I love my Missus Sarah, but when she's in a mood, I could swing for her. I thought we were heading there during her last strop, but the outcome surprised both of us. See what you think.
"Hello love, I'm home," I say, as I close the front door after a hard day's graft on the tools. No reply. Three days and she's still not speaking to me. When I say not speaking, that's not true. Not speaking means, I'm the subject of her monologues about my many faults. Whenever I try to say something in my defence, she ignores me. I must have apologised a dozen times, but it's not enough. Sarah is going to milk this one for all it's worth. She comes from the kitchen, wearing a dressing gown and an ugly scorn, brushes past me, and goes upstairs.
"You can make your own dinner. I'm going to have a bath. Don't make any noise when you come to bed," Sarah barks from the top step.
I snap back. "Well, I've eaten enough humble pie this week, love. For a change, I'll try some of that cold shoulder you're dishing out." I think it's funny.
She almost grins, but catches herself in time and slams the bathroom door, bringing our latest sparing bout to an end. I'm well behind on points.
It wasn't fair. I'm the innocent party. I'd told the truth, and I'm still in the doghouse for it.
It started three days before when I went to the pub with a few guys from the gym. We go out every three months, so it's not like I'm on the piss all the time. Anyway, it's almost 11 pm when a bunch of drunk cackling woman come in. One of them Tina, is the sister of Dave who is giving me a lift home. The girls join us and we have a few more drinks and by closing time we are very merry.
Tina has a reputation. If I'd been sober, I'd have kept well away from her, but with my beer goggles on, Tina becomes a vision of loveliness. She's wearing a black dress, too small for her, tits pushing over the top and showing plenty of thigh. You know the dress? You've got to look, haven't you? Her make-up is overdone, too much red lipstick and eye shadow, but I'm understanding. Anyway, she's leaning on me as she can't stand up by herself and I get the whiff of her cheap perfume. Her big boobs are squishing against my chest; one of her hands clutching a cheek of my arse. I'm revved up by this time. I know I should resist temptation and no good will come from it, but there is a much stronger brain whose demands must be met. We find a quiet corner of the pub and kiss like wild animals. My hands are all over her and her hand is down the front of my trousers. It's only the lights going on as they tried to chuck everyone out that brings things to an end.
On the way home, the two of us were in the back of Dave's car. I'm sobering up, but Tina is still pretty keen, and she takes my hand and puts it up her dress. She is wearing hold-up stockings and my cock is up again. I pull her thong to one side and start playing with her. She's moaning and I'm wondering if I should ask Dave to pull into a layby and take a midnight stroll.
He reads my mind. "Should I take you home or to a hotel, Billy?" I've got my head between her tits so I don't hear him properly.
Moments later, we're parked outside my house. I see a light on in the bedroom window and that brings me to my senses. I take my hand out of her fanny, give Tina a quick peck on the cheek, and stagger out of the car.
I get almost make it to the gate when I hear Tina's loud voice. "Here lover, you've forgotten your phone."
I see a shadow behind the curtain and scamper back to the car.
"For fuck's sake Tina, do you want to wake the entire street? I lean into the car, but she moves to the opposite door and holds up a phone teasingly. As I go to grab it, she pulls me into the car and gives me a big sloppy kiss, more on the neck than my face. I get another strong whiff of her perfume while I grab the phone and look at it. "You silly bitch, this is your phone!" I pat my pocket and mine is in there.
"Oh dear, you're right, sorry lover," she says in a sly voice. I sense something is not right, but in my pissed-up state I can't work it out.
I let myself into the house and creep up the stairs, doing a poor imitation of Tom Cruise in
Mission Impossible.
The bedside light is on, but my wife appears to be asleep. I know she's still awake, but now is not the time for a conversation. I get undressed and plunge into a drunken sleep. Mission accomplished.
I wake the next morning dimly aware of what happened the night before. I think I've got away with it for a second, then I look across the pillows and see my wife's expression.
"All right, love?" I offer with a weak smile.
"Don't you fucking alright me, with your face smeared with lipstick and mascara and smelling of eau de whore perfume."
I turn over to examine my guilty coupon in the wardrobe mirror.
"I heard you come home last night. I saw Dave playing chauffeur and you grappling with his slag sister in the back. Even worse, you went back to the car for afters. What must the neighbours think?" She gets up, grabs some clothes and announces "I'm going shopping now, stay out of my sight."
