My wife Teri is one busy lady. In addition to running her own real estate business, she goes to the gym, swims twice a week and serves on the board of the local chamber of commerce. Both of us love to go out dancing when we happen to be free on the same evening. I wanted to learn some salsa dance steps, so when a friend told us about a new Latin dancing class, we began taking the class in the city two nights a week, and stayed afterward to dance at the club where classes were held.
At forty-one, Teri was far and away the most gorgeous woman on the dance floor. Her usual dance costume featured a smoothly fitting skirt that showed off her long lovely bare legs. To make sure her skirt showed no ugly panty line, she didn't wearing any panties. She also didn't wear a bra under her blouse because, she said, her breasts were small enough to have natural uplift, and the blouse felt good on her nipples. She denied that there was anything overly sexy about her costume. A real estate professional has to look her best at all times, right? Of course that includes her recreational dance attire. Meanwhile every time we went dancing I got to hear this one guy swear he could smell the intoxicating musk of her naked pussy once she had been dancing awhile. She shrugged when I told her that, and said, "Some people have overactive imaginations." She didn't change her outfit.
Anyway with her dark hair and 120 pounds of luscious curves, Teri looked every inch a Latin dancer, and she has the undulating hips to match. Our instructor Frederico usually called on her to be his partner when he demonstrated new steps. When Frederico pressed his abdomen against hers while demonstrating a dance, I noticed that Teri never pulled away.
I have to admit that I felt waves of conflicting emotions when I watched them together: intense jealousy and equally intense arousal. I knew she enjoyed the impact that watching had on me because when she returned to the table after dancing with Frederico or another guy, she always rested her palm on my lap to confirm that I had a hard-on. In fact, she was so used to finding me with a rigid cock that she would just lean over and whisper, "Tell Old Faithful he can erupt for me when we get home."
Teri has always known that I have fantasies about watching her fuck other guys. "There's no way I'm going to do that," was her usual rejoinder. But she sometimes asked questions that got me talking about my fantasies. I've always been sure she would enjoy being completely out of control if she ever did the wild things I imagined for her.
Our instructor was christened with a whole string of Spanish names, which he shortened to Frederico Mendez on his business cards. He always introduced himself to new students as Frederico, but after class he insisted that everyone call him Fred. Plain ol' Fred, a regular guy who happened to have piercing black eyes, a lean muscular body and killer dance moves.
All the women in the class were hot for him. When they began singing a song they thought of to tease him with, Teri always joined in. The song they picked was that old one about seven little girls sitting in the back seat hugging and a-kissing with Fred. If you don't know that one, ask your grandmother about it. The song has the driver asking one of the girls to come join him in the front seat, but oh no, they're having none of that. They tell the driver to keep his mind on the driving, his hands on the wheel, and his snoopy eyes on the road ahead, while they have their fun in the back seat kissing and hugging with Fred. Dee doody doom doom, dee doody doom doom. It's a cute song.
When the women sang it for him after class, Fred would pretend the song "confused" him. He would ask what kind of back seat it was that could hold seven girls hugging and kissing him (Fred) all at the same time. "Not that I would mind finding out," he would say with a big leering grin.
Fred and I were only casually friendly, so I was surprised to hear him call me at work one day to ask if Teri and I could give him a ride home that evening after class. He had just sold his car, he said, because he had to go back to Puerto Rico for an indefinite stay.
"Meaning no more class? I'm really sorry to hear that," I said.
"Yes, I'll miss it too, Garrett. I think you know that I'll particularly miss Teri."
Something about the way he said Teri's name made my cock start to harden. For a long moment, neither of us said anything. Fred left it to me to break the silence.
"Why did you call me instead of Teri?" I asked.
"Well, because you're the driver, Garrett," he replied in a husky voice.
"The driver." Again his words hovered in the silence, but I was sure I knew exactly what he meant. "In the song, you mean," I finally ventured.
"Yes."
My heart started to pound. "Does she know you're calling me?"
"No she doesn't," he replied.
"But you think she'll—"
"I know she will if you mention that song before we get in your car."
