It all started a few months back when my wife flew back to Boston for the twenty-five year reunion of her high school graduating class. Cindy attended an all-girls Catholic school (cue the Billy Joel song!) and hadn't seen most of her classmates since their tenth reunion. The format called for a "girl's night" followed the next day by a couples reception, dinner, and dance. Unfortunately I had a can't-miss business trip scheduled for the same weekend and couldn't join her. I felt awful about sending her alone, considering that she'd be forced to attend the couple's event by her lonesome.
"It's no big thing," she reassured me, "I'm sure that they'll be others there without dates, and frankly, you'd probably be bored to death anyway -- you wouldn't know a soul there!" I have to admit, she nailed that one. I can still remember the last reunion that I attended with her. The girls were carrying on with gossip and joking from the night before as the forgotten dates milled around like department store mannequins. I suddenly didn't feel so guilty about sending her off on her own!
I remember calling her Saturday morning from my hotel room in Chicago. From the sound of her voice I immediately knew that it had been a wild girl's night! "Hey, baby" she croaked with a sleep deprived slur, "whaa time zit?" I knew that in-depth conversation was a lost cause so I told her that I loved her and sent her back to bed. When I picked her up from the airport Sunday night she had no recollection of the phone call!
On the drive home she filled me in on the basics. The forty-or-so classmates painted the town red Friday night, bar-hopping and carrying on as only long-lost friends can. They ended the night at the hotel bar and closed the place down. Cindy drank a week's worth in a night and remembered stumbling into her hotel room as the sun rose Saturday morning. Needless to say she wasn't 100% for the event that night, but she had a great time anyway. At the end of the weekend the girls all agreed that a fifteen-year gap between get-togethers had been far too great and collectively promised that they would get together and do it again in five.
That was six months ago, and I had pretty much forgotten her trip to Boston until she brought it up one night last week after a round of frisky love-making. Now "frisky" isn't all that unusual for us: we both enjoy sex and erotic play, and often let our hair down during our sessions in bed. Today was different, though. I noticed earlier in the day that she seemed to be in an especially high state of arousal, and as we lay in bed staring at the ceiling, catching our breath, she began to reveal the source of her heightened libido.
"I want to share with you a few details from my reunion trip ", she started. "You remember - the one in Boston last fall."
"Of course I remember. Your hangover lasted three days after you got home!" I quipped.
With a roll of her eyes she disregarded my sarcasm and began her story.
The basics of the Friday night shindig were already old news: girls drinking, girls carrying on, girls gossiping, girls drinking more. "It had been so long since we'd seen each other that there was a ton of catching up to do, and not much time to do it in. It was like a feeding frenzy, and I jumped from conversation to conversation and tried my best to keep track of the details. Who's married, who's divorced, who's got kids, who's happy with their lives and who's just plain miserable. All of this while we drank and danced and flirted with every young stud who passed. We were a pack of cougars on the prowl!"
"Gee," I said, "sounds like one of those "Real Housewives" shows -- on steroids!"
"It was," she continued, "but as the night wore on we started to settle into smaller groups and really had some deep conversations. It turns out that I wound up spending most of my time talking to Sandy, a girl that I really didn't know well in school. We hit it off immediately and quickly found that we had lots of the same interests. We were soon completing each other's sentences and giggling like schoolgirls."
"You were schoolgirls," I reminded her, "at least for that weekend."
"Yeah, there was a real bond between us, you could feel it. Especially between Sandy and me. "
At this point my mind was already moving ahead in the story, weaving a ribald tale of lesbian lust. To my knowledge Cindy had never been with another woman, and my imagination was racing at warp speed. "So," I asked, "it is safe to assume that at some point during the night you and Sandy got to know each other even better, as in, "in the flesh?""
"You wish!" Cindy quickly countered. "Do you want to hear my story or not?"
I gave her my best Steve Martin "well, excuuuse me" and used my fingers to pantomime zipping my lips shut. My limp cock was beginning to spring back to life, and I desperately wanted her to continue. While I guessed the wrong conclusion, it was obvious that some sort of sexual content lay ahead.
"Okay, so Sandy and I are sharing life stories. She was so open and genuine and we bonded instantly. After only an hour or so I felt that I had known her for years. She confided in me that she and her husband were separated and had started divorce proceedings. Assuming she was there solo, I told her that you weren't able to make the trip, and jokingly suggested that she and I could go the next night as dates."
"Okay, I like what I hear," I say, still harboring hope that details of a girl-on-girl nympho party lay ahead!
"Nah, not that kind of date, buster!" she said. "And anyway, Sandy told me that she had a date for the night, a fellow who was flying in tomorrow that she had been seeing off and on for the past few months. "Nothing serious, just "fuck-buddies,"" as Sandy described it. Well, the frankness of that assessment was a little shocking and a lot refreshing, and I suddenly wanted to know more."
