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.
