Digging in the garden doesn’t sound particularly sexy, I know. It can be, though. Trust me. Because that’s when I get to unabashedly watch my wife’s gorgeous ass as she crawls through the huge box of dirt we’ve deemed a garden. And by God, for some reason that woman almost always wears white. So she ends up with streaks of earth on the seat of her shorts—streaks that are just begging to be traced with my fingers.

It was a sticky, late-summer day the last time I lost my manners and acted on impulse.
“I can feel you looking at me, you know,” she said.

We’d waited very late in the day to harvest the blessed green onions that took forever to grow. The later in the day, the cooler it was. The sky was coming down to a nice purplish shade, and when the wind blew, it was almost cool. Almost.
Her ass looked damn near neon in the odd summer light. It was those white shorts; they practically glowed.
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My wife and I enjoy your magazine, particularly the stories about swinging and group sex encounters, which up until last year we’d never dreamt of being a part of. Fiona and I don’t have an open marriage, per se, but we’ve been involved with a number of couples, who wouldn’t have thought about sharing their mates until we related some of our stories and curiosity got the best of them. But first, let me tell you the tale of the first time we invited other people into our bed.

For our vacation last year, Fiona and I went on a seven-day Caribbean cruise. Our first stop was St. Thomas. After breakfast onboard, we headed for Megan Bay, one of the most beautiful beaches in the Caribbean. Not only was the beach beautiful, but there were also a number of ladies sunbathing topless, which made the front of my swimsuit stand out. After a few rum drinks and some coaxing, Fiona removed her top and revealed her beautiful breasts.

I figured there were a number of fellow boat passengers at the beach, but I didn’t recognize any right away. Soon a couple of guys strolled over and introduced themselves as Chad and Jack, and said they had the cabin next to ours. Funny, I hadn’t noticed them, but they sure were noticing my wife, which was a turn-on for me.
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Kaylee always obliges me when I tell her I need it. I don’t need it as often as I used to, but sometimes when the urge is strong, it’s like an itch under my skin that can’t be scratched—no matter how hard I try. The only thing that works is seeing my wife with another man.

“I need it,” I said, over dinner the other night.
Her answer was the same as always. “Okay, I’ll set something up.”
Then back to homemade pizza on focaccia bread and a kick-ass Chianti to wash it down.

It only took her a night to set things up. Kaylee is a looker. She’s tall and lean, with hair the color of wheat that sways down along her back. Her legs seem to go on forever, and her toenails are always painted an unusual color, which adds a bit of intrigue. When she’s naked and there’s nothing on her insanely hot body but navy blue polish on her toes—it adds something.
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Mack and I have been known to hook up whenever we can. It’s rarely planned; it tends to be a spur of the moment deal. I know his big secret: He likes it a bit rough. And he knows mine: I love anal. Always have. Together, we make a mighty fine pair, especially when we’re horny.

The last time our attraction had a chance to spark into an encounter was when we closed up the restaurant after a big holiday weekend.

“You wanna grab some linens from the storage space? There are two things left on the list. Swap out the linens and grab new candles for the tables. I’ll get the candles.” His eyes tracked over me for an instant, and I swore I actually felt his gaze on my skin.
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We still talk about it. It’s become something of a legend to us when we’re naked and kissing—on the verge of fucking. Our trip one year to Mardi Gras—the crowd, the smoke, the booze, the beads. All of it crushed around us as I lifted her skirt.
Olivia’s ass is a thing of beauty, and in the midst of copious forms of drunken debauchery, I’d let the mood sweep me away.
“What are you doing?” she yelled in my ear. Though in the noisy throng, it was barely a whisper.
“Just looking.” I palmed her ass and smoothed my fingers over the butter-yellow fabric of her panties.
“People will see.”

“Go for it, man,” a guy shouted as he drifted by in the crowd.

The encouragement from a stranger made what I was doing that much better. I yanked her back toward me, with her skirt still flipped up. Pushing my cock to the split of her ass and feeling her heat, I groaned.
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