"Huns, would you get me a beer?"
The game is on. It is half-time and your friends are here; cigar smoke eddies in the air mingled with the smell of beer farts, boisterous men, high-fives, chest pumps, all interspersed with the noise of the fans on TV. Game day.
I bend slightly and hand the beer to you. His hand moves under the hem of my skirt to touch the inner flesh above my knee while the eyes of the Other watch to see if the gap created by the tank tops fabric and my skin is hopefully large enough to allow a glimpse. I swat my hand at, 'traveling fingers,' after handing you your beer.
You pull me onto your lap, "Here. Watch."
Is that directed to me or them? "Yeah," He says, "watch the half-time show for us."
"I need a beer." the Other says.
I started to stand.
"No, he can get his own." your arm slides around my waist clinching me to you as I hear him walk to the kitchen then open the refrigerator door,
"Yup, every man for himself." He agrees and nods.
After hearing the Other return I feel his hand come around to my breast, caressing, definitely not massaging, and turn to protest.
"It's ok hun," your voice huskily murmurs in my ear as your hand turns my face back to the TV, "just watch."
Your husky sweet voice is whispering and seducing me. Your fingertips gliding down my arm settle me, help, 'heat me up,' like it always does. Your fingertips are at an indentation on my skirt. You press gently.
You trace between my legs moving them down to my skirts' hem. Your other arm assists me to recline against you. You inch my skirt up to my waist then place your fingertips on my lacy panties.
"I'm sure she'll do a good job." He says.
"Mmmm, me too." the Other says as his fingers move along the top of my tank top then under its fabric teasing across the hardened nipple. "Nice breasts."
