John Comes in for a Little Wine
I passed John’s car on the interstate and, trying not to speed, hurried home. I parked the car across the street and ran into the darkened house. I turned on a floor lamp near the wall with the peephole, then a small reading lamp on one end table. I wanted the couch and the carpeted area in front of it well lighted. I then rushed down the hall and quickly took a whiz.
Only a few minutes after the toilet stopped flushing, I heard John’s car pull up in front. I didn’t watch the two of them approach the house but went immediately to the closet from where, through a peephole, I knew I’d be able to watch (and hear) whatever went on in the living room. I heard the door open, John saying something, and Nancy laughing. Then they entered together. She still had her heavy sweater draped over her arm and he was carrying her book bag. She took the bag from him and, after dropping her keys in it, set it down by the couch. Her blouse, I noticed, was just as unbuttoned as it had been in the bar. My beautiful wife was still showing plenty of breast.
He asked her if he could use the bathroom and she directed him down the hall. When he was out of sight, she walked over to the peephole and whispered hello to me. She said, a little drunkenly, that she thought John was really a hunk. Did I? I didn’t answer and she just laughed. Then, after walking over to the radio and tuning in an AM jazz station, she disappeared into the kitchen and returned a minute later with a chilled bottle of wine and two glasses, which she set on the coffee table. She next kicked off her shoes and, flashing me a smile, sat on the carpet in front of the coffee table. I heard the toilet flushing (for the second time in five minutes) and a moment later John was back in the living room.
“Could you pour us each a glass, please?” asked Nancy. As John did this, my wife, still seated on the floor, slowly unrolled and removed her knees socks. John was very cool, not spilling a drop while pouring the wine as he looked down at her thighs and crotch, which she made no effort to conceal. “You’ve got beautiful legs,” he said.
“Thank you,” said Nancy, reaching for the glass of wine he held out to her.
In the closet, I had taken off my trousers and briefs and was holding my hardening cock in my right hand. I was getting very turned on knowing this guy was probably able to see, through her thin white panties, the shape of my wife’s cunt-lips and the pattern of her reddish-blonde pubic hair. He’d praised her legs, but I knew it had to be her crotch that interested him more.
He sat down next to her on the carpet and removed his shoes. “So you’re dating other men now,” he said (or something close to this), “but what’s that you said in the car about not having sex?”
I think she answered something like the following (the volume was set low on the radio, but I couldn’t make out every word): “Not really dating. I’ve never been into that sort of thing. I have new men friends and I’m not interested in getting into anything with any of them exclusively. What I meant was I’m not ready for full-scale fucking [yes, she definitely used the word] right now. Partly it’s psychological: my husband and I haven’t decided for sure to split up and I’ve got some old-fashioned ideas about loyalty, I guess. Also, I’m afraid of STDs, which you can get even with condoms, I understand.”
They chatted for a while (part of the time about John’s wife, who he said had gained weight after their first baby and couldn’t seem to lose it) then Nancy said something about being not being able to stay up much longer. She needed to take a shower and get to bed. He asked if he should leave and she said there was no rush -- they could at least finish their wine. Then she stood up and walked down the hall to the bathroom.
