Chapter 2
Fat Tuesday, Fat Cock
A few weeks passed, and it was the weekend of Supper Club again. This time it was at the home of our next-door neighbors: Greg and Tammy Barnes. Greg was about three years my senior and Tammy was about the same age as Yvette, making her two years my junior. On the liberal-conservative scale where a -10 is Hillary Clinton, and a +10 is Donald Trump, they were probably around a -2.
Greg worked in sales and had a very gregarious personality. He was tall, like Jake, but slender, weighing about 185. Tammy was one of the prettiest women on the street, with long brown hair, an athletic body with big tits and a great ass. It was not uncommon to see her jogging or biking past in the tightest outfits. Tammy and Yvette were besties and hung out more often than any of the other ladies.
Greg and Tammy both liked to drink and had a bit of a naughty streak. We once ran a playful pole among the GCSC members. When asked, which couple was most like to be swingers, Greg and Tammy came in first place. The reality was far from perception, as I knew them very well. They enjoyed sex and were very active, but I seriously doubted that they would ever be into swinging.
So, the theme for the evening was Mardi Gras, given that it was March. The house was decked out in purple, green and golds. Greg had zydeco music cranking throughout the house and, and the food was Cajun. They'd made a big pot of gumbo and had a crawfish boil going. We brought a chicken and andouille etouffee for those who weren't into crawfish.
Tammy surprised us all by having a big stash of beaded necklaces. Each man got 20. It was the job of the women to get the beads, and at the end of the night, the woman with the most beads would win a prize. George Schmidt wimped out immediately, by handing over all of his beads to his wife, Betty, who he called "cuddle bunny."
Eve looked at me and my beads with a pretty smile on her face. I just laughed, "You ain't getting my beads that easily. You're gonna have to work for them."
Darla and Jake arrived a little late. Things seemed a bit strained as they came in. I also detected a bit of awkwardness between Eve and Jake. I figured it was because she knew what had happened. Maybe she blamed him or thought he had somehow taken advantage of her drunken state. Many people might consider what he did rape.
After that, I made a point to kind of hang back in the front of the house. I was at the appetizer station, loading up a plate, but once the plate was full, I just waited there anxiously. A few minutes later, Darla walked in with Jake. He saw me and walked the other way. That triggered my warning sensors. Darla smiled and picked up a plate to get food.
"Hey, Max. How are you?" she asked as she scooped out some dirty rice.
"I'm great, Darla. How about you?" I asked, acting perfectly normal.
She worked her way around the table until she was directly in front of me. She didn't look at me but spoke softly, still getting food. "He knows," she said.
I felt my heart leap into my throat.
"About us?" I asked worriedly.
"No, no," she replied, giving me a quick look. "Jake remembers what happened and knows that it wasn't me in the bed."
Oh, well I figured that might happen sooner or later. "Did Jake tell you?" I asked, eating a bit of a beignet.
"No, he hasn't said anything," she stated calmly, "But, I can tell. He knows. He asked a lot of questions then got abnormally quiet. After a couple of minutes, he became highly agitated, acted all fidgety and nervous. Then he took me shopping at Tiffany's and got me this," she showed me a beautiful gold bracelet that had to have cost a fortune. "It's a guilt gift. We've also been having sex twice a day, every day since then. I'm surprised I can walk straight."
"Why'd he run away when he saw me?" I asked her. I was concerned that he might know I'd fucked his wife.
"I think he feels guilty and is afraid you might figure out that he fucked Eve," she said as she put the last bit of food on her plate. She turned and smiled broadly, speaking more loudly, "Well, I better get this food to Jake before he eats the decorations. Good seeing you, Max."
"Yeah, you too, Darla," I said before I went out the other doorway and circled back to find Yvette.
I found her sitting at the counter in the kitchen talking to Tammy and Betty. As I walked up, Tammy said, "Hey Max, give me some beads."
I laughed and said, "You know what the women on Bourbon Street do for beads."
"Yeah, well you aren't getting to see my boobs, so fork over some beads," she fired back.
"How about a hug?" I asked, grinning at her.
"Ok, I can do that," she replied.
I went around into the kitchen and put my plate down to give her a big hug. Her full 38D tits felt nice and soft, pressing into my chest. She broke the embrace and held out her hand.
"Beads," she demanded.
I took off a string and handed them to her.
"That's it? Just one?" she asked, acting insulted.
"Yep," I replied, "I've only got 19 left now, I need to be sure only to give them away to the ladies who earn them." I turned to Betty, holding my arms out. "How about you, Betty? Hug?"
She stepped away laughing. "I'm good," she replied, "I better go find George."
Yvette just shook her head at me and grinned, "You're a bad man," she accused me. I was about to replay wittily, but Jake walked past and Eve saw him and got very nervous. I couldn't help but notice that they avoided looking at each other.
Greg had made his version of the famous neon-green cocktail from Bourbon Street called the Hand Grenade. It tasted like fruit punch but packed a massive blow. By the time dinner was served, there were already a bunch of us feeling little pain.
We ate buffet style and gathered out back around a big picnic table covered in newspaper for the crawfish. Eating crawfish is always kind of a sexy thing. You use your hands, pinch the heads off and suck the goodies out. The sexual innuendo was rampant, and everyone was getting into the fun and spirit of the evening.
As the consumption of mudbugs died down, several of the more conservative couples said their farewells. Some had babysitters they needed to take home. Others had plans for tomorrow morning, so they needed to go to bed at a decent hour. They all had excuses.
We were down to the hosts, Darla and Jake, George, but no Betty, a younger couple Wyla and Justin Anderson, who had recently moved in from California. Wyla was from the Philippines but had lived in Los Angeles most of her life. Justin graduated from UCLA and worked in the music industry. He was the Guilford Court weed dealer, so we heard. The pot hadn't made it as far down the street as our house yet, but I'd heard that some of the other couples had been partaking of late.
The remaining men were all milling about out back by the picnic table. Instead of weed, we were smoking cigars. The ladies were inside laughing and telling stories about past supper club events to the newcomer Wyla.
