Ironically, James only went to the party because his wife had insisted that he honour Tony’s invitation. Tony was celebrating his latest promotion at work. So he’d gone. And joked around with Tony and the guys. And had a couple of beers.
And now, now he was being led out of the general party area by a young thing with a mini-skirt that could pass for a headband, extra high heels, a missing bra- her nipples were poking out- and long brown attachment-thingy braids.
She seemed to know her way around, James thought, as she moved easily in the corridors, twisting and turning, finally stopping to open a door and lock them in. She pushed him in a chair and began nuzzling his neck. He absently thought about Abigail and the kids, wondering if they were already in bed.
She- he couldn’t for the life of him remember her name- stood up, struck a sexy pose and began slowly undulating her tiny hips, running her hands over her body. She kept swaying even as her top came off and she stepped out of her skirt. She turned around and bent over, pretending to fiddle with her shoes, meanwhile affording him a chance to stare at her black lace thong and the surrounding flesh.
It was then he felt the first twitch. She wiggled back up, executing some tough-looking moves that ended with her on the floor, eyes fixed on him the whole time.
That’s when it started.
He burst out in uncontrollable laughter, the tears streaming down his face.
“I’m sorry,” he spluttered as she ceased her contortions, painfully confused.
He just barely made it to the door between the laughter and attempts to wave her goodbye.
* * *
Later, stealthily making his way up the stairs, he realized that it was about a quarter to midnight. The kids would be fast asleep by now. James got undressed quickly, dumping his clothes by his side of the bed.
“Hey, baby,” Abigail mumbled, turning a bleary eye in his direction.
“Hello, love,” he said, easing open the duvet covering his wife. “Can we spoon?”
“Thought you’d never ask,” croaked Gail, her voice hoarse with fatigue and interrupted sleep.
James got into bed, pulling her into him and inhaling deeply off the side of her neck.
“Have I got a story for you,” he whispered, between nibbles.
“Mmm…,” was her reply, her body already relaxing in sleep.
James raised himself to look at his wife, married seven years now, with the passage of time leaving tiny marks on her face and body.
He absently flashed back to his experience with the Young Thing. He drifted off to sleep, his nose buried in Gail-smelling hair, spooning with the only woman he loved.
I wrote this in May of 2008, and today seemed like the perfect time to share it. Hope you got the “moral of the story”! Lots of love, happy Valentine’s Day,