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"Did you finish..."
"Yes, hon. It's all done. Stop worrying, it's not like we've invited the Pope or something. It's just a couple of friends over for dinner."
She didn't have to finish her sentence. She'd been freaking out all afternoon about this and that. It happened every time we had people over. We would put off getting the house ready until the last minute, and then try to get everything done all at once. This time was no different. We woke up early (well, early for a weekend anyway, somewhere around 9 or 10) and started cleaning. We tidied up the house all the way through the afternoon (stopping only for a small lunch -- mmm, sandwiches again). Then we headed into town (we live "out" of town, kind of) to run some errands and pick up the rest of the groceries for the dinner we were planning. When we got back to the house (which, by this time, was just past four in the evening), we proceeded to start cooking dinner and getting things ready for our guests (setting the table, putting the "guests-are-coming-so-we-need-to-make-the-house-not-smell-like-cats" candles, and anything else we may have forgotten earlier).
Dinner was going to be great. My wife was not a very ambitious cook when we first met (and I'm not really sure why). Her mother is a great cook (everything from scratch) and my wife's sister is also a good cook. My wife, however, never really helped out in the kitchen much, and thus, never inherited the gene I guess. In the early years, I was our main source of nourishment (I'm not amazing, but I can be pretty handy with a pair of tongs and some Mrs. Dash). Flash-forward to now, my wife has since developed quite the innovative cooking gene (from God-knows where) and we eat quite well on a regular basis, even with my previous repetitive-sandwich comment (which is also probably why I've gained a few pounds since we got married).
Anyway, back to dinner, we were pulling out all of the stops, for us anyway (which is what we usually tried to do when we were having people over). We had bought some really nice looking steaks (which I was going to attempt to make taste as good as they looked). We also had some home-grown potatoes ready for mashing (with "gah-lick", of course ... thanks Emeril), green beans and bacon pieces, and an apple crisp for desert. Oh, and a salad to start off with, but who wants to hear about the healthy part. I always love having friends over, because it means that I get to eat really well.
Anyway, our friends arrived (just as planned for once) just before the dinner was about done. They came in, took their coat and shoes off, and got comfortable while we finished off dinner. Within ten minutes, we were all at the table tucking in our napkins (well, I was doing the tuck at least, but that's because I always end up spilling something).
We finished eating, put everything in the dishwasher, and talked about what we were going to do next. Our friends were staying for the whole weekend (they were visiting from the other side of the state) and, even though we're not the most out-going couple, we still had a few things planned that could be fun.
We ended up deciding on heading into town (insert red-neck joke here) and hitting some of the clubs in town. There were a few dance clubs that we liked to go to every now and then, and our friends thought that that sounded like as good of plan as any. So, we all changed and piled in the car, ready for a night of fun.
We got to the club, which was packed more than usual, and found a table off to the side. After ordering some drinks, the two gals (as women so often do) decided that they needed to go use the facilities. As they walked away, I couldn't help but notice how great they both looked in their little skirts and "cleavage-showing" tops.
You may have noticed that this is the first reference to anything even remotely sexual. Well, to be honest, this night (and weekend for that matter) was never intended to be some wild and crazy sex-o-rama. That was all getting ready to change, though.
As they walked to the bathroom, I looked at them both. My wife (who we'll call Jenny) always looks great to me. She doesn't turn as many heads as she'd like (she's also put on a few pounds since we got married), but she still has a great body. She's got actual curves, something a lot of today's toothpick, Olsen twin wanna-bees lack. Her butt, while bigger than I know she'd like, has actually got something that you can reach around and grab (or slap). She also has a couple of really nice tits, weighing in at around a 38C or so. To top everything off, she has some of the most beautiful blonde hair you'll ever see. When she cleans herself up to go out, she really puts me in the mood.
My friend's wife (who we'll call Amanda) is also a looker. She is slightly smaller than my wife, but not the "I-feel-bad-for-eating-a-piece-of-bread-in-front-of-you-because-you-look-like-you're-starving" small. Here tits are slightly smaller (about 34 or 36B), but still look great because she is built slightly smaller all around. She, too, has a great ass. While blonde hair is my favorite, she makes the brunette thing quite sexy.
They came back from the bathroom and we finished off our drinks; then we had a few more. After sufficient alcohol to hide our inhibitions of our dancing skills, we headed out to the dance floor. While we were on the floor, everything seemed innocent enough. Minus a few other friends, it could have been a high school dance. We sort of formed our own little group, facing each other, and laughed each time one of us tried something beyond our normal one or two moves. I thought that I noticed a few times that my buddy eyed my wife in a weird, "lustful" kind of way, but passed it off as "tipsy paranoia".
The night was getting later (and we were getting tipsier, except for me, who had to drive home). We headed out to the dance floor for one last laugh before we headed home for the night. We proceeded to make fun of our lack of dance skills, until the slow song came on. My buddy and my wife were both laughing at each other, arm around one another's shoulder. We were getting ready to re-group and grab our respective dance partners, when my buddy asked me if I would mind him dancing with my wife on this one. I didn't have a problem with it (hell, this would give me an excuse to dance with his wife).
I nervously (hey, I'm a nerd, and mostly sober at this point, cut me some slack) moved in and put my arm around Amanda's waist. She, being quite intoxicated, had no inhibitions and put both of her arms around my neck. I made an effort to keep the slightest bit of space as we danced ("a" I didn't want my wife to get mad if she was to look over and "b" I didn't want Amanda to notice the hard-on I was sure I would get if we started to rub up against each other).
My worries about my wife being mad were unnecessary, though. I looked in her direction to see if they were laughing at me for thinking too much, but I'm pretty sure neither of them had a care in the world at that moment. My wife had both of her arms wrapped around my buddy's back, her hands up on his shoulders. Her head was resting right on his chest. His hands were stretched all the way down, cupping her ass cheeks, while he had his head resting on top of hers. At first, the scene in front of me caught me off guard. However, I soon noticed that the thickening bulge in my pants (thanks Amanda) started to thicken even faster. I watched them dance until the song was over. When it ended, my buddy kissed my wife on the cheek and we all walked over to our table to get ready to go.
When we got back to the house, we all said our goodnights and headed to bed. When my wife and I were finally alone in bed, I asked her if she had fun tonight.
"Yes, I had a great time. It was really good that we all got to catch up. It's been so long since we've all seen each other."
Maybe it was just my paranoid brain working overtime, but I could have swore that she was trying to avoid something as she spoke. So, I just took the initiative and went full speed ahead.
"It looked like you and Cory were having fun on that last song, you know." Cory is what we'll call my buddy.
"Oh, you saw that, huh. Well, I was pretty tipsy and it just sort of happened. Sorry, I didn't mean anything by it."
I believed her. If there is anyone on this earth that is more innocent than my wife, I've never met them. However, I decided to press this a little more, just for the fun of it. You see, my wife has always thought that Cory is good looking. I mean, there really is no denying it. The guy works out on a regular basis and still, in his mid-twenties, has one of those baby faces. He's maybe an inch shorter than me and weighs a bit less (although, he is in a lot better shape than I am). He's also got dark hair, like his girl, and he's one of those lucky bastards that seem to have a tan year round, even though he never goes into a tanning booth.
"Well, did you at least enjoy yourself? Or were you too "tipsy" to do even that?" I said this in a somewhat sarcastic voice. I didn't want here to think I was mad (because I wasn't). I just wanted to tease her a bit.
"Oh, yeah, I enjoyed it. I wasn't that drunk. He smelled really good. I'm pretty sure he enjoyed it too." She got a big smile on her face as she said that.
"What makes you say that?" Now, I was intrigued.
"Well, don't tell him that I'm telling you this, I don't want him to get embarrassed, but while we were "moving" to the music, I felt him get a hard-on."
"What!"
"Yeah. It was standing at attention for most of the song. It's big, too. Well, at least it felt that way. I can't be sure, of course."
Believe it or not, this was the dirtiest thing I'd ever heard my wife say. As I said earlier, she is the most innocent person I know (or, at least she used to be).
"Wow. I can't believe you felt it and didn't freak out or something."
"Me too. I think that the alcohol had something to do with it. I think I actually liked it. I hope you're not mad."
"Actually, when I noticed you guys dancing so close, it kind of turned me on. And this, what you just told me, is making me hot again. Wow"
We talked about it a little more and then had a great -- and I mean great -- time under the sheets. It was, oddly enough, even better than usual.
The next day, while I was making us some breakfast (again, I really like food), I couldn't get the things that my wife and I discussed just before our amazing fuck the night before. As breakfast was just about done, Amanda came out of the guest bedroom in some tiny shorts and a nightshirt. To make matters worse (or better, depending on your point of view), she didn't have on a bra either. Her nipples were clearly visible through her thinning nightshirt. I had started some hot water for coffee, or tea, or whatever (my wife and I don't drink coffee, so we just have instant on hand for people who come over that actually do drink it), and she walked through the kitchen to pour herself a cup of joe. As she passed me in the kitchen, her breasts brushed my arm -- I actually felt shivers/goose-bumps as it happened.
