I'm married to a relatively successful business executive who seems tireless in climbing the corporate ladder. As I approach the edge of my prime at 41, I am no longer the same head-turner as I used to be. One relief, however, is that I am not bad looking either even at this age. There is a 120-pound weight embedded in my 5'7" frame. My hair is shoulder-length brown and my son's young buddies call my blue eyes sexy especially, they say, when stealing glances, a gesture that I unwittingly do whenever I talk to men, young or aging. They say it of course when my son or husband are not within hearing distance. On social occasions where my businessman husband brings me I could still notice a few men and women throwing some sort of extra notices at my 36C breasts. As for my sexual orientation, well, I still consider myself straight in spite of a new and unexpected discovery.
I am a straight woman. Or so I thought until one night at a party when another woman made me discover something in me that I never knew existed. On that night that happened to be on a weekend my husband took me with him to a social affair hosted by his boss and and wife at their classy residence somewhere in south San Francisco.
It was an elegant gathering of beautiful people of all ages that composed of socialites, businessmen and their executives, wives and daughters as well as friends and mistresses. My husband introduced me to the host and hostess, he feeling proud of his "trophy wife" or how his boss described me. Of course I considered that as just a flattery. Although I could not consider myself as bad looking, neither could I consider myself attractive as the real trophy wife.
The party was attended by the rich people of the old city where I was born - the city by the bay. That it was a classy gathering was evident from the endless flow of champagne and caviar. There was dancing and laughter, men talking business and women throwing gossips here and there about celebrities, the rich and the famous. The love triangle between Brad Pitt, Angelina Jolie and Jennifer Aniston was the most popular. Runaway gossips were also there. Prudes couldn't help raise their eyebrows as they listen to silly talks on Senator Hillary Clinton and Ellen Degeneres, suspecting them of having private moments together when the Senator toured the latter around New York's Staten Island a year ago.
"We'll hangout and do some stuff. We'll go to clubs," Ellen was quoted as saying.
"You'll go to clubs." Hillary was quoted replying.
"So they didn't go to clubs. They went diving instead," one attractive female guest joked.
"When we planned to go diving I never thought it would be into water," Ellen was furher quoted telling Hillary.
I laughed out loud listening to the funny gossips coming from women who were supposedly the cream of the crop of San Francisco's high society. Amidst the laughter and intriguing gossips a slim-looking blonde came to me as I happened to be alone touring the elegance of the beautiful mansion. She held two glasses of champagne and offered me one. I recognized her as the hostess, the owner of the mansion and wife of my husband's boss. I was flattered to be singled out and offered a one-on-one toast by no less than the party's hostess. Her name was Maude. She was an attractive lady, 3 years my junior and an inch taller than me. Her muscular shoulders would not take away the femininity in her frame as a whole. For one, she was dressed in a sexy red calf-long body fit dress that outlined the shape of her model-like frame. For another she swayed her hips seductively as she entertained male and female guests. Maude resembled Rebecca Romijin Stamos when she portrayed a sexy character in the movie, "Femme Fatale."
Maude took another two glasses of champagne from the tray of a passing handsome young waiter after putting our empty glasses into it. I realized that she was getting tipsy. Where earlier I noticed her flirting with the handsome waiter now she was flirting with me although in a relatively mild way. Of course I dismissed it as just one of those things in my attempt to maintain politeness. However, my always alert mind couldn't help ring the alarm bells about Maude's possible lesbian tendency.
The hostess took my hand as she escorted me to our table where my husband was busy talking business with his fellow business executives. I really wondered why the men had to carry such conversation in such affairs where they needed to relax their minds after a full week of business talks.
Dinner was served, wine flowed anew as if everyone was invited to a sleepover. Soon there was more dancing and laughter. The more daring men danced with women of all ages while the shy ones stayed in their seats talking business, sometimes nonsense, as they sipped their drinks. Some women took the dance floor in place of their shy partners and danced with each other. There was fun all around. As polite as I used to be I couldn't refuse Maude's request to dance with her. Within seconds the two of us joined the fun as we wiggled our asses in the dance floor to the beat of fast tunes until the music turned slow and lights went down.
Oh Yes! You are guessing it right. Maude didn't release me and, instead, took me in her arms to slow dance. And we did. Other women too were doing it so our pairing did not turn out to be an unusual sight at the dance floor, at least for the moment. Maude flirted with me but still within the bounds. We slowly swayed around, her belly and thighs occasionally bumping with mine although not in an overt way. At that stage I still did not suspect things to get out of hand. Far from it I tried to reassure myself each time the alarm bells ring while we were dancing.
As me and Maude and the beautiful people laughed and danced the night away, more wine and caviar flowed as if the host and the hostess were quietly telling us to enjoy our last night on earth. No one seemed to be concerned anymore on the presence of police officers in the streets of San Francisco, out to apprehend motorists suspected with high alcohol contents in their veins.
Maude and I were both tipsy when we resumed slow dancing. She became more daring and I in turn just allowed it as my curiosity was increasingly taking over, whether due to the effect of champagne or just plain fun. She was now breathing into my ear when she talked trying to test the waters. Goose bumps were all over me each time her wet mouth touched my ear. I quickly dismissed it. The goose bumps were caused by the touch not by the woman, I assured myself. I further consoled myself by recalling the same chill whenever my pet would play with my toes and sole. However I tried to divert my worry, it couldn't put away the obvious as this other woman was now flirting with me openly and stepping out of bounds.
"Did you know you are sexy?" She whispered into my ear in a husky voice.
"You are much sexier than I am," I whispered back.
"Nooohhh... you are...If only you knew..."
