My first wife and I owned two big photo albums. The first held a red outside cover and held pics of her sexily dressed, in lingerie, and nude. The second album was blue and held X-rated photos; the first third of the blue album showed her and me making love, while the remainder held photos of her with other men. Well, the two photo albums were like a sex business card: once a man saw them, he wanted to be also in the blue one.
Once, by accident she had left the red album on the coffee table (she had been making some edits and additions to it the night before). A buddy, who wasn't in our group of special male friends, this is men who got to fuck her, dropped by and I went into the kitchen to make a fresh pot of coffee (it was crazy early and she was asleep, as he I were going shooting as soon as the range opened up). When I finally came out with two cups of coffee I saw him engrossed in flipping the pages. I yanked the red album out of his hands and put it on the bookshelf next to the blue album and asked him to not tell my wife that he had seen it.
Later that day, I told her what had happened. She was amazing calm about it—in fact, she was a bit turned on by the event. We brought out the albums and went through the beginning of the red album to see what he had recently seen. She thought that she looked particularly good in many of the photos. I then said, "Imagine if you had left the blue album out instead."
She did. I did. We poured through the blue albums' photos of us sucking and fucking. When we got to the first pic of her with another man or a pic of her with two cocks in her mouth, we agreed that his head would explode.
About half a year later, he need to come over for my help in fixing something for him. My wife had either gone shopping or was with female friends or at the library. We went into my workroom and got started. I then told him to keep working away, but I had to go to Radioshack to buy a fuse for a power tool we would need. I was prepared, as she and I agreed that whenever we got the chance, we wanted him to see both albums. Before leaving, I had pulled both albums forward, so their bottom edges aligned perfectly with the shelf end. When I returned well over half an hour later, both albums were no longer aligned. (I wish they sold video baby monitors back then, as I would have loved to see his head explode.)
He said nothing and I said nothing about them. Long after he had left and she got home, I told her that he had seen them. We pulled out the albums. As we flipped the pages, we wondered if he had jacked off to any of the photos. Then it hit me like a slap against my head: he might have; and if he did, he must have left his cum somewhere. We searched the living room waste basket, nothing The kitchen garbage, nothing. Our bedroom waste basket, noting. The bathroom container; bingo! We found his Kleenex wet with cum, a huge load that soaked the entire tissue. I told her: Isn't it weird that he knows what you look like naked, being fucked, by me and by other men, and you know what his cum looks and smells like, but neither of you have ever met?.
A few months later, he joined our group of special male friends, at her request, and he got to fuck her and appear in the blue photo album.