"Man, what I wouldn't give to be able to fuck your wife!"
How many times have you heard that remark? How many times have you made it?
I've never said it, but I hear it almost every day. Let me tell you about my Jennifer.
She's definitely a stone fox. Every guy in my office will attest to that. She's tall, at least as far as women go, about five foot nine barefoot, close to six feet in heels. Her height is not what all the guys rave about. Some do, but her body is exquisite. She has firm D-cup breasts, a narrow waist, flaring hips, long powerful dancer's legs, flawless alabaster skin. Her eyes are smokey gray and she has a high arch in her eyebrows. Her golden hair cascades to her waist. She always smiles. That is what captivates everyone. It's a very natural smile, not a phony, forced toothpaste grin. You know how most women walk. First the sole slaps the floor, then the heel sets down. Her walk is very graceful; it's more like a glide. You're lucky to hear her coming.
Her personality is as beautiful as her body. She has a kind word for everybody under any circumstance. At least it sounds nice. It's her voice. It smiles too. But she can cut someone off at the ankles if she's crossed. At a party one night, some clown was hitting on her. Generally she loves attention, but this guy was very obnoxious. She turned on the charm, added in her sweet voice and broad smile, and called him the dumbest jerk she'd ever met, and the poor slob still hasn't figured out the insult.
Is it any wonder that every guy I know wants to sleep with her? Don't kid yourself. There's a lot of sexual talent that goes with that sexy body. She can suck a dick better than a vacuum cleaner, and, yes, she swallows every drop that she draws out of me. Her pussy is tighter than a glove that's two sizes too small. Her vaginal muscles are so strong that she often pushes me out when she cums. On top of all that beauty and talent is a brain. She has a master's degree in psychology, and she's working on her Ph.D.
Getting back to my original topic. Every guy in my office has said he wanted to fuck her since the day I started working there. At least that's what they keep saying. I laugh it off as some kind of running joke. How could they be serious? They're all happily married too.
One afternoon I decided to change the course of the standard conversation a bit when Mike rattled off the "What I wouldn't give" line. "Forget what you wouldn't give," I said. "Tell me what you would give."
The whole room was suddenly silent. "Are you serious?" he asked after a minute.
"Damn right!" I shot back. "Put your money where your mouth is."
"John," Chuck said rather sheepishly, "you're talking about Jenny, not some cheap whore."
"Yeah," Mike said, "you're her husband, not her pimp."
"What's happened to all the big talkers?" I said as I put my feet up on my desk and folded my hands behind my head. "Afraid you can't afford her?"
"You know how it is," George chimed in. "It's just a joke."
"Yeah," Chuck added.
"So why isn't anybody laughing?" I asked. "All right let's get serious. What am I offered for an hour in bed with Jenny?"
"How about a hundred?" Chuck said.
"You said she isn't a cheap whore."
"Okay, two hundred," he said with more confidence.
"Two-fifty," Mike said.
"Three hundred," George said.
"Three-fifty," Mike bid.
"Four hundred," Chuck offered.
"This is more like it," I said enthusiastically.
"Four-fifty," Mike countered.
"Five hundred," George said. Suddenly the bidding stopped, and everyone looked at George. He was reaching for his wallet. "Like the man said. Put your money where your mouth is."
"Like you said," Mike retorted, "it's a joke. Jenny would never do it."
We all went back to work.
The usual camaraderie amongst us had been shattered. The afternoon dragged on. The next three hours seemed like three days. I regretted the whole incident. I should have kept my big mouth shut and let the silliness go on. No one was being hurt. We were good friends as well as colleagues. I had put up a wall between us.
Five o'clock finally came. Mike and Chuck beat a hasty retreat leaving George and me behind. He and I avoided eye contact. As he passed my desk enroute to the door, I said "See you tomorrow." I tried to sound casual, but I failed miserably.
He stopped and dropped five one-hundred bills on my inkpad. "Don't you wish you could make that much in an hour?" he said.
I bolted to the door leaving the money untouched.
Did I mention that Jennifer is a great cook? Her parents owned a full-service restaurant, so it's not surprising. Something as simple as spaghetti and meatballs became a treat when she made them, which was what she fixed for dinner that night.
I picked at my food, eating very little. After fifteen minutes of coaxing, she gave up and demanded that I tell her what was bothering me. I stared at my plate. After a couple false starts and a lot of sputtering, I finally got the story out right down to George's dropping the money on my desk.
"And you didn't take the money?" she said when I had finished.
I jerked my head up so fast that my neck snapped. "Of course not!" I said angrily. "Don't tell me you'd even consider such an idea!"
"George is kinda cute," she said with a smirk. I was sulking. "Don't you think I'm worth five hundred?"