My husband shares me with his best friend

“I’m sorry to have to tell you that the use of your legs will take months of physiotherapy to recover, and it is possible that you may never regain the physical aspect of marital intimacy!”
My blood ran cold as I heard the surgeon explaining my husband’s prognosis and future physical prospects. Then, more than ever, I despised his reluctance to use the seat belt on long car journeys, as he might well have escaped serious injury, as I had, by belting up at the start of the excursion. All that is as well maybe, but there we both were listening to the surgeon’s miserable prophecies.
“Does that mean we can never make love again?” I asked in trepidation, fearing the possible reply.
“As my father used to say” he replied “there are more ways than one to skin a cat!” He paused and gave a sympathetic smile “but to answer you’re the question you meant to ask, yes, there is that possibility that normal physical penetration sex will never again be a reality for the two of you”.

I sat looking at my husband Richard in the hospitable bed he had already been occupying for four weeks, with months of convalescence already planned by the hospital authorities. I was thirty four years old! Not that old that I didn’t hate the thought of years without proper intimate love-making with the husband that I adored. Sex with Richard had been so wonderful and satisfying in the three years of our marriage. A second marriage for both of us that had promised so much following our previous unhappy marital dalliance with unsuitable spouses. I had previously been married to a man who was jealousy incarnate! A man who couldn’t bear the thought of any other man seeing me in a state of undress, so much so that he forced me to give up the job I loved as an art school model. Imagining always that I was having affairs with either students or teachers as they saw me naked so often.

Nothing could have been further from the truth, as I was totally committed to my marriage and would never have contemplated accepting any of the many offers I had, despite my husband’s unreasonable jealousy. Richard on the other hand proved to be totally opposite to my previous spouse, and actually encouraged me to wear sexy clothes and show off my body. He actually had a special topless dress made for me, that completely exposed both of my breasts, in the hope that I would have the courage and daring to wear it at a dance. It was at the holiday hotel we had been leaving on that fateful return trip which resulted in Richard‘s terrible injuries, following four wonderful days vacation, that I finally plucked up courage to wear it on the last evening. Well, to be honest, I had a pashmina shawl around my shoulders and covering my breasts until the final hour of the dance. It was only then that the three white wines I had drunk gave me the courage to discard the pashmina and openly expose my bare breasts.

“You should have rouged your nipples darling!” Richard chuckled, delighted that I had at last flashed.
I glanced down and smiled. Yes, they were indeed in need of some colour to enhance them.
“May I have the pleasure of this dance?” came the first of many invitations I had during the following sixty minutes. There were, of course, several snide and snotty remarks from nearby tables, always I may add from the aged variety of my own sex!