This story involves male-male sexual action, and interracial action. So, Trigger Warning for those who are offended by it. Also, it starts in 3rd Person Omniscient to establish the setting/characters. Then, it shifts to first person through alternating narrators. Sorry if that's confusing, it helps focus on one person's thought/feelings, and there's a lot of bodies in the room.
*****
Mary had a single glass of wine. A nice shiraz, but unwilling to indulge, too much. She sipped it sparingly. Listening to the minutes of the last meeting, and then the first orders of business. Honestly bored with the property values, and taxes, she was there mostly to support her husband. A good business man, she was more content to take care of his house, their children, and schoolwork. So, merely savored the dry aftertaste before refreshing it with another sip of the sweet fruity dark liquid, and a purse of her lips.
Her neighbor, Alan Thompson was more indulgent. His wife serving the men from taps built into their private bar. Not always the location of the meetings, though by far the most popular. Comfortable with couches, a love seat to share with her husband, who stood to press some point of tax law before rejoining her, or returning with his stein for a refill. He usually had more inhibition, but tonight, with each trip, he appreciated the younger wife more and more.
Geraldine Thompson, or "Dina" for short was a looker, even stone sober. Tonight, with her hair down it covered her shoulders, and the open neckline of her dress. Walking back with a foamy refill, he'd seen it up, on her way to work, or returning with her briefcase. Typically in a smart suit, or pantsuit with a well tailored jacket. Buttoned tight enough around her noticeable hips to flare, and swing as she walked. Say up the steps to her porch after a long day, and made up. Whereas his wife, Mary sat there, hands folded in her lap, and her hair held out in a dome around her head.
Carefully brushed out, and sprayed to keep every hair perfect. Just as she would for church, or bible study, book club, or any of the other interests with which she occupied her time. He got used to the smell, but can't help wishing she could let loose, a little. Instead of looking "Presentable" when asked. She's almost obsessed with looking presentable. "How's the Shiraz?"
"Lovely dear." She hardly touched her glass. The money portion of the meeting over, she took his hand. His free hand, and listened. He took another long pull of moderate imported beer. German, but a lager, and honestly couldn't tell the difference. Expensive, though. Al bragged about the cost of shipping it by the keg, but blatantly proud of being able to afford it. On his wife's salary.
Of course he'd also seen her with her hair braided, in 2 tails to hold it securely for her runs. All except the bangs, which bounce with her steps, unlike her chest also securely contained in the lycra confines of a sports bra. As were her generous hips, but her rear. Muscular from her fitness regimen, and lightly hopping back up to her front door. Checking her pulse, glistening with sweat, and catching her breath. Putting her leg up to stretch, then switching out.
Unlike tonight, her cobalt dress doing as much to conceal her powerful looking thighs as accentuate her buxom bust, the half crack of her cleavage, and the tops of her hair, hanging loose.
"Oh," Mary got up to speak. Her nagging voice rising, to testify about the presents left by a dog, to be found by their youngest playing in the yard like easter eggs. Nagging, once again asked what they expect them to do about it, only for her to return the question of what's being done to find the culprit. Like a tennis ball, didn't Dina used to play tennis? Not professionally, but he seemed to remember saying something about enjoying it. Oh right, catching her by the mailbox, asking about her hair.
She'd learned to braid it like that for tennis, not cheerleading, but she might have been seen throwing a racket in the car, and driving off. There's tennis courts at the park, basketball hoops too, but more of a football man, himself. If anything, the tight white dress looked even more amazing than the uniform he'd admired from the stands, but he'd never dated a cheerleader, either.
Clearly seething in frustration, Mary took her seat, and sniffed loudly in her wine glass. Gulped, and calmed down. Forcing him to smile, but that was it. She had her say. "Another glass, buttercup?"
"No, I'm fine." She looked down, and finished it. "You can take this back for me, if you like."
The last order of business, but he still had half an Imperial pint. What's that, 10 or eleven ounces? Maybe a dozen, or so. He leaned up, and watched her rinse it. Reach up to hang it to dry, carefully with it's mates from the overhead rack, and securing the cork back in the neck of the decanted shiraz. "Oh, no. She enjoyed it, she's just. Reserved, she doesn't like to get too loose in public. In fact, who makes it? She might want to get some for the house."
"Berringer." 1999. She turned it to show them the label. Like a model before turning to slide it in the rack on one side, but she had noticed his interest. Her neighbor, as with any neighbor, no. He didn't ask, but she hadn't done any modeling. Considered it, even did some practice, the walk, emulating the beautiful glamorous ladies on the television, but it was a phase, that passed. Now a professional, journalist at a fashion magazine, and a swinger.
Christian men, with a christian wife. Admittedly, one of the better looking ones, but you know the type. Look but don't touch, then probably shamefully confess sinful thoughts on Sunday. Red dark burgundy, he checked. Matching set, bra, and underpants, he'd probably never get to see. She wouldn't mind, and neither would her husband, but his wife. Frowning as the after meeting naturally switched to the usual topics of conversation in this sausage party.
He gave up, returned to her, but the afterparty wouldn't really get swinging until the fuddy dudy frumpy prudes left. "Huh!" Wiping the spill from the counter, he's drunk, but probably not drunk enough. It's just, being the only man there who hadn't already nailed her, there was still a little mystery. Forbidden fruit? But, with the stein rinsed out, and set up to dry on the rim. She'd tended bar, and slept around through college. She wouldn't approve, if she only knew, what pleasures she would have in store for her tall handsome husband, with the reedy voice, green eyes, sandy blonde hair, and expensive haircut.
Dressed casual tonight, but she doesn't do casual. Does her hair to check the mail, or take her kids to school. Or church, of course, but Sunday best, every day. Breaking the tops off of another round of Warsteiners, the guys picked them up. Walking back without their wives. Leering and winking, promising the inevitable gangbang to come, once the good Christian couple left. "Huh!" Imagining the dent she must have molded in her pillow, she poured herself another shot, and downed it. "Ugh, huhH!" Shivered, and chased it with a healthy swig of her pilsner. Poured another, and topped off the Stout for Donald MacIntrye. No head, not yet. At least on his beer, but again, that would have to wait for them to leave.
If this was like any other night, Mary began to fidget as the topic changed, once again to the ever popular debate over who has the hottest wife.
;
Wives (FF NS)
"Could I trouble you for another glass, of that lovely Shiraz?"
"Oh, no trouble."
"I don't usually indulge, but I suppose I can stagger across the street. Mh!" A long slow inhale of the aroma, lipstick just smudging the rim, and closing her eyes to once again wash down the aftertaste. "Hhah!" Licking, and pursing her lips, with a smile as the sweetness gave way to the lingering bitterness, begging for another sip. "Beringer?"
"Yes, but the 99 is supposed to be the best year. More of a whiskey girl myself." Knocking it back, she held the longneck down for another shudder, then washed it down. "Whoh! Good for what alesya!" Laughing to herself. At herself, losening up.
"It's a shame we don't talk so much."
"I suppose being from such different worlds. If you don't mind me asking. How do you keep your hair like that?"
"It's high maintenance," patting the tips just over her shoulder, then turning to check the other side, "But worth all the effort. If you don't mind My asking. What's your secret? To maintaining your, figure. I know you run, but that can't be it. Honestly, you seem to be utterly immune to age, or gravity."
"Well," a grin, "It's high maintenance, but worth the effort."
"I must know, Yoga?"
"Well," another sip, "If you must know." Leaning over to lower her voice, then men laughing loudly, and patting her husband on the back. "I dance."
"Well, maybe if you could slip me the number of your instructor. Where do you two go?"
"Oh, it's nothing so formal." Raising her lowered eyes, to catch, and hold the older woman's. Seriously. "Honestly, it's a bar. Out by the highway?"
"There isn't." Then, she remembered. "Oh," Covered her shock with another sip. "Oh!" Quite a sip.
"Like I said, 2 different worlds, so I understand if you've never been in there." Pouring another shot. "Ugh!" Chasing it.
"So, they let you. Dance there?"
"Well, it's a job, but more of a hobby. Actually, I don't need the money, but I enjoy the attention. From men."
Still holding the glass up, to cover a smile? Hard to tell, that's the intent, but she hasn't run screaming from the basement playroom, just yet. "Siph!" Then blinking, and shaking her hair. Catching something in the mirror, she turned back, as if realizing the masked killer looming over her shoulder with a knife. "Huh!" Patting her blouse over her heart. "I had wondered, why. You have a fireman's pole in the basement."
"It's not a fireman's pole. Haven't you wondered why I don't go to the other meetings." Working 2 jobs, I don't have time for book clubs, wine tastings, making hour d'erves like she does when they host the biweekly meetings. "The men don't bring their wives here, on a night like this?"
