Dating a Hotwife

Hotwife at the Bar

There at the bar, Bill again engaged in his shy, self-effacing talk about work, his dog, his move and the like. At one point he even took out his phone to show us the pictures of his dog that he had stored on it. Lo and I indulged his civil offerings of friendship and we responded in turn, though I could read Lo’s mind. Reading Lo’s mind wasn’t so hard because everything she thinks she expresses with her body. Her right hand went up to reach around Bill’s bicep. She casually rubbed her hand on his thigh or knee. She pointed out what pretty eyes he had and again grabbed his arm in order to make the point. She was telling him in every way but words just what it was she wanted. But he didn’t seem to be speaking her language.

He offered to buy us our first round of drinks, which was only the right thing to do, and we accepted. Lo flirted with the bartender (whom she really liked the first time we went there) and was basically emitting sex from every pore of her body. The cumbersome conversation wore on and I tried to give Bill the green light to work his words on Lo. At one point I turned to Lo and told her how ravishing she looked. I said, “You really look great tonight” — a comment that Bill seconded. (Well done, Bill. Now follow me on this.) “Yes, your hair, your clothes. . . and I really love this skirt and how it shows off your beautiful, sexy, soft, smooth legs.” As I said this, I rubbed my right hand on her left thigh right up to her panties. Yes, right there at the bar and in front of Bill. “Don’t you think she’s smooth Bill?” I asked, indicating that he should feel her leg too.

He may have gotten the hint, but he was far too reserved to act on it. . . until Lo led his hand to her leg and added the encouraging word, “Feel. Do you like?”

His hand furtively touched her leg and retreated quickly as he said clumsily, “Yes. . . uh, very soft.”

This was not going well. Perhaps we were in too public a place for Bill — though his e-mails and “chats” would suggest otherwise. People were beginning to leave and it looked as though some tables were opening up. I wasn’t really hungry, but it looked as if the booths of the restaurant offered more privacy, so I made overtures to our going there for some food, but Bill said, “Oh no, I had a late lunch. I’m not hungry at all.” So much for that plan.

Finally, behind us at some of the cocktail tables, it looked as if a party of three was getting up to go. Lo pointed it out immediately and I jumped on it, going over to their chairs to grab them before anyone else had the chance. “Will you be leaving?” I asked an older gentleman of about sixty. He made some reply, indicating that the table would be free for me and my “wife?” he said in an inquisitive tone.

“Oh no, my girlfriend,” I responded and I added, “I’m so glad you didn’t say ‘your daughter.’” He laughed at that. Apparently Lo had caught his eye (as she had caught the eyes of most of the guys in the room) and he made some comments about how hot she was — very inappropriate, but welcome. I could be forgiving when it came to complimenting Lo. In addition, he seemed somewhat inebriated. I made some remark to him about driving safely or getting home quickly and the woman with him interjected, “Oh, we’re not going home. We’re getting a room.” She winked at me and I saw that by “we” she meant all three of them — two older gents and the lady.

“Well, you have a good night,” I said, returning the wink.

“You too,” said the fella I was talking to as he moved on from me to Bill whom he tapped on the shoulder and gave a double thumbs-up. That gesture struck me as curious. Was it so obvious what we were up to? Or. . . or was this guy sitting next to Bill at the bar before we had arrived and, in the course of some casual conversation, did Bill reveal what drew him to that particular hotel watering hole?

Ah, it didn’t matter. I got the three seats at the table. That’s what mattered. Lo and Bill joined me — Bill sitting with his back to the wall facing out to the bar and Lo and me facing toward him so that Lo could easily cross and uncross her legs, revealing her cute blue panties below. As we sat there and fell into the same banal conversation, Lo again tried to encourage Bill to get a taste of her leg with his fingers. She pulled his hand to her leg, making the excuse that she was a bit chilly and he should warm her up. But he only let his hand land there for a moment before pulling back uncomfortably. We continued talking and we ordered another round that Lo insisted on buying.

At some point the talk turned to travel and then to hotels and then Lo came out with what was on her mind, “So, if things go well, maybe Christmas can cum early this year. If so, what hotel did you have in mind?” Bill was very eager, but fidgety on this subject. He began talking about the kind of atmosphere he’d like, but he gave no specifics of where or when.

I got up to excuse myself and went to the men’s room where I pulled out my phone and texted Lo: “Do you want to go with Bill to his car?” I thought it might be better to go to Bill’s car than my own since Lo and I were trying to keep our identities secret. After sending the text, I took my time and eventually returned to the bar. The crowd had died down a bit, but the band was still playing and though not every seat in the place was filled, the tables to our left and right were occupied. I walked up to Lo from behind and brushed my fingers across her shoulders before sitting down. I knew that she wouldn’t have heard her phone with the music and all the sound of people talking in the bar, so I leaned over and asked her if she knew what time it was. She understood and pulled out her phone, taking a moment to read the text. As she read it, her tongue did that motion it always does when she’s hungry for cock — running its way seductively over her upper teeth. She thought a moment and then leaned over toward me and said just loud enough for only me to hear, “If we do, can I go down on him?”

This question turned me on unbelievably for two reasons: First, it showed that Lo was being true to form and a total cock whore; second, I liked that rather than assume that she could do whatever she wanted, she first asked my permission. I granted her her heart’s desire, nodding in approval, and she leaned over to ask Bill if he would like to go to his car. He practically squirmed in his seat and very apologetically said that it would not be possible to go to his car. He was in the middle of moving and, so he claimed, his car was a total mess. After our fiasco on the phone the first time Lo called him — when his phone had that horrible connection — I wasn’t surprised this time that he wouldn’t take the appropriate steps to make sure that if things did advance he’d be prepared for it.

Lo turned to me and relayed what Bill had said and asked with longing and hunger all over her face, “Can we go to your car?” I could hear the “Please Daddy,” in her tone of voice. How could I possibly turn down that child-like request? It would be like telling a seven-year-old that we couldn’t go to the circus. I nodded, giving my consent, and immediately Lo said, “OK, you go get the car and we’ll follow in a little.” Suddenly she was giving orders instead of pleading, she was so eager. I casually got up and walked through the lobby to the car. I tidied up some papers and things that were scattered on the back seat, and then I got in and drove around to the entrance like a chauffeur. I waited for a moment and then I saw Lo walking with Bill — her arm wrapped around his, just as her arm was wrapped around mine when we entered. Something about that struck a chord in me and I wondered what may have transpired in the short elevator ride down to the street level. Bill opened and held the rear door for Lo and she got in. He followed. I put the car in drive and looked in my rearview mirror.

[To be continued. . . Excerpt from the story, “You Are the Best Thing, My Little Street Corner Girl,” from the book, Match, Cinder & Spark, Volume II: MORE!]