A note from The Professor:
I don’t mean to repeat myself, but I am so glad I took the time to write these events down at the time. Once again, as I read over this week’s episode, I had forgotten nearly everything in it. In particular I'd forgotten the circumstances that led to the death of my first blog. The only thing in this episode that was not "new to me" was that she dated a guy we called “Mr. New York.”
What I don’t think I’ve explained is that I am having broader memory issues. Paula and I were talking about it the other day and I told her that I have almost no memories more than a few years old unless they are tied to photos or things I’ve written. It’s an odd, and rather sad feeling, that I can’t remember but the tiniest bits of the decades we spent raising our kids, and as I said, nearly all those memories are tied to photos. Fortunately, Paula is good at telling those stories, and often once she tells them I can add little details. Our three decades of open marriage are the same, but at least I have the narrative I wrote… well a good part of it. Some of those updates, and thus the memories, disappeared some years ago.
Oh, you will notice that I’ve left this episode in the present tense. Sometimes I update them to put them in the past tense as is the case now, but other times (like this week) I don’t do that. I’m not sure which is better. I really should choose one and stick with it.
This is a nice, but short, story from early 2014. I hope it brings a smile to your face as it did mine.
Around the time of this story, I decided to compile the best pictures I'd taken of my wife over the years and have them printed into a hardcover photobook. This is the cover.... well not exactly, the physical book on my shelf has her given name, not her "internet name," but all else is the same. I really should make a new book covering more years.
Mr. New York
Let me tell a side story here. By March 2014, I’d been blogging for several years. By that point I'd had over a million unique visitors to my site, and when I did Google search for “Paula nude” or for the blog’s name, The Neo-Barbarian, I was coming up on the first page of results. I was very happy with several of my entries. However, in that month I had to make the hard decision to shut it down.
You see one of Paula’s lovers had assured her that he and his wife had an open marriage and that she knew all about their sexual relationship; but he lied (surprise!). Not only did she not know, when she did find out, her rage was pointed toward us. It seems he, in his defense, told her about my blog where posed updates about Paula’s activities with her lovers. Of course, even while he was one of them, I always used pseudonyms for her guys. The fact that I was writing in my blog about what they were doing meant that I knew they were having sex. I’d even written about sharing the bed with them once which made the man’s wife all the angrier. She texted Paula a very threatening letter promising to use the information contained on the blog against us. That version of the blog had many, many photos of Paula; and in our area, there is only one Victoria's Secret store, so it would not be hard to find and identify her. After we discussed the woman's threat, we decided to simply shut my blog down. Paula's main concern was not it would get back to her employer since she was never shy about her lifestyle at work. She had even introduced lovers to her co-workers when they came in to buy lingerie for her. Her fear was that somehow something would get back to her very conservative 89-year-old mother and cause her to have a stroke.
Shutting down my blog put me in quite a funk for weeks and weeks.
The blog had become more important to me than I'd realized. Because I worked from home teaching eight live classes per week via the web, I rarely left home. I definitely felt cut off from the “real world.” Seeing this, Paula insisted I start a new blog and just start over. The whole episode was surprisingly distressing. A few weeks later “Professor Polyamory” was born. Since, by then, I was teaching graduate classes full-time. I decided to claim The Professor as my identity.
While I was having my crisis over the loss of my blog, she continued to both date her regular lovers and meet new men. As winter wore on, she had worked out a stable routine of one hotel date with one of her regular lovers each week and one dinner date with either a regular guy or someone new.
One Saturday in late March I went with her to meet a new guy, who we called Mr. New York. We did this for the simple reason I had a hard time keeping up with the names of everyone she dated, and he was a retired investment banker from New York. We actually get a lot of them in our area. They sell their Manhattan apartment and build a mansion in the mountains. It was rather strange that we met this exceptionally wealthy "Yankee" for breakfast at a nearby Waffle House.
She’d been talking to him on the phone for a week or so, but this was the first time she’d met him face to face. At one time I’d gone with her for most of her first dates, but by this time, late winter/early spring of 2014, I was doing that less often. She’d done a good job of vetting him and he turned out to be very nice, despite the fact he was a New York banker. He was well dressed, well-spoken and I couldn't help but notice his car which cost more than we'd paid for our house. He was in his early 60’s but could pass for being much younger. We all hit it off quite well.
We were having a great time at Waffle House when I got a call from our daughter who needed dear old dad to rescue her when her car broke down and her husband was at work. I must say that I found it gratifying that my “little girl” still needed her dad even though she was a married woman. Fortunately, Paula and I had driven separate cars because she was planning on going over to her mother’s house afterward to help her with some project, so I just left Paula and Mr. New York at Waffle House.
When I arrived home several hours later, I was not surprised that Paula was not there since it was not at all unusual for her to spend the day with her mother helping out around the house or going on some shopping trip. When she called around 2:00 in the afternoon I asked how Grandma was doing. With a laugh, Paula told me that she had not yet been there but she was on her way. I felt rather silly that I’d not seen that coming. He was just her type and although she will insist that she does not fuck on the first date, I know full well that when the right guy comes along, she will practically drag the guy into bed.
I feigned not to be surprised and didn’t pry into what happened knowing she doesn’t like it when I dig for details. Our arrangement does not require her to tell me when or with whom she has sex, nor is she obligated to give me any details about what she did. Sometimes she will call me from a hotel room bed between rounds of sex to tell me in detail about what she’s been doing right in front of her lover while they are still together naked. A few times she’s had the nerve to call while she is actually riding her date. Other times I won’t find out for months (or ever) about a sexual tryst. We have had this arrangement from even before she first had sex outside our marriage. Back then, and even to this day this is how we operate so as to assure her that I don't support her having sex with other people to fulfill some kinky voyeuristic need of mine; but I do so to allow her freedom to do what makes her happy. More than once she’s off-handedly mentioned a sexual experience that happened months or years before about which I’d never heard.
One funny time, perhaps a year before this event, we were with a group of friends (who did not have open marriages). We were all telling stories and she told a very erotic story of a casual sexual encounter with a man. Until that moment, I’d never heard anything about this man or the event. When I said “Wow, I didn’t know any of that,” our friends were flabbergasted. They thought the defining thing about us having an open marriage was an expectation of full disclosure about extramarital sexual activity. Paula just laughed at my surprise, looked over at me, and said “I know. I’ve never told you that story. It’s more fun when a girl keeps her secrets.”
On that Saturday Paula didn’t return from her mother’s until after dark, and it was not until several hours later, when we went to bed, that she told me about her morning. She told me that they’d stayed some time at Waffle House after I left. When they did go, she left her car at the restaurant and rode with Mr. New York in his top-of-the-line Mercedes to a nice hotel. She explained how on a whim, she’d asked him to stop by a local bakery that they passed on the way. She made him stay in the car while she’d gone inside, and refused to tell him what was in the box until they arrived at the hotel and they’d gotten naked. She opened the box to show him she’d bought two éclairs. It seems she was on an oral sex kick and was all excited about the thought of eating her new friend. Not surprisingly they very much enjoyed spreading the cream filling over each other and eating it off. She went on for some time telling me how much fun they had laughing and playing with the éclairs. I already knew how much she likes licking tasty treats, like chocolate whipped cream or flavored oils off her lover’s cock, but this was the first time in several years she’d done the éclair thing with a lover.
She went on for some time telling me (at least four times) how great he was at giving oral sex. She said, “Don’t be hurt but no one has ever done what he did to me.” She told me he gave her oral sex for nearly two hours. She had no idea how many times she’d climaxed, but it was so much that she finally had to make him stop because she just couldn’t stand it anymore. She said twice he had to go clean his face because she made such a mess all over him with her gushing orgasms.
Needless to say, she had been in a great mood and horny ever since. I of course went down on her after she finished telling me about her date. Long ago I found out that sex with my wife is different when she’d been with another man earlier in the day. Not necessarily better or worse, but different. I think perhaps it is because I don’t feel under so much pressure to perform when I know that she’s already had great sex that day. I think our “after-sex, sex” is usually more sweet than hot and that night was no exception.
The next morning, she complained that her rear-end muscles hurt from how much and how hard she’d climaxed from Mr. New York’s oral skills. She said it was way sorer than after a workout at the gym. Not surprisingly, she let me know that was looking forward to a second date.