My wife of eight years went to Europe for a month with her parents, taking the twins with her. I suggested to Alma she go without them and I'd hire a day nurse but she declined, saying she'd miss them too much, Anyway they were staying in rented houses for a week in Ireland and England, barging for a week in France and then finishing with a week in a house in Munich and intended only traveling out of those bases by day and the occasional over-night trip in their rented vehicle. Thus she was not concerned about being bogged down by over-tired four-year-olds.
She poked me in the stomach and said slyly, "I'm not sure you could be trusted with a day nurse – you'd be coming home for morning and afternoon breaks and long lunches. I grinned, she giggled and the finger wandered down lower and suddenly it was all on.
At last Alma, her sniping mother and grumpy father (two reasons why I was not in the tour party) were off, my darling crying, doing her best to upset the twins.
"The girls will look after you," Alma sobbed and then rushed back to me for another round of kisses, straining the smiles of waiting airline staff with the twins in their care.
"Look, I don't mind if you find a kind, clean bloke occasionally and have it off with him," I said, almost sobbing myself. "I can't image you going more than a week without sex without climbing the wall in frustrated."
"Thank you darling, I don't know what to say."
I said thanks would suffice and she buried her face into my chest in gratitude.
"For God sake, Alma, leave the lazy lump and join us for our holiday to remember," called the sniper.
I made an obscene gesture, making sure my mother-in-law noted it was aimed in her direction.
It had been an early morning departure so I drove straight to work at Shingles, Hogg & Taylor, Financial Investment Consultants. The Shingles is me – Gary Shingles, and Mervyn Hogg is Alma's brother who was responsible when we were at university together to leading his sister to my bed – well, almost. I had to finish the job.
So, 'the girls' had been detailed to look after me – that meant providing me with dinner either at their home or my home or perhaps both, on different nights of course. Whether that meant clearing away and washing up I'd wait to find out. That reminded me to leave out the Hoover somewhere they'd almost stumble over it. If I threw my dirty laundry in the hall they ought to get that message as well.
The 'girls' were Macy with a great ass whose cooking was little short of dog tucker before it even became scraps: Meg who had a great mouth complete with fabulous smile whose cooking specialty appeared to be fish that converted quickly to loose bowel syndrome and faultless Faye who was a master chef, possesses one of those bodies that makes one's eyes pop and is the only person I know, not counting our uncomprehending twins, who laughs at my jokes. Alma should have given me a schedule on who was cooking what and when but all she said was they each had a key to the house.
I awoke at 6:00 to feel someone slipping in bed beside me. It was Meg – I recognized her perfume – and I'd felt warm flesh – a great expanse of it. I explored with a hand and immediately docked on to a very erect nipple. My hand froze in terror – just kidding.
"I hope I'm not too late, I forget to ask Alma what time do you have your morning erection."
"Now," I croaked.
Meg's fingers wriggled down my chest and over my belly. "Ohmigod," she choked.
Within one hundredth of a second, or so it seemed, that beautiful wide mouth of Meg's was around her trophy, slurping away with a disgusting sound. I was in heaven and wished it was just a little lighter so I could witness that glorious smile against the incoming dawn light.
