She wakes in my arms. She rests her head upon the right of my chest and tenderly stokes my left pectoral. Running her fingers gently over my nipple. I love waking with her. It’s literally better than sex. She talks about lock down and how lucky we are to have a beautiful garden and an area of outstanding beauty at the end of the road whilst some are trapped in city flats. Then she says ‘Think how lucky you are having me to have sex with.’ ‘Big yourself up why don’t you.’ I reply. I gaze into her eyes and smile as she looks coyly up at me. ‘I always count myself lucky to have you. In every respect. Not just sex. Everything about our life is literally living the dream. But the only thing in it that matters to me is you. Anywhere is paradise with you in it.’ ‘I didn’t mean lucky to have sex with me specifically...’ ‘I don’t understand.’ ‘Think about it. Think how many single guys there must be locked down.’ She directs her gaze back to my nipple that she is gently stroking. ‘What do you think they’re doing?’ ‘Er… Wanking?’ She laughs. ‘Exactly! They’re not having sex. You are lucky that you have someone to have sex with. When they lift lock down think how many guys there will be who haven’t had sex for months. They’ll all be gagging for it!’ We both fall silent for a while. I’m a little gobsmacked. This feels like progress. I feel that I ought to grasp the opportunity and push this a bit. But I’m clumsy. ‘Well... maybe you should get out there and find one then. Imagine the fun you could have.’ Immediately I know that I’ve pushed it too far. She flips over and faces away from me. She’s not talking. ‘Hey… come on… what’s up?’ ‘Why do you have to be so horrible? I can’t believe that you would say that!’ ‘What?.. It wasn’t horrible. It was a nice thing to say.’ ‘Nice. What the fuck! How is that nice? Basically you asked me: Honey go out and cheat on me please! How can you think that’s nice?’ I’m a bit shocked. I have to resist the temptation to point out that I never actually asked her to do anything. I don’t want to argue though. That will just make this worse. So I wait a few minutes and then I begin to tell her about a dream I’ve had. Nothing risque. Just a funny dream. She lightens up and she’s laughing and joking with me. Happy again. I must remember to keep what I say subtle. It has to be all implied and hinted at. Like in those romance novels. We spend the day at the lake with the kids. There’s nobody else around. It’s like our own private paradise. The sunshine, the shimmering water, the laughter of the children. Sarah’s packed a picnic. She’s a fantastic cook. Proper healthy food that actually tastes amazing. Sitting there eating lunch with the kids she’s like the picture of a perfect mother from a magazine. It occurs to me that I really am living the dream. Here, in the mountains, with this woman, this family, this lifestyle. And I really am incredibly lucky because this is her idea of paradise. This is her perfect day. Just me, her, and the kids, splashing and swimming and chilling out. Right here. She doesn’t want riches. She doesn’t want fame. She doesn’t want a big house or car. She doesn’t want expensive clothes, restaurants, theater trips, foreign holidays... None of it. Just us. Here. God I love her. In the evening for some reason she just wants to be fucked. No foreplay. Just straight in. She wears a crotchless basque. She wants me on top of her. I fuck her hard, missionary. I try to position myself differently than I ever have before. To fuck her differently. Like as if I’m not me. Harder, faster, ravenously. Like I’ve been starved of it. She cums loud and long. As ever I try to keep her going for as long as I can. All through this hotwife process her orgasms have slowly got longer, louder, more intense. This one is another record breaker.