It happens...
I have known my best friend Lena for as long as I can remember. We went to kindergarten and school together, and did sports together. In the 10th grade, we joined a tourist club, where we met two third-year students, Oleg and Alexey. We dated for two years, and in the third year (we were in our second year of university), we both got married on the same day. Everything was the same, except I gave birth two weeks earlier than Lena.
After graduating from the institute, Lenka went into business, and I entered graduate school. After getting married and having children, we became even closer.
In short, a kind of idyll formed – two best friends married
to two best friends.All four of us really missed our tourist club and kayaking trips, but with the arrival of children, we had to forget about that. However, we found a solution. My parents had a dacha relatively nearby. A well-kept plot of 600 square meters with a garden and vegetable patch. Nearby were a coniferous forest and a lake. My retired parents lived there all the warm season. They only came to the city on weekends to see their granddaughter, stock up on groceries, and take care of some things at the apartment.
Usually, on Fridays after work, I, my husband Oleg, Lena, and her husband Alexey, leaving our children in the care of their grandparents, loaded with food and everything necessary, would drive to the countryside in our old Toyota.
The dacha house was small, about 20 square meters, with a stove in the middle that sort of divided the room in half. It suited my parents, and for us, with our decent experience of living in tents, it seemed like a luxurious palace. There was also a small but very good bathhouse at the dacha.
There was one problem, which we solved very quickly by mutual agreement. It concerned sex at the dacha. We didn't pretend to be puritans. If one of the married couples suddenly decided to be alone, they had to place the women's shoes on the house steps crossed on top of each other. Then it was clear to the others that they couldn't enter the house.
These events, as well as visits to the bathhouse, where, despite the measures taken, we encountered each other, to put it mildly, not fully dressed, and those evenings when one bed or the other (or more often both) began to rhythmically creak and either Lena's voluptuous moans or my sighs and groans were heard, always served as a reason for jokes.
The relationships between the men and women (not spouses) were very friendly. I could bump Alexey off the steps with my hip. When we met on a narrow path between the garden beds or in the greenhouse, he could slap my buttocks with his hand. Roughly the same relationship existed between Lena and Oleg.
But, despite this, none of us ever thought about the possibility of flirting with each other, let alone marital infidelity. Here, everyone was 100% sure of their "other half"; the relationships were like between close relatives.
Once, we were celebrating Alexey's birthday at the dacha (his 30th, to be precise). Lena and I were 25 by then. Usually, my friend and I drink very little, but in the mood, we "persuaded" a fairly significant portion of a bottle of our favorite coffee liqueur. The men completely lost control, started giving toast after toast. They began talking about work topics. They had enough communication with each other, and we felt superfluous. A couple of times we tried to drag them home, but it was useless. The birthday was gradually turning into a boys' night. I don't think they even noticed when we washed the dishes and left.
After rinsing off in the shower, Lena and I headed to the house. Passing by our husbands, my friend's towel, which she was wrapped in, accidentally (or was it?) fell off. The men didn't even react to her squeal and hasty retreat.
Annoyed, we in turn decided to have a girls' night and deal with our husbands in the morning. I took a bottle of cognac from the cupboard, and we knocked back a couple of shots each. It seemed to me that I got drunk instantly. A minute later, we were already laughing for no reason, whispering, and seemed to have forgotten about our husbands' existence. My head started spinning, and I lay down on the bed. Lenka settled next to me. I don't remember how I fell asleep. Through my sleep, I vaguely heard our husbands return and, without turning on the light, lie down...
I woke up in the early morning from my husband's caresses. The transition from sleep to wakefulness was quite difficult, obviously due to the previous night's drinking. During that time, Oleg managed to pull off the robe I had fallen asleep in the evening; I had no other clothes on.
In the darkness, from the opposite part of the house, came the characteristic creaking of a bed (that's probably what woke Oleg). Deciding that I would give my husband the "fountain scene" for last night in the morning, I responded to his caresses...
When it was over, Oleg continued to hold me in his arms for a few more seconds, then, as if thanking me, kissed my shoulder and stroked my cheek.
It was like an electric shock. I don't know how I stopped myself from jumping out of the house screaming, completely naked. The thing is, I realized that the man in bed with me was not my husband, but Alexey, who had cut his finger the day before and was wearing a bandage on his left hand. I literally felt my arms and legs go numb. What had happened seemed so incredible that I couldn't believe it. I pinched myself several times as hard as I could to see if I was asleep and if it was all a dream.
For some time, Alexey still held me in his arms, then fell asleep. I carefully turned over. In the pitch darkness, nothing was visible. I ran my hand over his face; there was no doubt, it was Alexey. From nervous tension, I began to tremble. Lenka and Oleg had already quieted down and were sleeping peacefully.
I remembered that I had fallen asleep with Lenka on her bed. But how did she end up on mine, and with Oleg at that?
It's unclear how it happened, but the obvious thing was that my friend and I, in the literal and figurative sense, had slept with each other's husbands.
For about an hour, I lay there, afraid to move, having absolutely no idea what to do in this situation. Then, carefully freeing myself from Alexey's embrace, I got out of bed and tried to find my robe by touch. It took a while. I tiptoed to the bed occupied by Lenka and Oleg. Thank God, she was sleeping on the edge. Now the main thing was to wake her up without waking Oleg and get her out of the room.
Outside, dawn was just beginning to break. I quietly touched Lenka's hand; no reaction. I carefully shook her shoulder. She jumped up as if stung and stared at me in bewilderment, not understanding anything in her sleepy state. It must have been quite a picture. I was standing there naked with my robe in my hands, which I couldn't put on from excitement, missing the sleeves. At the same time, I was pressing a finger to my lips, urging her to be completely silent. Finally managing my robe, I shoved Lenka's clothes at her, grabbed her hand, and we tiptoed, trying not to creak the floorboards, towards the door.
As soon as we were outside the door, Lenka's eyes narrowed and she hissed: "What were you doing naked in bed with my husband?"
No longer holding back my anger, I replied: "Obviously the same thing you were doing with mine."
Lenka looked at the door in bewilderment, as if trying to see inside with her gaze (I wonder who she expected to see there in bed next to her if Alexey, by her own words, was in bed with me). It seemed the meaning of what had happened was beginning to dawn on her. She blushed so much it was noticeable even in the dim light.
Pulling on her robe, she sat down on the house steps. I asked her if she understood anything about what had happened to us. In response, Lenka only groaned and declared that it all happened because of her fault, but she couldn't have imagined what consequences it would lead to.
It turns out that after we fell asleep, Lenka woke up sometime later from thirst. The men were still sitting outside. She got up, had a drink, and seeing that I was sprawled out too much in my sleep, decided not to disturb me and lay down on my bed. Before lying down, she turned off the light. She woke up from my touch,... or maybe a little earlier. After these words, Lenka blushed to the roots of her hair again, obviously remembering her first awakening that morning.
The picture became more or less clear. Our husbands, not wanting to wake us, didn't turn on the light, but simply undressed and lay down next to us, not noticing the switch. And then in the early morning, what happened, happened.
Everything seemed to have a logical explanation, but that didn't make us feel any better.
We were primarily concerned with one question: did our beloved husbands know that, willingly or not, they had swapped wives for the night.
I suggested that even drunk and accidentally ending up in bed with someone else's wife, our husbands would hardly have taken the initiative, knowing about the relationship between Lena and me, which was closer than that of sisters.
Lenka blushed once again and confessed that the initiative for the morning sex came from her, but she was sure she was doing it with her husband, and attributed some atypical behavior on his part to him having drunk too much the night before and not being fully awake yet, and she herself wasn't exactly a model of sobriety at that moment either.
This fundamentally changed the situation. If the guys knew that it wasn't us (meaning not their wives) next to them, and Alexey heard that Lenka and Oleg were making love, he could have done the same with me, if only out of a sense of revenge.
I (blushing terribly) suggested that Alexey's behavior didn't match someone doing it out of revenge; he was very delicate and tender. Besides, it was hardly possible that our husbands fell asleep like logs literally a few minutes after finding out their wives had sex with someone else. The last argument seemed very convincing to us.
Sleep was out of the question. We moved to the bathhouse, drank our liqueur, the unfinished bottle of which had been standing on the garden table since the previous evening.
We assessed the situation from all sides. Cried a little (after all, our husbands cheated on us). Giggled a little at the comical nature of the situation (after all, we cheated on them too, but the difference is that we know about it, and they don't know about their infidelity or ours).
We drank another one, for us, the victims. We deliberately didn't drink for the men, because they don't know what happened, so they can't be considered victims.
Lenka finally came to her senses and, as always, took the initiative. She generally had a fighting spirit and always managed to extract benefit even from obviously losing situations. And now she started pestering me with questions about what her Oleg was like in bed. At first, I refused to talk about it at all, but Lenka insisted, arguing that this was our only and unique opportunity to find out how our husbands are perceived from the outside. Maybe we idealize them too much, or perhaps underestimate them, and since it all happened, we should at least exchange information.
Blushing and stammering, I mumbled that, in general, the position wasn't very good for assessing Alexey's sexual qualities, and besides, until the last moment, I was sure it was my husband. But overall, I had pleasant impressions.
Lenka, who had sex with Oleg in the "sandwich" position (with her on top), gave him a more detailed description. I won't quote it here for a number of reasons, but in short, Oleg didn't disappoint Lenka, quite the opposite.
Then my friend proposed a toast to me, in her words, to the only woman with whom she could forgive her husband's infidelity. I, naturally, responded in kind.
By mutual agreement, we considered the topic closed and promised to avoid discussing it even between ourselves, simply to consider that this episode in our lives never happened.
Next, according to the master plan developed by Lenka and approved by me, we quietly returned to the house, lay down in bed, though now each with her own husband, and despite the stress we had endured, quickly fell asleep, obviously affected by the liqueur. ….
Returning from the dacha late in the evening, as always, Lena and I were sitting in the back seat of the car, chatting about everything and nothing, when Lena suddenly, without any transition from the previous topic, said to her husband: "It's a pity you'll never know about the most important gift you received." He looked at her in bewilderment. I blushed at these words and kicked my friend under the seat (letting her know this was a violation of our agreement). Luckily, it was relatively dark in the car, and none of the guys noticed anything.
For about five minutes, the men pestered her with questions about what kind of gift it was, but my friend only remained mysteriously silent.
"Will I get such a gift when I turn 30?" asked Oleg, who was driving.
"Who knows," Lenka looked at me sheepishly and winked.