"Letting a guy grab your pussy?
"Cheating."
"Letting a guy grab your tits?"
"Are you dancing with him?"
"Yes."
"No. Not cheating."
"What if we're at a table in the back?"
"Cheating."
This conversation had been going on for the last few minutes in the back seat of the Uber I was riding in. The participants in this conversation were three of my friends' wives. My friends were somewhere deep beneath the Pacific Ocean on a ballistic missile submarine. They'd been gone for several weeks and wouldn't be back for several more. Their wives were bored with hanging out at home and decided they wanted to cut loose at a local club this Friday night.
I was there to be their bodyguard. I'm six foot three, weigh 230 pounds, have several trophies from weightlifting competitions held on base, have earned black belts in Judo and Karate, and I've also studied Muay Thai, Krav Maga and taken military self-defense classes.
Two guys tried to rob me at knife point when I wandered off alone on leave in San Francisco. Those two guys woke up handcuffed to hospital beds. After the cops took my statement, I walked away with an icepack for my knuckles. My friends say I'm a certified badass.
My job was to dissuade any guys who got too aggressive about trying to bed three hot, young deployment widows. My buddies trusted me to keep their wives safe, but I wasn't responsible for their chastity.
Their husbands and I had been a tight little squad since we met in boot camp. Bob, Greg, Dewy and I had somehow managed to go through all our training together, from boot camp through A-school, nuclear power school and prototype training.
When it came time to request ship assignments, the detailer told us about a ballistic missile submarine that desperately needed sailors with our rating. Half the guys in the nuclear ET division were busted for running a drug ring and they needed people ASAP to replace them. He said he could get all of us on the ship together, so we jumped at it.
Unfortunately, the three of them were assigned to the Blue Crew, and I was placed on the Gold Crew. Ballistic missile submarines stay at sea almost continuously, so the Navy assigns two crews to each ship. The blue and gold crews alternate, three months on the ship and three months off. That means I only get to see my friends for about a week each time we swap crews.
I'd met their wives when we played together on a coed softball team, and we'd all hung out together ever since. Back then there was another member of our group, my fiancΓ©, Rachel. Rachel was also a sailor and a member of our squad. When it came time to put in for ship assignments, she decided she wanted something more exciting than a boomer and applied for fast attack submarines. She got her wish, so she ended up in Groton, Connecticut and we ended up in Bremerton, Washington, 3,000 miles away. That ended our engagement.
Back to the Uber. This was the first time the ladies had gone clubbing without their husbands since before they were married. They were trying to figure out how good a time they could have without cheating on their husbands. The Uber driver and I just quietly listened, and he kept shooting me these looks that said, "I'm not sure if I should envy you or feel sorry for you."
What I'd put together so far about their rules is that on the dance floor anything that can be construed as dancing is okay, no fondling of cocks or pussies, fondling tits and nipples is fair game but no bare tit, and Frenching is okay as long as your bodies are moving. Grinding is just fine. Off the floor, closed mouth kissing only, ass grabbing okay, still covered tit only, still no cock fondling, and no grinding. And sneaking off where no one in our group could see you was absolutely off limits.
When we got to the club, the driver said, "Good luck, brother." I made sure to give him a decent tip and five stars.
There was a line of guys waiting to get in, and they all zeroed in on the girls as they moved to get in line. The three of them turn heads going to get ice cream dressed in sweats. Tonight, they'd gone all out, and they were showstoppers.
Linda, who's married to Bob, is kind of the den mother of our group. She's got a girl next door look and a personality that people just respond to. Everybody loves her.
She's average height with a curvy, athletic build. Her silky auburn hair complements her perpetual light golden tan and her big hazel eyes. She was wearing her hair in an up swept style, gathered at the back, which accentuated her long, slender neck. Her toned legs looked great in the form fitting crimson dress and three-inch heels she was wearing. She's an inch taller than Bob at 5' 8", so she's self-conscious about wearing really high shoes. What most of the guys were looking at though was the deep neckline, slit sides, and scooped back that dipped down to the very top of her crack. Every time she moved she showed a glimpse of her pert C-cup tits. It was obvious she couldn't be wearing anything under the dress.
Kim is Dewey's wife. She's the wild child of the group. If there's a bad idea for having fun, Kim will talk us all into it. She's a big, curvy girl at 5' 10" who was once approached by a major fashion house to be one of their premier plus-sized models. They loved her emerald-green eyes and what they called, "the ideal image of a BBW."
She did a couple of test shoots, and the marketing team loved what they saw, but she ended up passing because posing for the camera turned out to be more stressful than she'd expected. They gave her a portfolio with the test shots. She showed it to us once and she looked HOTTT!