“Would you…” Robert didn’t finish his sentence, and his face went blank. “Robert, do you masturbate?” “Yes.” “How often?” ...��Every day or two. Sometimes twice a day.” I knew Robert had been masturbating as long as we had been married, because he wasn’t as good at hiding the evidence as he thought he was. He’s always been rather private with his inner thoughts, and when I once asked him years before if he masturbated, he replied indignantly that he most certainly did not. I turned off. I do what my primal instincts tell me to do: I kiss him, as I kissed him many times before. ‘What can I get for you today?’ he says, standing at the cash register. His coworkers move furiously around him, and a long line of people behind me wait impatiently. We are alone again. We continue to kiss, to stroke, to pet each others’ upper body regions. He is rubbing my breasts, and I lightly run my fingers upon his rock hard stomach. I untuck his clean shirt, remove it from his body, and throw it. There are still, as always, a few of the walmartians about. Our list was short; bread, milk, meat, cheese, coffee. Necessities, so our attendance was manditory, regardless.There are youtube video collections of images of the more outragious wal*martians: the trashy, the flashy, the sexy, and the weirdly dressed obese. I had an opportunity to add to my collection, but had forgotten my phone. This could be a problem, shopping with my wife. Generally, for every ten minutes shopping, I spend twenty. She started to blush, her face was completely red and mine too. I put my finger next to her flaps and started to circle her vagina, she then started to drip, I told her "you dirty fucking slut, you're already soaking wet, you really want me to fuck you huh? You want my huge, throbbing dick right? To go right into that virgin pussy" she replied "please, I want you so badly, ever since we were little kids I've wanted your dick, I've touched myself at night countless times thinking about you". I.