It happened. Nobody knows about it, but it did happen. I didn't ask for it to happen. I didn't expect it to happen. I didn't even necessarily want it to happen, but it did happen. No, I didn't fight particularly hard to prevent it from happening. It's just that I didn't want to create a scene, and I was afraid if I tried too hard to stop it, it may cause even more of a scene. I mean, my wife was there as well as about a half dozen other couples we knew. But that just seemed to make Leslie that much more determined to achieve her goal.
Leslie was married to a guy named Ryan Parker who played pick-up basketball with us on Sunday mornings. Most of the guys at this party played as well, and most of us either went to college or high school together. I only knew Ryan through basketball, but since we were all married with kids, we decided that every couple of months we'd have a party at somebody's house and include the families. The kids would run about, but mostly they ran around outside or stayed in a room where the toys, TV and video games were found. The wives would organize the spread of food on the table while talking about this and that, and the guys cooked on the grill, watched sports and drank beer. This party proved to be progressing as parties had in the past, and as usual, one of the high-lights was watching Leslie show off her amazing body.
Un-like most of the wives who either worked in an office or were house wives, Leslie was employed as a physical therapist. And, in addition to that, she was also a trained message therapist as well as a certified yoga instructor. Needless to say, Leslie had an awesome body. She stood about 5'2", maybe 130 lbs. with thick and shapely legs that demanded attention, especially when encased in creamy gray yoga pants and standing in a pair of three-inch heeled turquoise fuck-me pumps as they were on this night. On top, she wore a low-cut, turquoise camisole under a white hoody, un-zipped enough to expose her abundant cleavage. Her breasts were large and natural. Her nail color matched that of her shoes.
Leslie's blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail that exposed more of her naturally tanned skin and made her long neck seem that much more elegant and inviting. To watch her supple walk was an experience in and of its self, but to stand face to face with her and gaze into those wolf-like gray-green eyes was positively frightening; the fear was the thought that you could gladly throw it all away for a woman like this. Her eyes were mesmerizing; they were eyes a man could truly get lost in and they were difficult to look away from once they'd captured you. Soon your heart would start to race, your cock would turn to steel in your pants, and a sense of panic would begin to grip you. That's when you knew it was time to move away, fast.
Leslie Ann Parker exuded sexuality to the point where it was almost uncomfortable to be in her presence, that is, until she opens her mouth. When Leslie spoke, one would think Betty Boop had been reincarnated. She possessed a rather high pitched, nasally voice (without the Brooklyn accent) that barely rose above a sexy whisper. People thought she was joking, that no one really spoke like that. To top it off, just about everything she said was sexually suggestive, and this made her suspect to the other wives in the group. They saw Leslie as a temptress, someone with the skills, ability, and equipment to force their men to forget their vows. As a result, they made no effort to include her in their conversation. So, when not sitting by herself (and looking damn fine in the process), she was draped around her husband as he engaged the other men in manly conversation. In a way, I felt sorry for her, and that was my undoing.
"Yo, Brett," said Ethan, slapping me on the back and squeezing my shoulder for emphasis. "I'm sure you've checked out how Leslie is dressed tonight."
"No doubt, bro," I responded with a smile.
"Dude," exclaimed Justin. "I detected a lack of undergarments associated with her outfit!"
"I wouldn't know," said Steve. "I was told by my wife that I'd be castrated if she saw me so much as glance in her direction."
"How can Ryan stand to be married to her?" asked Ethan emptying the contents of a beer into his cup. "I mean, she flirts with anything male and Ryan acts like he doesn't even notice."
"I know, did you see the way those yoga pants get sucked into her butt crack like that?" asked Steve.
"Uh oh, Steve, there go your testicles," quipped Justin.
"I mean, is she a slut or does she just act like one," I asked.
"What's the difference? She's hot as fuck!" reasoned Justin.
"No, really; is she sleeping around on him? And if so, why does Ryan put up with it?" I asked, still trying to make sense of her behavior.
"He's never complained to me about any infidelity issues with Leslie, but of course that doesn't really mean anything," explained Ethan.
"Yeah, maybe he's into it and shit," suggested Justin.
"Or maybe he's just in denial," I offered.
"I'd certainly find it hard to trust her if I were married to her," said Steve.
"Then why would you marry her in the first place if you couldn't trust her?" I asked.
"Dude, to fuck a woman like that on a regular basis, I'd put up with infidelity, that squeaky assed voice of hers, and a lot more," laughed Justin. "Who needs a beer?"
"I do," I said getting up from the couch. "I'll get them. Who else wants one?"
I walked out onto the patio and momentarily enjoyed the beauty of the orange sunlight sifted through a stand of trees that bordered the edge of the yard. The smoke from the grill swirled magically through the scene and reminded me that I should have pursued a career in film making. Standing at the center of this scene between the beer coolers and the grill stood Ryan with that lusty vixen nestled under his arm. He was talking to Joe and Phil while she played with a string on her hoody, dragging it back and forth over the hardened nipple that poked out the material that covered it. Each time she dragged it back and forth, the erect nipple would bend over until it made contact with her boob and then spring back up as it passed.
Phil and Joe were finding it hard to maintain eye contact with Ryan. Both looked at me with relief as I walked up and drew Ryan's attention. Their eyes immediately returned to Leslie's nipple as Ryan raised his beer to me in salutation.
"What's up?" I said, nodding my head with an upward jerk as guys do.
"Not much, man," he said removing his arm from around his wife so he could hold his beer and shake my hand. "You remember my wife, Leslie?"
"Hi, Brett," she purred, holding her hand out to shake mine. My balls twitched.
"Hey, Leslie," I said taking her hand. Her grip was firm but feminine. She didn't let go right away. My cock flexed. She slid her hand from my hand in the most imperceptible but sensual way that I was momentarily dumbfounded. If she did that on purpose, then that was amazing, I remember thinking to myself. I nervously looked back at Ryan, fearing I had lingered in her gaze for too long.
"Wow, you look like you've been hitting the gym, Brett," she squealed, squeezing my bicep.
"No more than usual," I answered quickly, flexing my arm and gently pulling away from her groping grasp.
"Ooh, you've got such nice pecs," she whispered almost to herself as she caressed my chest with her wonderfully manicured hand.
"Thanks," I said, deciding to stand stock still while staring at her hand.
"Yeah, Brett's a fuckin' beast," agreed Joe.
"He's built like a baby grizzly bear," added Phil.
"Like a big ole teddy bear, I bet," she squeaked, surreptitiously twisting my nipple before removing her hand form my chest.
"Oh, I don't know about that," I said, not knowing what else to say.
