I was in the garage, slightly winded and flat-backed on my old weight bench, looking precariously up at a couple hundred pounds. No sooner had I gotten it off the rack, locked elbows, and exhaled sharply, my wife came strolling in. I slid my eyes in her direction, then back to the bar as I lowered it once and heaved it. My wife, love her as I do, is a hassler. She prides herself on it, but she's different about it than other girls I've known. Her nature has always been playful and positive, and I don't know, it makes you, well me... love to be around her.
So mid-rep, she throws a leg over and sits right on my junk, which unfortunately was hanging down and not riding high, "Hey honey, remember tonight is the wine walk, you can still come, right?"
I had told her I would, her and some friends typically went, but they were out for this month's edition. Partly because they had a sketchy Uber driver last time that had freaked them out (which is easy to do). I tossed the bar back on the rack and said, "Yeah, I'm in.... now get off me, at least until later."
Normally we'd go back and forth, but she rushed off to get ready, and I finished up, showered, and proceeded to endlessly wait for her to get ready. She picked out a dress that she knew I had a thing for, which was her way of signaling me. I won't bore you with the rest, we left, we arrived, we walked to bar after bar, in a moderate-sized herd. If you've never done a wine walk, it's essentially like a food crawl. Local bars participate, you buy a wristband, and then meander to each stop, trying their wine and/or their specialty drink, and you just mingle. Or not, but we're minglers.
Well, I have a wife who's not only a hassler, but also a certified mingler, which by extension makes me a mingler. Half way through, which was stop six, we were at this place named something like Baby Huey's or something stupid like that. Big, open place, non-smoking, pool tables downstairs, bowling upstairs, with lots of furniture sets around where groups can set up camp. We both decided that's where we'd wind down towards the end. See, what you do is you scout bars that you enjoy throughout the night, and then when things are wrapping up, you go back to your favorite one and finish strong.
Well, we were having fun, and had talked just damn near every group of people on the wine walk by the 13th stop. That's what we call the place you go back to, the wine walks always have twelve stops. My wife was just getting hammered, so we ordered some food at the oyster bar once we'd gotten back to Baby Huey's. Well, I barely drink, and I don't do oysters, so my normally barely-sexual wife starts in on me. We're standing at one of those tiny two person tables like you see at music shows, the kind without the accompaniment of chairs. I had ordered bruschetta, and she'd gotten a dozen oysters, on some sort of sampler.
She says, "Try one of these oysters for me."
"Nope."
"They're an aphrodisiac, you know," she said, placing another one in her mouth.
"People just say that so you'll eat them,"
"Well, it's working," she said, pausing to eat another one, "not me eating them, the aphrodisiac part," she continued, doing that thing where you half open your mouth and click your tongue against the top of a molar.
"I'm always ready, I don't need those nasty little things," I said.
"I'll gargle your cum tonight if you try one," she said with her eyebrows raised.
"No means no," I didn't say, picking one up and eating it like it was a fucking Oreo. She hated when I went in her mouth, so I locked that shit up immediately. Her face went a light shade of pink, she was glad she'd won the battle, and with her ramping up the sex-talk, we drifted down that road of conversation.
I had finally gotten her away from the entirety of the wine walkers, which had taken me most of the evening. She had just seemed hell-bent of meeting and learning the life story of all 40ish of the walkers, something she came by honestly. She had another specialty drink that she was nursing, so just out of earshot of a nearby group, and continuing a conversation we started during a recent romp, I lean in and nonchalantly ask her, "Why is it when you get a few glasses in you, you always want me to finish inside you?"
She looked shocked, turned to see if anyone at the bar nearby had heard me, and then hit me, "Stop! Someone could hear."
"That might play into your threesome stuff you like to watch. I could say it a little louder if you want me to."
"Oh my God, I'm not telling you anything else," she said, blushing as she stirred the cubes around and around in her nearly empty drink.
"I'm not messing with you, I think it's hot. I want to know, is it just because you want to get pregnant, or that's just like, your thing or whatever? You know with mine though, you'd be pregnant as soon as I go," and then I said something dumb like 'why drop them off at the bus stop if you can just bring them all the way to school?'. Definitely something that had sounded better in my head.
She was blushing brightly, and grinning mischievously. "Both, can it be both?"
"Sure, it can be whatever you want tonight, I like talking to you like this. You know what I like, I'm just trying to, you know, get you drunk and see what you're really like."
She had an argument ready to go, "Oh, what I'm really like? You don't think I'm as adventurous as I used to be, do you?"
"Stop, I'm just trying to see why you like certain things, so I can see how we can work them in. And... I find that you get more adventurous as you drink so...."
She saw it as a challenge, I could tell. I only meant that I wanted to know, not that she wasn't as crazy or as bad as when we'd first met. She let her guard back down a bit when I put it that way, "Well, I like... how it feels a lot, but what it means more. That I made you finish, and it's, you know... risky. Like you couldn't help it, you have to finish in me to... I don't know."
"No, that's good," I said, glancing down at her nipples as they hardened and were jutting out, the fabric stretching over them, enhancing the effect. With her dresses, she always wears these thin, soft-fabric bras that you could spot a breadcrumb through if it fell just right. I put my hand on her thigh and traced it back and forth, as I looked back to her eyes and how she looks when she gets flustered, "I love watching you get turned on, it's really... fucking... hot. And if filling you up is what turns you on, then I guess tonight after I get you drunk, I will." She never broke eye contact, even though she was fidgeting with her freshly refilled drink non-stop.
