Three years ago my wife Courtney, and I (Kevin), seemed to live for the Arts. We weren't the least bit pretentious (at least I hope that we weren't), we just liked art of almost any type. Dutch cityscape paintings, primitive African sculptures, pre-Colombian masks, Salvador Dali murals -- we loved them all. Our house was adorned with the best original art that we could afford, and we went to art exhibits and museums at least once a month, and usually once a fortnight. We were members of the "Circles" of the two closest art galleries, and attended all the private exhibitions, openings, and galas, that they offered, and even travelled to New York and Washington for special exhibits. We had many good friends who shared our interests.
While in the eight years that Courtney and I were married we also had many other interests even if not as prevalent as our interest in the Arts, and other groups of friends, our friends in the art community were the closest. In fact with one exception we'd rather have interacted with our art friends than anyone else. The one exception; Tom's second wife Katrina.
I tried to like Katrina for Tom's sake. However, it was really difficult. She seemed uneducated, had no appreciation for most classical art including masters like Monet and van Gogh, and was constantly making flippant comments about pieces that others in our group found fascinating. The members of our group had had many conversations about how Tom could get along with her or put up with her lack of sophistication. However, there was one discussion that the male members of our group never had; why he married her.
Katrina is hot; like a sultry tropical breeze on a brisk winter day. Although her face is only slightly above average and she dresses relatively conservatively, it wasn't possible to hide her consummate boobs, ass, and thighs. At the time that this story initially took place, however, Tom's patience with her simplicity seemed to wane despite her steamy form. He had publicly criticized her on a number of occasions, resulting in some icy situations that required my expertise to defuse. I'm a professional mediator and negotiator, and actually enjoy transferring my work expertise to my personal life. When it came to Tom and Katrina, however, even though my tension-soothing activities ultimately always worked, I never got any acknowledgement, let alone thanks from either of them even though the rest of the members of our group expressed appreciation.
Despite my misgivings about Katrina, I was always pleasant to her, and she to me, in one-on-one situations, although such encounters were not numerous.
I had known Katrina for about three years when the impetus for this story arose. The largest local art gallery was having its 50th anniversary gala, featuring an exhibition of Jean Miro paintings and rare lithographs gathered from all over the world, including the original of perhaps his most famous painting incongruously titled "Sculptures." This gallery was also famous for putting on a food and drink spread that was unrivaled whenever it hosted a soiree and this event promised to be the best ever. I was really looking forward to attending.
About a week before the event, Katrina called up Courtney; apparently she was in a weepy mood. Tom was going to be out of town on business (the event was on a Wednesday night) that he couldn't get out of but for some reason Katrina really wanted to attend. According to Courtney Katrina hit her with the line "I know that most members of our group think that I'm a simpleton and bore, but I'm trying hard to fit in and you and Kevin are the most tolerant of me. Could I please hitch a ride with you two?"
"Uh...sure," Courtney replied, at a loss for what to say. Apparently that made Katrina very happy.
"Uh, Kevin," Courtney told me shortly afterward, with a sheepish look on her face. "That was Katrina. Tom will be out of town for the 50th Anniversary Gala and she wanted a ride. I couldn't turn her down."
"Oh shit," I mumbled. "I guess that I'll have to take some patience pills, or get heavily intoxicated -- or both."
"Don't be so grim," Courtney chuckled. "She said nice things about us and said that she's trying hard to fit in and learn more about art. Miro should provide a perfect teaching experience."
"Really?" I cynically asked, with raised eyebrow.
"Be nice," Courtney laughed, then poked me in the ribs.
************
I had just about gotten used to the idea of Courtney and I taking turns interacting with Katrina at the Gala when a few days later another shoe dropped. "Uh, Kevin, Darling," Courtney gushed. Whenever she said "Darling" or gushed it meant that I won't like what she said next.
"What?" I replied with a jaundiced eye.
"You know how much I want to go to the Gala -- but something has come up at work and to foster my career I just have to be out of town from Wednesday morning to Friday late afternoon. I'm really sorry," she said, stroking my chest with one finger.
A first question sprang into my mind. "Is John Bates going on this trip?" I asked in an unpleasant voice.
"Yes, along with two other people," was her defensively awkward reply. She quickly regained control of herself, though, and said with a joking tone -- although I didn't consider it funny -- "Why are you so concerned about him all of the time?"
"Because he figuratively -- I hope not literally but I don't know for sure -- is always sniffing your crotch, that's why," I forcefully responded.
"Oh, Kevin, you're misinterpreting things."
"Really, Courtney, then why is he always trying to dance slow dances with you every time your company has an event, or that time we saw him and his supposed 'girlfriend' at the Passionfruit Night Club? How did he know that we were there?"
"We've been over this many times," she said, somewhat exasperated. "It was just a coincidence, and he dances with other people too."
"Just fast dances -- plus I didn't like his comment that last time that I told him that only I dance slow dances with you," I growled.
"He was just joking," she chortled.
"I didn't find it funny," I shot back.
"Oh, Honey, don't be jealous," she cooed, "you know that you're much better looking than he is."
I did think that I was much better looking -- and knew that I could kick his ass with one hand behind my back -- but I also knew that women in general, and Courtney in particular, don't regard looks the same way that men do. Her last boyfriend before we got married seven years ago looked very much like John, and she seemed to be enamored with him before he stupidly dumped her and then unsuccessfully tried to get her back.
Still miffed I asked "Do you really need to go on this trip?"
"Yes, sweetheart, I do. You can call Brad if you don't believe me," she responded in a conciliatory manner, stroking my chest again -- Brad being the CEO of her company and a straight shooter.
I was grumbling to myself as Courtney hugged me; then an entirely new problem popped into my pea brain. I gently moved Courtney to arm's length and blurted out "Are you going to call Katrina and tell her that she can't come with us because you're not going?"
"Why would I do that?" Courtney asked after a short pause and a puzzled look on her face. "You're still going, aren't you? She can still go with you, can't she?"
"I was relying on you to take the pressure off of me in dealing with her dim questions and behavior; now I have to go it alone?" I grumbled.
"Our other friends will be there. Be a gentleman about it, Kevin. Like I said, she's trying to change -- maybe it will be fun."
"Yeah, likely," I groaned.
"You're all bottle-brushy, aren't you?" Courtney grinned. "Let me soothe your frazzled nerves," she continued as she massaged my shoulders. I knew that she was playing me, but since I thought that this was going someplace good, I went along. I continued to grumble under my breath until she unzipped my pants, fished out my cock, and started sucking it while staring at me with a provocative look on her face.
Just before I was ready to blow I lifted Courtney up, bent her over a padded chair in our living room, flipped up her skirt and pulled down her undies, and then ran my stiff cock up and down her moist pussy lips. After a minute or so of loud "Ummm"s from her I buried my pole in one thrust, causing her to scream "Fuck Yeah!" I then proceeded to piston in and out at warp speed until a mutual climax that left us both weak-kneed and finally collapsed on the living room rug. In our prone position we alternated among spasming whenever an aftershock hit, groaning, and chuckling.
When we regained complete awareness I picked her up, carried her to the shower, and after a groping, gyrating, and giggling session, carried her to our bed and fucked her again in missionary position.
After our second fuck -- the most that I was capable in a day -- she quickly fell asleep on my shoulder. Sleep did not come as easily for me. I was still miffed about her business trip with John, and having to deal with Katrina all by myself since I was sure that our friends would be of little help. I finally fell into a troubled slumber.
I was bothered enough that two days later I did call Brad. I knew him pretty well from company functions, and even had played tennis doubles with him a couple of times when his normal partner couldn't make it during tournaments at his Country Club. I tried not to be too nosy or obvious, and I think that I basically succeeded since I started the conversation by asking him if he knew how to get tickets to the local World Team Tennis club's next match. I confirmed that Courtney really did need to go on the trip, but that only she and John were going, no one else. That decision had been made recently, however, so maybe she wasn't lying about it. I was still miffed.
I did my best to fuck Courtney senseless Tuesday night before her trip the next morning. She complained a little, but it seemed more joking than real, so I decided to suppress my angst about her and John being alone two nights. Plus, now I was dealing with another anxious situation -- taking Katrina to the Gala by myself.
