Incidental Indiscretions

"Yeah, oh God, don't repeat this, but see, I was having a four-way with these guys in a garage. He was one of them,"

"WOW!" I exclaimed [just think of how she'll tell her Grandkids how she met Grandpa].

"Oh yeah, but he was GOOD. I mean he treated me real good, ya know. But the t-thing is he's fucking hung like a damn horse, Barb. I must admit that sucker is ugly. We even call it his Mr. Fugly Stick, c-cause it's so fucking ugly," she cackled.

I had to laugh at her delivery. She was definitely a fun druggie. "Well he must treat ya right with Mr. Fugly," I assumed.

"Oh God YES! Like I said, it's so damn long, and thick, and... well, I just HAD to marry the asshole," she busted out in laughter, until she nearly fell off the bed. Gathering herself, she sat back down, this time nearly on top of me. Recalling Rick's imposing package pressed up against me earlier, I had to agree with her assessment.

"Well, I guess there are worse reasons for getting married," I laughed.

"No SHIT! God Barb, you should see it. I know you don't believe me, but it's frigging HUGE!" She broke me up again.

"See now MJ, if you were only a swinger then you could show me--HA!" I joked.

"Really! I just need to learn to munch carpet--YUKK!"

[I'm always confounded by people who are seemingly liberal and open when it comes to sex; yet are inflexibly opposed and closed to one or two aspects of further exploration. The concept of gangbanging a bunch of rough-n-tumble mechanics in a garage appealed to her, while the idea of making out with a woman totally intimidated her. Amazing!]

"So Barb, you never answered me," MJ asked, as she fumbled through her purse to find her bikini. "So does Donny treat you that way?"

"You mean about swinging, lesbians--that stuff? Oh, I suppose he did when we were younger, ya know. He would suggest this and that, ya know," I hemmed and hawed.

She finally yanked out a powder blue string bikini I was sure would put mine to shame. Standing up to get her bearings she dropped the bra top. Since I was close, I snatched it up and handed it up to her. In the process I got a peak at the label...40D. I had approximated correctly on the "forty" part; she was a big girl. The "D" cups I hadn't counted on. I always assumed she was at least a double-D or bigger. Perception is everything, even for women.

"Barb, I think you're ignoring me, or did you answer and I missed it," she laughed. "Damn those drugs are kickass!" She added, before returning to the bathroom to dress.

"I think I answered. What part did ya miss?" I yelled to be heard from the bedroom.

"You were talking about stuff Donny used to make you do..."

I walked closer to the bathroom, so as not to yell. "Oh well, he never really MADE me do anything I didn't want to-- just suggestions, ya know."

"No I don't know; that's the point. What suggestions?" She returned.

"Just the normal guy-fantasy stuff: dancing with other guys, dressing sexy, flirting with guys and girls, occasional flashing... that kind of stuff," I stated nonchalantly.

"Whoa, back up there, Babe! Flirting with guys...AND girls?" Her head popped out from behind the door for a second take.

"Yeah, we tried some swinging, "soft swinging" I think they call it these days," I admitted.

Dressed [if you call it that] in her sexy bikini, she headed for her purse once again. "I know I was going to throw it in here," her hands fished further into her medium-sized bag.

"Oh, you looking for this? Rick brought it up with him," I said, handing her a balled up floral fabric.

"Yeah, that's it. Thanks!" She took it and shimmied into the silky flowing skirt.

"That's a beautiful skirt--matches your suit perfectly," I lied. It was way too dark.

"Thanks. It took me forever to find it. C'mon let's do those eyes," she said and whipped out her trusty makeup pouch again. I stepped forward to face her. Even without her sandals, she still towered over me. "God, I'm such a giraffe," she said, bending down to get a better angle.

"Don't be silly, MJ. I'm just a shrimp. Wait here, I've got a stool in the closet?" I suggested and went to get the stool. "Well that helps." Standing atop the stool in my 4-inch wedge sandals she was able to comfortably work her makeup magic on me.

"So, you guys were into "soft" swinging?" She asked off the cuff, like a trained manicurist making small talk.

"Geez MJ, you really want to know if I did it with women, don't you?" I forced the subject. Her raised eyebrows and shifting glance spoke volumes. "Yep, I got it on with a few women. It was weird at first, but I got used to it. Actually, I found it can be quite a turn on. I got pretty damn good at it, to be honest!" I declared.

"Hey, I believe you, OKAY? I'm glad you can be so honest about it, Barb. It's just something that makes me totally gag," she said, penciling in my eyebrows.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to yell. It's just one of those things that doesn't bother me, once I used a trick or two." It was then I caught a good whiff of her perfume. When she had me close my eyes to apply some shadow, I teetered from side to side and swung my hand out to grab anything. Grasping her shoulder I steadied myself, "Damn, 'bout fell over there, sorry," I apologized, opening my eyes.

"No, keep them closed. I'm not done," she directed. "You were saying something about a trick?" She reminded me.

My sense of smell took over again, as I tried to recall where I... sure, I remember that same curious smell when I was doing the laundry last winter. If I'm not mistaken [and I very seldom am] that was HER perfume on my husband's clothes.

"See, the only way I could get past my initial hang-up about doing it with... women, ya know."

"Yeah, go on," She urged and I sensed a degree of interest.

"I just invent my own personal alter ego. Back in college, some of my sorority sisters called me Betty (actually Backseat Betty for any number of transgressions). I just let myself slip into what I expect Betty would do. Betty was a crazy nympho bitch; there wasn't much "she" wouldn't try," I smiled.

"Hmm, so you pretended to be somebody else, and then..."

"Yeah, and then I (Betty) could do all sorts of things I would never dream of trying," I said, giving her shoulder a tiny squeeze for emphasis.

"Well, I guess whatever works..." MJ deliberated.

"Oh it works--EVERYTIME... and not just for the lesbian stuff," I added

"Really?" Her raised voice indicated anxiety.

"Yeah," I sighed. "But I don't need to bore you with such things," I teased.

"Hey Babe, you're not boring me! This is a trip. I never thought about pretending. Well, that's not entirely t-true. I do sometimes... well, only for one thing," She reconsidered.

"Okay, so now you're teasing me. You DO pretend--AHA!" I laughed, opened my eyes and gently shoved her.

"Hey, you know how it is. There's some things women feel obligated to..."

"I know EXACTLY what you mean! Gotta keep our horny old men happy, right? Sooo, what is it for you, MJ... blowjobs?"

"NO, I love giving head."

"Titty-fucking, swallowing, taking it up the ass, what?" I pushed her.

"No, I don't mind most of that," she wrinkled her brow again.

"Ah, ass-fucking, I'll bet," I suggested. She nodded and lowered her head.

"I just can't seem to relax enough I guess, and Rick is SO fucking big. Did I mention..." She started. I broke in.

"Yes, yes, Mr. Fugly is huge, you mentioned that at least once," I winked.

"Well, I can't help if it hurts, and it HURTS. God, just thinking about it makes it hurt!"

Staring at this mountain of a sex goddess, her hidden frailty and honesty further stunned me. There was definitely a shy, warm-hearted little girl hiding beneath her rough, self-centered exterior.

"So you pretend to enjoy it for his sake?" I asked, smoothing her shoulder with a gentle touch.

"Yeah, I guess I do. But I've never pretended to be a completely different person," she explained and slightly backed away from my touch.

"Not even when you're gangbanging? Oops, I mean..."

"Hey, that's what it is. Well, maybe a little "playing pretend" when I did that, but I'm a married woman now; don't mess with that shit anymore," she let out a long sigh.

"Gosh, just think of all the hearts you broke with THAT news--HA!" I winked.

"Okay, enough of that nonsense. Let me finish up these eyes. You want me to line your lips too?" She asked dabbing her brush.

Responding to her instructions, I closed my eyes again. Taking hold of her steady shoulder again for support, I awaited another feathering of my eyelids. I waited...waited... nothing. "Yeah, go ahead. You might as well do my lips. At this point..." I stopped in mid-phrase, feeling the totally unexpected contact of lips on my lips.

The sensation was so slight and tentative; I hardly believed it at first. When she turned her face to validate a solid kiss, I knew this was no friendly peck. She was exploring, perhaps for the first time. My fingers tightened around her upper arm. Pulling her closer, I parted my lips and forced harder on hers. Letting her mouth open, she accepted my tongue and took a sharp, deep breath though her nose.

I sensed reluctance and perhaps a tad bit of fear, as my tongue swam deeper into her mouth. Perhaps I was pushing her too fast. She pulled back. My eyes slowly opened.

"J-just wondered what it w-would be like," she whispered.

"That's pretty brave of you, Honey. So, what's the verdict?" I asked, loosening my fingers from her arm.

Raising her eyes to mine, she smiled, "Well, I didn't gag," she shrugged.

"I'm guessing there's a compliment in there somewhere?" I smiled.

"Oh God! I can't even believe I did that," MJ declared in her Valium-induced stupor.

"Not only did you DO it; you did it GOOD Girl! You're a real natural," I added, giving her a hard ass slap.

"Don't EVEN say THAT! Rick will find out and... oh God Barb, don't tell him!"

"Why the hell not? Besides, when I ask to see Mr. Fugly he'll want to know why," I snickered.

"Come here; let's finish your eyes, damn it," MJ shook her head and gave my eyelids several more brush strokes, before announcing she was, "All done!" I stepped off the stool and went to check myself in the mirror.

Pretty much as I expected, she had me looking like a mirror image of herself--well, at least the eyes. I resembled a blonde-headed raccoon suffering from sleep apnea. However, on the other hand, I knew the guys would love it. There's something about the male animal that is drawn to whores with smoldering, bedroom eyes.

Adjusting our tops and bottoms, MJ warned me again about disclosing our "little secret". "Besides, that doesn't mean we were swinging; it was just a kiss," she rationalized, as we started downstairs.

"I suppose you're right. It's not like we were munching carpets--HA!" I teased.

"Oh GOD!" She blurted out, stepping down a step. This put her at the perfect height for another tease.

"Hmm, but the night is still quite young, isn't it?" I whispered and swiped her ear with my tongue.

Gritting her teeth while trying to collect herself, she barked at me to, "Cut it out, Barb!"

Don't Mess With Gidget +++++

"Well, HERE they are! Geez Rick, check out these two Polynesian honeys, WOW!" Donny yelled from the family room, as we entered the kitchen. Rick and Donny greeted us with Hawaiian Leis and a couple of umbrella drinks, while Kenny and Marge appeared to be steaming in a heated discussion in the corner.

Our bare-chested hubbies had already taken a hot tub plunge and dripped on the carpet as they continued to fawn over us. Kenny made a move to join us, before being quickly yanked back by Marge. Dressed in a conservative, tropical, two-piece suit straight out of a 1950's Jantzen's Catalog, and her 70's-mod, oversized, droopy straw beach-comber bonnet, she resembled a Bond-girl reject with a bad attitude. The sneer peaking from under the straw brim was tangible. I swear she would spit pure battery acid when MJ took it upon herself to introduce her hubby to Kenny and Marge.

"Thanks MJ, we've already met. Oh, and by-the-way, you look terrific," Kenny's words barely cut through the fumes, as Marge stomped between the two of them to close in on me. Taking hold of my arm, Marge pulled me out to the patio, in no uncertain terms.

"Okay Barb, I'm PISSED!" She simmered. Giving up the occasional frustration with her hat, she tore it off and stomped it to death.

"I can SEE, Marge. What's going on? What'd I miss?" I flashed her a wide-eyed smile, trying to hold back streams of laughter.

"T-that FUCKing Dick-prick, Rick-bastard, whatever his name is... h-he..."

"Slow down Marge! What did he do?"

"He made f-fun of me. GOD, what a prick!"

"I guess I don't get it," I HAD to hear the whole sordid story.

"Well, I was being nice, you know how I can be... "nice" you know... a younger guy, somewhat attractive..."

"Quite attractive!" I butted in.

"WILL you let me finish!" She shot me her Medusa-special [a stone-cold fiery-eyed glare that instantly turns most observers into pillars of salt.]

"Sorry, go on."

"Now where... oh yeah. So, a young guy; obviously attracted to me."

I nodded but zipped my curling lip.

"He says... get what HE SAYS... "Hey Gidget, I just got off the phone with the Big Kahuna. Moon-doggy and Annette wondered if you waxed your surfboard yet?" Now I ask you, is that friggin' RUDE or WHAT?"

It was then I very nearly upchucked an entire mouthful of rum punch all over her. "A-ah maybe the pigtails are a little 'much,' I offered lamely.

"I thought they make me look younger--don't ya think?"

"Well... YES, yes they DO!"

"Then you two come in, swinging your big tits, looking like some blonde bombshell and Jane frigging-Russell on steroids... what the heck am I supposed to do? I know ONE thing for SURE..."

"What's that?"

"There's no way Mr. Clint-"big dick"-Eastwood over there is getting a piece of THIS sweet ass tonight!"

"Marge; such language!"

"Okay, I'm sorry. I'm just REALLY pissed!"

"Maybe that was just his way of hitting on you. You know how insecure guys are," I suggested with all the sincerity of a Warner Brothers' cartoon.

"Hmm, I hadn't thought of that. You could have something there. There ARE guys not used to being around attractive mature women," she reconsidered.

"I'm sure that HAS to be the case! Now you just go on and be your sweet sexy self--just don't overdo it," I advised.

"Why thanks, Barb. I'll tone it down a bit," she wiped her sniffles and took a deep, cleansing breath.

"That's a girl. Have fun!"

"Okay, I will. You know, as handsome as he thinks he is; I can't help but think there's something ugly about him," she noted.

"You think?" I paused and eyed him, especially below the belt line. Without knowing it, Marge had probably stumbled onto her first accurate assumption. I was still staring and considering her supposition, when she broke in.

"But even if I let him come on my tits, I'm definitely NOT licking it up."

"T-that sounds... like the old Marge," My brow wrinkled [even Mr. Fugly doesn't have that good of an aim].

I lost track of Marge after that, until I spied her later that evening in the kitchen. A half-empty bottle of Tequila in her grip, she seemed to be having another serious debate with my favorite philodendron.

As it turned out, Kenny got equally stewed but had yet to resort to plant talk. He was still firing blank barrages at his too-tall secretary, while my hubby-dearest fired from her flank. Mary Jane, not one to turn away a drink or a cheap flirtation, must have forgotten she was chemically infused with the Valium. Tossing her long, brunette hair with greater regularity, she winked, nodded, and let her body language do the talking. [God, could she ever converse!]

I must admit to being more than tipsy after so many spiked fruit punches with vodka-seven chasers. Rick retreated to the solitude of the hot tub with his own bucket of longneckers. I switched the stereo from Aloha Hoy to some slow, jazzy bossa nova and flicked off the overhead deck lights.

"Well Rick, aren't YOU just the social animal?" I asked, pulling and popping a cold Bud from his bucket.

Lounging back on both spread arms, his focus locked on the starry sky. Hot, foamy bubbles rose and rolled from under and around his muscular arms and chest. I strode slowly around the circumference of the six-seating sunken tub, until I stood directly over him.

"Cat got your tongue?" I tried again, gazing down at his atypical 80's modified mullet. I say modified, due to his receding hairline. [Titty-tracks they used to call 'em.]

Laying his head even further back for a better view, he remained speechless. Moving his arm from the tub's edge, he slid one hand between the slit in my semi-transparent sarong. When his warm, wet hand found my calf and started running up my leg, I determined any further catch phrases would be superfluous. Fondling and measuring my leg as far as he could reach, he dropped his hand to the flagstone. Grabbing hold of the hem of my sarong, he yanked hard. This nearly dislodged it from around my hips. One more hefty tug would do it. Yep, that did it.

Standing in my elevated sandals, white string bikini and poufy flower, I locked hands on hips and glared defiantly down into his upturned expression. "Well?" I asked posing a little for him.

"Well... do I have to do EVERYTHING?" He returned, obviously referring to my tied bottoms. "Nice and warm in here; why don't you join me?" He tempted.

"Nope. I don't fuck in hot tubs."

"Who said I wanted to fuck you?"

"Oh, you want to fuck me," I determined.

"HA! You sound pretty sure of yourself," he smirked at my confidence.

"I know what I want. See, I want to fuck you, so you really have little choice."

"Whatever Lola wants; Lola gets, is that it?" He concluded.

After a security glance back at the empty porch, I returned to stare him down. Locking my focus on his sexy eyes, mustache and strong chin, I untied my strings with one yank. Letting them drop to fall, my bikini bottoms settled smack dab on his kisser. He took a deep perverted whiff before tossing them aside. A long minute lapsed before he reached to take hold of both my ankles.

"You don't HAVE to do a damn thing," I reckon.

"If you prefer...I was simply gonna answer your first question about a cat having my tongue--or was it a pussy?" He teased.

"Maybe I should warn you..." I started. His hands stopped. His brow raised. "Just like a Timex..." I began, bending my legs. "I keep on ticking..." Lowering my crotch to within inches from his face. "After a good licking," I concluded, spread my pussy and plopped down on his mouth.

His voracious tongue went immediately to work on my snatch. Throwing my head back to savor every stab, twist and turn, my eyes spied a slice of light before shutting. I reached to pry my tender lips to guide him to my favorite spots. A light breeze coming from the house did little to muffle our moans, as he continued an exquisite assault on my wetness. When he thrust a few fingers inside me and began sucking my clit, my eyes sprung open. There was definitely a light occasionally twinkling through the tall elm tree between the hot tub and the house.

Now I split my focus between Rick's talented tongue and our bedroom on the second story --the master bathroom to be exact. The flickering light continued to play tag with my eyes, even as I heard voices coming from the house.

"I believe we're about to have company," I said calmly, before grabbing up my sarong. Standing up to retie the sarong, I searched for my bikini bottoms.

"Looking for this?" Rick winked and quickly hid them under the water. No doubt they found a new home hiding in those hideous bike trunks. The low lamps like dim sentinels shined enough for me to see a glossy bulge in his trunks, as he emerged from the bubbling hot water. Re-locking my sarong at the hip, I circled the tub to join him as he got out.