A Borrowed Wife, The Covid Camper Ch. 07

... There I stand, freshly stripped nude by Ken and potentially putting on one hell of a show, save for this bathtub warm ocean. My mind is in a serious turmoil, hard to put to words; "how the flip did I actually get here?" I ask myself. Not on this island's pristine beach obviously, but so adroitly dominated in a few simple moves by Ken. I consider myself somewhat dominant, but more out of necessity these days to fill that proverbial void while in the company of my submissive husband. In Ken's company I'm a rank amateur though, but Ken's also done this to me naturally, where I have to work at it with hubby. I suppose hubby might be asking himself similar "how did I get here" questions himself though, stranded himself in a camper in the middle of nowhere with clothes he may or may not wish to wear.

In my particular case, if just wearing a rather conservative bikini out on this beach (where pretty much nobody knows me) was challenging for me an hour ago, this was a completely different level of commitment. Simply put, I can't walk to the beach to retrieve my bikini without putting on a show for the few people there, and it's not wise to swim out farther either, nearer the fishing boats.

Mixed in with my physical entrapment is the fact that I feel a bit emotionally abandoned by Ken at the moment, perhaps playfully-so, but I also seem to get a bit of strength and courage by being on his arm in this foreign place, being in close proximality to him; and this lets me have a taste of what not having that might feel like going forward. Fair to say that I don't think I'd like that option for myself as I've discovered that I need Ken in my life too now. Yes I have confidence in myself, (I pretty much have to these days) but perhaps just a bit less so down here being removed from the more familiar trappings of my daily life.

That being said, I'm not trading hubby's loving familiarity and devotion for Ken, but I'm also not willing to live without Ken in my life either. So in short, I've rather foolishly walked myself into a bit of a quagmire here. Vacation-Ken, where new and exiting outside the box things happen on a regular basis, where making love is fun again, vs dependable at-home hubby, the man that's always been there for me since we were teenagers, always willing to serve in any capacity he could. Two different men, with different needs of their own now, two slightly different roles in my life to be filled going forward as well, suggesting a singular non-traditional clear path for myself out of my self-created quagmire mess...

I'm watching Ken's progression as my mind churns over all this, he's getting further away by the moment. He isn't even all the way up on the beach yet, (it's a long relatively shallow expanse of water) but he's apparently close enough for one couple to recognize him and wave, and based on both their statures and distant body-language, I assume this is our new plane-friends Cathy and Henry. I'm thinking with luck like this maybe I should go home and buy a fricken lottery ticket. Anyway, eventually they stand close together and Cathy hugs Ken, perhaps both men even shake hands too for all I know, but I just can't see that part. Ken and I are people from "back home" though, and I therefore get Cathy's hug of familiarity in this distant land.

I'm really making some logical identity-assumptions here though, that it's Cathy huggin-up on my Ken, as this is challenging the limits of my eyesight. They've surely see my bikini in his hands either way though, and I wonder what story Ken was spinning on the fly to explain such.

Motion further up the beach catches my attention, and I see a local man approaching the trio on a slow moving quad, wearing bright red swim trunks with a flotation device slung over his back, and he stops by Ken and the others to presumably share a few words. He then rides slowly to the lifeguard chair and climbs up; my predicament getting more desperate by the moment. "Did Ken tell him that I was already out in the water, maybe even that I 'lost' my suit somehow, explaining how Ken came to be holding such a garment in the first place?" I wonder.

The lifeguard has binoculars though, and his job is literally to keep an eye on myself and any other vacationing swimmers. I see him scanning his assigned piece of ocean, and then looking directly at me, so I swim a few strokes on my back to look like I'm not in any kind of distress. I don't wave to acknowledge him though, as I kind of have it in mind that this is the universal "I need help" gesture, despite this water's modest below my head depth. With the lifeguard on duty now more people are arriving by the minute, with some claiming their own chairs and then making their way towards the water. I'm left wondering what Ken's waiting for, the lifeguard too apparently, as he blows his whistle and motions for Ken to come to his chair.

So the two apparently talk for a moment as I watch, and then Ken makes his way towards me with my suit in hand, my actual public embarrassment perhaps minimal all things considered. It was a bit odd having Ken actually help me get back into my untied string bikini though, as he's far more practiced at getting me out of such things rather than in. I did have to see the youngish lifeguard when I emerged from the water, getting a bit of a private talking-to at first, but in the end he obviously thought Ken's prank was harmless, just as long as the other guests didn't get to see something they shouldn't. He tells me there's a clothing optional beach down a ways, but I claim ignorance on the subject. I'm sure he sees all sorts of bodies out here every day of the week, and his smile at least tells me I'm maybe not the worst of the lot. Then another thought occurs to me; "how good are his binoculars, like good enough that I perhaps gave him a bit of a show when I was swimming on my back?"

It was a bit more difficult for me to make proper eye contact with either Cathy or Henry though, but in the end we all sat together on the lounge chairs laughed about Ken's prank, Cathy even retying my strings for some proper symmetry as her husband looked on. So the unintended consequence of Ken's prank was that I found myself in a kind of social submission to all three, not exactly good for building confidence in anybody; my mind again drifting towards hubby's own predicament.

At the same time though, Cathy in her very nice one piece suit looked "hard-body athlete" fit, her near six-pack abs half-showing through the tight spandex, her suit itself surely not an off the shelf department store one like my own. But as firm and fit as her twenty-five year old body looked, I also got the distinct feeling that Henry was somewhat mesmerized while watching his wife untie and adjust my strings.

Speaking of Henry, he was thin and fit himself, with a body that reminded me of hubby's back when he was that age himself. Henry also played it very cool though, while also trying not to look at my bikini-body with his sunglasses off; so lots of purposeful eye contact, which I found charming. Henry was a gentleman, Cathy had chosen wisely. So while I myself wasn't interested in another's "half my age" husband, the fact that I had drawn the attention of this rather nice looking young man did pump my ego. So in other words, the entire "incident" was a bit of an emotional rollercoaster for me that left me a bit off balance.

That morning was also the highwater mark on our being "look at me" crazy though, (or so we had discussed) but it was a lower profile more befitting our ages in the following days at least. This then turned into a bit of a settled and rather nice "dare I say husband and wife-like" vacation routine for us, one that had me texting with hubby every morning to get my "legitimate-husband-fix," all while insuring he was settled himself. With that box checked Ken and I found ourselves doing both romantic and fun-touristy kinds things the rest to the days on this quasi-honeymoon vacation. These were designed to be romantic little experiences for the new husband and wife, or in my particular case with my stand-in "husband" Ken.

Hubby sent me his bikini selfie picture that I had prompted, suitable for blackmail purposes if necessary, as I discovered that Ken had already send him some of mine; so a quid-pro-quo I assume. I also chose not to share the picture of hubby in his own bikini with Ken just yet though, it felt private and personal to me, odd really bearing in mind all that we three have been through over the years, and obviously more recently too. "Was nude more or less humbling that wearing a little string bikini for Ken?" I wondered; a question that could equally apply to either hubby or myself I realized.

The bikini truthfully didn't look bad on him at all, it certainly fit his body with his little device presumably tucked, and it's cut even flattered his little "man-boobs," but to call it straight-up sexy would be a bit of a stretch. Still, at any distance at all, most especially with that wig on, hubby was transformed into a lean woman in a bikini, with a rectangular body shape and a proportionally small chest. So, just a tiny bit like Cathy's physique really, explaining perhaps why Henry seemed a bit distracted by my softer and more mature large-bust hourglass shape.

... So something magical was happening here over the course of our first week alone together, as in six whole days of all-Ken, all the time... without seeing hubby's smiling face in person. Ken and I have always had a kind of love for each other, actually several different kinds of love over the years that comes in and out of focus, depending on the specific situations we find ourselves in. One was the ever-present enduring lifelong love of a best friend to be sure, but the hot and passionate stand-in lover-kind also made it's appearance every now and again.

Down here for almost a whole week straight though, our hot and passionate "I need you now" love (so perhaps more accurately stated, physical-lust) was slowly being replaced with "I just love being with you, wrapped up together and NOT actually making-love love." It's communicating a thought without uttering a word, a certain shared look preceding a spontaneous make-out session, it's also soft loving kisses on the couch for no reason at all. It's all of that and more, without expecting sex, it's "I love the way you feel and smell, I love your strong and familiar arms hugging me tightly, telling me I'm wanted as a woman again." In short, I really just love being near him. In a few words, for me, it's like falling in love as a teen the first time all over again, but this time as a mature adult. Hubby had been that first love too though, my first real love, and my first lover as well, and Ken had watched all that as a teen himself, respectfully from the outside though; a fact that tugged at my heart strings in my quiet reflective moments. "I had no regrets on choosing hubby all those years ago, (present dysfunction and all) but did Ken have some himself?" I wondered. "Was I the one that got away for him, unapproachable because of his best friend, that line further blurred by Ken's and my own permitted mischief? Was I (and to a lesser extent my sharing husband) the unintentional reason his other relationships eventually failed?" I further asked myself critically.

"I already have a husband though, one who selflessly made all this possible in the first place" I remind myself. He's allowed himself to be further humbled and parked out of the way, so that Ken and I can take this new version of our already unique relationship for a serious "road-test," to see if it works for us in a more long-term way.

Hubby may be naturally submissive anyway, passive socially in all but a few circumstances, but really he's grown exponentially more so over the last few years of diminished ability, but that isn't to say that he's unintelligent, or insensitive; quite the opposite. This tells me he may well have seen this precise scenario with Ken on the horizon, and still he allowed it, dare I say he even promoted it. Not given away in charity to just any man off the street though, specifically gifted to Ken, a man we both know well, so an established history of safety, with both of us.

... So it's fair to say that I've been a tiny bit self-centered since that heatwave back in the summer, ever since I had that brief helping of what I'd been trying to live without, on our back deck in the middle of the night with Ken. He's single once again, so no excuses, but I really miss the passion and lust, the "toes-curled" orgasms, like I don't want to live without any of it. So while maybe considering others' needs, I'm also putting my own front and center. Not to make excuses or anything, but hubby places me first in everything himself, and perhaps the expectation of such has imprinted on my psyche over our long years together, as if I'm deserving of such deference. As far as my present attitude, if I'd been "hangry" for proper lovin earlier, now I'm properly fed, so sated and sexually comfortable now that the proverbial itch has been scratched, and scratched again.

I'm therefore capable of a bit of empathy and introspection now, and this leads me to wonder what both men really want. Kink is fun, ( I generally speaking have a fairly naughty mind) the permissible "hall-pass" kink of a married woman having an occasional lover on the side doubly so. It's exciting and naughty, the built-in hazards of the illicit relationship perhaps part of the draw to be honest, but it's also a short-term "scratch that itch" kind of fun. This thing we're potentially working towards requires a more long-term mindset, as in "what's the endgame?"

They're called summer-flings and affairs for a reason, they're ordinarily measured in weeks and months, not twenty years plus of happy matrimony. So, there is no log-term anything associated with them; in other words, raw hot untempered passion, without planning, nor pondered consequences. Generally the only planning is planning not to get caught, but hubby's long established hall-pass has negated that single real-world consequence. We've already had the passion part, (several glorious times in different locals) but now we must sort out how to nurture and grow this crazy thing into something else; something good, healthy, and enduring, hopefully for all three of us. Nothing traditional, relationship wise, but that doesn't mean it's impossible either.

... We have a couple that we know, they're more than acquaintances, but not exactly close friends; Bob and Sheila are their names. Anyway, this couple's married relationship eventually morphed into having the legitimate husband Bob living on his own in a little makeshift basement apartment unit, all while Sheila the wife lives on the top floor with her long-term boyfriend Roy. So nothing traditional in something that at all, but I'm not here to judge either, most especially with what I've had going on myself over the years. It still works for them somehow, they eat meals together more times than not, but good manners prevents us from asking about the more awkward details too though. I can imagine Bob hears quite a bit through the floors though, something "angst-wise" hubby might get off on himself...

"Good morning, how are you?" I text, I'm up early; hubby and all this seriously weighing on my mind. There's still a way this can work going forward, but one of the trio that we three now form will be getting a bit less of a part than the other two. It's still a necessary part, but a bit in the shadows in a supporting role.

"Right back at you!" hubby sends. So far, so good, at least in as much as one can deduce tone and context in text form. I'm the only proverbial game in town, well more accurately Ken and I are, but I'm assuming he's a bit hungry himself for even this limited remote human interaction. He seems upbeat, and I did give him the opportunity to tell me if something was amiss first, but I also have something nagging at me, so I selfishly jump right in while Ken is still sleeping.

"What do you see as the 'end-game' here?" I ask. I'm jumping right in to the meat of the dilemma for me, as I generally like things settled in my life, and this obviously is anything but. I have growing new emotions for Ken, and this presents a complex new problem, but perhaps a new opportunity as well. For a different husband this might be like coldly asking for a divorce, or maybe a trial-separation first via text, but hubby knows that I can't live without him any more than he can live without me, we're lifelong friends, with or without sex. We love each other dearly even without sex, but maybe this is morphing into a slightly different form of love between us. I doubt most eighty year old couples have all that much sex, but they still seem very much in love with each other, so perhaps just a different kind of love like that for us now; providing a vacancy in a part of my heart for Ken's own love to now occupy.

"Like today, or in the next week?" hubby asks. We're just not on the same page here, hubby's being practical, but his immediate "camper" concerns are survival and comfort, and perhaps not getting seen by anybody in the week to come. To be fair this texting nonsense was a bit impersonal for this kind of discussion, and it would be far wiser to have this talk face to face. So it's not his fault that he's handicapped here, not looking into my eyes, hearing my "I need to sort this out now!" tone either. I'm not looking into his eyes either though, so truthfully it was unwise of me to open this difficult discussion under these conditions; but here we are.

"A year, five maybe; where do you see all of us then?" I text.

"Can I call?" he texts, to which I tell him yes, if of course our phones will work together. I'm half-dreading having this particular conversation, but as it turned out that was unnecessary; unconditional love is, after all, without condition.

So the short story is the phones are actually working well enough this morning, just a garbled word here and there, but it's wonderful to hear his voice again; so no projected guilt at all from him. There are a million fond memories associated with that voice and the adventures we've had together, lots of love in that voice of his too, even separated by a thousand miles plus. This is perhaps just another new adventure for us, (or simply a longer version of an adventure we've already had a few times with Ken in the mix) and if it goes as I desire hubby will be there for this one too, but in more of a supporting role this time. He tells me he thought it possible that Ken and I might collectively decide to take things to the next level together, that he and Ken even discussed it hypothetically on the drive up they took together, with the camper in tow.

"Not a divorce" I clarify, to which he concurs. He tells me quite sincerely that he's open to almost anything but that. I hear the full submission, the resignation in his tone telling me he understands this is simply the way things will be. He's perhaps happy for me, even happy for Ken as well, although his tone suggest something else too, something he's not sharing at the moment.

In other words, being alone is the only "big" problem for him here, that his time in the camper has told him that he doesn't want to be on his own when he's old. I tell him that's fair, that I can work with that, as truthfully neither do I. I'll even jump out on a limb here and answer for Ken as well, that all three of us share this singular desire. Ken is on a relationship rebound himself, and our intimate and private discussions tells me being alone is a serious concern for him too, but also that there would be no more marriages for him either. Hubby still needs a purpose though, well a new purpose in this new life really, and he's apparently adjusted to that rather naturally. If he had an ego to feed he'd resent Ken taking proper care of the womanly part of me in his place, forming this additional bond with me too I suppose, but he doesn't, so therefore he apparently doesn't, at least in any way he wished to verbalize...

Knowing Ken as I do, I believe this last breakup had him seriously depressed, pondering living-out the remainder of his life alone, as in without a romantic interest to share the fun stuff with. He'd still have us as friends either way, but he needs more than a friend, more than an occasional "friends with benefits" playmate even. Somebody to take out on day-dates, or go out to dinner with another couple, or even to take on longer romantic weekend-dates. So while Ken may have more to apparently offer on the surface, he has many of the same fears and concerns as we do. Ken's also crashed several long-term relationships though, not to mention two marriages, so going with the odds here the chances of Ken and I going the distance ourselves, romantically, are remote. He still has physical needs too though, so I don't think he's any more ready than I am to be "old" just yet.

It's also nice to be surrounded by people who love you, bearing in mind that different kinds of loves come and go over the course of a long life, it's completely natural. It would take a serious level of hubris for one man (or even a woman) to think they had the omniscient definition of love for all 8.2 billion souls presently living on planet earth; I surely don't...

"Ken and I tossed your keys into the ocean by the way," I tell him lightly, as if this was a trivial little detail hardly worth mentioning. It's obviously symbolic, the emasculating tiny plastic device can easily be cut off, but I've also just told hubby that I've made a decision, no matter what he's wearing. This custom-fit man in my company will be exclusively providing for my physical needs going forward; it's my decision, not Ken's, and surely not hubby's. Well, at least until we maybe get sick of each other... This way Ken isn't really taking me away from hubby, I'm instead gifting myself to Ken, so no hard feelings down the road for either man, no matter how it turns out. The default condition here is that we three all remain friends somehow, at a bare minimum. As a rule I don't like conflict in my home, and when one of the three is as accepting as hubby is, there really can't be any conflict.

I'm also intentionally reintroducing the kink-factor back into this conversation for us, further lightening the mood, as divorce and separation are depressingly un-sexy topics in my mind. We've got that out of the way though, it's all emotionally up from here. Submissive kink is one of hubby's major motivations to serve us these days, he gets something from that, now of course that real-sex is officially off the table. Maybe the device he's locked within psychologically helps with that; as in "it can't work," as opposed to "it won't fricken work!"

So humble sexless servitude to replace normal husband and wife copulation, even selflessly serving the man who's replacing him for those intimate things too, intentionally facilitating Ken's and my own romantic relationship. It's a bit to get one's arms wrapped around, the selfless "less than an equal" submission I mean. So not beaten down, humiliated, and crushed, more so just comfortable working within his new diminished abilities, salvaging what's left for his new life of service to others, most especially if I were being properly cared for. So still providing for me out of love, but vicariously through Ken...

I suspected all this earlier with hubby's joyful obedience to Ken's bedtime routine, and then the gift of both the master bedroom and the chastity keys; there were no conditions given, nor offered, even under what could be considered hubby's own roof. It had to be a serious mind-fuck for him, (nothing but a thin wall between us that night) but still he had the courage to follow through and do it, suspecting (I now realize) how it would likely end. Of the three of us, I think he actually has the most courage, although such is counterintuitive bearing in mind his apparent chosen station in this new life.

As out-there as this seems though, everything over the last few weeks confirms this, both cuckold-kink and angst are the proverbial fuel that makes this work for hubby, makes it plateable; and I'd be a horribly selfish soul if I didn't keep him gassed up and ready to go. So maybe not perpetually dressed as my maid, nor perpetually and playfully tormented for his disfunction either, but there will be no confusion on the fact that our new household hierarchy will have one fully functional "head of household" man, (with full benefits for your's truly) and one servant who's a bit less than fully functional, but still dearly loved for what he brings to the table himself. I'll be loved too, by two men in two different ways, there will be so much love in that new home of our it will be crazy good, for all of us. A husband in name only, and a paramour with full husbandly rights, so a mate for life, and a spare.

I'm giddy with his acceptance, with these new possibilities in a "crisis-averted" kind of way, it's the unloading of a burden, just as long as we all continue to play our parts. This is positive and uplifting for me, but I'm also moving at a thousand miles an hour here, trying to get my mental ducks in a row, say everything I can before the signal is potentially lost, as well as take advantage of his "let's make this work" mindset. So my enthusiasm perhaps comes out as more dumping at this point, telling him my version of how I see it going, and therefore there's less give and take communicating. I know what he needs here, really I have for quite some time, but a bit of lacking courage and reluctance to offend this rather unique man of mine had held my hand for a bit; but no longer. Hubby has a Ken-issued safe-word too, and until I hear that, or see something else I can't ignore, it's pretty much Ken's and my own way from now on. Sometimes fate puts us where we need to be, when we need to be there, and it's this ponderance that gives me the courage to be a bit more self-serving than in the past.

Hubby tells me that Ken already sent him the video, that I looked hot in my bikini, way better than he did in his, most especially with the little key-bump in front. I tease him slightly by telling him he had a tiny little bump in the front of his as well, and wow did that excite him. For a few minutes there we were a bit more alike in our matching bikini's, even separated by a thousand miles, he with his little chastity-cage bikini bump, and I with my own, although in my case it was the key for his. Mine is now lost, and his isn't going anywhere without some serious effort, it's a bit of irony really.

At first I maybe wanted to ask him if he was okay with that video, with the key-dump taunting specifically, but it's counterproductive at this point; any vacillation going forward is simply for my benefit, and not his. If one wants to be followed, one must lead decisively; it's amazing that it took until now for me fully realize this.

We hash out a few other things, it was a very candid (nuts and bolts) conversation after that, but I was mostly talking, and he was mostly listening. I mentioned our friends Bob and Sheila, and her boyfriend Roy, just floating their unique solution to a problem that we didn't know we had ourselves. I could also tell he was expecting to have a conversation like this one, so his answers were sharp and quick, he's almost certainly been thinking about all this for hours, maybe even days. "Did that key-video send him over the top, tell him there was no coming back from this one?" I wondered. If so, he seemed good with that too, they just don't make very many men like this one; in an "others before self" kind of way.

One of the eBooks I left for him to read even had a cuckolded-hubby living on the bottom floor, so a Bob and Sheila-like, scenario, all while the wife lived in served-comfort on the top floor of what was at one time his exclusive home. In that one, "Maid To Serve" I believe it was titled, the synopsis suggested the former husband had been required to fully feminize, as in dress the part of the family maid when the wife's lover was home, (so as not to be a masculine threat to the boyfriend) something that seemed both a bit extreme, and cliche to me personally. If the man of the house was the most naturally dominant man, comfortable in his alpha skin, no other man would matter, no matter how he or she were dressed; but I digress.

The "playing-maid" cover art initially caught my attention on that one to be honest, as we'd done a bit of that maid-play thing between ourselves already. So I wasn't necessarily suggesting to hubby that this was something I was specifically after, just really gauging his interest, if his level of submission might eventually lead him to be Ken's maid as well as my own one day. Not quite sure I'd want to go all the way there myself to be honest, he surely doesn't need the humility, and Ken's well on track to not needing the ego boost from such either. At the same time, there's something irritating in the back of my mind about implying that we ladies are something less that the men in this world, as if a man becomes something less once he dresses up.

Anyway, I tell hubby I love him, but that I have to go, as I realize that the other man in my life is awake and listening to my conversation; not that I'm keeping secrets from him either though. Anyway, now Ken and I need to talk, and depending how that goes then perhaps all three of us need to sit down when we get back, work out all the little details, the how's and when's, and most especially the where's of it all.

"Didn't mean to eavesdrop" Ken tells me softly once I end the call, obviously wishing to respect my privacy, but at the same time hearing words that tells him this involves him too.

"So what do you think?" I ask, presuming he's heard everything. He tells me it probably won't work in our (meaning hubby's and my own) present home, that we'll all need a new place. Ken knows Bob and Sheila too, so he got the obvious reference, and he's right obviously, our home isn't configured as we'd need it to be for the Bob and Sheila solution. At the same time, our new young neighbor already knows too much, so our little home's configuration isn't the only long-term problem here.

This tells me Ken's been thinking a lot about the specific details too, how to make this three-way thing work long-term in the real world, for all of us. He may have claimed the proverbial prize for himself, but that isn't to imply that hubby is the looser here either; one man is offering, (or making available I suppose) and the other is receiving that which was offered, there is no "taking away" here. To be fair here, Ken needs both a new place to live and a fresh new start, and a new home with Ken as the de facto head of household, at that new address, day one, would be nothing but good for him. So, not permanently moving into our old home and displacing hubby (in what was his place initially) was perhaps a charitable thing for Ken to offer. Would hubby be an untitled renter in our new home though, a simple tenant that could be kicked out for any number of reasons, or a titled co-owner?

"So someplace new, with maybe an apartment in the basement, or a mother/daughter set up where we'd move in together first, like a normal couple might, and hubby a bit later on as our tenant?" I ask. This line of thought triggers a specific memory for me, hubby suggesting more than once that if we ever bought a new home, that it should be in my name alone. His reasoning was that such a situation would ensure he had the proper attitude every day of the week, as in humble, obedient, and financially dependent; as in displease me at all and you're out of here. It's still another kind of power to give somebody, insurance that everybody would know their proper parts in the, hopefully, years to come.

Ken will have half the proceeds from the sale of his old co-owned home, and hubby and I own our home outright, so that's either a nice budget all on it's own, or one hell of a down payment on an easy mortgage split three ways. There are advantages to having three mature paychecks finance anything, although explaining our unique three way relationship to some stiff banker might be a bit uncomfortable.

"I like that a lot" Ken tells me. "Maybe we could tell our new neighbors that he's your brother, maybe who's down on his luck and needs a place to live for a while?" Ken further opines, while also building in an obvious expiration date too though. Implied here is this isn't a "forever" arrangement, that it lasts just as long as "we," meaning Ken and I, want it to. Now reality with my hubby will be a bit different, but if hubby thinks that he needs to make this work to continue to have a place to live he'll be super-motivated to submit and comply; as everybody, to include myself, can be expected to have occasional doubts and second thoughts.

Such a fictitious scenario would naturally explain to our new neighbors my "brother's" non-intimate closeness, our shared last names on our mailboxes too. Oddly enough, new people we'd met back in the day always confused hubby and I for brother and sister, we just have that kind of emotional bond.

"If we have to actually build this place from the ground up I have an idea, but no comments until I finish," I tell Ken. He accepts my condition and I go on to explain a tour hubby and I took once, it was an old, allegedly-haunted county jail, and as a prank I closed the squeaky door on him playfully, trapping him behind bars in one of the tiny ancient cells for a few moments. Anyway, the look in his eyes when I did that, like "I wish we had one of these at home," which he confirmed for me on the ride home when we were in private. So I tell Ken that if the home has a basement, that if possible I'd like a little for-real jail cell down there, bars and all, to lock hubby away in solitary for a few hours when we wanted some privacy, or when somebody was visiting and we didn't want him seen. He could even be "put-away" for bad behavior, I suggest, further changing the dynamic going forward.

So, despite how this may sound, this isn't evil at all, trust me, the "jail cell" incident came up often between us during pillow-talk, and it was a kinky enough turn-on for him that we playfully decided that if we ever had an opportunity to buy another home, we'd see if we couldn't work that into the design somehow. Fair to say that hubby was a bit submissive back then too, because under no scenario ever suggested was it ever intended to be me inside that cell.

Ken suggests that we could perhaps buy a place that had a upgradeable basement already, one we could build-out as we desired, so he's maybe willing to indulge me on this very kinky addition. The advantage for him was obvious, and not just in the form of a grateful paramour...

I'm looking at Ken though, and he's looking back at me, no words are necessary. It's the subliminal connection of two who are very connected, very much in love, and both of us realize now that this crazy thing is going to work. There are obvious details yet to be worked out, but with a proper attitude that's nothing.

Hubby himself is properly contained now, so a non-issue both figuratively, and quite literally, and to boot his dysfunctional-self is also over a thousand miles away, so no interruptions are possible. No secrets either, and this is very liberating for me specifically.

"Anything at all" I offer my lover, and I sincerely mean it too. I've just gifted myself fully to this new man, but the other man in my life has a proper parking place too now, from my unique perspective the best of both worlds.

"Anything?" he asks playfully...

"Yes."

"And I offer anything myself as well" Ken tells me.

There is only one thing I want from Ken, well really two things, and since we're having such a nice intimate conversation, I risk an impertinence by asking what Hubby's safe-word is. I'd need to know that for obvious reasons too now, as hubby would be safe-word protected for both of us going forward, so in a way equally owned by both of us, as in a co-owned human asset until he utters that word.

"It's not a word, it's a phrase, but I offered it, and he accepted it as is, without conditions" Ken tells me almost defensively.

Ken doesn't want to tell me, (I hear it in his tone) he's maybe embarrassed at the way he's manipulated his friend, but he also gave his word, and Ken's word is his bond. It quite literally can be no other way for this to work for all of us. We share a long look, Ken and I, he'll give in though, I see it on his handsome face. The prize is well worth it, but I know now that I'll have to offer something juicy in return myself.

"Elle est a toi" Ken tells me. I realize it sounds like French, but I only know a few words, and obviously not these. Ken took French in high school though, "to meet girls" amusingly enough. Hubby and I even teased him a bit on that back in the day, so these specific words may even be ones he's been thinking about for more than twenty years. There are too many irony's to realistically ponder here, but safe to say this isn't what I expected at all.

"Which means?" I ask...

"She's your's" Ken tells me sheepishly, expecting some obvious fallout from me on the real message here. If hubby says those words he's in effect given his word to leave, and he'll simply never do that. Ken's manipulations here are both adroit, and a bit ruthless too, but he doesn't want to be alone either. If Ken is to be believed, hubby accepted this phrase though. I'm beyond words, but this perhaps explains hubby's "play along" attitude, wishing to remain in my life and not safe-word out, pretty much no matter the cost.

"Now I have a question" Ken tells me.

"When we were having that catch of the day lunch on the island with Cathy and Henry, you just stopped talking for a few moments and looked off into the distance blanky; all of us saw that. I just gave a bit of a shrug to them, but I'm curious as to where your mind was wandering" Ken tells me.

I could lie, say that such didn't happen, or even make up something believable, but if I demand honesty from Ken, he has an equal right to demand such from me. He looks at me, and I at him, he realizes this is asking a lot...

"I had an insane daydream where you stripped me with your belt wrapped around my neck... and... you then invited Henry and Cathy into our room, called me Rose, and basically handed my leash to them and told them to bring me back when they were done with me!"

He tells me that's extremely hot, but he's astonished that I'd think up something like that, especially knowing he doesn't like to share. In the real world it's extraordinarily unwise, for a million different reasons, but I suppose that's the root of really good fantasies, as in they'll never happen except between your ears...

... So, this intimate sharing has been very good for both of us, even at the potential cost of letting Ken know that I'm a bit more kinky that he even realized. What happens next is one hundred percent making love though, not screwing, nor scratching sexual itches, nor even more rudely fucking! We're consummating this new relationship, it's like a second wedding night for me, and maybe a third for Ken. We didn't wear much to bed anyway, and we're not exactly "shower-fresh" either, but our intimate desire for each other transcends all that. I want Ken, and he wants me, unconditionally. Hubby is properly accounted for, both in the moment, and by Ken's cleverly chosen safe-word phrase for the foreseeable future too. So in a word, I'm free to be both as naughty, and playfully evil as I feel like, but obviously in a overall loving way bearing in mind the magnitude of hubby's selfless gift to the both of us...