Like a puppet on strings, I let him lead me by the hand to the most crowded subway line.

Before boarding, I lowered my head and whispered just loud enough for him to hear, "Honey, what if some pervert tries to take advantage of me?"

He stroked my hair. "Sorry to make you go through this," he said softly.

"If someone else touches me and I don't resist, will you be angry or... turned on?" I snuggled into my husband's arms and remembered the role-playing we did a few days ago, where he had regained his virility. I deliberately said something provocative to tease him.

"Have you ever thought about being touched by another man...?" he asked, his voice thick with interest, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed.

"What do you mean, touched by another man?" I teased.

"You know what I mean..." he replied.

"Sleeping with another man? Letting him... fuck me?" After a moment's hesitation, I dared to voice the forbidden thought.

The moment he heard it, his breathing grew heavier, and his face twisted between anger and excitement. "You slut, so you have thought about it!"

His reaction made my heart race.

Strangely enough, I started getting excited too. As I described these fantasies—things that had never actually happened—vivid images flashed through my mind, pulling me deeper into the role, as if I had truly become the frustrated wife from a porno.

I could feel the heat rising inside me.

Barely able to contain myself, I leaned in close to his ear, whispering breathlessly, "If you want to know how slutty your wife really is, watch for yourself. I'm going to go in and let another man touch me..."

With that, I nervously pushed him away, gently lifted the hem of my skirt, and let the crowd push me into the subway car.

In fact, I am not a slut. Even before all of this, when my husband couldn't get hard, I never considered divorce—let alone sleeping with other men.

I had even prepared myself to live the rest of my life in celibacy.