B And E

The man was a little buzzed, but not as much as the two women. They seemed fine in the club, dancing, laughing, talking loud to hear one another above the music. But when the three of them stepped out into the mild night on the way to the car, they were both a little loopier than he realized, one on either side of him, each clutching an arm and taking small, careful steps, punctuated by the occasional wobble. Of course, they started way ahead of him. He saw the wine glasses on the kitchen counter when he got home from work. They were already a little giggly and goofy by the time the three of them got to the restaurant where they had dinner. More wine there, and then onto the club, where they'd all had at least two or three Patrons.

When they got to the car, Alison, his wife, told her friend Kathryn to ride up front with him. You can see better from up there, she told her.

"What is there to see?" said Dale. "It's dark out."

"She can see the city at night," said Alison. "She's never seen it at night."

"She's only going to see it for five minutes," said Dale. "Then we'll be on the highway."

But Alison had already climbed into the back of the sedan and stretched out along the seat, prying off one shoe with the toe of another.

Kathryn was Alison's best friend from California. That's how Alison always referred to her: "my best friend from California," as if to distinguish her from best friends from other states or geographical regions, Dale guessed. Until just recently, Dale and Alison had lived in California themselves. They'd moved out there several years before for new tech jobs. Kathryn took an internship at Alison's company, and that's where they met and hit it off.

Kathryn was twelve years younger than Alison. This past spring, Dale and Alison relocated back east, and now Kathryn was out to visit for a week before she went back for her senior year at San Jose State. Kathryn was a native Californian who had never been farther east than Modesto, she said. She couldn't believe "how green everything was" out here. She was okay, still a bit of a wildass college chick, which is why, Dale figured, Alison latched onto her. Reliving something or other. On Kathryn's second night in town, Alison took her to the bachelorette party of one of her and Dale's old college friends, and they both came back completely shitfaced. Someone at the party used Alison's phone to set up an Uber pickup for them, then texted Dale a head's up. The Uber driver who brought them home honked her horn in the driveway a few times until Dale came out.

"They need a little help," she said.

Dale hauled Kathryn, the larger of the two, out of the car and the Uber driver helped Alison.

The driver said, "That one got sick, so I'd set her up with a bucket if I were you," meaning Kathryn.

"Shit," said Dale. "In your car?"

"No," said the woman. "This one saw it coming and had me pull over, managed to get her head out the door."

*****

Dale navigated the several city blocks that took him to the boulevard, then picked up the ramp to the bridge that would take them through the outbound tunnel.

"There it is," he said. "The city at night. Get a good look." But Kathryn had her head back against the seat and her eyes closed. He glanced quickly to the back where Alison was stretched out asleep already. Couple of lightweights. Now they were in the tunnel, where the overhead lamps bathed the interior with a yellowy glow.

"You're not going to get sick, are you?" said Dale. "Because you're going to have to do it out the window until I get through this tunnel. There's no place to pull over."

He glanced again at Kathryn who now seemed to be awake, her heavy-lidded gaze fixed on him. She was attractive in a healthy, athletic, California kind of way. She was a big girl, almost as tall as Dale. Not heavy, but strong-looking, with big tits that he was pretty sure were natural. A lot of wavy blond hair. Tonight she was wearing a loose-knit sleeveless sweater—he could see the beige of her bra through the wide weave—and pale gray, flat-front trousers, tight around the ass and thighs and pegged at the bottom. She looked good.

When they emerged from the tunnel, onto the highway, and regained the darkness, he felt Kathryn's hand on the inside of his thigh. He turned to look at her again, and she leaned across the console to try to kiss him. He pulled back and looked toward the road.

"Whoa," he said quietly. "Driving here." He didn't remove her hand, though.

*****

Dale wasn't a saint anymore. He and Alison married a dozen years ago, right out of college, but after the first couple of years Dale started wondering if he had given the relationship the proper amount of time and thought. He liked that Alison was smart—very smart, smarter than him—and down-to-earth, and still liked to tear things up and have a good time. He'd just never really been crazy about her like he'd been about some other women. But that was one of the reasons he thought marrying her was a good idea. Crazy wears off. Then what do you do? If there was no crazy, then things would always kind of stay more or less the way there already were.

Dale managed to behave himself until the last couple of California years. He was out with people from work one night, someone's going-away celebration. After dinner, at the bar, he made a beeline for the empty seat next to a girl named Kristina, one of the company's corporate recruiters. He didn't really have much interaction with her at the office, but he knew her. Hell, everyone knew her; she was sensational, sexy as hell. Dark complexioned—some kind of middle eastern descent—she was long and lean, with straight black hair and big wet eyes. She was wearing knee-high suede boots and a short, tartan plaid skirt over black tights, and a black, sleeveless knit turtleneck. She had an empty glass beside her and was thumbing over her phone, tapping and swiping.

"What's the average length of time a guy manages to stay in this seat before you tell him to leave you the fuck alone," said Dale. He probably shouldn't have said "fuck" but he wanted to get her attention, wasn't sure if he could tear her away from her phone.

It worked. She looked up at him, and there was what he thought a little flicker of pleased recognition. Then she went back to texting again, but smiling now.

"Don't know," she said to her phone. "No one ever talks to me."

All these nerdy computer guys. Most of them couldn't manage an intelligible sentence in front of their own sisters, let alone someone who looked like Kristina, cool and dark.

"You're out of their league," he said.

"But not yours?"

"Oh, mine too," he said. "But I've just had a couple drinks and I don't give a shit."

She clapped her phone screen-side down on the bar and slid her empty glass slightly toward him, like she was moving a chess piece.

"Maybe if I have a couple more myself I won't give a shit either," she said.

And hour later they were out in the parking lot, her back against the side of his car, Dale close up against her. Her black tights were pulled down her thighs halfway between the hem of her skirt and the tops of her boots. Her sweater and the cups of her bra were pushed up high on her chest, and she held the back of Dale's head as he sucked on her round, coffee-colored tits and finger-fucked her. She'd unzipped him and wrangled his cock from his trousers and had it in her other hand, just holding it tight, squeezing it. She gave it a couple distracted strokes now and then but was concentrating mostly on her own approaching orgasm, and that was okay. He pumped in and out of her. She grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled his head away from her breast when she started to come, twisting and bucking against him, as he held two fingers buried up to the last knuckle in her cunt.

He slowly withdrew his fingers from her when she was done. She let go of him long enough to pull down her bra and shirt to cover herself. He tried to somehow bend his erection back into his open fly but she took it again before he could and this time started jerking it quickly and steadily. They were looking down, watching her hand stroking his stiff dick, both of them breathing hard. Dale leaned forward, pressed his forehead against the top of her head, grunted.

"Shoot it," she whispered. Dale began to pump out his load onto her bare thigh. She slowed her strokes, squeezing him gently. Watching the thick jizz spurting from his cock. He looked down. His streams of white cum seemed almost to glow against the deep brown of her skin.

So that was the start of that.

*****

The morning after the bachelorette party, Dale drove Alison back to get her car while Kathryn stayed behind sleeping it off. Alison was wearing dark glasses even though the morning was overcast. Probably to hide the dark circles under her eyes.

"I should have just driven you guys and picked you up myself," said Dale, but not in a scolding way. Just as a matter of fact. He wasn't trying to give her shit; he knew she felt like walking death.

Alison said, "I don't know what happened. One minute I was fine and the next... Everything just got suddenly very rowdy and wild once the dancers showed up."

"More than one?"

"Three," said Alison. "A policeman, a cowboy, and a sailor."

"The maid of honor friends with the Village People?"

"All these women start screaming, doing shots. I just hope the bride-to-be is not pissed at me."

"Why would she be? You said she was hammered too. You said a bunch of them were."

"Yeah," said Alison. "But Kathryn... She was a bit of an instigator. Calling for shots. Dancing and grinding up against the strippers. I think she might have encouraged the shedding of inhibitions a little bit."

"Those college girls," said Dale.

Alison was quiet for a couple minutes, then said, "Kathryn's grinding up against the one who was dressed as a cop. Except now he was only wearing a hat and mirrored sunglasses and this G-string. He's thrusting his hips, you know, and that pouch with his junk is swinging back and forth. And she just drops, yanks his pouch down, and starts sucking his dick."

"Holy shit," said Dale.

"Yeah, really," said Alison. "You should have heard how the volume level went up at that. But there were a couple bridesmaids, I think they were from the groom's side, they looked extremely uncomfortable to begin with. But that business thoroughly scandalized them."

"So Kathryn, did she...?"

"You could tell the guy, the dancer I mean, you could tell he kind of thought about it for a second. But then he pushed her away and tucked himself back in, wagged his finger at her, like 'naughty, naughty.'"

"Huh," said Dale. "Maybe he was gay."

"He wasn't gay," said Alison. "Or maybe he was, I don't know. The point is, you're not allowed to touch the dancers. Not their junk. They'll let you get away with a slap on the ass here and there. But after seeing Kathryn get that guy's dick out, some of the other women tried to get a little 'naughty naughty' themselves. The whole thing got a little raunchy."

"I thought that's what happened at bachelorette parties," said Dale. "Bring in some choice cuts for the bride to have a little forbidden snack before she takes her vows. The lusty ladies all get to have a taste."

"You watch too much Internet porn," said Alison.

*****

Kathryn moved her hand up to Dale's crotch and began squeezing his cock through his trousers. How far are we going to go with this, thought Dale. He adjusted the mirror to see Alison in the back seat. She was out. She probably wouldn't wake up until they got home and someone shook her out of it. Unless he bulls-eyed a monster pothole or had to jam on the brakes and stop short for a deer running in front of him. Shit, he thought, that could cause a whole series of problems. Forget about Alison waking up and taking in the situation; he could be maimed for life as well. No, he didn't want to run into a deer or try to evade one while this drunken college chick had his cock in her mouth. He was hard, though, imagining her blond head bobbing in his lap, her big tits pressing against this thigh. Thinking about it since Alison told him the bachelorette party story. He hadn't had a blowjob since he'd moved away from California, and the idea of getting one from his horny college girl who probably wouldn't fucking remember it the next day even when she still had the taste of his cum in her mouth... Jesus. She was leaning over him now, trying to find the tab of his zipper, hair falling across his lap. Her friend, his wife, less than a foot away. Kathryn was just one of those chicks who got horny when she was lit. He took her hand away, gently pushed her back upright. "Not here," he said.

*****

The two men eased the flat screen television from its wall mount and placed it carefully on the floor. As they stood up, they both heard it at the same time and froze.

The taller one, in a black long sleeve t-shirt and black jeans, pulled his mask down over his head: a rubberized Batman cowl that he bought at a costume shop, covering his eyes and the bridge of his nose. The shorter man, Erik, wearing a lightweight black hoodie and black Dickies work pants, pulled down his mask too, just a plain black eye mask like Robin wore on the old TV series.

Of course this caused a problem. They were both supposed to have the same black eye mask. They talked about it. Erik told the taller man, Bobby, to get two simple black eye masks. "But not that cheap shit plastic kind that little kids get with their Halloween costumes." The plastic edges on those things cut at your skin, and the elastic always broke after you looked at it, like, three times. Told him to get something more durable and comfortable. Bobby wanted to get some kind of full head coverings, like those caricature masks of former presidents.

"That's been done," said Erik.

"Yeah, but it kind of freaks people out when they see it."

"The point is not being seen, ever," said Erik. "Masks are just a precaution. Besides, those things are rubber. Do you know hot it gets in there? And you can't see shit, the eyeholes aren't big enough, you got no peripheral vision. This is cooler, just plain black masks. Like the Lone Ranger. Zorro."

Bobby nodded. Erik could tell he was thinking it over. "Or like The Incredibles," he said.

"There you go," said Erik.

Bobby came back from the costume store with a shopping bag.

"Check this out," he turned his back to Erik, bent over, then stood up and turned around wearing the cowl.

"That's not what I told you to get, Bobby."

"I know, but this is cooler."

"Where's mine?"

Bobby pulled a black nylon eye mask from the bag and tossed it to him.

"What the fuck?"

"That's what you told me to get."

"For both of us, yeah," said Erik. "So what am I supposed to be, Robin? You're Batman and I'm Robin?"

"We can't both be Batman," said Bobby. "You can't have two Batmen."

"So why do you get to be Batman?"

"I don't know, I just figured. You know, I'm taller."

"Fine," said Erik. "You be Batman. Then when someone spots you and the cops go around to all the costume stores asking did anyone buy a Batman mask recently, good luck with keeping your secret identity."

But nobody had seen them yet, not on any of their first five jobs—or "excursions," as Bobby called them. Now they stood there in the darkened living room, masks down, listening, and there... there it was, they heard it again, like someone moaning. To their left was a doorway leading into a dining room. They moved carefully in the darkness to the doorway, staying close to the wall, and looked in.

Across the dining room, opposite them, was another doorway with glass-paned French doors, opened in, that let on to a kitchen. Someone was in there. There was a light on, but a dim one, like from a range hood or open refrigerator door. Erik touched Bobby's arm and they both stepped quietly into the dining room, staying back far enough that they were still in darkness, to get a better look.

Now they could see that there were two people, a man and a woman. The man had his back against the kitchen island. He was wearing a bathrobe and it was open. The woman was naked, or seemed to be. She might have had panties on, Erik couldn't tell for sure in this light. A big blonde woman with lots of wavy hair and a pair of large tits that the guy was fondling and sucking while she stroked his hard cock that was sticking straight up between them. The guy was murmuring and sighing and making little gasps of pleasure while the woman seemed mostly silent, even as the guy sucked and mauled those big tits.

"Jesus," whispered Erik.

"Why are they doing it in the kitchen?" whispered Bobby.

"I don't know," whispered Erik. "Maybe for a little variety. You know, mix things up."

"It's pretty hot," breathed Bobby. Erik looked over and saw his partner with his hand on his crotch. He nudged him.

"Cut that out, you're giving me the creeps," he whispered.

They both stood there in their masks and black clothes, unseen, watching. The man in the robe finally took a break from the great bounty of tits and the woman immediately lowered herself to her knees and started sucking his cock. The man stretched his arms out along the island and began pumping his hips slightly. The woman bobbed steadily, workmanlike.

"What do we do?" Bobby whispered. Erik glanced at him and held up a finger, one sec. He was thinking. They came in through the patio, which was off the kitchen, so they weren't going back out that way. Folks being occupied as they were, they could probably go out the front without being heard, the front porch light most likely on a switch rather than a motion sensor. Just turn that off and walk out with the flat screen and the canvas bag and hope that some neighbor coming home late didn't swing around the corner right at that moment and strafe them with headlights. Whoa, look at that, honey, the Dynamic Duo rescuing a 60" flat screen. The canvas bag had a bunch of other goodies they found downstairs, mostly electronics: two Bose Wave stereos, a couple-three other wireless speakers, a couple of tablets they found in a home office. The usual stuff. Plenty of room in the bag for a few more things.

*****

Dale got everyone home without incident and without any more advances from Kathryn. He followed the two women up the stairs, both of them seeming more sleepy than drunk now. Kathryn looked a little confused when they reached the top of the steps, like she was trying to remember where the guest room was. Dale and Alison continued down the hall to the master.

Alison made straight for the master bath and Dale went into their large walk-in closet. He stripped, hung up his pants and sport coat, tossed everything else into a laundry hamper, and put on his bathrobe. When he came out, Alison was already asleep atop the bed in a white t-shirt and panties, curled up on her side, her clothes in a pile on the floor. Dale looked at her. He'd half-hoped that getting ready for bed had awakened her enough that he might be able to convince her to have sex. That would have taken care of things for him. So much for that.

The light was still on in the master bath. He left it on and closed the bathroom door. Then he left the bedroom, closed that door behind him, and walked along the carpeted hallway until he got to the door of the guest bedroom. He couldn't tell if a light was on in there. He leaned close to the door and listened. It was quiet. She was probably passed out on her bed like Alison. Should he tap on the door? If she was awake she'd open it. But what if she'd changed her mind by now, sobered up enough to think better of it? What did he want? He could ask her if she was feeling okay and did she need anything, like a bucket. He could say he was going downstairs for a little nightcap and did she want one.