Do you know that feeling of panic that comes when a wave takes you by surprise?
I do. I experienced a suffocating adrenaline rush that dilated my time until I managed to touch the fine sand on the seabed again with my toes. My whole center of balance turned into a deafening whirlwind of thoughts: “What happened?”, “When did the wave appear?”, “Where is the calm sea that surrounded me?”
If you recognize the feeling, then let me confess that I just described to you the mixture of feelings I had on the day when my then boyfriend (today, my husband) shared with me , for the first time, the fantasy of seeing myself in the arms of another man.
I felt confused in a sea of love that I no longer recognized.
I felt disappointed and scared and – most intensely – unappreciated.
I tried to find a breath of fresh air to get me out of the wave: to link my boyfriend’s unusual desire to a real landmark in our life…, a need for change…, an end…
I remembered that his jealousy had always been below detectable limits, which was admirable, of course, to this day. But the idea of sharing me with other men only instilled insecurity in me.
(This passage is part of a series of confessions.)
Although hotwifing is largely about a woman’s sexuality, studies show that, in an overwhelming proportion, this experience is triggered by the husband’s request. Although it may exist latently in the minds of married women (especially in relationships where intimacy has reached a plateau), they rarely demand sexual freedom to experience pleasures with other men, especially in the presence of their husbands.
In my case, the idea was inoculated by my husband, drop by drop, for years. Was it worth his patience? Was it worth my trust?
I know you will answer yes to the two questions. But if you want to know how I see this trip, I invite you to watch future posts.