I really don’t think I drank that much, I say to myself as I sit on the end of the bed, waiting for
I really don’t think I drank that much, I say to myself as I sit on the end of the bed, waiting for Sheryl to come back into the room, blinking to steady my drifting vision, but I guess I did. She had sent me upstairs about twenty minutes ago, after my clumsy moment where - the three of us listening to music after dinner, me showing off a dance move I used to know - I spilled some red wine from my long-stemmed glass onto myself and Melissa’s, uh…chest. It had made both girls laugh, thankfully, but Sheryl quickly told me I’d ‘had enough fun for the night’, apologizing for me as I awkwardly tried to help, eyes glazed and focused on the spattering of red blotches spreading over the swells of Melissa’s overmatched white sweater.“No worries, no problem,” Melissa had said magnanimously, “it’s an old sweater, anyway…”“Oh, no, I uh…” I stammered, momentarily unable to get a coherent thought in, drunkenly hypnotized by her bosom, probably leering, “I feel bad…let’s…”“Shh, shh, hun, it’s okay…” my wife had said, stopping me as I found a napkin, confused as to what I should do with it, “let us take care of this. Why don’t you go upstairs, throw your shirt in the sink, I’ll be up in a few?”“Yeah, I should be going anyway,” Melissa had agreed, taking a napkin from Sheryl and blotting at her full chest. She looked up at me with a bright smile, drawing my eyes quickly away from her breasts. “Dr J this was so fun!” Meekly chagrined I nodded some agreements, some more apologies, and finally some goodbyes. I was being dismissed, I felt, and maybe it was a good idea. But before I turned to leave, Melissa stepped towards me for an awkward hug, an awkward laugh - we were both red with my favorite Malbec. My eyes fluttered, rolled up in my head as I felt the two soft pillows of her chest squash into mine, my hands gripping her trim sides. Mmmm….oh man…“Okay okay I think you’re liking that hug a little too much, mister,” Sheryl scolded with a laugh, “let the poor woman go.”I laughed, and I obeyed, and I waved a lame little wave as I headed to the stairs and started to climb, dumb little smile on my face, steadying myself with the bannister.As I took the steps, moving out of sight and earshot, I heard Sheryl take Melissa aside. “Here, do you have something on underneath the sweater? A tank?” Sheryl was asking, helpfully. It gave me pause, and I stopped at the top of the stairs, listening. “Great, take that off, let me have it,” my wife continued. Standing there, listening to the girls drift towards the kitchen and laundry room, my mouth went dry, “I’ll spray it with some- WHOAH LOOK AT THOSE hahaha!“Oh jesus……When Sheryl had finally come upstairs - holding the half-empty bottle of Malbec - she found me shirtless, running water over my grey polo, still lamely trying to rinse out the wine. She took the shirt from me and, spray bottle from downstairs in hand, spritzed the shirt heavily. Standing there in the bathroom, I watched as she set to task.“Is…she gone?” I finally asked.“Yes, Melissa left.”I started thanking her for the night, thanking her for everything. “Everything was so good, so nice tonight, it was,” I said, surprising myself with my slur, “it was beautiful. You were beautiful. You were, you are…really, really beautiful.“Waving me away, Sheryl dismissed me modestly. “Oh shush, you,” she said, smiling to herself as she scrubbed my shirt, letting me watch her.I couldn’t help it. Still buzzing on a high from how the evening went, I leaned over and kissed her cheek. That made her giggle. “Aww, why don’t you go into bed, get out of those clothes,” she instructed me, “I’ll go change, be in in a minute.”“O-ok…good idea..” I stammered, heart fluttering. To say there’d been tension between us, over these past years, months, and especially there last few weeks would be an understatement. Was she warming up? Coming around? Was it meeting Melissa finally that did it?“Here, take the wine…” she told me, “Scoot!” -- source link
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