Sandy glanced at her watch impatiently. It was going on eight, and it was high time for the first-Friday-of-the-month Lodge meeting to end. Sandy and her husband, Harry, had arrived a tad after five, enjoyed drinks with some friends and consumed the Lodge's magnificent monthly steak dinner.
Then the men went into an adjacent room at seven for their meeting and Lodge rituals; that was men only, of course. The wives and girlfriends enjoyed after-dinner cocktails and gossiped. A few played cards, and there were five slot machines in a backroom that attracted a crowd of women intent on trying their luck. The slot machines were illegal, of course, but the Lodge had connections. With everyone's hearty approval, the machines subsidized the cost of the Lodge's lavish monthly steak dinners and New Year's Eve bash.
Precisely at eight, the meeting room doors swung open, and a boisterous crowd of men spilled out to join the ladies. Harry and John ambled out with their arms slung around each other's shoulders. John had been the star quarterback of their "almost-state-champion" high school football team who also married their "slightly pregnant" head cheerleader right after graduation. It turned out to be a very happy and fruitful union that produced a passel of children.
The two men wove their way through the crowd and came to a swaying stop before Sandy. Both men were sloshed, as were most of the other men. The men had largely gone to the same high school and attended the local state college. Many had also played sports together. Their monthly gathering at the Lodge became a chance to let their hair down and relive their athletic glories of yesteryear in a bacchanalian revel.
Sandy smiled at the tottering pair with bemused tolerance. Her husband, Harry, was a successful CPA, and John was the manager of his family's booming multi-generational automobile business. Both men were usually pretty straight-laced and traditional. They were good men, and tonight she would not begrudge them their monthly trip off the reservation.
John stared at Sandy blearily and mumbled more or less coherently, "Sandy, if this good-for-nothing husband of yours had not boggled my perfect pass and let them intercept, we would have been state champions... of the whole pea-picking state!"
Sandy laughed amiably, "Oh John, you all replay that same football game every month when you get together. It always comes out the same. Now shoo. Your wife is over there and ready to go home. Neither you nor Harry are in any shape to drive tonight."
Sandy knew what state the men were going to be in tonight and had quit drinking after one final glass of wine with supper and only sipped coffee thereafter.
Sandy hooked her arm firmly through her husband's and led him on a wavering path to the exit as Harry called out boisterous goodnights to his buddies. Sandy tucked her husband into the car passenger seat and got him safely buckled in. She got behind the steering wheel, buckled up, and pulled out into the cool fall night.
Sandy glanced over at her husband with an amused smile. "Have fun tonight, honey?"
Harry replied expansively, "Oh yeah, it was great to be back with the guys again."
Then he groaned pathetically, "Oh, but I am going to feel like death warmed over tomorrow."
Sandy laughed compassionately and teased, "Yes dear, you will. I'll give you some aspirin when we get home."
Harry's head bobbed, and he began snoring lightly, as the alcohol dimmed his senses.
As the car slipped onto the interstate, Sandy mused to herself, we all have our shortcomings. She supposed it was okay for any of us to indulge in our very human failings upon occasion, as long as they were only occasional. Sandy cut on the radio which filled the car with jazzy, upbeat music.
Bless his heart, Harry really was a good guy. He pitched in with domestic chores and watched kids periodically to make sure Sandy had time off to get with girlfriends and exercise. They had put off having kids a little to let her get settled in her career as a lawyer. But when the first of their two arrived five years ago, Sandy took off to be a full-time mom until the children got into school. Her wings were sorta temporarily clipped, one might say. Tending to little children was rewarding, but it was a full-time job!
The young couple never really needed her salary anyway. They always just banked it while she worked. Harry had invested it wisely, and they was surprisingly well off for a couple in their mid-thirties. Sandy's law firm wanted her back when she was ready and gave her some work from time to time just to keep her hand in the game. Things were quite comfortable for this moderately well-to-do and upwardly mobile couple.
Tonight Sandy did not go directly home. She drove a half-hour out of their way to the old historic Windsor Hotel on the edge of the financial district. The owners spent millions of dollars on a facelift and modernization program a few years back. The historic landmark hotel was now a Mecca for business travelers during the week. On the weekends the hotel's restaurant featured five-star chefs, and the Windsor's spacious, ground-floor nightclub adjacent to the lobby booked top bands. The nightclub attracted a well-heeled, young middle-aged and older clientele who could afford the steep prices. The twenty-something couples, singles, and teeny boppers frequented their own venues down by the river several miles away.
Sandy pulled to the hotel entrance, and the valet opened her door. Sandy passed the valet her keys and put the claim ticket in her purse. Sandy hopped out and walked briskly to the passenger side where she extracted her now somewhat awake husband.
Harry looked around in confusion mumbling, "Where are we?"
Sandy smiled and replied in a lilting voice, "At the Windsor, dear. I thought we might have a drink and listen to some music."
Harry nodded his head in befuddled agreement, "Oh yeah, let's. I like music."
Sandy steered Harry through the hotel's ornate entrance. They stopped in the restrooms briefly, and then the couple continued into the nightclub. There music and dancing were in full swing. Sandy settled them in a booth in a back rear corner. It was a secluded corner where they could still see the dance floor, but the music was not quite so loud.
An attractive young waitress in a very short skirt and tight top stopped at the table, smiled cheerfully, and chimed, "Hi Sandy. The regular? Martini with two olives for you and scotch with one ice cube for Harry."
Sandy smiled back, "Yes, please. Thanks Becky."
Sandy and Harry listened to the music, watched the dancers, and sipped the drinks Becky brought them. Harry was starting to fade again.
After about ten minutes, Sandy said quietly, "Honey, I think I will go dance some."
Harry blearily looked up mumbling, "Sure! I like to dance. Let's go."
Sandy laughed lightly and answered playfully, "Honey, I don't think my toes would be safe dancing with you tonight. Not in your state. Just wait here and enjoy the music. I'll find someone who will dance with me."
Harry replied slowly and thoughtfully, as though offering a profound pearl of wisdom, "That is probably wise tonight, my dear. I don't think I could cut much of a rug without falling down."
Harry's eyes fluttered closed and his breathing became steady. Sandy smiled fondly at him as she extracted a pair of high heels from her oversized purse and slipped them on. Her original sandals went into the purse which she then tucked between Harry and the back corner of the booth. She stood up and unbuttoned the bulky sweater she was wearing and dropped it on the seat of the booth next to her husband.
Underneath the sweater, Sandy wore a silver metallic fabric top with a deeply plunging front that ended below her navel and left her back bare. She loosened her hair that was in a bun, and her raven black tresses cascaded to her shoulder. Combined with her mid-thigh, leather skirt, these few adjustments transformed Sandy from a nice looking but rather ordinary house-frau into a stunning, sultry sexpot.
She disappeared into the crowd surrounding the dance floor.
Some time later, Harry came out of his light doze. Becky stopped by and dropped off another scotch with a cheery, "Here you go, Harry. Sandy said you probably needed a refill."
Becky answered Harry's unasked question with a vague hand wave toward the packed dance floor, "Your wife is out there dancing somewhere." Becky headed off to deliver more drinks.
Harry slurred, "Ah, thanks, Becky."
Harry settled back sipping his drink while he fuzzily watched the dancers swirling in an intimate, slow dance accompanied by a seductively voiced singer. The crowd opened, and Harry saw Sandy dancing with a tall, good looking guy about twenty feet away.
His somewhat blurry vision and hazy mental fog cleared as though an icy blast of arctic air had blown in. Sandy and the guy were dancing close, very close. She was clinging to him like moss on an oak tree!
But his hands! The man's right hand was caressing his wife's ass like he owned it. Right there in public on the dance floor. As Harry watched in astonishment, the man's hand slipped under his wife's short skirt and boldly cupped her fanny as he pulled her tighter into him. Quite a bit of his wife's normally private flesh and panties flashed out on the dance floor. Sandy seemed quite content with the man's bold ministrations.
The dancers turned so that Sandy caught sight of Harry watching her. She blew her husband an air kiss followed by a beaming smile and cheery wave. Then she snuggled her face into the tall man's broad chest and continued the intimate dance. The milling dancers on the floor closed together, and Harry's wife disappeared into the throng again.
Harry shook his head trying to clear his mushy thinking and make sense of what he had just observed. He certainly needed to have a word with his wife.
