This is the eighth installment of the "In a World..." series, detailing the erotic journey of Ginnifer and Rick. This narrative can stand alone, but it's at its best when read in the slowly-building sequence. This is also a cross-category story that leans deepest into the prurient parts of the "Loving Wives" category. More sensitive readers should check the IaW Foreword (a stand-alone chapter) to see if this story is right for them.
Note: this is a COVID-free story. It was planned when Corona might lead to a hangover, not a virus. If this story happened during lockdown, the characters would've done very different things. If you need an escape from social distancing, keep calm and read on.
Yours truly,
Wilson Spalding
###
I was in a daze. It was a hot Sunday afternoon, climbing past 103º, and my focus was shot. The mental state had little to do with the blazing August sun, though; it was all about the ginger and the brunette dancing around my kitchen.
Ginny laid a deep, probing kiss on me. Tina followed that with just a hint of tongue, then Gin gave it a chaser -- a glorified peck -- and the girls were gone.
The screen door shut as the girls headed out the back door. I heard pleasantries between the dynamic duo and our neighbors, then the exhaust of Ginny's Miata as they took off.
Exhaust.
Man, there could not be a more appropriate term for that.
The second they were gone, chatter floated in from the three guys next door. Naturally, it had everything to do with the girls.
Yeah, last night had been a helluva party.
With the girls gone, the energy was gone. The motor was gone. Which wasn't entirely bad. I wanted to pop a beer, sit on the couch and meditate deep enough to snore. What I needed to do was go next door and have a heart-to-heart with M.B.A. Moe, Curly and Larry.
Problem: I wasn't really sure what to say.
Last night... a lot went down. After the cops left, during the post-party clean-up, we buried the needle on the scandalometer. Shortly after, the boys sent over their videos. Yes, that kind of video -- and only of the ginger. That would be Ginny, my fiancée. Already told them "Cool, but... Don't Post Those Videos Anywhere."
I know we had an understanding on that, but on the bigger "issues"? I still wasn't sure what to say. I can't say that I set it up, exactly, but I almost kinda did. Didn't think it would go as far as it did, but considering how it ended, that was the new precedent.
Fuck. Honestly, I have no idea where to go from here.
Yeah, sleep would be good but there was no way.
Instead, I threw on shorts and went for a mid-afternoon run. Late August, so it was hot as hell. Advil masked the hangover pretty well, and honestly, between the girls, I'd metabolized everything else in my bloodstream. That left me and my dick to have a heart-to-heart on this blistering atonement session.
"What do I do?" Not really sure who was asking that, though. Could be my heart, my head or my dick.
"About what?" one of the others answered. About the obvious: Ginnifer, my fiancée who was embracing her inner slut at levels above and beyond. Somebody mentioned "Out of Control." I think that was my ego. "That was the point," my dick answered.
Somehow, my heart didn't feel threatened. Gin had her kinks, but she wasn't looking for emotional support or protection from anybody else. Everybody else was an adrenaline source. I was home base. For the heart, so far, things were right where they needed to be.
I had to pause at an intersection, if only to adjust the package. The last couple of days had seen some major below-the-belt action and frankly, I was getting complaints as the boys got squashed between running thighs.
Some dry, internal voice mentioned something about "karma." Super-ego, I'd assume. Kind of a moralizing prick, but he wasn't wrong in this case.
Somehow, that brought back my neighbors: Thurston Howell III, the Skipper and the Professor. Or Preston, Chazz and Blake, in that order. Fuck. Did that make me Gilligan?
I nearly punched one of them last night, and now I couldn't even remember who it was. It didn't matter anymore. And, well, honestly... it was my island. Fuck it, Gilligan for the win.
By the end of last night, we had kind of an understanding. Not only did I not feel like threatening them into clean behavior, part of me actually wanted to see how much "trouble" Ginny would get herself into with them. She might be "never again" after last night's grand performance, but I had a feeling it was just the opposite.
"How do you feel about that?" Ego, again.
I hit a stride in 104º heat and I knew I was going about a six-minute mile. Losing fluids, and after the last two days, not sure how much "fluid" I had left to lose. Wiped the sweat out of my eyes, but this conversation was on autopilot.
The neighbors. Not the "fucking neighbors," though that's exactly what they were. Maybe that was a good sign. Who else? Some fossil she works for, though other office fossils would likely add to her "Veronica Count." Add a girl we met last night. That opened an interesting angle. Oh yeah: the pair of dudes I set her up with last weekend, our last night of a vacation. There was a video from that encounter, too.
In the space of a week, that was a helluva count.
How did I feel about all of that?
Traffic passed and the sun burned my skin. Tits and ass flashed through my head, girls past and present. Ginnifer's face, her lips wrapped around some anonymous shaft. That, right there...
Focus on that.
That moment, I finally knew what was messing with my Zen thing: my own ego. Fears of social fallout. So far, I hadn't actually come face-to-face with life's "comments section."
But what about the neighbors? They weren't just trolls on Rotten Tomatoes, they made a fucking fan-movie with the original talent. What about that?
My dick turned to punch my ego square in the face. A fiancée with a slutty reputation actually turned me on as long as it was about her appetite for variety, not about how I ranked on the menu. Right now, at least, the only sting I felt was the sweat in my eyes.
I shook my head and started running again.
Surrounded by boobs and a participant in a live sex show, I was square in the middle of it. Still, it wasn't all about me: I was the voyeur, not the exhibitionist.
What did I listen for this afternoon, when the girls left? To make sure the neighbors behaved. That was the critical part. The scandal spectrum stretched from "cuck" to "slut," so the important thing to ask now: how was Ginny handling it?
If I was reading it right, the instant connection between the girls was more than bi-girl playtime. By doing what she did with Epic Boobs Girl, Ginny was throwing herself mind, body and soul into a trust exercise... with me.
It felt good. It felt secure as long she had my back. After this morning, and a threesome with Tina, did she feel the same?
All those inner voices spoke at the same time: "Don't Fuck This Up."
###
I got home, went straight to the kitchen and chugged an entire bottle of diet Gatorade. Sounds stupid, but it was hard to describe just how awesome that was. Filled the bottle back up with water and started chasing the electrolytes--
"Hey." Despite all the talking this morning, Gin's voice was still gravelly.
"Hey, baby. You're back quick."
"She lives in NoHo."
"That's handy."
Gin laid on her back across the sectional, eyes closed, fingers on her temples.
"You okay?"
