This story is about Laura, age 32, who made the journey from housewife to hotwife in just a few days.
Laura had a stable but boring life.
As for Monica, she lived life like every day was her last.
Our story starts with a phone call from Laura's bestie, Monica:
"No, Monica, I can't tonight. Yes, I know the kids are with my mom for an overnight. But, Dave is out of town and was going to call me when he got out of his evening meeting, at about eleven o'clock. And you know how Dave is about being punctual." Those words resounded in my memory, imbedded there. As I reflected on last night's events I wondered, will anything ever be the same?
My best friend, Monica, had called to entice me to go out clubbing with her. I had tried to say no, but no one ever says no to Monica. I learned that in college when we first became friends. And, Monica never said no to anyone, at least anyone with a 'Y' chromosome. A seemingly unlimited series of men had passed through Monica's life since then, with one brief flirtation with marriage. Now divorced, Monica led the hedonistic life only dreamed about by most. If I had said no, and stuck to it, I might not be in the place I found myself today. Maybe.
I had married Dave right out of college and we embarked upon a textbook life of a mortgage, a job for each of us in an office setting, and two kids. Years later, time flying by at supersonic speed, I found myself on the phone with Monica, first saying no, then agreeing to go clubbing. She said she would pick me up a little after nine.
Watching the clock, I dressed quickly, not wanting to be late. I first thought to dress conservatively, after all I was a married woman with kids, for god's sake. Changed my mind three or four times, then deciding that I wanted a sexy look. It wouldn't matter, it would just be for a few drinks, and then back home before eleven. I picked out a black halter top dress, cut high to show more of my legs, then selected, then discarded, then selected again a pair of black mesh stockings. I decided to go all-in for the night and slipped on a pair of black stilettos, what my husband referred to "come fuck me" shoes. I brushed my long brown hair, letting it fall over my shoulders. Make-up completed, I waited for Monica to arrive.
Waiting, I admired myself in the mirror. Not too bad for having two kids, I thought. I turned looking at myself, wondering if guys still found me attractive. I still retained much of the lean look from my competitive swimming days in college. My breasts had started to sag a bit -- having kids does stretch you out a bit, but I had that corrected with my Christmas present last year from Dave -- a boob job, giving me a nice, firm 'C' cup.
Monica was right on time, beeping the horn for me to come out. As I slid into the passenger's seat, Monica remarked, "Damn, girl, don't you look fine. A housewife all dressed to kill. You'll have every guy at the club fawning all over you."
I looked at Monica with a smile and noticed she was dressed to kill also. Monica had kept her figure taut with daily workouts and was wearing a sheer satin blouse. Even with her bra, her nipples were clearly visible, poking against the fabric of her blouse. She also was wearing a leather miniskirt with her own set of stiletto heels. "Not too bad yourself," I responded. She tugged at her miniskirt, raising it up at bit so I could see her thong, laughing as she did.
"What is this club you're taking us to?" I asked.
"Well," she said, "You need a little time off, some 'happy' time. And I know just the place."
"What do mean 'happy' time?" I replied.
Monica said, "All you seem to care about is Dave and the kids. I think you need something that makes you happy, like when we were in college." I thought about Monica's comments as she drove. Those days in college with parties every weekend (and sometimes during the week) were good times. 'Happy' times indeed.
No more heavy subjects after that. We rode for about twenty minutes, making small talk. Me about my job and the latest entertainment news. Her about whichever guy she was sleeping with that week. Apparently this week's lover de jour was quite equipped in the cock department. And, his name was Marcus, a black man she had met on her job as a pharmaceutical rep.
"He's black?" I asked, rather haltingly. I had never been with a black man and, neither had Monica, or so I thought.
"Yes indeed-ee," Monica replied, "About six foot five of muscle and the best cock you've ever experienced. And I've experienced my share," she said with a laugh.
I thought on that a bit in silence, wondering what it would be like to experience life as Monica did. No husband, no kids, nothing to hold me down, keep me on track. I lost track of where we were until Monica pulled off at an exit from the highway and drove into a not-so-well-lit neighborhood. A strip center of stores and restaurants was ahead on the right with the corner store occupied by a business with a neon sign that said "The Blue Flame."
"Just what kind of club is this?" I asked, more than a little bit wary. Monica was my best friend, and would always be so, but she and I had taken different tracks in life after college. Me, I was on the safe and settled track; Monica's track was filled with fun and more than a little bit of danger.
You'll see in a minute," Monica said. We pulled into the parking lot, parked, and walked to the entrance. "Marcus is meeting us here. You'll like him, I think." This added to the mystery of the evening -- a strange place, meeting a stranger. Not what I was used to, at all. I guess at this point I could have backed out, gone home, and resumed my stable life. But no one says no to Monica.
