text: I might not even sleep with him" Like many other couples, we'd been married for a long time and we'd grown familiar with each other. Claire, my wife was older than me and I was attracted by her confidence and power - she was a lawyer for a big firmand I worked in a manual job. I was fit and strong, she thin and smart. She was smart, quirky sense of humour, great legs.I was quiet, shy and had only had a couple of girlfriends before. Our engagement was short and we eloped to avoid a big family wedding. Initially sex was great, but she was never one to initiate once married and now, after almost twenty years of being together it had tailed off to almost nothing. Truth be told, I didn't have that much confidence in the bedroom, and she'd denied me sex quite a few times so to protect my own feelings I'd just stopped asking her. On one or two occasions we had, I sometimes had trouble maintaining an erection - and the last time being well over six months before I'd failed to climax entirely. She'd had an orgasm during foreplay and seemed okay about it, but I wasn't - and it wasn't her fault, only mine. My parents had divorced in a very nasty way when I was young and I had vowed never to put anyone through that for myself. Great or bad, I would stick with this marriage - but it wasn't really so bad, we liked each other and some other married couples couldn't say the same. The urge for sex passes in time, although I did miss the intimacy that love making brings. Despite my low confidence, I did have a high sex drive so masturbated pretty much daily, usually a quick rub in bed watching porn on the laptop, looking at my library of dirty pictures, and more commonly, reading erotic fiction. Then a wipe with an old sock and back to reality. Not an exciting sex life by any means. I had no idea what she did to get her rocks off, if anything - but whatever it was, she kept it very private. We used to go out now and then early in our marriage, but I'm awkward in social situations and never know what to say. You could count the number of times I danced with her on the fingers of one hand, and in every case I'd been pretty drunk to do so!A shame, as she once loved to dance. I felt I'd stopped her enjoying herself, so when she did get invited out with a group of friends, I didn't stand in her way and always wished her a good evening when she went out for a meal. This happened once or twice a month with the same group of people and I'd stay at home. Then one night, something changed. She told me earlier in the week she'd be out Thursday night. I didn't ask with who, assuming it was with one of her two groups of friends. We both came home from work and did a few chores, then she had a quick shower and went into the bedroom to get ready. I followed a few minutes later, to chat about our days while she prepared as we often do, and lay down on bed while she slipped out of her dressing gown and started to dress. Her body, even in her mid 40's was pretty good - she kept in shape through lots of physical exercise, and horse-rode regularly. I admired it without commenting, even when she pulled on the smallest of her knickers. Normally she wears big comfy ones that do little to flatter her, but I didn't think much of it, other than perhaps she needed to feel a little better about herself. She was working long hours and was often tired, but tonight seemed full of quick, lively energy. She wore a fairly normal bra, with just a little lace, with a long flowing dress in shimmering opal blue that stopped at her knee. She'd shaved her legs in the shower too, I noticed. She dabbed a little perfume on one wrist, then rubbing the two wrists together to spread it, bent down to me lying on the bed to kiss me goodbye as usual. "Hope you have a nice evening" I said as she left the room. "Thanks," she said, heading for the door. "But you never know, I might not even sleep with him". Clunk. The front door shut behind her. I was frozen, not trusting my ears. Had she really said that? With who? Still unmoving, I heard her car start up and drive away. I lay there immobile for at least ten minutes, heart thumping in my chest, mind racing and full of questions. Was she serious? Why didn't I ask who she was going to dinner with, and where? Was she intending to come home at all? Was this her way of leaving me? I glanced over at the dressing table, the smell of her perfume still in the room. Everything was in place. Quickly, I ran to her office desk and yes, her passport and bank books were still there. Somewhat relieved, for I truly loved my wife and didn't want to lose her, I returned to the bed to try and stop my head racing. So now what? I didn't really know what to do. I just lay there, my head in a whirl. Imagining what she was doing and who with. I closed my eyes and lay back. Was she at dinner with someone? Had she found somebody to dance with again? Were they dancing slowly, him holding her tight? Caressing her through that thin blue dress? My hands touched my dick, it was still half hard, and I started to squeeze it. Very quickly it was fully hard again, and just as I felt the first stirrings of an orgasm, I quickly pulled my hand away. No, that would not do at all. I knew that if I climaxed I'd stop finding this as sexy as I was. I forced myself to get out of bed and do the nightly chores, feed myself and watch some tv - not taking in a single thing. I went to bed at 10 and lay await for her to return. I must have dozed off, because when I woke she was already in bed next to me. Her back turned to me and fast asleep. She was wearing her usual night-shirt and there was nothing to show that tonight was any different. I checked the bedside clock - 2am. Wow, I'd slept too long. Should I wake her? No, she was always grumpy then. Should I try to feel her pussy to see if there was another man's cum leaking from it? Not a chance! She'd definitely wake up. I lay there, staring in the darkness at her back, not moving, hardly breathing. By now I was doubting that she'd said those words as she left. I must have fallen asleep again, as I woke up hearing her come into the bedroom. She was bringing my usual cup of tea. Putting it down on my bedside table, she turned to leave the room when I said "Thanks" and sat up, just the same as always. She nodded and carried on walking, back out to the kitchen to make her own breakfast. Our morning routine is as predictable as everything else. A few minutes later, she came back into the bedroom and sat down on her side of the bed, one leg curled underneath her. She was still wearing the same night-shirt, and her legs were bare from mid-thigh down. Holding the bowl of cereal in one hand she started eating. Ok, here goes. Neither of us likes confrontation, but still, I had to know. "Good night last night?" I asked. Claire nodded yes, her mouth full of cereal. "Where did you go?" She swallowed. Then, "Just down to the Pantry" and then shoveled another spoonful into her mouth. The Pantry was a nice Pub two villages over that did excellent food, as many country pubs do now. We'd eaten there once or twice ourselves, on the rare occasion we did go out together. It was nice. Respectable. Now for the killer question; "Who was there?" She was between mouthfuls and answered immediately. "Just some people from work, you don't know them." "What did you say as you were leaving last night?" I asked. "When?" "After I said 'Have a good night'. Not sure I heard you right" "Oh," she said. "I just said 'Thanks, I'll try.' ". And with that, her bowl was cleared and she waved, went through the door and was in her car driving to work. I was certain I hadn't mis-heard her last night, but she clearly didn't want to discuss it. Oh well. Time to get ready for my own job. I got up and walked across the bedroom and spotted the laundry basket. On impulse, I lifted the lid and changed my life. Inside were her satin knickers. I picked them up and opened them out. There, lying in the cotton of the gusset, was a large glob of what was obviously semen. Still wet, surrounded by the dampness of my wife's own juices. I lifted it to my nose and took a sniff. I could only smell my wife's aroma, so tentatively, I slipped out my tongue and tasted it. No doubt now, that was definitely semen, I'd tasted enough of my own - I loved to give cunnilingus and on occasions when we'd gone more than once, I found I quite enjoyed licking my own seed from her well used vagina. Remembering that, I sucked the whole globby mess right out of the panties and into my mouth and warmed it on my tongue, breathing in the scent. Intoxicating. Again, my dick was like steel. I was standing naked in our bedroom with my wife's used knickers in my hand and a mouthful of her lover's come in my mouth. It was so dirty, so humiliating, so wrong. What would I say if somebody saw me? How could I explain this? I loved it. Grabbing my dick I rubbed like a madman, holding the used garment over my mouth and nose as I swallowed.In just a few seconds I had a monstrous orgasm which left me so weak that my knees actually gave way and I sank down onto the carpet, leaning back against the bed. I stayed there perhaps five minutes, perhaps fifteen, in a daze. Not thinking, not planning, just existing. Then as if waking out of a dream, I realized I was now going to be late for work, so hurriedly put the panties back and positioned them exactly as they had been so she wouldn't know. Then I quickly dressed and went to work. That evening, life went on as normal. I gave her a big hug as she came home, but when I tried to go a little further and squeeze her bum, she wriggled away. Nothing seemed different. I cooked us a meal and we sat and ate it in front of the telly as usual. She stayed in that evening, and through the weekend she went off and rode horses, or worked around the house and garden. She was a little late back on Monday, but brought her laptop back - the repairers had let her know it was ready so she collected it after work. She went to bed early that night, and I could hear the keyboard rattling away.When I went to join her,she shut it up and turned over, ready to go to sleep. As she reached for her bedside light, she yawningly said "Late back tomorrow, love. Got an evening meeting at work." That was unusual, I couldn't remember when that had last happened, but accepted it and kissed her good night. Turning off my own light, I slid my naked body up behind hers, which was clad in a sheer satin night dress, my erection gently pressing against her arse and reached around,but she deftly turned on her back - her sign of saying she didn't want to spoon tonight. Sleep was more important. Giving a small sigh I too turned on my back and lay awake for half an hour listening to her sleep. Her warm, still sexy body, close to mine but miles out of reach. The next night she didn't return until about 9pm. I'd watched her leave that morningwith nice hair, fresh lipstick and a smart blue business suit - professional yet still feminine. She came home with hair messed up, lipstick gone, suit crumpled and absolutely stinking of sex. Some meeting! I decided to act like I noticed nothing and gave her the usual hug and kissed her on the mouth,although she kept hers closed. Again, when I tried to lower my hands, she twisted out of my grip saying "Sorry love, I'm knackered. Quick shower then bed for me." She undressed and walked nude to the bathroom. As she passed me, I could plainly see her pubic hair was wet and matted. The bathroom door shut and I heard the shower go on as I walked into the bedroom. Her pile of clothes on the floor hadn't even made it to the laundry basket. I reached down and sure enough, there were her knickers and again, a big white dollop of somebody else's sperm lying in the crotch. Again, I raised it to my mouth and licked it clean. Delicious. Hearing the shower shut off, I hurriedly put the clothing back as it was and went to the kitchen to make us a cup of tea while my erection subsided. She was already in bed when I returned, tucked up and reading her book and her clothes had been tidied away. I put her tea on her table and slipped into my side of the bed, taking out my own book and pretending to read. I was actually quite shocked at myself for behaving this way. My wife was clearly having an affair and seemingly not caring whether I found out or not. I have the utmost respect and love for my wife, and with some women that might encourage them to take advantage and walk all over me - but throughout our marriage she'd shown me respect and consideration too. We did love each other, of that I had no doubt, but the passion of the first few years had given way to a slow, steady and unexciting love. Maybe that's why she felt the need to explore another man. What was I going to do about it? Nothing, yet. Maybe tomorrow I'd ask her to explain herself, but I hated starting a fight and I knew I wouldn't really say anything. I'd carry on pretending to ignore the obvious. And so it went for the next few weeks. Twice a week she'd disappear, sometimes letting me know, sometimes not. Every time when she came home there would be evidence of sex. Sometimes if she wore tights when she left, they'd be missing on her return. Twice, she returned without the underwear she left with and on another occasion returned with a large love bite next to one of her nipples. She undressed in front of me as usual and made no comment about it, but it was clearly a love bite and very obvious. It faded after a week, only to be replaced by another on her arse. Another night, when she was undressed after one of her late meetings, I was shocked to see her pubic hair had disappeared!She was totally shaved there! My amazement was too obvious this time to be ignored, I must've looked comical standing there and I'm sure my mouth was hanging open. She actually laughed at my expression and said "Yes, it does look different, doesn't it?" I shut my mouth and swallowed hard, and after a few false starts found my voice; "Yes! It looks lovely. Can I stroke it?", shocking myself again at my boldness. She smiled and lay back on the bed, still with her blouse on, and spread her legs. "Yes, have a look" I didn't need telling twice and I was on my knees in front of her, looking closely at her vulva in all its shaved glory. It was beautiful! So long hidden by an unruly thatch, this hidden gem was finally revealed to my gaze. I tentatively reached forwards and with the back of my fingers, stroked around it, up and over and down each thigh.She sighed softly at my touch and leaned back into the cushions, closing her eyes. Taking this as acceptance, I grew bolder, running my finger up her lips gently at first, then with more pressure. The tip of my finger slipped inside - god it was wet, she was warming up quickly! It normally took her longer to get going. Then I froze as I realized that I wasn't the first man there today, it was wet from her meeting still. With no pubic hair, the evidence wasn't stuck to her outside as usual. Quickly, I recovered, spotting my chance. I lowered my head and very gently licked her there. She stiffened, releasing a little gasp. "Stop..." she said. I stopped and looked up. She was looking directly at me and softly said "No, go on...". Whilst we locked eye contact, I extended my tongue and slipped it right inside her. Instantly I could taste semen mixed with her own juices, the consistency on my tongue lumpier and saltier that should be found in my wife's cunt. Still staring at each other, sharing a deep and meaningful connection,I scooped out the mess with my tongue and held it there outstretched, so she could see it. Then I brought it into my mouth and swallowed.She watched it all, and it was then we both knew that she knew I was aware of her affair and without saying a word, was encouraging her unfaithfulness. She closed her eyes then, and put her head back against the pillows. I stayed licking for another five minutes, cleaning out every crevice, even running my tongue down to her anus to ensure no drips were left. She didn't orgasm exactly, but was clearly enjoying both the act and the taboo. Her husband was licking her lover's spunk from her cunt! How dirty was that? My tongue was getting sore, and my excitement growing. Standing up to remove my underpants which were tenting obviously from my excitement, she opened her eyes and quite gently said, "No, love. Just... No.". Again, that powerful sharing of an understanding flew between us. Clearly, this was how it was going to be. I wasn't allowed to use her like that. And, you know? I was kind of pleased. Having sex with her now would be somehow wrong, especially now I'd done such a thorough job in cleaning her. I smiled and gently pulled the sheets up over her bodywhile she lay, utterly relaxed and content. She was asleep even before I climbed into my side of the bed, sleeping the deep sleep of those without any guilt, while me and my erection lay alongside her, watching her breathe, my heart and mind racing together. Very soon, she was with her lover twice a week in the evenings, and sometimes for the whole afternoon and evening on the Saturdays, all while I stayed at home. The days were regular and she stopped letting me know she was going to be late home, it now being a part of our routine. I still didn't know this man's name or anything about him. She hadn't said anything about him or the affair since that very first night. Sometimes she'd come home and hop straight in the shower, sometimes she would slide into bed without washing - and on those occasions she smelled of sex. She wouldn't let me clean her out every time, perhaps once every couple of weeks and she began to orgasm while I sucked her lover's seed from deep within her hairless vagina,slurping noisily and showing my enjoyment. Once she'd watch me swallow the first load, I would sometimes bring a mouthful of her juices and traces of his semen up to hers and kiss her. She'd allow her mouth to open and the liquid mess slide into hers. She'd then withdraw from the kiss and roll the juices around in her mouth before opening her throat and swallowing it all down in one. I'd then kiss her again, our tongues seeking out traces from each others' mouths. When she tired, I'd slide back to my side of the bed and watch her fall asleep. I wouldn't even masturbate that night, for fear of waking her. I started work a little later than her so would rub myself to spurting release when she left, sometimes stealing her panties from the basket to smell and lick. Sometimes while she was out, I would imagine them together - putting various names and faces into the fantasy. Did he even know she was married? At what point did she tell him, and what questions did he ask? I imagined her telling him of her fool of a husband who would be licking out her cunt whilst he ploughed his massive tool in and out, again and again. I imagined them giggling about me and I wondered what he thought of all this. What kind of a man did he think I was, to let his wife sleep with another? Was he the reason my wife was now refusing me sex entirely? I'd asked more times in the past few weeks than for several years before, but each time she just smiled and shook her head. Had he told her that only he was allowed to fuck her now? Did he own my wife? Worst of all was the question, "Was she in love with him?". I thought possibly yes, but only if she could love two people as I knew she loved me deeply. Perhaps there are two kinds of love for a partner? Perhaps I had never been enough man for her even and she'd always wanted more throughout our marriage. One Sunday morning, I wanted to go out fishing. It's about the only hobby I have, although I only go once in a blue moon when the weather is right and my mood is good. My car wouldn't start though, wouldn't even turn over. Flat battery, I checked the light switch and sure enough, I'd left the lights on friday night. I connected the battery charger from the garage and asked my wife if I could borrow her car. "Sure!" she said, still relaxing in bed - "Just pick up the newspapers for later". I grabbed her keys, put my rod and bag in her car and drove off. The newsagents was on the route to the river so I pulled up outside. It was shut, but was due to open in ten minutes so I sat in the car. Not having anything to read, I opened the glove box to see if there was anything to occupy my time there. There was - a dirty pair of Claire's knickers wadded up and stuffed inside. I balled them up and craftily brought them to my nose, hidden from the few men queing outside the shop, and had a deep sniff. Disapointingly they must have been fairly old, as they were dry and crusty. I put them down and carefully opened them up, but there was just dried pussy juice in the gusset. I put them back where I found them and looked around some more inside the small car. My wife had an awful habit of piling rubbish behind the passenger's seat and something looked out of place amongst the crisp packets and chocolate bar wrappers. I lifted an empty drinks can off it, and there was a condom. Used. Clearly this was also old. Putting it back, I looked up to see one old gentleman in the queue staring right at me. He caught my eye and gave a slow, small smile. Had he seen me? If he had, what did he think? Then the shop opened, the queue shuffled in and I joined them to buy the Sunday papers. I went fishing and then went home. Of course I never mentioned to my wife what I'd found in her car, but later that night, as I lay awake sleeplessly, something occurred to me; Why a condom? She was on the pill and it was clear from my late night feasts that she had unprotected sex with her lover. One Tuesday morning, she had a shower then came back to the bedroom while I lay in bed and dressed in front of me. Her bald pubis no longer shocked me and she shaved it in the shower each morning to keep it smooth. The sun was out and she drew back the curtains, stretching in the light - seemingly not caring if anyone in the street saw her. She then picked out light summer dress with a deeply scooped neckline from the wardrobe. Slipping it over her head, it came down to mid thigh and looked fantastic. She sat down at the dressing table to do her makeup and hair, and casually said "I'm bringing a friend home tonight, can you tidy the house up a bit?" Before I could ask who, she had her fine golden earings in place and was walking past the window and gone. As you have probably gathered, I'm sometimes slow to react to the unexpected and there were two things that hit me once she'd gone; 1) Who was she bringing home? This was unusual, we don't live near her friends or work so visitors weren't common. Was it him? 2) When she walked past the window, I could see every outline of her body. Breasts, belly, thighs. It was thin cotton and I suddenly realized she had no underwear on at all! And she was going to work like that, in a busy office. What was going on? Most of the people she worked with were men - I have noticed that where women work together, they very rarely dress for effect, fearing the scorn if they show too much. Clearly she didn't consider that an issue! Yet again my heart was thumping away, my breath short and my dick hard. I stroked it slowly, knowing that anyone who looked at her today would easily be able to make out the darkness of her aureolas. Her nipples are soft most of the time, but with her 36C's they would be pushing against the fabric. Although the dress was long enough to hide herself if she bent over, the hem was light to be flicked up in the lightest of breezes. These thoughts turned me on to new heights and I very quickly shuddered to a huge orgasm. Reaching into my sock drawer to clean off the shameful mess on my belly, a chuckled to myself; "At least nobody will see a dark triangle between her legs since she started shaving!". After work that night, I set-to and soon had the house looking tidy and smelling nice. Carpets vacuumed, some flowers from the garden on the mantelpiece and fresh linen on the bed. I ate my solo meal and watched some TV. Shortly after 8pm lights flashed across the curtain and I heard her car draw up. Another flash and another engine meant her friend had followed her home. I put the telly on mute and walked out into the hall, hearing her voice talking to somebody as she walked to the door. A key in the lock as I turned on the hall light and she stepped in. She stepped forward to me and gave me a peck on the cheek and a quick squeeze, then turned around to introduce the man who had followed her through the door and shut it. "Hi love, this is Dave - he's a friend from work. I said he could come home for a drink tonight.". Dave was a little older than myself, white, very well groomed with a neat business suit. A touch shorter than my six feet, and had his hair cut short to hide the beginnings of baldness, but you could tell he took care of himself. Where I'd run to fat once I left my manual job, he had a solid middle and square shoulders - I bet he worked out in the gym. He had presence, too - and charm. I immediately liked him. I glanced at his left hand - yes, he had a wedding ring on his third finger. So he was married. Dave smiled disarmingly and put his other hand forward to shake. "Nice to meet you, I've heard a lot about you" he said. I smiled back and shook his hand. Firm, manly, and yes, dominant. Here was a man who was successful. Claire smiled brightly and said "Come on in, take your shoes off and relax." She still wore the same dress and even in the hallway lighting, you could clearly see more than a decent woman would show, and her nipples were making small peaks. They walked past me in the hallway and went through into the lounge. I followed them in and they sat down next to each other on the sofa. My wife flashed me a beautiful smile and said, "Open us up a bottle of that nice red, won't you?" I said "Sure thing" and went to get it. We keep our wine downstairs in the cellar, so I had to climb down beneath the house and find it. As it happens, the lounge is directly above our wine rack and I could hear their voices, his low and quiet, hers higher and a little giggly. It took me a few minutes to find the right bottle, I knew which one she meant - we were given it for Christmas from a relative and had been saving it for an occasion. I guess she'd decided tonight was that special event. As I stood up I realized I could no longer hear voices. I clomped up the wooden stairs, turned off the cellar light and closed the door. I then went to the kitchen and got three of our best wine glasses and a corkscrew. I took the cork out - strictly speaking red wine should breathe for a while, but we're not wine snobs and I didn't think she would mind so I took it straight in. As I entered, I could see them look up startled and in a second took in the facts. The lights had been dimmed, Claire's dress was now pulled up higher than when I'd left, her nipples were sticking out even further,and Dave's fingers were wet. Again, I said nothing and passed Dave one of the glasses, which he took with his sticky fingers, wrapping them around the bowl of the glass, just brushing against my own. I then passed the second glass to Claire before setting my own down on the table. That I hadn't said anything about what was obviously going on seemed to please Dave and he noticeably relaxed while I poured first Claire's drink, then his and then my own. She was already confident I wasn't going to make a scene, but this was the first time Dave and I had met, and by now it was clear he was her lover. I sat down in the comfy chair and we chatted about simple things, the day's weather, how busy work was for each of us and the day's news. This only took five minutes or so and when conversation petered out,Claire took the remote and turned the tv's sound back on. We all sat back and watched some fairly bland sitcom. From my angle, I couldn't really see them that well other than they were sitting very close and seemed to be quite fidgety. I topped up her glass once, but when I held the bottle of Dave's he's covered it with his hand and said "No thanks, I've got to drive back later" As the sitcom finished, Claire stood up and said to me; "We've brought some work home with us for a project that's due tomorrow, we're going to work on it here." She bent down and kissed me then walked out of the lounge with Dave following her.I heard them cross the hall and then enter our bedroom. Wow, I thought. What work do they mean? They had no bags, folders of briefcases with them, and she certainly wasn't carrying anything under that dress! The lounge was at the other end of the house, and with the tv going I couldn't hear them talking. I sat dumbly staring at the tv screen, not seeing a thing for perhaps ten minutes before my curiosity forced me out of the chair. Leaving the tv on, I softly walked towards the bedroom. The hallway light was off, but the bedroom light on and the door slightly ajar. I stood close by, but the door opens towards a wall and there was no way I could see anything, and if I tried to push the door open wider they would have seen immediately. And although it was at ground level, I'd drawn the curtains when I was making the bed earlier. I could hear the bed creaking though, and no voices. I stood immobile and just listened. She moaned. Softly and quietly. I could hear it plainly. I imagined him lying next to her, the dress already on the floor, caressing her breasts and thighs, stroking her naked pubic mound. A rustle of clothing, then a heavy creak. That must be him removing his clothing and getting into bed. Into bed - with my wife! Even now, a voice in my head was shouting "DO something! He's about to fuck your wife!" but I could do nothing. I didn't want to. I was entirely passive, a bystander in this arrangement. If my views had been considered then they had been cast aside as if worthless, and worthless was how I felt right then. Worthless and helpless. Standing outside the bedroom door while a stranger ploughs the woman I'm married to. In our marriage bed. My bed. My house. My turf. I heard her sigh - that sigh she used to make when I entered her. Only now it was for him. The creaking increased, developing a rythm. She was moaning almost constantly now, with the odd "Oh, Dave..." clearly audible around the door. I realized I had my fly undone and was stroking my rock-hard penis in time with them. Her voice louder now, then I heard him for the first time. "Shh...!" he said, clearly worried I would hear them from my supposed location in the lounge. She ignored him, getting even louder. "Oh! Oh! Oh!" She knew me, she knew I wouldn't disturb them. A knot formed in my stomach as the full weight of what was happening slammed home. She could do what she liked, as if she was free and single, and I wouldn't do a damned thing. In fact I'd help her by providing the appearance of a happily married couple. A scream of passion as she came. No way I wouldn't have heard that in the lounge - I could have heard it clear across the street! Dave was grunting now too, and then a "Aaahhh!" of release as he joined her in orgasmic bliss. I also ejaculated, spraying the door, but silently for they also had stopped making noise. They must be lying there together now, still joined but him softening inside her. I retreated to the lounge and took my place back on the sofa. Soon, I could see the hall light come on and Dave appeared in the doorway. He was dressed, poorly, and his tie was dangling out of his pocket. He had lipstick smudged across his mouth. He smiled and said, "I'm off now, nice meeting you". I said "Bye, you too" and he stayed in the doorway a second longer, as if he wanted to say something else but was fighting an internal struggle. Finally he overcame it and softly asked, "Is that really your wife?" I nodded yes and he widened his eyes and said, "Shit...", then turning, collecting his shoes in the hall and leaving. I heard his car start up and back slowly out into the street, then the lights flashed across the window and he was gone. No sound from Claire, but I turned off the tv and walked around the house making sure the door was locked and lights were off before going into the bedroom. The lights were still on and she was lying back on the bed, propped up by the pillows, completely naked, watching me. Was this a test? Did she expect me to explode in anger and spite? I couldn't do that, so I walked past and said conversationally, "Dave seems like a nice bloke. Did you get your work done ok?" That actually shocked her - I could see it in her eyes. I wondered if she thought that I didn't care if she screwed somebody in our wedding bed, but the truth was very different. I cared very deeply, and that depth of my love meant I wanted the best for her. Clearly I hadn't been able to provide it myself. She looked beautiful lying there. Hair askew, a post-coital blush on her pink skin, softening the contrast between her dark red auraelia and the untanned skin of her breasts. Further down, her legs were slightly apart and I could clearly see her labia were enlarged and a soft rose color. They were also slick with juices and a glimpse of whiteness at the bottom of the lips showed Dave had not worn a condom. I loved her more than I ever had before. "You look lovely," I said as I undressed myself for bed, "do you want cleaning?". I asked it as if it was the most natural thing in the world and nothing to do with sex, perversions or unfaithfulness. She shook her head, still not having said anything. "Ok," I said meekly and slipped between the covers and turned the light off. We lay there together, a foot apart, for ten minutes, then I guess she got cold as she pulled the covers over her naked body and turned so her back was towards me. She said something that I couldn't heard. "Sorry?" I asked. "Hold me," she said, a little louder. I turned onto my side and slid so I was lying up close to her, and spooned. One arm over her waist, just below her breasts. She was stiff, so I asked "What's the matter, are you ok?" She relaxed then and murmured, "Yes, if you are." "I'm fine," I answered, and snuggled in closer. Her warmth and softness soon had my erection returning and we were positioned so that it raised up between her legs. I could feel the warmth and wetness of her drooling cunt as it touched her there. I lay still, savoring the knowledge that the last of the seed from my frustrated wank outside the door was mingling with Dave's as it pushed between her lips. Finally I could bear it no longer and gave the tiniest of thrusts. The head of my dick slipped perhaps half an inch inside her folds, but she straightened up and with a firm "No!" pushed me back over onto my side. "Ah well," I mused to myself, "At least I didn't get the wet spot". And, with that thought I slipped into oblivion remarkably quickly for such a momentous day. She brought Dave home about once a week after that. Sometimes they didn't even say hello, just rushed past me straight into the bedroom.On one occasion, it was still daylight and I knew the curtains were open, so I silently walked into the back garden and peeped around. I had an excellent view. Claire was riding Dave cowgirl-style, her back towards me and her long black hair flowing down it as she bounced up and down on his cock. Dave's hands were holding her breasts, and I could see even from the back the tight skin as he twisted and pulled them. My wife always enjoyed a little firmness there and I was strangely aroused to see that she had taught another how to pleasure her in that way. I only had the briefest of glimpses before I heard a familiar voice shout, "Why, howdy stranger!" and looked up to see my neighbor, Chris, in his garden next door. A pair of secateurs in his hand told me he'd been out pruning and had seen me. He couldn't see into the bedroom from where he was, so to prevent him walking further along his fence to a place where he would have been able to see in, I smiled and walked over to talk to him. John and I had chatted a few times when we were both working in our gardens, and although it was hard to concentrate on the conversation while my wife fucked somebody else only feet away, I kept him talking for a little while - Chris had served in the Royal Navy as an officer and now in his 60's, was retired. Sadly his wife had died a few years before, but he was determindly cheerful and kept himself busy. His garden put mine to shame and he was often out there working away when it wasn't raining. Suddenly I could hear my wife approaching orgasm so started talking louder. "Say Chris, how do you get your Roses looking so beautiful?" I asked. He had obviously heard her and was looking confused, but my question triggered pride in his abilities and he started to tell me about soil preparation, feeding and pruning. Occasionally his brow wrinkled and he cast a sidelong glance towards my house whenever Claire screamed particularly loudly, but he stuck by his guns and by the time he had finished telling me how to control aphids, the house was silent. We talked a little longer and it was clear he was distracted and I guess my ignoring the obvious must have assured him everything was normal. I heard a vehicle start up and drive away in the street just as I was saying bye to Chris and walked back into the house to find Dave gone. One thing good about Dave was he never hung around to drink my beer, eat my snacks or make a nuisance of himself. He visited for one purpose, and from what I'd just seen, he fulfilled that very well. I entered the bedroom to see my wife once again laying naked on the bed. I was upbeat as usual and asked her "Hi Petal, you have a good day?" as if nothing at all was wrong. Ignoring my question, she said softly, "Clean me, please". I nodded and climbed onto the bed. Lowering myself to her vagina,I was surprised not to see any of the usual white gunk oozing out. As if she read my mind, she said, "No, lower." I looked down and saw that she meant her anus.Dave had chosen a different hole today. I was surprised, she'd never let me try that, but I had a job to do. There was no way I could reach it where she was lying, so I took my pillow and motioned for her to move up. She arched herself so that her bottom cleared the sheetsand I slid it under. Lying flat in front of her, I moved in. This was very different, the angles, the view, the smell. Her anus was red and sore, with a wet-looking shine. A thought occurred. I raised my head and looked at my bedside table where I kept a small tub of Vaseline to treat some dry skin I get on my toes, and it was open. They'd used my Vaseline! Had he scooped it out with his fingers, or plunged his dick into it? I returned to her arsehole and started lapping away. Working from the outside in, catching the dribbles that had run downwards first. My tongue explored her sphincter, somewhere it had never been before - with her or anyone else. I wasn't especially turned on by scat, but I was horny as hell by the act I was performing now. Gently probing and pushing, my tongue entered that most taboo of places. Obviously it was looser than it would otherwise have been, but it was still much tighter than her vagina and I couldn't move it around much. I could tell by Claire's breathing that she was getting close to orgasm with my lapping and swirling. My nose was pressed up tight just below her vagina and I was breathing through my mouth, breathing in the combined smell of their sex, this time mixed with another, darker and familiar smell. She came, and her legs clamped down, trapping me in place and pushing me so tight I couldn't breathe! This was a long, slow orgasm and she was spasmodically jerking for what seemed like forever.I tried to keep going with my tongue, but soon the lack of air was having an affect and my ears started ringing, stars appeared in my vision and I felt myself drifting away. Luckily she released her pressure before I blacked out and I was able to fall back and breathe deeply. I was incredibly turned on. Kneeling up in bed, still facing her, I took my penis out and started masturbating whilst looking at her.My rythmic movements must have seeped into her post-orgasmic fog and she opened her eyes. They quickly widened in shock and she blurted out, "No! Go away, you pervert.", and grabbed the covers to hide herself. Embarrassed and confused, I left the room. Half an hour later she was dressed in her comfy cotton tracksuit and came into the lounge. Nothing was said about what had happened, and we talked as normal. By now, Dave was coming back to ours so often that it had become the norm. I would be watching tv of an evening and hear either one or two cars turn up. One meant Claire was alone, two meant Dave. They come in, sometimes laughing and giggling. On those times they'd go straight to the bedroom and start making love. By now they were leaving the door wide open, and if I was quiet I could peep around it and watch them.Dave worked hard and made sure she was satisfied before he finished, sometimes trying seven or eight different positions. I never saw him go down on her though, and somehow I thought that right - that was my special job, something for which only I could please her. On other nights, they'd come back - often straight from work, and join me in the lounge watching telly. They'd always sit close on the sofa, sometimes stroking each other and whispering softly. Sometimes in these situations I felt like the father of a teenage girl bringing her boyfriend home; protective and yet realizing I needed to let her live her own life. Generally they'd excuse themselves and go to the bedroom when I'd lower the volume of the tv and listen to them fucking. I often masturbated and because there was no handy sock or tissue handy in the lounge, would ejaculate onto the back of my left hand and lick it up. I didn't get the same pleasure of this as licking Dave's spunk out of Claire's well used cunt, but it saved making a mess. He always left soon after he had finished.Sometimes she'd follow him out to the front door, she still naked, and they'd kiss goodbye, not caring if I was there or in the kitchen which overlooked it. Dave didn't exactly ignore me, he said "Hi" or smiled and nodded at me whenever we made eye contact, and certainly didn't go out of his way to humiliate me - it was as if I had no say or right in the matter, and in a way that was true. Sometimes she'd go back to bed and fall asleep, sometimes she'd come into the lounge and lie on the sofa, still totally naked and oozing Dave. I was changing sheets and wiping down chairs a lot more often lately, I realized. On the nights she didn't see him, my wife behaved just as before. Polite, friendly, but slightly distant. It was if she was two different people. Slutty Claire, who wore revealing clothing to please her lover and was sexually demanding and often spent much of the time at home naked, and Wife Claire - who did the chores, kissed her husband at night and slept in a nightshirt. One evening she was very late back, I'd stayed up until 11 but then went to sleep.I was lying asleep in bed, turned away from her side, and was aware of quiet voices in the bedroom. I lay still and in darkness, and shortly I heard the familiar rustling of clothing being removed and the bed shifted and creaked as she climbed in - and then heavier creaking as he joined her. I heard her start to moan, not two feet from me and the whole bed was rocking. I slowly turned over so I was facing them and saw her lying on the back, head turned towards me with her eyes open while a naked Dave was between her legs slowly thrusting into her, missionary style.She watched me in the low light without expression.I stared into her eyes as this other man gave her pleasure on our marriage bed and tried to understand what she was thinking, but her expression gave no clues. He increased tempo and the rising crest caused her to lose focus on me and her eyes shut and moaning resumedas he took her to a shuddering orgasm, her legs bent back in a sign of utter submission to him, her heels dug into the backs of his thighs to pull him in deeper.Dave paused for a few seconds to let her recover, then withdraw and pushed at her raised knee to indicate he wanted her doggy style. Eyes opened again now, and without breaking eye contact with mine, she turned towards me and then onto her knees and elbows. He lined up behind her and pushed in hard. Dave then turned his head and also looked right at me, we too made a connection then. He thrust into my wife right next to me whilst staring me in the face, her breasts hanging low and swinging back and forth with his energy. His impression was one of utter dominance and seemed to say; "This is my woman and I'll do what I like with her." I looked from his eyes to Claire's. As she was obviously in agreement with this sentiment I felt I had no choice but to accept it, and in reality it was far too late to lodge an objection. He was claiming her in front of me, in my bed - I know of no greater show of dominance of one man over another. I was beaten and humiliated. Without subtlety this time, he rammed in and out of her, reaching under her with one hand to roughly squeeze her breasts and pull her nipples, making them rigid. She buried her face in the pillow now, muffled screaming as she came again. He didn't stop, his groin slapping hard against her buttocks again and again. Now pulling her long black hair, he pulled her face free of the pillows and the pain seemed to heighten her pleasure. Her elbows free from the bed too, he was supporting her entire front body by pulling her hair. He carried on the remorseless attack on her body and soon as grunting as his own climax approached. Together they came, he giving a low guttural grunt and she screaming in mixed pain and pleasure, I could see his buttocks pulsing as he pushed his seed deep within her. He released her hair and she landed face-first into the pillow, neither caring, then collapsed his arms and landed alongside between us. They lay there panting, sweat shining in the darkness. Gradually they recovered together while I lay watching them, now pushed to the edge of bed. Her voice said something. Not knowing who she was talking to, I ignored it. She said it again, "Clean us." It was an order for me, but not one given unkindly. Wordlessly I slipped out of bed and walked to the foot before going onto the bed on hands and knees to do my duty between her legs, slightly nervous as I'd never done this with anyone else watching. As I neared my target, her hand softly pushed against my head, stopping me. "Him first" I froze. They waited. He was on his side, facing her and watching me. His penis was lying soft in his lap, shining from their juices and with his pubic hair matted. Again, I wondered briefly what to do and decided there was only one thing I could do without making a fuss. So I leaned to my right and faced his flaccid organ.To give me easier access, he rolled onto his back - onto my side of the bed, probably still warm from my own heat - and I lowered my face to his groin. Tentatively, I lapped at his dark bushy thatch covering his scrotum, and not finding much to clean there, moved my target to around the base of his penis. Her juices were thick here and I licked them clean from him, nudging his limp penis to one side with my nose. Once that was done, there was only one thing left to clean, and puckering up I placed my mouth over his foreskin and sucked it gently into my mouth, bringing the rest of it into my mouth as I created a vacuum. Allowing my saliva to fill my mouth, I washed first the base and then the shaft with my tongue, swirling it around carefully. I slid my tongue between his glans and foreskin, running it slowly around, before putting my hand between his body and my mouth and tugging the skin down his dick, uncovering the glans fully in my mouth. It was growing now inside my mouthas I sucked gently, concentrating on my cleaning task. I squeezed from the base upwards to ensure every drip of semen was ejected onto my tongue from within it. As clean as it could be, I withdrew my mouth and looked at the now erect tool. It was quite thick and of average length. Probably the same length as mine - about six inches. I looked up at his face and he smiled and gave me a kind nod. I felt like a puppy being told "Good boy!" and was surprisingly pleased with the gesture. Lowering myself onto Claire's genitals now, I first licked the bald exterior all the way down to her anus, before climbing back up and fishing the first and biggest glob of Dave's sperm out onto my tongue from her crevices. Withdrawing my head, I showed it to her and then to him, before closing my mouth and swallowing. It tasted delicious. I carefully resumed my task and within a couple of minutes, she was as clean as far as I could reach. She smiledand I was pleased that I'd made her happy. Crawling backwards off the bed I stood up and looked at them lying side by side. They looked great, a beautiful couple. It was clear Dave was intending to stay where he was for the night, claiming my rightful place in our marital bed,so I took a duvet from the cupboard and a spare pillow and made myself a nest on the floor at the foot of the bed. Within minutes, and despite my still aching erection, I was curled up asleep. I woke at dawn to the sounds of them making love above me. I could still taste their juices in my mouth from the night before as I quietly left my duvet and moved the chair by the window to watch them. This was a gentle lovemaking; he took time caressing her breasts, stomach and thighs, licking her neck and sucking on her earlobes. They kissed deeply as her arms reached behind him, laying still against each other. I was in awe of their connection and yes, a little jealous of it. Dave lowered his mouth to her left breast, and with us both watching, sucked hard above her nipple, leaving a very red and obvious love bite. He then moved upwards and did the same underneath her jaw, then moved lower. I was worried that he was about to perform cunnilingus on her, and that was my special job - but instead he placed his mouth against the inside of her thigh, about three inches below her vagina and made another lovebite - this time quite huge, the soft skin allowing him to suck quite a lot into his mouth. The meaning was obvious - reinforcing his earlier claim over my wife, marking her as his to everyone. The moved gently against each other and were soon enjoying a slow and lazy morning orgasm, timed to perfection. Whilst they lay there, I opened the curtains and just as I was turning to go into the kitchen to make us breakfast, Dave asked "Can you please get my bag out of my car? Keys are in my trouser pocket." Although worded like a question, it was clearly an order and I automatically obeyed. This man was used to being in control. I fished around in his discarded trousers and found a keyring. Putting on a dressing gown, I went outside and saw a black BMW parked behind Claire's Fiat. I blipped the button on the fob and the hazard lights flashed. Opening the door, I collected a sports bag and returned to the house, blipping the fob once again to lock the car. The shower was running and there was giggling from the bathroom, so I left his bag on the crumpled bed with the keys next to it. They were out quite quickly, giggling and back into the bedroom while I brewed tea and made toast. I thought they might start making love again, but they were out too soon, dressed and smelling clean and fresh. He'd changed into casual chinos and a blue shirt, obviously the contents of his bag - today was Friday and her workplace had a policy of "Dress down Fridays" and discouraged employees wearing suits to encourage free thinking. My wife was wearing something I'd not seen before, and I wondered if that had also been in Dave's bag. It was a very clingy white, one-piece dress that squeezed her breasts together and revealed a chasmic cleavage, before descending down her body, hugging her rear end and ending at the very tops of her thighs. All three of last night's love bites were visible - the ones on her thigh and neck were naked, and the one above her breast showing through the material. Clearly she didn't care who saw them.The material was so thin you could see her nipples and that she had no underwear on. If she bent over in this, there'd be no hiding! She looked like a million dollars. Not just the body or the outfit, but that she shone, so obviously happy. I loved her so much it was a joy to see. Determined to keep my face of normality, I smiled at Dave and then my wife, saying "You look nice, love." She beamed back at me and pushed her arm through Dave's and grabbing a piece of buttered toast each, stepped out the door together - in every appearance a couple deeply in love. I watched from the door as they embraced, kissed deeply, then drove off in their separate cars. I went back to the bedroom, picked her still damp panties from the floor and lay down where they'd so recently been fucking. Closing my eyes, I held the panties over my mouth and licked them while I masturbated. Putting the panties over my dick at climax, I filled them and then savoured the act of licking them clean again, pretending the sperm was his. Quickly, I dressed and got myself ready for work, leaving the mess in the bedroom to tidy up later that night. She was back that evening, still wearing the dress, but something was obviously wrong.Her mascara had run down her face and she ran past me into the now tidied bedrom and collapsed sobbing on the bed. I followed her in and asked "What's wrong? What happened? Tell me, I can help.", almost wheedling in my tone. I so wanted my wife to be happy that it tore me up to see her like this. It took almost half an hour before she'd calmed down enough to tell me, and as usual she gave no details or justifications. She just said "Dave's wife found out and he won't see me anymore." Actually hearing those words - the first spoken confirmation that she was having an affair at all - were like an electric shock. We all knew about them sleeping together and that I'd even taken part in it, but hearing it actually spoken somehow crossed some sort of line and made it real. The past three months had been a kind of surreal fantasy where I nodded, smiled and made polite conversation whilst watching my wife being pleasured and loving another man. I asked some questionsbut she refused to say more, just pushed me away as I tried to comfort her, and curled into a fetal position on the bed. Her labia were showing under the short dress so I gently pulled up the covers over her. I withdrew and left her to grieve. I was sad too, not only did I like Dave and felt I was losing a friend, but to see my wife so unhappy after the high of this morning tore me up inside. At tea time, I took her some food and left it on the bedside table with a glass of milk, perhaps subconsciously thinking that white liquid drew us together. I didn't even know if she knew I was there, as she was just lying in the same position and didn't acknowledge me. At bed time, I did my usual chores and was met in the hallway by her. She walked into my arms and gave me a massive hug, my hands enjoying the feeling of the lycra covering her lower back. Standing back within my embrace, she looked up, with black streaks down both cheeks, and said, "I love you. Thank you." and kissed me softly on the mouth.


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Discussion in 'Just Dance' started by isaacjunk, Mar 18, 2017.
It's to be expected that our experiences are different, as we learned from different teachers
Indeed, you are right. My experience was 0 out of about 15 male salsa "teachers" in 4 different countries. Perhaps I had a very limited sample number.
AVENTURA was HUGE in the United States during their existence. I don't know from what vantage point you were on when they were around, but they were certainly recognized by both U.S. born audiences and by the U.S. based music industry. You're welcome to show how exactly you came to the conclusion you made and I'll gladly rebuttal with some real proof of Aventura's success. A U.S. market success which prompted the lead vocalist [Romeo Santos] to go solo. The ONLY reason he would have done so. The U.S. market dictates such things. Otherwise, WHY go solo if the actual group you're a part of doesn't "hit" in the most important market in the world. The richest and most influential market in the world.
Your analogy fits a group like the Spanish Harlem Orchestra. Or Larry Harlow and the Latin Legends. Rock Stars in other countries, but can't get arrested in the states. That isn't to suggest they don't perform in the USA, but they themselves will tell you that the "love" is much grander and greater abroad and outside U.S. borders than within. And that is only NOW, in 2017.
BTW-With that said, the Spanish Harlem Orchestra will be performing in NYC in April [Private function], May [West Gate Lounge) and June [Lehman Performing Arts Center] and Larry Harlow and the Latin Legends will be performing in NYC in the month of May for a weekend long residency at the Blue Note Jazz Club on Bleecker Street, NYC.
I'm going to take responsibility for what I express. Not for what you understand. If you interpreted what I wrote to represent that I, a proud Latino, would be "de-latinizing" "Salsa" with my comments about how dance studio trained students of cultural expression are getting on a high horse and deciding that what they do on the social level is authentic or even "trained," as opposed to a couple of women who hail from Latin America and don't meet a dance studio technique's standards, which is nothing more than less than a handful of movements, when to break, etc., then that's on you. My post clearly doesn't convey what you've just stated it to represent. I should be pretty clear that I am debunking your idea that "most girls from Latin America" aren't trained to dance 'Salsa.'
That's Christopher Columbus talking. It takes two to tango. Let's hear from those women who were the targets of your ire and what they have to say about their experience with you on the dance floor. I'm pretty sure they're going to have another kind of opinion.
Anyone who is actually "trained" wouldn't have an issue dancing with anybody. Because culture is not 2,3,4 - 5,6,7. That's for people who desire structure. Who desire a guide to follow. For folks unwilling to let go and rules be damned and just express themselves... however or whichever way the "spirit" moves them. There's nothing wrong with structure or discipline. But that doesn't make you anymore superior or certainly not "trained" because a person expresses themselves in a manner that deviates from what you were taught. That might make "sense" in a Dance Studio social in the USA, but the original poster wasn't actually dancing in a dance studio in the USA, were they?...
Would you care to share how Salsa is MORE of a cultural heritage of the United States, a whole lot more than it would be or is in many Latin American countries? There's more Puerto Rican in the U.S. than there is in Puerto Rico. Which group do you think has a stronger, more "nationalistic" fervor for the music? It's the tiny island in the Antilles, overshadowed by Cuba, Haiti and the Dominican Republic. It should be obvious why that is the case. But you seem to be so sure of yourself. I'd be interested in reading why you believe what you wrote.
It's too bad you weren't around a long time ago. But in 2017, "Salsa" is so not perceived as the cultural heritage of the United States. Not by a long shot brother. It's one thing to be a fan or have a deep passion for it. It's quite another to interpret or translate your passion into conveying an unrealistic reality. Colombia, Peru and Puerto Rico, to name just three, are countries that have truly adopted the canon of Cuban Popular Music. It's governments are advocates of the musical culture. It recognizes its artists. It's innovators. It's legendary figures and its contemporary practitioners. They have instituted an annual "National Day" devoted to Salsa. They have ceremonies to publicly recognize them. They build statues to honor them. They have media that programs nothing BUT "Salsa." They also support the "living" culture. Producing and financially supporting festivals and free concerts on a regular basis. They have a Hotel industry that books or contracts "live" orchestras.
The United States has no such advocacy or support for "Salsa."
"Salsa" in the U.S. is held up by the private sector. By promoters. By people who volunteer to work for free of charge and devote themselves to broadcasting the music, and offer other related content on a weekly basis over public radio. This music is not featured in any great way on either commercial television or radio. It's not in mainstream big budget films. It doesn't get recognized on air during industry award presentations broadcast over mainstream television (Grammys, Billboards, American Music Awards, etc.). No "Salsa" artist is endorsing any sort of commercial for-profit product in the USA. And even the Salsa Congresses and dance socials deviate from making "Salsa" THE featured element at their event. Bachata & Kizomba have now become a standard part of the dance experience one will have available to them at a "Salsa" dance event.
No one is saying "Salsa" isn't something you can't embrace or make a part of your cultural identity as a non-Latino. What you can't do [whether you are a non-Latinx or a Latinx) is point your finger at a Latinx and state so emphatically that you got it together moreso than [fill-in-the-blank] do. "Salsa" is inclusive. Not to be co-opted into an elitist package revolved around dance instruction. "Salsa's" very essence is "chaotic order." The music is polyrhythmic in that different things are happening at once, all intended to produce ONE sound. Dance is very much the same way. It's not just memorizing the arsenal of moves that were taught in class. But taking that dance lesson and reimagining it with your very own creativity, but with the ability to "resolve" yourself and find your place back in the "lesson plan." Back in the fold. In sync with the music and with your partner. The same way a pianist or any other improviser does with the music. The dancer is the music. And music is free. Art is freedom to express. "Trained" is for the ballet. This is "Salsa."
Ironically, I've had a much different experience or perspective. From where I was standing, Bachata was popular in the mid to late 1980s and, especially throughout the 1990s. And on a commercial level mind you. Moreso than "Salsa Dura" was. Or the On2/ET2 style dance scene, which was being nurtured in the 1990s at certain clubs on certain days of the week or weekend. All the nightclubs in NYC that programmed or catered to Latin American culture, whether in Queens, Washington Heights, Downtown, the Bronx, Harlem, Brooklyn and even nearby New Jersey, at the very least, were dancing to "Victor Victor," Juan Luis Guerra, Anthony Santos, and a slew of others. It is for that reason that a young group such as AVENTURA emerged in the 1990s of NYC. Dominican Yorks. Dominicans born in the United States and in NYC, in particular. Why would they have gravitated to such a music is it was repulsed by a majority of the consumers?
While the On2 crowd would empty out the dance floor when a DJ would put on a Merengue at a dance social, guess what was happening outside in the nightclubs and lounges where the mainstream public could be found at? A Merengue came on and EVERYONE was dancing. A Bachata would come on, and that was yet ANOTHER excuse to grab a girl (from the male perspective) and get your groove on. Both were the easiest dances in the world. More people flocked to it from my POV than they were with the Tito Puente music. That's just a fact. Instruction in the 1990s was growing, but not yet a recognized necessity by the younger generations. (Today is much different and instruction is perceived as much as being a physical workout as going to a gym. It's just another form of exercise than an actual "social" construct that makes up the nightlife). And I would also venture to say that's all over. Whatever is easiest to engage in is where the numbers will be larger.
You're looking at it from a generational standpoint. The same way "Salsa" purists and even "historians" do. If today "Salsa" is a world wide phenomenon, it is in large parts due to the USA is only partially accurate. The USA has also benefitted from Latin American artistry and a Latin American immigration that has helped to fuel the commercial industry, as well as create a pro-active scene on the local level of cities in the United States. It has always been a give and take. And it still is.
Don Azpiazu, a band from Cuba, comes to the USA in 1930 and both performs and records, and returns to Cuba. Only to return and later make its way around Europe. But their impact influences the U.S. popular music industry of the era to re-record EL MANICERO. Duke Ellington, Red Nichols, Louis Armstrong, etc. All their respective orchestras record the tune. It's a hit in the U.S. and Europe.
Eliseo Grenet was playing in Paris, France in 1935 at a nightclub where he was performing his brand of Afro Cuban music with his orchestra, and later came to NYC in 1936 and was among the first Afro-Cuban music composers and band leaders to hold a residency on Broadway. But before any of this, he was an active musician in Cuba throughout the 1920s and early 1930s.
Damaso Perez Prado was a musician in Cuba during the late 1930s and early 1940s. He made his way to NYC in the mid 1940s. Then worked briefly in Puerto Rico in 1946. Then finally to Mexico in '47, where he became a sensation in that country with his debut release as a leader in '48. He is then signed by a U.S. record label in 1949 and offers up the same brand of music he had been doing in Mexico. He then hits Europe and tours throughout the continent. Makes his way back to the USA and later Latin America and repeats the process all over again.
The same scenarios can be attribute to hundreds of other artists. It's a little one-dimensional to simply say that the United States is the reason why everyone around the world knows about "Salsa." Every generation produces a brand "new" audience to this music. For many people, the Buena Vista Social Club was their introduction to the music. For many people in Europe, bands from CUBA were their introduction to what we identify as "Salsa." For people in South or Central America, or even Europe, artists ranging from Colombia to Africa are responsible for introducing them to what we identify as "Salsa." For someone in NYC, their initial exposure to "Salsa" was music being recorded in or performed on television produced in Puerto Rico. Which is what happened with me.
"Salsa" is embraced around most of the globe because music with clave has always had a presence around most of the globe, throughout the 20th century. Going back to the first modern Sones in the 1920s to the "Mambo" era of the late '40s to the mid-1950s, and to the "Salsa" era of the late 1960s through the present day. "Salsa" is simply a name or label for a movement or musical tradition that has been happening for a very long time. The USA is certainly one of the most important centers of this activity for no other reason than because it is in the U.S., and NYC in particular, where the modern day recording industry as it became known as, began in NYC. Every artist from Cuba, Puerto Rico, Colombia, etc. traveled to NYC in the 1900s-19teens-1920s-1930s, to record a 78rpm. Cuba doesn't have its own home grown record label until the early 1940s. The Panart label. The majority of the Puerto Rican popular songbook is recorded in the U.S. by the time the first record label emerges in Puerto Rico. That doesn't mean that the sun set or that the sun shined solely in NYC or the USA for that matter. RADIO was the X-Factor. Unlike the last 60 years, there were no LPs in the 1920s to the 1940s. So a 78 rpm wasn't enough. There was demand to experience music beyond those singles that were released. People wanted more and they turned to RADIO. If you could capture the signal, short wave radio by the CMQ station in Cuba is what people who had a passion for it tuned in to. Or they would tune into local stations who would broadcast "live" out of hotel ballrooms or cabarets, both in NYC and in Puerto Rico. For "Salsa" to be 'world-wide' there has to be activity taking place everywhere and simultaneously so. The only reason a dance instructor or performer from NYC is invited/booked to perform or conduct a workshop at an event in Europe, Asia, etc., is because there is already something happening over there. And the booking/invitation of this outsider from their home base is simply they furthering the present demand and encouraging local audiences to maintain interest in "Salsa." The U.S. doesn't have a thriving industry with local U.S. based "Salsa" artists (Musicians/Pro-dancers) without the rest of the planet facilitating opportunity for that industry to be dynamic. Today, it is the regions outside of the USA that are the life blood of many of the veteran band leaders based in the both the U.S. and in the Caribbean.
In the very same way that "Salsa" is touted as this multi-contributed musical genre, the historic reality is that it is multiple factors of events taking place both in the USA and outside the USA that fueled the market for it. If the USA, Mexico, Cuba and Puerto Rico, all had the "Salsa" cylinders going simultaneously, and on a par with Colombia, Venezuela, Peru and now the Dominican Republic (who have just recently within the last few years taken to embracing what we here in the USA refer to as "Salsa Romantica,") we would be seeing an entirely different industry. It would be on a whole other level of visibility. Like it used to be before most of us were born (Except maybe Terence... ;-) )
Me ?.. but I'm only 29..
Your last three post are a really excellent description of what I also conceive as salsa reality! Thanks!
Actually I am purposefully throwing out a general vice specific statement when I wrote that. I challenge you to read some books and watch some documentaries regarding the history of salsa. You'll find the US brand to be a long standing, highly influential brand. The only place I concede to be more influential is Cuba, which is where the basic forms and rhythms of son, guaracha, guajira, and cha-cha-cha all developed.
I don't know how to quote from multiple posts, so please forgive my ignorance, Live2dance also said the below:
1) There is a reason why a leader is called a leader! Like a manager it is their responsibility to get things right, from the position on the floor to the leading of the sequence of moves. Dancewise I used to think like you when things were going wrong. Now I realise that in a great number of occassions the inability of the lady to perform a move or action maybe because am preventing her to do so (wrong hold, slight overturn, etc). So before I start looking at my dance partner I look at what am doing first!
You are confusing responsibility with accountability.
It is a leader's responsibility to create an environment conducive for an activity and delineate to the team how that activity is going to be accomplished. The leader is also responsible for understanding the ability level of his/her crew and tasking them appropriately based on their ability. With social dancing there is no interview process a follower is expected to complete prior to moving to the dance floor, thereby moving the responsibility for understanding ability level unto the first dance with a particular partner (and I don't issue a breathalyzer test prior to dance either). For a regular in a particular city over ten years, that person will develop a strong understanding of the dancers in the scene. That's not me, I travel the world dancing with over 1,000 women over four continents and many islands.
Similarly a follower is supposed to be open to the ideas of the leader and carry them out as best as they can. A follower who opposes the leader can sabotage and destroy that activity and take down the whole enterprise. In cases of sabotage, the leader is not responsible for the result, even if they are accountable for said result.
In salsa dancing, both leader and follower are accountable for the end result together, each responsible for carrying out specific duties. That's why when X guy dances with Y girl it's so amazing that a whole bunch of people can only help but stare; when afterwards X guy dances with another girl and another guy takes out Y girl nobody stares at either couple. And the reason is that the other guy and girl are not able to match the communication and skill they have together and are unable to take responsibility for leading @ turn or following # combination.
Nobody here claimed US was the sole contributor to salsa, or even the most important, but some of us think it's role has been very important in the music's history.
I said that the US had a more important role than many countries in Latin America. And that on that basis, a woman's national origin from a country in Latinamerica did not entitle her special consideration on the dance floor, nor was it a good enough reason to assume if there was a problem dancing that it was the lead's fault. That made the Latina lovers lose it. They further lost it when I claimed the US Salsa output constitutes part of the country's cultural heritage, and that Americans should own it as such. If Motown is part of US Cultural heritage, Fania is too.
Some Latinas just suck at dancing, I don't know why it's hard for some people to just accept that.
On your first paragraph, your initial post appeared much stronger. But am ok with your current point.
On the second, I will use a different example linking the two issues (heritage and followers). Look at ChaCha. The British took it and included it in their Ballroom latin dances and they dance this dance all over the country. There are probably more people in the UK dancing Cha than they are in Cuba (and sometimes to authentic music). Does it make Cha or even Rumba or Samba or Jive or Paso a cultural heritage of the UK? No! But Ballroom dancing and standardisation and love for dancing, is!
Now link to the followers. If a UK BR Cha champion meets a latina that has been listening and dancing with her family and friends for her whole life should he expect that she will dance the way he does or should he expect and accept that he is going to get a different experience than dancing with a BR follower? And does that give him the right to tell the latina who knows nothing about fwd bwd break or fan position or or ... that she is a bad dancer or she does not dance cha?
You tell me?
On the first, @Richie Blondet gave a very extensive answer and I have nothing to add.
On the second, ask experienced dancers and they will tell you that they know the lady's capabilities from the first 5 seconds of the dance. Some have already an understanding by watching the lady dance previously (I mean if you go and pick a girl off the bar and take her to the dance floor then what do you expect). Regularity-wise I am similar to you so I usually sit a dance or two out and have a look at the level on the floor. Then I adjust my expectations. Interview, you may say that...like screening CVs!
On the last, what you are confusing here is social and performance dancing. See my post above. I don't wish to repeat things.
I didn't stress you did. I was very specific in responding to what you wrote. Which was the notion that people all over the world are hip to "Salsa" on account of the activity/events/history/timeline as it relates to the USA. I'm disagreeing with that notion because it's only PARTIALLY accurate. As I already explained, "Salsa" being a global phenomenon is due to its longevity of activity taking place on a global level. An orchestra like the Fania All-Stars were able to tour internationally in Europe, Asia, Africa, South America, North America and the Caribbean, because those "routes" had already been established decades earlier. Start thinking Afro-Cuban music and eliminate terms like "Salsa," "Mambo," "Boogaloo," or "Rhumba," and phase out regional ideas as well (Cuba, New York, Puerto Rico, Mexico, etc.) it helps to see the history of the music squarely on the music's trajectory itself and not as individual or distinct phenomenons taking place at certain times and at certain places. "Salsa" is a term that is attached to a music that was already taking place conceptually, albeit interpreted by a new generation with new local ideas and a veteran contingent that maintained or maintains the tradition as they recognize it to be best exemplified as.
You didn't specify why with any examples to illustrate. The reason the U.S. was integral was because the recording industry was here. Which brought many musical artists from Latin America to make their way to where the work could be found. Just as any U.S. based actor or actress is going to naturally consider making their way to Hollywood, CA. (Los Angeles, CA.) if their pursuit is to be in film or television. That phenomenon also coincided with the reality of Latin America as it relates to "race." The African Diaspora in Cuba and elsewhere in the Spanish speaking Americas, are responsible for the innovations and simultaneously co-developed their culture's popular music. All these countries have their own "Jim Crow" culture within their societies. While the U.S. was no different, NYC had two things in its favor. The recording industry was based in NYC. And there was a district in NYC that the public identified as a Black metropolis. Harlem. An area where "Jim Crow" was no longer a factor by 1935, upon the manifestation of what scholars regard as the first "modern" race riot in the U.S. After that, nobody imposed discriminatory practices in the district. It was a welcome environment for a Black Latino. Thus, why so much talent made its way to NYC and were firmly established as leading artists or contenders by 1940. Economics and Race is why the U.S. played an important role in the history of Cuban Popular Music.
But you have no basis. Just because Fania is touted as the Latin Music equivalent to Motown, that doesn't mean its true. In fact, nothing could be further from the truth. That's just promotional rhetoric. But its empty. Like calling Tito Rodriguez the Frank Sinatra of Latin Music. It's a comparison. Some characteristics are similar. But so too are scores of other artists. And the fact is, Sinatra and Rodriguez are two different kinds of artists. Reared in two different kinds of music. Having two different kinds of cultural sensibilities. Fania records is the TICO label 2.0. The same shady business practices. Motown had an artist development department. They nurtured artists. Helped them to polish and develop their act, showmanship, musical range, etc. Fania had no such devotion. You were either already good, or you were deemed "bad" and not worth any investment.
Secondly, people lost it or challenged your notion because you made a sweeping allegation with little more than your personal opinion. That the USA had a more important role than many countries in Latin America. So because of that statement, it affirms that we shouldn't assume it was the follower, who is a VISITOR and outsider to the local scene, is who just couldn't "hang" with the female dancer they chose to express themselves with. Neither of us were there to actually see with our own eyes what went down. It is on that basis, that one should avoid making any sweeping generalizations, the way you did, by claiming that *most* Latinas in Latin America are not "trained." By subscribing to this notion, you are consenting to the falsehood that the workshops you've taken are the highest standard to express oneself to "Salsa." Nope. It only works if your partner has a similar background in what you've absorbed from instruction. If not, that doesn't exclude anyone from not being worthy enough to dance with you. A dancer adapts. If you can't adapt to any sort of skill level as a follow, how "Trained" can one truly be? That's just my opinion and until there are more absolutes available to dissect, you and I will be speculating. But one thing is sure, whether there is a "Salsa" in the USA or not, it should be well understood that cultural expression comes with experience and not National identity. So there isn't any need to draw conclusions based on how well Fania did or how recognized "Salsa" is in the U.S. Salsa doesn't have to constitute part of the U.S.'s cultural heritage for "not everyone who is Latinx can dance' to be true.
Okay. Let's also note that many who have taken instruction still have no rhythmical instincts, are able to exhibit any natural movement without telegraphing, and dance the exact...same...way, no matter what song comes on, or its tempo. And that's on the social dancing level. This is not a criticism of instruction by to those who become complacent by assuming dance instruction by a dance instructor is all it takes to be a quality dancer. Start listening to this music in the same manner one watches their favorite television show. I guarantee one will benefit as much as not and will *show* on the dance floor.
How ironic! So am I! (For the 3rd year in a row)...
Sorry. That should read: "...are unable to exhibit any natural movement without telegraphing."
Other parts are condoned ?
Take a look at the name of the thread. It's specific to Latinas who are untrained. Is there a possibility the initial poster was a moron and the Latina actually took 10 years of dance, sure. But I was kind enough to agree with the premise of the thread, as it is a real possibility, one that I've encountered through my years of dancing, which I empirically know 100 percent true at very least of my sisters and some other friends who I knew outside of dancing and I went dancing with. If you are going to disagree with the possibility of the premise of the thread, I guess you'll somehow have to prove you know my sisters better than me without meeting them. Or if you won't argue that you'll also have to prove the initial poster wasn't dancing with one of my sisters, good luck with that.
Last dance conversation I had with one of my sisters where I was telling her some technique issues she was having she confessed that I had told her the same thing before, which considering how long I hadn't danced with her, it means she hadn't improved in over 10 years.
And all the marquesina parties that we had where she was dancing all the time growing up in Latin America did absolutely nothing for her getting any skill in salsa. In that same Latin America we had salsa dance instructors, and I'm absolutely certain that she would be a better dancer if she had taken instruction as I did, without ever having to leave Latin America. I know it's hard to believe, but take my word for it that in Latin America people make a living teaching others to dance Latin American dances.
BTW, some of the people that take dance lessons and hit a plateau from which they never improve are Latinos too.
You make it seem as if the mere fact the champion provides advice makes him a jerk. He wouldn't be a jerk just for providing advice, he would be a jerk if he was a jerk about it.
I tell you that most Latinas don't listen to Cha Cha Cha. And if said Latina was my real life Latina sister, I would encourage her to take the dance champion's advice more seriously than any I could provide.
I re-read the original post. The poster said that upon asking these Latinas they would say a version of "I feel the groove", or "I grew up listening to it" as an explanation for how they danced. He also mentioned them taking a "Cumbia back step on 3", and that they seemed very confident about their way of dancing. He also mentioned this being more prevalent in Colombia (Unfortunately he hasn't been more active to verify whether it's a greater prevalence in Colombia VS all of them in Colombia, but from his post we know some Latinas had a similar manner of dancing in San Francisco as well). On that basis a number of other posters thought they were doing Cumbia to the Salsa songs, which is quite plausible. My advice to him at this point is to take a Cumbia lesson or two to determine whether this is indeed a case of Cumbia dancers at a Salsa night that are too embarrassed to admit it.
There are two possible outcomes for him. They are Cumbia dancers and he takes up Cumbia, and the world is better as he woes everyone with his amazing Cumbia steps to the latest Isaac Delgado hit song. I don't consider myself a Cumbia dancer, but I've seen it enough that in some situations when a girl was doing Cumbia like steps I mimicked what I saw of the Cumbia dancers, and effectively it was dancing Cumbia to Salsa.
I don't think this is the case for all or even most of these girls though. Strong upper body and arm movements that conflict with turns is a following problem in almost every form of Ball Room or Tropical dances (my sister has that issue, not the odd step issue). As a leader answers like "I feel the groove" are useless for helping anyone better sync. I don't police my sister to know what she tells guys who she dances with as to how she learned to dance, whether she fakes confidence in dances she barely does, but if I knew she was I would explain to her why she shouldn't.
My claim that most Latinas in Latin America are not trained stands. My basis, I am Latino, born and raised in Latinamerica. And interestingly, my dance background has been general enough to work in USA, Puerto Rico, Honduras, Japan, Thailand, Dubai, Spain, Singapore, and Australia. I dance with beginners all the time, and with Latinas that have never taken a lesson at every family wedding.
The bottom line is you weren't there. You don't know what he saw. You're taking his word for it based on the assumption you've made about 'host's women in Latin America not being trained. Let me clarify my position. My argument is that what you define as trained isn't all its cracked up to be. A guy claiming to have a total understanding of a dance attendees help with untrained dancers is a red flag anywhere. If the answer is Cumbia dancing lessons because he realized in the middle of their dance his partner did SYlvia back step on the 3, then that person is not a trained dancer. Memorizing armsmovements, hand positions, and steps going in a certain direction does not a naturally instinctive dancer make.
The latter is more than enough. Osmosis...
They don't share your learning experience. That's all it is. If that is even the case. Because, again, you weren't there to see what went down and, for the record, most Latinos and non-Latinos anywhere do not engage in or have received formal instruction. But dancing in a social context to our music takes place regardless. Many times, those same dancers outshine with their natural expression than the "trained."
My basis is common sense, and being born and raised in the U.S.A. who identifies as Latino. I also know a smidgen of how this music works and most instruction and instructors are forcing a square peg into a circle. Which is why I'm skeptical of anyone who plays the I'm trained card...
Are you a professional dancer?
Separate names with a comma.


text: I thought it would be fun to make some t-shirts for my family to wear on our trip so I took an image and used an iron-on application from Michaels. I read and followed the directions carefully. Unfortunately, my shirts are not holding up to washing. The image is really wrinkled and cracking. AUGH! What am I doing wrong? Is it me or should I only expect to get to wear them a couple of times? Hopefully someone will be able to give me some advice. Thanks for your help.