The best thing about our local pub is Heather, the weekend bartender. She's tall and well built, with a pretty face and long blond hair. She's loquacious, cheerful, and has a strong personality. One more thing: she gives my wife more attention than any other customer. "Her eyes light up every time she sees you," I told my wife.
"You think every woman is a lesbian," Lori always told me.
"You mean they're not?" I joked.
One night I proposed a test: "I'll leave you alone and when she comes over to you - and she will - tell her how much you love dancing and how much I don't. I'm sure she'll invite you out."
"And what if she does? Should I make a 'date' with her?"
"Only if you want to..."
Later when I was returning from the men's room, I saw the women deep in conversation. Heather was leaning over the bar with her face close to Lori's. To give them time I dallied by the jukebox; only after Heather moved to another customer did I return to my wife. She smiled as she sipped her drink. "Heather told me about Neon, that new club down by the train station. She's going there Saturday." She set her drink down. "WE'RE going to the new club."
"You and me?"
"Me and her, silly. Just the two of us. You're helping your brother, remember?" She slurped at her straw. "And don't get excited, you pervert. We're just going dancing. You know how much I love dancing."
Since my wife never confided any girl-on-girl fantasies I actually expected the "date" would just be two friends out on the town. But that didn't stop Lori from dressing to the nines that night. Her sheer white blouse barely concealed a hot-red push-up bra. She wore a black thong under a short black skirt, black thigh highs and heels. Standing by the mirror, she lifted the skirt and pulled her underwear aside. "Do you think Heather will try to get into this?" she joked.
I had to wait hours to find out the answer. At 2AM Lori returned home, flush with alcohol. I had dozed on the sofa, but she woke me by sitting on the floor and placing her hand on my stomach. As she revealed the night's details she slid her hand over my boxers...
****
Although she had set up the 'date' because she liked dancing she also wanted to prove me wrong. She waited in the parking lot until Heather's text came. Heather had parked a few rows back and soon enough appeared at the side of the car. She examined my wife as she stepped out of the car: "Look at you, girl. Damn!"
"Is it too much?"
"YOU are too much," she laughed as she gave her a hug. "I'm glad you came out tonight -- we're going to turn a lot of heads." True enough: Heather was heavily made-up and wearing a slinky dress, looking as hot as ever.
The place was a combination restaurant/bar. The restaurant upstairs was shutting down, but the downstairs bar was happening. They found seats at the end of the bar and ordered drinks. The talk flowed easily, sprinkled with Heather's compliments on how good Lori looked. "You should dress like this more often!" When her current favorite song came on, she pulled my wife to the dance floor, leading her by the hand through the crowd.
In the heat of the throng, Lori began sweating, but was thoroughly enjoying herself. Back at the bar, she fanned herself. Heather picked up a napkin and dabbed a rivulet of sweat from my wife's throat. When two men in open shirts and gold chains approached them, Heather politely sent them on their way. "Who needs men?" she joked. She casually dropped her hand and let it land on Lori's knee.
Caught up in the joy of the moment, Lori picked up her drink. "To not needing men!"
After another round of drinks Lori pulled the fruit from her drink and was going to set it on the bar when Heather asked, "You don't want that?" When Lori shook her head, Heather reached for my wife's wrist and guided Lori's hand, moving the sweet fruit to her lips, then seductively sucked the cherry into her lips. "Mmmm, nice and juicy!"
By now Lori was figuring that my hunch was probably correct - Heather was indeed 'into' her. But it didn't bother my wife. She enjoyed the attention. It was fun to be flirtatious, and she had no plans to go any further.
Another dance, one of those feel good 90's hip-hop songs you couldn't help but sing along to. They headed back onto the dance floor, where they laughed and danced and shouted the chorus along with everyone else. Lori felt like a teenager again. Returning to the bar Heather sat against the wall, and swung her stool to face Lori. She complimented my wife's earrings, then her necklace. As she reached over to touch the silver jewelry her hand brushed against the top of Lori's chest.
Moving closer she forced Lori to swivel her chair, until the two women faced each other. Lori noticed that her legs were spread a bit. Heather checked out the floral lace stockings she was wearing. "I like these," Heather said as she ran her fingers along the fabric, tracing the pattern around the knee. The touch not only surprised Lori, it electrified her. "Are these, stockings or ..." Not waiting for an answer Heather used her knee to nudge one of Lori's legs aside, then lowered her head for a peek. Catching a glimpse of bare thigh, she smiled. "Ah, thigh highs. Very sexy."
Lori shut her legs too quickly, which caused Heather to laugh. "Relax. No one can see you. Only me." She playfully used her knee to pry Lori's legs apart.
Lori, laughing, tried to shut her legs. Heather laughed back, and now used more force to prop them open. It became a kind of game, a silly challenge. They were both giggling as they wrestled with their legs. But if this was a challenge, after a half dozen back and forths Lori ultimately conceded. "You win. Uncle!" She resigned herself to sit with her legs parted, partially exposed to her friend. Even though no one could see up her skirt, she felt exposed. But it was exciting sitting like that. And erotic, as she was being 'forced' to sit that way.
"Good -- you've stopped fighting me." Heather placed her hand atop my wife's thigh, and gently rubbed the stocking. Her hand moved down to Lori's knee, then back to mid-thigh. She squeezed Lori's leg. Still staring into Lori's eyes, Heather inched her hand upwards, slowly and deliberately, until her fingers dipped under the skirt. Lori, now suddenly embarrassed, grabbed Heather's wrist to stop her. Again they tussled: Heather trying to move her hand up; Lori trying to push it away.
When Heather conceded and retracted her hand, she said, "You needn't to be nervous around me"
"I'm not," Lori lied.
"I don't bite." A pause. "Unless you-"
