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I'm reposting this story I wrote years ago on an old account - Rollingcoffe - which I'm now locked out of.
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The puff of smoke was a cliche. It was a metaphor. I just couldn't remember which one. My eyes focused on the last puff of smoke I had exhaled from my cigar. It hung in the air heavily in front of me, capturing the focus of my retinas; the background an animated blur. The bourbon and the beer rendered my attention compromised. I squinted my eyes, trying to bring the image into focus, but I couldn't. I could only see the smoke. The blur? It was my wife rocking back and forth between two of my friends, pleasuring the three of them in a way neither had known before. My mind reeled as I took stock of the situation; how did we get here?
Once a month, for years now, I get together with some guys to play poker. It's your typical poker night with the boys. No one bets so much money that people leave pissed off, but the bets are high enough to keep things interesting. Arrangements have gotten more complicated over the years, but everyone makes sure their wife or girlfriend is out for the evening and we are free to swear, fart, drink, talk, and most importantly, play poker.
My wife, Anne, has mixed emotions about the game. I always think she'll be happy to have the house to herself on a Saturday -- to forget about me for an evening and let loose, but that is never quite the case. She misses me. It's really cute and speaks volumes about just how much I mean to her, which I love, but I still need a night with the boys. It was my turn to host the game, making it harder for her to stay away.
She gets along well with Dan's wife, so the two of them planned to go out and have a margarita while the guys came to our house for poker. I cleaned up the basement a little, pushing old boxes back into the storeroom, making sure it didn't smell too bad. It was February so it was too cold to play out on the deck, and Anne doesn't care for cigar smoke in the house. The basement was the perfect venue. It was cement floor, block wall, dirty, dark, and dank. And even better? I stuck an exhaust fan in a window that would blow the smoke out of the room. I had just what we needed: A card table, five chairs, cable TV in the corner playing ESPN and enough stogies, beer, bourbon and snacks to keep us going as late as we wanted.
It was a man cave, and we were men.
By nine o'clock everyone had showed up; Dan, Joe, Chris, and Darren. The perfect card crew. It's tough to get the right group of guys for a poker game, usually there is the odd brother-in-law or the guy from work that you invite but wish had turned you down. Not in this group --just guys who know all the jokes before you tell them and laugh anyway. Light beer? Try again. Cheap bourbon? Not on your life. Nickel bets? Nada. No one gets bent out of shape if the money doesn't add up, it never does, because we drink like fish.
Cards are flying, the music is getting louder, and the stories are even more ridiculous than last time. We're all on our 5th beer, 3rd Bourbon and 2nd cigar. Every good poker night has a window of time when it feels like a runner at peak efficiency; every part in perfect harmony, moving together as one, striding towards a common goal, and that window was now. Right up until a pair of perfect legs begins to slowly descend the stairs.
I'm the first to see them. I know those legs anywhere, I see them every day, and yet they still make my heart beat just a little faster. I'm not sure who follows my gaze first, but one-by-one, everyone else turns to watch a pair of toned, athletic, bare legs make their way down the stairs. My wife, the runner, pushes herself hard on the hilly trails by our house so when she wears a skirt, every male (and sometimes female) head turns. As Anne descends the stairs her head eventually comes into view and she realizes we are all staring. She was hoping for that.
"Are you boys having a good time?" she asks playfully.
"Hell yeah!" Dan says with enthusiastically drunk gusto
"Good," Anne replies genuinely, "I just got home and thought I would come down to see if you boys need anything."
I don't know if it was just me, but I swear there was suggestion in her voice as she said the word "anything."
Joe and Chris tried to look at me nonchalantly, but I wouldn't return their glance.
"Nah, we're fine." Darren said, trying to be polite to the host's wife.
As a veteran poker night player, he knows the value of keeping the wife happy. A happy wife doesn't always equal a good game of poker, but an unhappy one usually spells trouble.
I suspected Anne was hoping to get more involved.
"Honey, I bet everyone would love another round, they are just too polite to impose."
"Impose?" Anne said incredulously, "I would love to serve your friends!"
I hadn't misread her enthusiasm.
She made it a point to go around the table and ask each guy, with a hand on his shoulder, "And what can I get for you, Sir?"
Her skirt was fun. What's "fun?" Its somewhere between flirty and playful. It's loose with ruffles, colorful, and as a guy you just hope for that perfect gust of wind because you desperately want to find out what kind of panties, if any, she is wearing.
When Anne made her way around to me, I place my hand on her ass, making sure everyone could see, and told her to "guess."
"Bourbon?" She asked.
"With four ice cubes." I said authoritatively.
"You know I wouldn't mess up your drink."
She is a saint. I know everyone saw me touch her and I wondered what went through their minds. I watched her walk away, so did everyone else, loving her ass swaying back and forth just a little more than necessary.
When she returned a few minutes later, I eyed her blouse. I couldn't remember how many buttons she had undone when she left, but I swear it was open further than before. I could tell she wasn't wearing a bra, everyone could tell. She has small but firm breasts with nipples that love to poke out. She slowly sauntered around the room, fully aware of the attention she was receiving -- the card game had slowed significantly. "Who had the other bourbon?" Anne asked.
"That's me." said Dan.
"You know I can't resist a man who likes his bourbon" she said with a playful note in her voice. She looked at me when she said this, and I couldn't help but smile.
This past summer, one of our favorite fantasies became a reality when Anne took Chris and Joe at the same time at our pool, fucking them both wildly before letting me have my way with her. Since then we had cooled down a little with extra-marital adventures, choosing instead to rehash the experience often while having sex, each of us telling the other what they saw and felt to excite us as we made love. We even talked about wilder fantasies, with more guys, and sometimes girls, but hadn't had the opportunity to try them out in real life. I could tell Anne was thinking about some of those fantasies right now.
