I’m sitting here, heart pounding, as my wife leans in, her breath hot on my ear. ‘Tell me, honey,’ she whispers, ‘will you still love me when I dress like a little slut when I’m out with my girlfriends? How about when I’m flirting with cute guys? Or maybe when I go back to his place and spend the night?’ I swallow hard, my mind racing with images of her in those tight dresses, her lips painted red, her eyes sparkling with mischief. ‘Well, babe?’ she asks, her voice dripping with anticipation. ‘Will you still love me?’ I know I should be angry, but all I can feel is a twisted excitement, a dark thrill at the thought of her being someone else’s for a night. I nod, my voice barely a whisper, ‘I’ll always love you, no matter what.’
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