(c) EarthSeaSky
It had been a long hard day at the office. In fact, it had been a long hard week of haggling over a building contract. That evening, Ann sat opposite me across our small dining table as we finished off the last of her home made apple pie. The tang of cinnamon and cloves did wonderful things for me. She topped our glasses with the Merlot.
"Thanks honey, did I ever tell you that your cooking is even better than my mum's?" I schmoozed.
Ann considered me over the rim of her glass, "Of course it is, otherwise you would never have left home ... my mother always told me that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach. What she forgot to mention was, how much fun it can be getting there," she chuckled.
"Hmm, I'll drink to that," I grinned at her innuendo.
"Fay called this afternoon...she and John have invited us to meet them for a night on the town, tomorrow. We would meet as usual at the Black Opal for drinks and a few dances and later, if we felt like it, move on to some other stylish place they visited recently, what do you think?"
"Sounds fine, except for the drive ... you know what North Sydney is like on a Saturday night," I said.
"No worries...they are leaving their car at home and suggested we do the same."
"That's the best suggestion I've heard all week, but I never thought I'd hear that from John ... He goes nowhere without his Beamer," I said.
Ann skipped happily towards the phone, "OK, I'll call Fay to count us in."
And so it was that we met at our favorite haunt the following night.
John and I have known each other since we were kids at school, where each of us had acquired a kind of hero status amongst our classmates for jacking off during French. For our checkered history of misdemeanors, we had long been banned from sitting together. The principal had seated us at desks on opposite sides of the classroom.
We took fiendish delight in embarrassing our teacher, the cute and voluptuous Mlle. Lecocq, by pulling down hard on our exposed and raging erections, then letting them spring back up against the plywood bottom of our desks with a succession of resounding thwumps! and thwacks! From the depth of her scarlet flushes, it became evident that the young Mme. Lecocq must finally have guessed as to the type of percussive instruments being used to create the disturbance, and also, from our glazed expressions, those responsible for its emanation. Addressing me directly with only the hint of a smile, she had carried on regardless, "Marius n'est pas tres intelligent."
Some thirty years later we are just as horny as ever, and although neither of us have ever openly admitted it, we are each aware of how hot we are for each other's wives.
And as we sat at the bar openly admiring their fully mature figures and elegant dress, we also knew that our women were likewise attracted to both of us. Every once in a while a challenging glance was exchanged, our body language spoke of the chemistry that engulfs the four of us.
