It was a hot summer's evening and the last of the guests had left. My wife and her best friend, who was staying the night, were upstairs getting the kids to bed while I cleared the debris of the party away in the garden, cleaned up the barbecue and set the dishwasher off in the kitchen.
It was still pretty muggy even though it was nearly 8pm so I had removed my tee shirt, leaving me just wearing some low-slung surfer's shorts. It had been a strange party; both my wife and her friend had been giving me knowing looks and a couple of times during the day I had caught them whispering conspiratorially. Also, had they both been unusually enthusiastic in plying me with drinks? Certainly, I was feeling slightly drunk, and it had taken me longer than it should to figure out stacking the spare plastic chairs in the shed.
On top of that, a little earlier I had made a hideous drink affected mistake with her friend. Not that it was completely my fault. They are like two peas in a pod; the words shapely, petite and brunette could be used for either of them. It did not help that they had been wearing almost identical little blue cotton sun dresses.
In my slightly intoxicated state, I thought I had followed my wife into the utility room, as I went to grab some more beers for the guests. As I entered the room, she was bent over the edge of our chest freezer trying to reach for something, probably ice cream. Being that she is not too tall and whatever she was getting was apparently in the bottom, she was on tiptoes and her short dress was barely covering her shapely arse.
No one else was around so I slid my hands up her legs, pushing the dress right up her back. She was wearing a tiny thong as usual, but not one I had seen before. That was not unusual, as she often liked to surprise me by wearing new lingerie.
She usually liked to tell me about it when I was not in a position to act on it. It was the anticipation of making me wait; knowing I desperately wanted to rip her clothes off and see the new underwear on her hot body. It turned her on to whisper sexy secrets in a public place when I could do nothing about it.
Like the time when we had just sat down in the church at a wedding, she was wearing a short dress and told me she had no knickers on. At our own wedding she wore stockings and suspenders for the first time and chose to whisper that fact in my ear as we were about to exchange our vows.
I pressed my awakened hardness against her bum where the tiny thong disappeared between her pert cheeks and as she stood, I whispered in her ear "Can you tell how I feel about the new knickers?"
Then suddenly the shocking realisation hit me through my drunkenness that this was not my wife. The scent was slightly wrong, the hairstyle not quite the same, and she was slightly shorter than my wife was. I leapt backwards letting her dress drop back into place, already pleading my profuse apologies and telling her how I had mistaken her for my wife.
In my embarrassment and state of shock, I hardly noticed her amusement as she jokingly said she forgave me and that she understood it was an honest mistake. At the time I was only aware of the massive relief I felt that she had not been upset or offended. Only now, as I reflected on it while clearing the garden did I recall that she said the strangest thing as she straightened herself out; that my wife was a lucky girl.
Still mildly drunk, I surveyed the garden to make sure I had not missed anything and then locked up the back doors. I was slightly miffed at how long it had taken me, as the ladies had not reappeared to help me but instead had taken an extreme amount of time doing something else.
No way did I believe it had taken them all that time just to get the kids to bed. More likely, they were doing their usual favourite thing of going though my wife's walk-in wardrobe full of clothes and trying her outfits on. When she did this on her own, I would sometimes sit on our bed and enjoy the view as she tried on different outfits. The mirrors along one whole wall certainly gave me a full view from all angles.
She knew it gave me a serious hard on, but liked to pretend that I was genuinely interested in fashion. For her she genuinely found clothes interesting and would have done this even if I were not there, but with me as a spectator she had the added enjoyment of knowing I was ogling her and watching her repeatedly slip off slinky numbers and then stand there in skimpy underwear as she selected other outfits to try on.
Inevitably, at some point we would drop the pretence and find ourselves naked and entwined on the bed. Of course, when they were both in our bedroom trying on clothes I was not allowed in. Instead, I was left outside feeling desperately curious to see what it looked like with them both trying on stuff.
I had always fancied her friend, not that I ever admitted that to my teasing wife when she asked, I knew better than that. My wife was seriously hot, but that did not mean I did not appreciate that her friend was equally hot.
I definitely have a thing for petite brunettes, so it was hardly surprising that I fancied her. In fact, they looked so similar that they were often mistaken for sisters. I had fantasized about seeing her friend with her kit off more than a few times. When they were in there trying on outfits, it seemed inevitable that at certain points they would both be stood in their underwear. I liked to imagine that they could appreciate this the way I would have, but guessed that for them it was purely about the clothes; even so, I would have loved a peek.
An idea formed in my mind; I grabbed a nearly finished beer bottle in the kitchen and went upstairs, accentuating my drunkenness. If I barged in our bedroom and immediately passed out on the bed, was it possible that they might go back to what they were doing, giving me the chance to watch? If not they were likely to cover themselves and scream at me to get out of the room.
Fuck it, I thought, I was going to go for it. There was still enough alcohol in me to give me some confidence; no way would I have tried otherwise. I stumbled into the room, veered one way then the other before contriving to fall backwards onto the bed and pass out spread eagled on my back.
It all happened so suddenly that the girls had not even had time to shriek, but neither had I had time to take a look at them. For this to work it had to appear authentic and if I had been looking too hard at them it might have spoilt the impression that I was too drunk to have even registered them before passing out.
As I lay there with my eyes shut, I felt my wife grab the bottle from my hand before its contents could spill. I sensed they were both stood looking at me. My wife's friend said "Well that idea isn't going to work now; we must have overdone the booze".
My wife replied, "Damn, I could have sworn he wasn't looking too drunk before we got the kids out of the way. Well we will just have to amuse ourselves, like we usually do".
Her friend giggled and said in a husky voice "Well I'm not complaining, we still enjoyed putting this stuff on, even if the prince can't come to the ball". My mind was racing; what were they talking about. Trying to figure out the meaning of their words was having a sobering effect on my mind.
