Cinderalla

I first met Randy when he posted a thing online about a guitar he wanted to sell. It was an SG but he only wanted two hundred bucks for it, so I went to his house to see it. Randy looked like a biker and he did ride a motorcycle but it was a Gold Wing, not a Harley. It was parked in the dirt of his front yard when I arrived. The house had a front porch that faced a gravel road, it was a residential neighborhood but an old one, not one that the city took much care of. The house was small and old and needed some work but I figured it kept the rain out.

The guitar was in a case behind the sofa, and he pulled it out and plugged it into a Gorilla amp sitting next to the TV. The neck had been repaired, and the pickups were not the original ones, but it played pretty well. Randy pulled a shitty old electric guitar out of the closet, an Aria, and plugged it in, and we played a little bit of blues. I think he knew I wasn't going to buy the guitar but we had a good time making noise.

His wife came in and offered us coffee, which was welcome. Pam struck me as a kind of Cinderella, a princess in rags; she wore cut-off shorts and an old t-shirt, with no make-up. Her hair was outrageously thick, wild black cascades pouring over her shoulders and down her back, revealing and framing her face as much as it hid it. She had a conspiratorial sly smile but knew not to intrude while her ol' man was talking business or making music. Underneath that scribble of hair was the face of royalty. She had beautiful full lips, wide dark eyes, a petite nose, a few freckles. Her body was slender and small, and the t-shirt didn't exactly show her off but it was obvious she had large breasts and my favorite thing, no bra. The Cinderella effect was amplified by the fact that she was barefoot. She brought us the coffee and stood in the doorway for a while watching us play with sparkling happy eyes, then disappeared with no fanfare.

I didn't buy Randy's guitar but we had a good time jamming, and after a while we became pretty good friends. In the evenings sometimes I would stop by and we would have a beer or two and play some blues or some old Waylon or Hank Junior. I'd run into him in town sometimes, too, usually with Pam in tow but not always.

Randy and I -- no Pam -- had one of those chance meetings one afternoon on the sidewalk at Olde Towne. It was a sweaty summer day and we happened to be in front of Ted & Sam's Poor Man's Bar, so we ducked in for a cold one. We were the only customers there at that time of the day; we sat at the far end of the bar and the bartender served us and left us alone.

Working on a beer, Randy said, out of the blue, "You know, Pam likes you."

"That's nice," I said. "I like her too."

"No, I mean she really likes you," he said with a smile.

"Okay."

"So I just wanted you to know, in case it ever comes up, that it's okay with me if you fuck her."

"Huh, okay, I appreciate that," I said. "But I don't really have any plan to make a move on your wife."

"Sure," he said, "Well if you do, you won't be sorry."

I studied my beer for a minute. "Randy, you almost sound like you want me to fuck her."

He laughed. "Oh, it don't matter to me. I'd do it if I was you, that's all. I just wanted to let you know it's no big deal."

"Is this something you guys do?" I asked. It seemed awkward but since he'd brought it up, I was curious. "Are you swingers or something?"

"No, not at all." He thought about it for a second. "Actually as far as I know she hasn't been with anybody but me since we got married, which was six years ago. And I don't know about before that. She wasn't a virgin when I married her but I never asked."

"I see, so just out of the blue, she's taken a hankerin' to me, and you don't mind if I have sex with her."

"Right. I think it'd be good for her."

"Good for her?"

"Sure, everybody needs a little strange stuff every once in a while, don't you agree?"

"Ya got me there," I said.

We went on to talk about music but in the back of my mind I kept thinking about this. It all seemed so random. These were not my best friends, or even especially close friends. Randy and I had music in common, otherwise not much, a couple of working guys is all. I did not know why he had made this unusual offer to me. I did know he had, now that I thought about it, a remarkably sexy wife, in her humble way. It might not be bad at all to put a glass slipper on her some night and see what she turned into.

But no, that isn't what I do. I had had couple of girlfriends, women who honestly liked me for who I am, and who I had honestly charmed and seduced in the ordinary way, wining and dining and being witty and polite. But it never really worked out in the long run, in their ways they each said I was "too much" for them, and yeah I guess I can be a lot to handle. I never good fit in, and I had accepted that. I found living without women was not bad, there was a kind of freedom about it, though of course there are things you give up. Sex being one. So this was like being offered a gift, well, not really, it was like a gift offering herself to me, if Randy's telling was accurate. And maybe it wasn't, maybe this was some stupid fantasy of his, "sharing his wife" or watching her with someone else, or some stupid thing he'd seen on the Internet. I don't know, man, some of that stuff seemed pretty creepy to me. Oh, I had followed that one lady on Tumblr back before they fucked it up, but that was crazy shit, fun to read about but I wouldn't want anything to do with that stuff. On the other hand, Pam was definitely a diamond in the rough, as they say, and maybe she actually was interested in me.

I couldn't say no, absolutely not, so I decided to go with the flow and see what happened. I would normally be uncomfortable about fucking a married woman, though I'd done it before -- it was awkward but not really my problem. But this somehow made it more complicated, knowing that the husband was aware and actually approved of the whole thing.

A week or so later I was at their house in the evening, and we were jamming. Pam was being a good wife and bringing us beer and snacks, then disappearing to the back of the house. I did not notice anything different, and forgot about the conversation with Randy. Well there was one little thing different. Pam was dressed a little nicer than usual. Still very casual, barefoot and short cutoffs, but instead of her usual t-shirt she was wearing a kind of top with little thin straps and her tummy exposed. Also mountains of firm tits showing. When she brought me my beer she bent over to set it on the coffee table and I got an eyeful. I glanced over at Randy and saw him trying not to smile.

When she left the room he said, "She's nice, isn't she."

"Huh?" I said, playing dumb. "Oh yeah, she's great."

The next time I came to the house the Gold Wing was not in the yard. I knocked on the door and Pam let me in. "Can you believe it?" she said. "We ran out of beer. He's getting some, he'll be back in a couple of minutes."

Barefoot, shorts, this evening she was wearing an oversized flannel shirt, plaid, and unbuttoned down to here. Her tits were barely contained.

"Randy told me he talked to you," Pam said, standing beside me in the living room.

"What did he tell you he said?"

"He said he told you it was okay if you and I got together sometimes."

"Yeah, he did," I replied. "Is that something you guys do often?" Verifying my information.

She looked slightly offended. "No, of course not. Never. This is the first time since we've been married that I ever had any interest in someone else. We just believe in being honest, that's all. It would be wrong if I didn't say something to him about it."

"I see," I said. "Honesty seems like it can cut both ways."

"Well we've been married for six years, I guess we're doing something right."

"Yeah, I reckon you got a point there," I said.

"We've got a few minutes right now," she said. She stepped up to me and put her arms around me, crushing those big breasts into my chest and raising her mouth to mine. I kissed her and I admit, it was spectacular. Pam was clearly a passionate woman, and one who knew what she wanted. Her arms came up around my neck and somehow her breasts fell out of her shirt. She giggled and stepped back. "Oh-oh," she said, throwing her arms up in the air and doing a little wiggle-dance that caused her boobs to swing in parallel, left and right. "I seem to have had a little wardrobe malfunction."

"Huh, I didn't see that one coming," I laughed.

"You like?" she asked, making no move to put those lovely things away.

"Oh yes," I said. "You are a beautiful woman, no doubt."

We heard the scooter pulling into the front yard and she put her shirt back, buttoning up to slightly above her navel. "We'll get our time," she said. "I just know it."

Now that the topic had been introduced, Pam showed herself to be a ball of fire and a force of nature. When I came over, Randy and I would sit in the living room playing guitars, and she often sat in a stuffed chair behind him, listening or reading a magazine. Sometimes while we were playing I'd glance over and she would wink at me. Another time when I looked she had her tits completely out; she shook them at me and then closed her shirt before Randy could notice. And man, those were some nice ones. It was smart of her to remind me of that. Another time, I glanced over and she was sitting at a kind of angle with her legs apart, in those little denim shorts, with just a strip of fabric between her legs. She was arranged so that Randy could not see that her thick, dark pussy lips were on display from where I was sitting. When my eyes went thataway she was looking at the ceiling with feigned innocence, twiddling her thumbs, teasing me, suppressing a broad grin.

I mean, if you're gonna play the blues, this is the way to do it, right? "I got a sweet little angel, I love the way she spread her wings..." I was sitting with that half-busted SG concealing my hard-on, but in my mind the idea of spending some time alone with this spunky lady started sounding pretty good. She was having a ball over there, toying with me, and somehow it made it better and less creepy knowing that he was unaware. I think she recognized that in me; I don't know if she was planning to be "honest" with him, but for now she was playful and tantalizing, and he was not part of the picture.

Over time when I was at the house, drinking beer and playing music, she started taking a gradually more assertive approach. Randy got up to pee one evening and the second the latch clicked Pam was on me. She sat in my lap and kissed me and ran her hands over my body, cooing at me. It was a game but it wasn't a game, you know? She was for real.

"What if he comes back?" I whispered.

"It doesn't matter," she said. "He doesn't mind. He just wants me to be happy." Even if he didn't mind, she was back on her chair, reading a magazine, when he came back into the room, unaware.

Another time, the bathroom door clicked shut and she jumped up and came to me -- she had unbuttoned her shirt in preparation -- and she stuck a big, juicy breast in front of my face. "Suck it," she said, and as a true gentleman I did what the lady asked. It was divine. It was like one of those Greek paintings where they're laying around in heaven with nymphs and shit. I sucked her nipple till it puckered, and held her tit with both hands, squeezing it, luxuriating in the womanliness of it. It was definitely "more than a mouthful" and also more than two hands full. When the toilet flushed she darted back to her magazine, leaving me wiping my mouth with my sleeve when Randy came back.

I got out of there at the end of each evening unfucked but knew it was only a matter of time.

So what might have seemed like a nice night of a couple of guys playing amateur blues in a working class living room once or twice a week became a kind of adventure series. Pam would flash me behind his back, wink at me, flirt with me while he was looking the other way or doing something else. This became a regular thing whenever I came over, and over time it got more intense. The second he left the room she would come over and we would make out with great vigor, as they used to say, pawing at each other, molesting each other as much as you can in the time it takes one Honda rider to pee.

On the nights that we didn't play music, Randy often hung out at the Ranch House, a biker bar along the old highway. The Harley riders gave him some shit for riding a Honda but at least he was a "motorcycle enthusiast," as they loved saying, two four-syllable words in a row. Double their quota for the week. There was some stuff going on between the bikers and a certain group of cholos in the barrio, regarding who was going to be supplying cocaine to a certain neighborhood. I didn't go to the Ranch House but Randy told me a few stories. One night a certain clubhouse in the barrio suddenly caught fire and burned down, and a few nights later somebody, like maybe ten somebodies, shot rifles and shotguns at the Ranch House until it looked like Swiss cheese. Unfortunately a few of the bullets came through the windows, and unfortunately Randy was standing in front of one, concentrating on a pool shot, when a bullet went through his shoulder. Major organs and arteries were spared but there was some surgery necessary, and they figured he'd be in the hospital for a week.

I went to see him in the hospital the next afternoon. He was happy as a pig in shit, joking with the nurses, hitting the PCA every time he could, staying in an opiate fog, eating like a horse. He looked terrible, with bloody bandages front and back, and his eyes were half-shut, but he had a stupid grin and you could tell he loved being waited on twenty-four seven.

His poor wife had put on shoes and long pants to see him. Same old t-shirt, but with a bra under it for once. When I was there she looked like she had not brushed her hair, or slept. She held his hand and wept at his bedside, even though he laughed at her.

"It ain't nothing," he said. "Fuckers just grazed me." But she obviously wasn't buying it. She had almost lost her man and she made a show of being quite upset.

I said good-bye and left her with him but I waited outside the building. After about twenty minutes she came out and said, "Oh hey, there you are."

"Yeah, wow I'm sorry about Randy."

"Fuck him" she said. "He shouldn't be going to that biker dump anyway. Now he's in there taking all the hospital's drugs, laughing his head off while they run around doing things for him. Leaving me at home alone, fucker."

Hmm, I thought, the worried wife was not so worried after all. I said, "I was going to offer to take you to dinner, thinking you were all broke up about this."

"Dinner, huh?" She looked at me. "I could take you up on that. Old fuckface there will be okay."

"Okay," I said, my cock already limbering up in my jeans. "Let's do it right. Let's go to Jacksons."

"Are you kidding?"

"Why not? We only live once."

"Well let me go home and straighten up, okay?" she said. "I can't go like this." And she was right. Jacksons isn't a place where you need a jacket and tie, but your service will be very slow if they want to discourage your business.

"I could use a shower myself," I said. "How about I swing by around seven?"

I was tempted to jerk off in the shower but decided to save it. I put on a clean pair of jeans and a shirt that buttons. Tennis shoes instead of work boots. Combed my hair, even. I felt pretty presentable. I straightened up the place a little and watched the evening news for half an hour and hopped into the pickup truck for a night out.

It was a strange feeling, almost like "a date," going to their house, knocking on the door, waiting. Like I should have brought flowers or something, like I was going to have to meet her dad. I had butterflies standing on the front porch waiting for her.

Eventually the door opened. She gave the screen a push and said, "Come in." I had been in that house many times; normally when Randy was there I didn't bother to knock. But this felt different. I stepped in, heard the screen slam, pushed the door shut.

"Wow, you are unbelievable," I said, looking at her. Actually my mind was blown. This naughty scruffy biker chick had put on a beautiful sky-blue silk dress, she had done her hair nice and wavy, with a barrette. Make-up. Shoes. She was wearing heels, not very high but very sexy. "Holy shit," I said. "Look at you."

She gave a little spin, her red lipsticked lips breaking into a wide smile. "You like?" she asked.

"Holy shit," I said again. "Give me a minute. I've never even seen you in shoes before, you know."

"Yes you have. I wore shoes to the hospital today."

"Yeah okay, except for that I mean."

The dress was a dream. It came down to mid-thigh and between that and the heels Randy's wife had long, beautiful legs. The neckline swooped low, showing off her most obvious assets, which were held high and proud by a lacy black bra, the edge of which just could be glimpsed at the top of the silk dress. She gave another turn, as I was staring, and I realized my naughty, scruffy girl also had an incredible ass. The dress fit her in such a way that it highlighted the swelling of those cheeks, and it was all I could do to keep my hands off her.

"Okay," she said, "Enough. I'm getting hungry."

She carried a small silver purse. It was a spring evening and warm enough without a shawl or jacket. Believe it or not, I held the door for her as she climbed up into the truck. Jacksons was technically on the other side of town, but in reality that wasn't very far -- this isn't a very big town. When we got there I held the door for her again and she laughed, "Such a gentleman," as if she was making fun of me, but I could tell she also appreciated it.

All eyes turned to us when we entered, and I mean in a good way -- it wasn't because I was covered with grease, or drunk. Everybody wanted to get an eyeful of my date. I was pretty sure that nobody in this fancy place knew her, and if they did they would not have recognized her. She was graceful, beautiful, and very very sexy.

Jacksons is known for their steak, and I can't complain. We had a glass of wine with dinner and a band was setting up as we finished our dessert, so we went to the bar and danced. I'm not much of a dancer but we did pretty good. When she was on the floor conversations stopped, all eyes were on her. The band was drooling over her. I knew the bass player but he was cool in this situation. He did not know Pam but he could see I was on a date, and not hanging out with some players.

"Would you like to come by my place for a beer?" I asked, as the clock approached ten.

"Sounds lovely," she said. I didn't want to mess up her lipstick but I kissed her on the dancefloor, couldn't help it. When I looked at her afterwards her lipstick was fine. She looked like fucking royalty, I tell you.

On this leg of the trip she sat close to me on the pickup seat, her hand on my thigh. The windows were open, allowing a warm breeze, and while I drove we talked about the evening.

My house is usually a certified disaster area, but I had taken a few minutes to put dishes away, throw my clothes in a basket, make the bed. And I was glad I had. At least now the place looked like a regular man's apartment, lacking the feminine touch but, you know, it was sanitary to touch things. Still, I felt like a peasant escorting a princess into my hut outside the castle walls. Pam came in and surveyed the scene graciously -- her own house, I knew, was nothing to brag about, but I felt like she had lifted herself to a new standard this night. "Would you like a beer or a glass of wine?" I asked.

"Sure," she said, "A glass of wine sounds good."