My Husband and I Had a Threesome and It Saved Our Marriage

This article was written by Jenny Block and repurposed with permission from YourTango.

Sex and love are totally differentI have always liked sex. I mean really, really liked sex. When my husband and I first started dating, it was obvious even then that our drives were quite different. As much as he enjoyed sex, he didn’t need or want it as often as I did. But I fell so madly in love with him, I figured it didn’t matter.

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I was wrong. Three years into our marriage, I began to feel itchy. So I had an affair. She was an artist I met through a mutual friend. I deliberately chose to have an affair with a woman, rationalizing that it wasn't as bad as sleeping with another man. (Simply by virtue of his gender, my husband never could be for me what she could be.)

She wasn't the first woman I’d been with. When my husband and I began dating, I told him that I was bisexual. "I don't care who you were with before," he told me. "But once it’s just you and me, it's just you and me." And that’s why—as lovely and sweet as my affair with Artist Girl was—it was awful, too. I felt sick about lying to my husband, about wanting to be with her, for not just calling it off—or not just avoiding it.

"I began to feel itchy. So I had an affair."

My relationship with Artist Girl ended very, very badly. One night while in bed with her husband, she told him about us, foolishly thinking it would "turn him on." It didn't. He was furious and threatened to tell my husband. I knew I had to tell him myself. When I confessed, he was crushed because I had lied to him. I thought I destroyed my marriage, but I also wondered if I would ever be sexually satisfied enough to make this work.

I tried to spice things up at home. We didn't talk about it much for several years. I asked him once in a while if he was "OK," and he told me he was fine. Eventually, I believed him. I was keeping my nose clean, and we were bumping along. We had an adequate sex life; it was probably pretty good by some standards. Still, there were always things I couldn’t get from him.

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And slowly I began to figure it out. For my husband, sex with me was about loving me. And loving me was about caring for and respecting me. Although there are people who can manage that duality (or plurality), my husband simply couldn’t. And I wasn't sure he should have to. But I also wasn't sure that I should have to go without.

One day, I asked my husband about a longtime friend of mine. She had once been a grad student at the university where I taught. I helped her get through research papers, exams, and first-time teaching assignments. She spent a lot of long nights and weekend afternoons at our house, and we became close friends. Even after finishing her degree, she still spent a lot of time at the house.

"Have you ever thought about sleeping with her?" I asked him. "No," he said. My husband has no poker face. "OK, yes, but ..."

"But what?" I asked.

"Well, first of all, she'd never want to sleep with me. She's 10 years younger than I am. And second, I don't want to be with anyone else."

"Well," he said, "I mean, I don't need to."

"But do you want to?" I didn’t need him to answer me. It was clear that, in his head, he was already there. "She's hot," he said.

"So, of course I’d like to sleep with her. But what about you?"

"Of course," I replied. "I'd like to sleep with her too, silly."

"That's not what I meant," he said.

"I know. I know. So ... ?"

"So, bring it on," he teased.

A threesome with my husband. It was true—I knew she was interested. We'd joked about it plenty of times before. "When are you going to let me at that hot husband of yours?" she'd ask me. "Whenever you like," I'd tell her. 

"Let's do it," I said to her one night when we were at my house, watching yet another terrible, made-for-TV movie. She knew exactly what I was talking about.

"You sure?" she asked.

"Are you?" I asked back. "Yeah," she said. "As long as you're positive it won't mess us up."

"OK," I told her. "I promise."

A few hours later, my husband came home. He slid onto the couch next to me, putting his hand on my right thigh, under the throw blanket. Her hand was already on my left. A few seconds later, I felt their hands accidentally touch, and I saw them look at one another. I'm pretty sure that was the exact moment my husband realized what was going on.

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"I'm beat," he said a short while later. "I'm going to bed."

"We'll be up soon," I said. He kissed me, and began to walk away.

"What about me?" she asked. He looked at me, and then kissed her, long and hard. Laughing, he shook his head.

"You girls," he said, as he headed upstairs. When the movie ended, we followed. We slipped into bed with my husband as if we'd done it a hundred times before, one on either side of him. Everything that followed felt equally natural.

It was amazing to watch them together. It was hot, but it was also very sweet. She was so lost in him and he in her. I was able to see him as a human being. Not as my husband or my daughter's father, but as a man, a sexual being.

And I know that watching her and me together was an incredible experience for him as well. She even taught him how to give me a G-spot orgasm, a feat that he had never managed. It sounds so deviant, I know. But it was charming, really. He held her long hair in his hands and watched her. He also stole looks at me. "I love you," he mouthed. "I love you, too," I somehow managed. And when I came, I couldn't help but notice the glances the two of them exchanged. It was weird. But it was also, well, normal.

I gave up 'ownership' of my spouse. My husband and I had a six-month affair with my close friend. The three of us had sex. He and she had sex. She and I had sex. And, of course, he and I continued to have sex, just the two of us. The arrangement eventually faded out, and we all slipped back into our previous relationships. But my marriage was forever changed. 

We give each other what we need, including freedom and space. We respect one another. And we are self-aware enough to know that we're interested in exploring sex, whatever that means for us. It has brought my husband and me closer than I ever imagined possible. We’ve just found that "owning" each other sexually doesn’t help our marriage.

"The arrangement eventually faded out."

The truth is I'm just like everyone else. I'm just trying to figure out all of this life stuff. It's hard. But I am responsible for my own orgasm and my own happiness. And I don't need other people to like me or to approve, and I don’t need others to live in the same way I do. I just need to do what I need to do, without hurting myself or others. For right now, at least, that means having sexual relationships outside of my marriage.

We communicate right. My husband hasn't pursued anyone since my friend. He says he's too shy to pick up girls, and, really, he doesn't feel the need. I can sometimes tell that the fact that I do hurts him. "Intellectually," he explains, "I totally get it. But sometimes, emotionally, it's hard."

When he asks for specific information, I answer. Sometimes, it's hard to read whether he really wants that answer, and I feel sad when I get it wrong. Like when I don't tell him something and it comes up later, making him feel out of the loop, something I try to avoid. Being secretive, lying, or sneaking around would be surefire ways to destroy our marriage. But the sex itself is not a threat.

This is in no way a prescription for anyone else. All I know is how I feel, which is loved and cherished and secure—thanks to my husband. As hot as it makes me when a new conquest whispers something scandalous in my ear, nothing thrills me like the sound of my husband’s voice when I hear him say, "Hey, baby, I'm home."

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