Two thousand one hundred words, approximately eight minutes of reading.
The morning after the naked falling and car sex (Women I have known 03; Gloria), while I was changing drivers of my two Taxicabs in the driveway, the phone wouldn't stop ringing. As soon as the shift change was complete and the drivers were gone, I played back the cassette-taped recording of the repeated calls.
My wife's Sorority sister, Vicki, repeatedly rang, saying, "Call me, Dale. Call me as soon as you get this. I have an idea for you to consider. This is important, Dale. Call me."
So, I called her number, and she said, "Meet me at my house as soon as you can get here. I need you here, now, Dale." 'Click' as the line disconnected.
I drove quickly, expecting something going on and visible as I entered the lane from the roadway to her house. But, at first look, there was no visible drama. The lane was muddy, icy and rutted, slick, and splashed muddy water all over the car. The windshield froze the mud and dirt as the wipers swung a few times before I stopped them.
I peered around the edge of the frozen wiper mark on the left end of the windshield where the wiper hadn't reached. A lot slower, I crept up to the house, parking as close as possible to the back door walkway into the kitchen.
On second look, the drama came from behind the kitchen door. Vicki had been watching for me; it was clear. She flung open the kitchen door and stood there without a stitch. She was wearing Red and Gold jeweled high heels, period. My wife's flame-red-haired friend was as smooth as a peach, with no hair below her head. I had always wondered if her carpet and drapes matched. I was looking at the evidence, and I still couldn't tell you.
She crooked her finger and stepped aside, saying, "Get your ass in here, Dale. You and I are going to come to an agreement." She turned away, saying, "The first decision for you to make is; do I tell your wife you were fucking those two Fashion models in front of the Club-Oh-My, last night?"
Without hesitation, she continued, "Do you have dinner plans? I will buy your dinner tonight at The Rancher's Bar and Snooker Room, but you will be a slave today from right now if you want my silence.
"If you say no to being my slave for the day, your wife gets enough information from the club manager. The manager wants to get even with your wife for the dress that the Club replaced for your wife. The manager swears it was not the Club that ruined it. Getting to destroy your wife with this story would satisfy the manager."
"Better yet, if you agree to do everything I tell you, I will make it worthwhile, including your dinner at Antiques Place in the Plaza. Forget the Rancher's Bar; I already have the reservation for our booth. For starters, I will manage the Club manager. The club car sex, I mean taxi cab sex, will never be mentioned again. It never happened."
Being exhausted and not thinking fully, I agreed. As the best restaurant in the area, their Chateaubriand for two, including two wines, requires three hours in the restaurant where time flies. It is such an experience. The pain to a wallet is severe at $195.00 per person. The Chef requires two days advance notice, and no knife is served with the entrΓ©e.
The limo was 'Glass Up' private when Vicki arrived for the unforgettable weekend she had planned.
We had completed about three circles around the elephant in the room when I said, "Vicki, I have always wanted to know if the carpet matched the drapes, and now that I have seen them both, I still do not know. Please tell me."
"Fuck you, Dale. You have no leverage except to fuck me. Then we will negotiate leverage. I know that I can fuck you and blow you better than that frozen hottie you sleep beside."
"After I prove to be your best ever fuck and cock sucker, I might tell you that they match. But, the best way for you to be sure is, of course, to show you. If you hang around long enough, my 'shadow' will reveal the truth; however, you might never know if you aren't here long enough for the grown-out natural color to reveal itself."
"Dale, I think that former hottie you live with has a friend with benefits. We were having her usual five glasses of wine while I had four fewer, and she asked me how long the longest penis I ever gave a blowjob to measured."
"Okay, Dale, even with my friends who get sexual pleasure from romance novels, I haven't been asked that specific question even once. Actually, "How long?" That was the actual question, so I cannot dodge it; I. think it's going to be a new penis that I will know of to tell about if anyone again asks me that question."
"Be Prepared. Isn't that the old worn-out street whore's slogan?"
"No, Vicki, that was the Boy Scouts' well-known motto."
"It has become my motto for the day, Dale. I am shaved and douched, my ass is flushed, and my teeth are brushed. My legs, armpits, and pussy are shaved clean, and my birth control pills are up to date."
"All that is left is for you to stick that hot dog into my bun, and the drama of last night will become a thing of the past. It will be long forgotten, cremated, and buried."
"Whadda-ya-say, Dale? You face a divorce, or whenever I arrange it, you eat my pussy, and be my slave regularly for the rest of your life."
"That is perfect, Vicki. I want to test-drive your pussy. Your pussy is probably like most other women who have fucked my cock. They are too often too shallow for me to really fuck them hard without hitting something deep before I am completely buried and my balls are resting on your ass or chin."
"Yes, of course, Dale. We will have to find out if that has been a problem. I, however, have never had anyone seem to 'bottom out in my vagina.
"I wonder why we are talking about it instead of doing the research to find out."
"I think I remember where your bedroom is, Vicki, but lead the way."
Vicki had been single for the eleven years I had known her. She had tales to tell about her sex life every time we saw her socially. Eventually, I began to hear the stories repeatedly being told the same way, even though the tellings were years apart.
When I'd asked my wife about it, she said, "If you catch Vicki in a lie, the evidence is wrong. Vicki doesn't lie. Nope. Not Vicki."
I know it was not a faulty conclusion that she was an alley cat regarding sex and men in general. She would ask someone at the BBQ, for instance, "Do you have any knowledge about car seats? I need someone to explain mine. It seems wonky."
At that, the fish would follow her to her car, which was perfectly fine, and once there, she would elicit whatever sex she needed at the moment.
After drunkenly explaining where she had been for the last forty-five minutes at a BBQ at our house, she asked if she needed to wash the sheets before she left. As though she was a house guest instead of a flop house punch for the evening.
I told her, "I'll take care of it."