This story is a work of fiction that does describe a lot of sleeping around with other partners. It is written purely for the entertainment and possible sexual enjoyment of the readers. Use it as you require. But rest assured that no real-life marriages were hurt in the writing of this story.
I dedicate this story to my beautiful friend, Charlotte Blue, I hope your life is happy.
Chapter One
I'm a happily married guy -- a family guy, two kids, living in the burbs. Quite content with my lot, I love my wife, I adore my kids, I'm proud of the home environment I've created for them. It's a good neighbourhood in which to raise a family. The demographers would refer to our suburb as middle class with the per capita average income running at around $100,000 per year. I am a marketing manager for a large multi-national company and my wife works too. Our kids are now 9 and 11 so becoming nearly old enough to look after themselves after school, but thankfully since my wife is a kindergarten teacher she gets home for them every day.
I am guessing that you're here now reading this because you're curious about the title,
Surrogate Wives Club
. I would be too if I came upon a story with that title, that is if I hadn't already been initiated as a participating member 6 months ago. Boy, what a life-changer that turned out to be.
I said that we live in a good neighbourhood and that's so true. We've made some really good friends since moving here about 5 years ago and it's amazing how everybody helps each other out. If you need a plumber or a sparkie (electrician) then you'll find that someone in your circle of friends either is one or has a brother-in-law who is.
One of our good neighbours and a friend -- used to be at all the dinner parties in our circle -- was Wally Brown, great guy, would give you the shirt off his back. Well damn if Wally didn't have a heart attack at 45, died before they could get him to hospital. Of course, we all went to Wally's funeral. Took time off work, the chapel at the crematorium was packed. A couple of us car-pooled, my wife Becky and I took Peter and Pauline Adams in our car.
The funeral service was fortunately early in the day for those that needed to get to work afterward. The four of us stayed for the wake that followed immediately after the service but still managed to get out of there by noon.
"So what's everybody doing?" I enquired as we all buckled up and I started to drive out of the expansive grounds of the crematorium. "Becky honey, I know you're heading back to school."
"Yes Brad, they couldn't get a replacement for me at short notice so I told them I'd at least get there for the after-lunch classes."
"Peter, how about you?" I asked, looking into the rear-view mirror to check on my back-seat passengers.
"Brad, can you drop me off at the nearest train station, I've got a mountain of work, I can't afford to miss a whole day."
"Ok, train station it is ... how about you Pauline?"
"I don't work these days so take me anywhere that's convenient."
"Yes I know, Pete told me, redundancy wasn't it?"
"Yes, with a healthy pay-out Brad."
"How is it having a life of leisure?"
"Oh it's wonderful, I can do whatever I want whenever I feel like it. Probably won't last, I promised Pete I'd get another job, but I can take my time about it, there's no great financial pressure at the moment."
"That's good! Well, I can probably drop you back in our neighbourhood, I managed to bring some paperwork home. Our office is way across town and the drive is really agonising, particularly if I'm only going to get there for 2 or 3 hours. It's handy I can be flexible like that."
"Oh isn't that wonderful, sort of like being your own boss."
"Yes I guess it is, so anyway, since I'm heading back to our neighbourhood, I can either drop you at the local Mall if you want to do any shopping or drop you off home otherwise."
"Oh, either would be great, thanks Brad."
We settled in for the longish drive, the topic of conversation was how well Wally's funeral service was conducted and how shocking it was that he died so young and how we were all going to miss him from our group. Twenty minutes elapsed before I dropped Peter at the closest train station so he could head off to his job in the City. Another ten minutes more with the three of us (Becky, Pauline and I) in the car. We had all exhausted the permanency of death line of conversation and Pauline had cleverly got my Becky talking about the kids she teaches. Works every time, Beck adores them and always has a funny story or two about the things they say and the things they do.
I stopped the car at the school gates and my wife leaned over and planted a nice kiss on my lips, strangely seeming to linger a moment longer than she normally would. "Umm!" I mumbled as our lips parted, "that was nice."
"See you tonight darling, be good." Becky had the car door open and her feet on the ground outside before she turned her head toward the back seat and added -- almost like an afterthought -- "Good to see you Pauline, enjoy that leisure time, we're all insanely jealous of you."
"Yes, I'll bet," came from the back.
I watched my beloved wife Becky hurry off into the school grounds and I turned to my one remaining back-seat passenger, "So are you going to move up front or should I drive you around like a chauffeur?"
"Or you could always come back here, there's lots of room," she answered strangely, leaving a pregnant pause, "but you'd have to move the car, not a good look to have a man and a woman together on the back seat while parked here outside the school."
I was thinking what an odd thing it was for Pauline to say when I heard her opening the back door and she around to the front passenger door, sliding smoothly onto the front seat. I need to explain a couple of things, mainly to provide an image of this woman who slid smoothly alongside me into the front of my car. Smoothly is the way Pauline does everything. Well, everything that I'm aware of.
Looking awkward would never be in her vocabulary. She is a gorgeous woman, in her late thirties and really looks after herself. She and Peter are gym junkies, they work out several times a week. I don't know how they have time for it because they're raising kids too. So she has a great figure and flaming red hair that is most appealing. I must be a bit of a fan of redheads, I like the actresses Julianne Moore and Emma Stone. Pauline was probably the first of the other women in our new circle of friends that I noticed when we moved into this area 5 years ago.
I wondered if she'd ever been a model. Possibly not, she's too curvy for that. But she kind of moves sensually, so when I say she slid smoothly into the front seat of my car, you can imagine that there was nothing awkward about that. Appropriately attired for the mourning that a funeral dictates, she was in a little black dress. As with just about everything I had seen her in,
little
was the applicable word for this dress ... and it was tight.
The dress had ridden up high on her thighs as her legs parted to get into the car, her lead leg planting on the floor of the car before her trailing leg left the kerb. Some women plonk their arse down onto the car seat and seem to swing both legs in at the same time -- that's how my wife does it so as not to show too much leg. But not Pauline, and yet, as I say, it still looked smooth and free-flowing even though any passer-by on the footpath at that moment would have got a great eyeful all the way to the top of those long legs.
So as I put the car back into gear and released the hand brake, I stole a glance across to check out her legs ... surreptitiously I hoped, although my late father always told me that I wasn't subtle when I scoped a beautiful woman. I wonder if he meant by that comment that my tongue hangs out and I drool? As I completed scanning the incredible length of thighs on display on my front seat, I looked up to see Pauline's head turned, watching me checking her out and smiling wickedly. I was, to say the least, embarrassed to be caught out perving.
Now most women when they ride as a front seat passenger alongside a male driver regularly tug downward on the hem of their dress, particularly if it is really short. I used to get a bit of a complex about that, thinking that because every woman who rode with me did that, I must have a reputation as a bit of a pervert among the women I knew.
But the super confident Pauline didn't bother to tug down the hem of her LBD. She just sat down there exactly as she landed, the bottom of her dress at least 8 inches above the knee. In fact, it was so far up that, if you really were measuring, it would be more appropriate to gauge how far below her crotch ... and in that instance, I would guess not much more than 3 inches.
The dress was jet black and the beautiful spring day was warm enough that she had no need for a jacket over it. She carried a slim matching black purse ... I think women call them a clutch, at least my wife does. Her hosiery beneath the dress was black too, a slightly lighter shade if you know what I mean, and she topped it off with shiny black high-heels. I don't know how women can walk in heels that thin and that high but it does enhance their height, and even better, it does project a woman's arse out in a most appealing way. Her flaming red shoulder-length hair was a sensational contrast to this vision in black.
Nothing was said between us for a minute or two, had we exhausted all lines of conversation when our spouses were with us, or was there now a strong whiff of sexual tension within the car? Neither of us had said anything, other than Pauline's reference to how much room there was in the back. But I had taken that as a flippant attempt at humour. That was her style, even at dinner parties.
"What a lovely day Brad," she broke the ice, not looking at me but staring out her side window, "nearly warm enough for us to go find a nude beach or even a backyard pool and go skinny dipping. Shame I didn't bring any towels."
How does a man answer that? I rapidly tried to find an appropriate zinger that I might fire back, something witty, even something borderline like her suggestion. Nothing came and I felt like a klutz. Worse still, it sounded like I had ignored her.
I felt a tad uncomfortable. As I've already told you, I'm a happily married guy, I love my wife, I love my kids, in all the years of marriage I've never done anything with another woman that I would be ashamed of. But sitting alongside Pauline in my car as we drove along, heading back toward our neighbourhood, for the first time in the 5 years I had known her, I was consciously aware of the sexual aura around this woman. She oozed it!
She tried again, "You'd have towels at home Brad, and you've got a pool, is it heated?"
"Y-e-s!" I answered slowly, tentatively, cautious at what I might be getting myself into.
"Perfect, let's head to your place then."
"I have work to do at home," I told her, immediately thinking how naïve and stupid that would sound to a woman of the world such as Pauline.
"You have to balance it Brad, time for work, time for play."
