prostitute looks like.  Boyfriend defered to me.

"What do you think she looks like?" he asks.

"She looks a lot like me, but with bigger tits," I said.  "And what does she do?"

"She turns down the covers on the bed and sits down next to me.  Then she starts fondling my penis."

"Through your pants?" I asked.

"Yes.  Then she unzips my pants and takes my cock out."

"Is it hard?" I asked, even though I knew the answer to that question.

"Yes," he said.

"Then what do you do?" I asked.

"I take my clothes off, and I take her clothes off."  When he said that, I felt a pang of jealousy because he never undresses me.

"Do you touch her tits?" I asked.

"Yes," he said.

"Then what?" I asked.

"Then she sucks my cock," he said.

"How does it feel?"

"It feels really good."

"Then what?" I asked.

"Why don't you tell me what happens next?" he asked.

"Okay," I said.  "She pushes you back on the bed and spreads the lips of her cunt around your cock.  She takes you all the way inside of her, and she begins to ride you."

This whole time I was touching his cock with my hand.  I kept putting more spit on my hand so it was nice and wet.

"Do you like that?" I asked.

"Yes," he said.

"So you're watching her tits bounce and move as she rides you," I said.  I paused and cuddled to him.

"Then what happens?" he asked.

"Then you come," I said.  "You pump her full of your come, and you like it."

We considered my story.  "I can't decide what happens next," I said.  "In some versions, you decide you want her to come, so you go down on her, but I don't know if she can come that way."

"She can come that way," he said.

"Okay, so what happens?" I asked.

"I go down on her, and she loves it."

"What does she do?" I asked.

"She moans and says my name," he said.

"She doesn't know your name," I said.

"Oh," he said.  "She moans and comes."

We consider his addition to the story.  "What next?" he asks.

"Then you put on your clothes and leave," I said.  "How did it feel to have sex with someone you didn't love?" I asked.

"Uncomfortable," he said.

"Oh no!" I said.  "I thought it would be fun!"  I thought telling him my fantasy of him fucking a prostitute would satisfy some of his need for novelty and he could feel more free.  I thought one of the main goals of seeing a prostitute was that you could do things you couldn't do with your wife.  But maybe he wasn't deep enough into the fantasy to realize that?  Or maybe he already does everything he wants to, with me?

"How does having sex with me feel different?" I asked.  "It's loving?"

"It's loving.  It's comfortable.  It's happy.  It's safe," he said.

I keep looking for the dark underbelly of his sexual desires and not finding it.  I would like a good rape scene.  Does it not exist, or is it there and I'll never see it?