"I wouldn't blame you if you had beaten her a pulp. Teach her a lesson."
"Now, Ed. I'm not the sort of guy that uses a woman for a punching bag. I hate bastards like that. But I came close, too close...
"The afternoon dragged by. I didn't get a whole lot done, fretting that I somehow had lost her, but how in the hell could I keep her? I'd never find another girl that was as uninhibited...wanton...and downright sluttish as Kaylee was. I liked that about her, I loved her for it, but it just didn't sit quite right with me that she was doing other guys behind my back. It wasn't the sex. It was the deception. I didn't like that. I didn't like that one whit.
Five rolled around and I considered going over to the Holiday Inn to talk to her, but I knew she wouldn't like that, so I headed for the gym. I needed a hard workout, a workout to exhaustion, and I did my best to do that. Returning to the apartment, I ran into Randy.
"Hey man! What's up?"
"Nothing much," I lied.
"Say, Ramona fixed a lasagna for tonight. Ya wanna join us for dinner?"
"Uhhh."
"She makes one hell of a lasagna!"
I really didn't feel up to hanging around the apartment alone and I was hungry. Besides, as I said, Ramona is something to behold.
"Uhhh, yeah, sure! What time?"
"Seven?"
I looked at my watch; it was already past six thirty. "Seven will be fine, gives me a chance to change."
Randy looked me over. "You're dressed just fine."
The only thing I had on was my faded gym shorts. It felt kind of odd to go to someone's home for dinner just wearing gym shorts, but then I realized I had never seen Randy with a shirt on and I had never seen Ramona in anything but one of her minimalist bikinis. "I still need to get another shower."
"Okay dude, but we dress casually. If we dress at all," he added with a laugh. "Its apartment 247."
I went upstairs, showered, and dressed in some clean gym shorts, a wife-beater shirt and my sandals. Randy greeted me at the door.
"C'mon in man! Leave the frigging shoes," he said pointing to a pile of flip-flops and sneakers by the door, "we don't want a bunch of shit tracked all over the carpet."
He was still in his baggy swimsuit, and not surprisingly barefoot and with no shirt. Ramona was in a bright yellow bikini that I hadn't seen before. The top was just as small as her other outfits but the bottoms were practically nonexistent, just strings, strings that disappeared into her cracks. She too was barefoot, but her ankle and toes where festooned with an assortment of anklets and toe rings.
Randy had the backgammon board already set up and waiting for a contest.
"Honey, bring us a couple of beers!"
Ramona fetched two beers from the fridge and brought them to us.
"Turn around, Honey." She slowly turned to give me a good look at her from all angles.
"Shit!" I muttered.
"Nice, uh? Love that bikini, but she can't wear it outside, at least not around here. Makes ya hard, uh?"
"Yeah, you could say that."
"Hear that Honey. You're making George all hard!" He laughed, handed me one of the dice. "C'mere baby, and give me some good luck."
Ramona stood next to her husband with her back to me while Randy rubbed her exposed buttocks for good luck. We each rolled one die to see who got first roll. Randy won the roll. He slapped her on the butt exclaiming, "Way to go Babe! Now run along woman, you're distracting me!"
With the intensity of a gamer who always played to win, Randy began the game. Thanks to Kaylee, I was pretty much an even match for Randy, a fact that he both relished and loathed, relishing his victories and loathing his losses to me. The guy was intense, talking to the dice, invoking God's help to roll this combo or that, yelling in glee when got his roll, crying in agony when I hit him, and just having a good time.
Every time he had a particularly low chance of making the roll he needed, he'd call Ramona over and rub her ass for good luck. Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn't.
We finished the game after he doubled me and I redoubled him, with Randy coming out on top with the help of a few long shot rolls blessed by the incredible buns of his wife. Statistically I should of had him. He shouted and hooted in glee at his victory, knowing full well that he lucked out and next time I would probably whip his ass.
Ramona called us to the table. Randy was right, she made one hell of a lasagna. It had to be the best I ever had. I reluctantly declined a third slice, not the least because if I had accepted, Ramona would have gotten up to get it, and she was something to see in that bikini.
After we helped her clear the table, load the dishwasher and cleanup the kitchen, we all went into the living area. I sat on the sofa while Randy and Ramona stood next to each other, with his arm around her waist.
"George, what I am about to ask ya goes no further than this apartment."
"Uh, sure Randy. Okay."
"I have your word?"
"Sure."
"I can trust ya?"
"My word is my bond."
"Good...Ramona and me, we've talked about this. We like ya. You're fun and Ramona thinks you're a hunk. We don't know your girl friend, but we have heard that she's a cutie."
"Yes, she's cute. I told you that."
"Yeah, but my sources have confirmed that."
"Sources? What sources? What have you heard about her? "
"Never mind about that, but normally we wouldn't have ya over like this without your lady."
