As the car rolled to a stop, I felt the hand on my already sore breast increase its pressure.
"Two doors down." I said, trying to fend it off unsuccessfully. He'd treated my tits like a stress toy once too often. My top was very thin.
"I know. Just thought we could get some sexy goodbyes away from your windows."
"Guys, I really need to go. I already made out with you both a long time."
The second guy's hand was on my knee. I slapped it away.
"Oh come on, don't be a cock tease. Give us a BJ with that spicy mouth, exotic Indian lady!"
He pulled down the elastic waist pants he was wearing and displayed a big hard white pink dong. I was seriously tempted.
"Just a little suck suck! I bought you four drinks, you bitch!"
"Fuck you!" I reached for the door and he pulled me back.
"That's what I'm asking!"
That's when there was a sharp rap on the window.
Me and the two guys looked up at the imposing form of Mr. Miller, our next door neighbor. He was a retired cop, something that generally gave my husband and I great solace in terms of personal safety.
He was holding a handgun.
I took advantage of the shock that caused to open the door and step out.
"Is there a problem here, boys?"
He had barely finished that sentence when the car screeched away. Not so dominant anymore, I had to chuckle.
I stood there, trying to steady myself on my heels. I was quite drunk and skimpily dressed! It was true that they had bought me a lot of drinks and I hadn't refused a single one.
"What do you get tarting yourself out like this when your nice husband is out of town?"
Even in my drunk state, that insult stung.
"I'm not a tart. And I could have handled them."
"Like you handled that cowboy last weekend who grabbed your twat?"
I knew someone was in the window that night watching! I had gotten reckless recently with letting guys drop me home to save on the cab fare. My husband kept me on a strict budget. I didn't have much money for my extra curricular activities.
That night, this dude in a cowboy hat who bought me a lot of top shelf drinks had gotten a little too handsy on the pavement outside my house. Hands down my panties despite firm refusals. Fingering my pussy! I fought him off.
"I sent him packing in the end anyway. What business is it of yours? Using words like twat? And please holster that gun."
"It's not even loaded."
He twirled it theatrically and put it away.
"Any good man will feel offended to see another good man's wife stepping out on him!"
"For god's sake! I'm not stepping out on my husband! I just go out to bars for a few drinks and a little attention. Sometimes the guys dropping me home try to get lucky. And cop a feel. It's no big deal. And it's none of your business."
"So should I tell him what all I've seen? I'll get it off my chest and it'll be completely none of my business."
I glared at him. He kept walking with me towards my door. I could smell whiskey on his breath. So that explained his extra belligerence.
"Well?"
"No. He'll get jealous over nothing. Mr. Miller, I'm not cheating on my husband!"
"That's not what I hear."
"Huh?"
"I hear you were caught giving Bryce Carter a handy behind Benedict's pub."
"I....."
I was stunned at how efficient these small town Midwestern gossip networks were. But then I guess I stood out as the only Indian wife in town who hit the bars in short clothes. All other Indian wives in town were PTA and pot luck types.
He wasn't entirely accurate though.
By this point, we were at my door and I wanted to end the conversation. I realized that we were both drunk and cranky.
"I was not giving him a handy. Yes, my hand was on his penis when some people walked in on us."
"As women's hands often find themselves on for no reason." he sarcastically said.
"It was a dare thing. A bet. We were all drunk. I'm drunk right now. As are you. Just go away, Mr. Miller."
"A dare or a bet? Or just an excuse to grab dick?"
"Mr. Miller!"
"Don't you glare at me, young lady! I just saved you from rape!"
"I did not ask to be saved! They were not going to rape me. And who goes around waving guns at people?"
"Oh, you wanted them to take you to bed, but do it rough, is that it? Cos what I saw was definitely a woman resisting. I was being a good samaritan and you're giving me attitude."
"I'm giving you attitude?"
"Open the door!" he suddenly said in a raised voice.
My throat was parched.
I groaned, opened the door and headed to the kitchen. The big old man followed me. I glugged water as he stood there looking upset. Which was starting to piss me off.
We had been neighbors for two years now. He had always been a condescending jackass to me and a complete gentleman to my husband. He was known in the neighborhood for his sharp tongue and no filter. And someone who got in everyone's business. He used to be a sergeant in the police so maybe micro managing people brusquely was in his bones.
"Maybe I should tell that overworked consultant husband of yours what you're up to. He'll set you straight. You're the kind of woman who needs to be punished to be kept in line. I have half a mind to do it myself! I hate cheating sluts! My first wife was a cheating slut!"
