I'd always valued Aaron and Megan's friendship, even more so after my divorce. When I split with Angie two years ago they had been there for me, the only couple from of our shared pool of friends who had. But then Aaron was my oldest friend. I'd known him since we were lads.
Now we were both in our late twenties and saw each other only intermittently. Three or four times a year I would visit their Derbyshire home, a converted farmhouse just outside Bakewell. Usually I'd stay for two nights.
Did I fancy Megan? Of course I did -- who wouldn't. Aged twenty-four, only five-one and sumptuously curved, she was certainly a tidy little package. No! That doesn't do her justice. She was gob-smacking gorgeous: her brown eyes were large and always penciled darkly, and with her hair a shade of moonless midnight-sky she presented Mediterranean swarthy beauty.
I was determined not to spoil our friendship by making a move on her. Not that I'm a ladies-man, or arrogant enough to even imagine success would be a given with someone like Megan -- not even that I thought Megan was a woman in need of seducing. It was just the way she looked at me sometimes suggested she found me attractive, though it had never got to the stage of even flirting.
Most times when I visited, the three of us would spend the day on long walks. We no longer did the usual beauty spots; Tissington trail, Dovedale, and The Manifold valley. They were old hat. Megan and Aaron's local knowledge meant we would trek well off the beaten track. In the evening it would be a pub-meal. Other times the pair would share the kitchen and cook for me.
What happened on my last visit, and what I am about to tell, came completely out of the blue. I had no idea these old friends of mine were so inclined.
Don't get me wrong; I'm no prude. After all, I visit this site and sometimes post -- besides, my ex-wife Mandy and I dabbled in swinging. A Couple of ads placed, the eventual results of the second led to the break up of our marriage -- her going off to live a bizarre new life in a ménage-a-trois with that pair of cunts Ian and Phillipa. Their wealth and glamorous life-style lured her from me and off she went to share their home in the south of France. But that is an entirely different story.
This particular night with Aaron and Megan began a little differently than usual. To start off with, when I got to their place Aaron greeted me on his own and apologised for Megan not being present to welcome me. He said she'd gone out to celebrate a friend's twenty-first. They'd forgotten all about it when we'd arranged my visit.
Seven-thirty in the evening when I arrived. After I'd put my bag in the spare bedroom, we walked the half-mile to the pub and had a bar meal. Afterwards we talked of old times and I told him my plans for the future now I was over the divorce. It felt good to be with Aaron again, just Like the old days. The dynamics were different than when Megan was with us and I felt I had re-connected with something long neglected from my past..
Back at the house we drank beer and watched season one of Better Call Saul. He knew I was a fan of Breaking Bad but had not seen the spin-off.
We were two episodes in by the time a taxi dropped Megan home. She wasn't dead drunk, but was more that a little tipsy. In all the years I'd know her I'd never seen her at all affected by drink. This was a side of I'd never seen. Yes she would share a bottle of wine with a meal, but it was only a third of a bottle, and with food. So now it was disconcerting to see her not her usual self.
She was dressed in a shoulderless, black, Bardot frill jersey dress, the hem, with fine tights. Her high heels giving her another three inches. But wearing them did not seem to come natural to her and she tottered about unsteadily -- or it could have just been the drink.
Aaron could see I was taken back by his wife's condition. "This is how she gets when she's had too much. That Alice is a Bad influence," he said.
Before Megan returned, Aaron and I had shared the four-seat sofa while watching the flat-screen mounted over the fire place. Now Megan poured herself a white wine and came over to join us.
"Bunch up, guys," she said, wriggling her butt ostentatiously as she squeezed between us. "Hold this." She told her husband, passing him her glass. Then, wagging her finger "And don't you dare spill any."
I quickly moved a little to one side to make more room. She'd almost settled when she suddenly diced to take off her s hoes. She leaned forward and clumsily undid the straps and then kicked then way, saying "Horrid things."
After discarding her heels she seemed to almost deflate, slouching and resting her head on her husband's upper arm. Aaron placed the glass he had been holding down on the side table, then started to stroke her hair affectionately. We all settled down to watch the screen.
Ten minutes into a new episode, from the corner of my eye I clocked Megan adjusting herself. Abruptly her legs stretched right out and her calves came to rest on my thighs, her stockinged feet pressing against the leather arm of the sofa. I realised she no longer faced the screen but had turned and stretched out onto her back, her head now resting in her husband's lap. Her Eyes were closed.
I confess here and now that I have always had this thing for women in fine hosiery, so to have a pair if shapely legs like Megan's casually stretch across my own legs was a jolt to my composure. I looked down at what rested just below my groin and my heart began revving like a performance engine. The hem of her party dress was now hitched up so high that the full length of her shapely legs were displayed. I tried not to stare but out of the corner of my eye I could see the blur of her white panties beneath the barely-black denier. I couldn't help myself: I turned my head and stared unashamedly, my gaze eventually settled on the fine seam that sliced her crotch. I noted to myself the body of her tights were not reinforced, were as sheer and transparent as the rest.
Aaron looked at me and smiled. "You okay, mate?" he said.
