Average Wifey Files #14

"Tension."

I laughed when my hubby gave that simple, one-word answer to Joan's question.

Joan and her husband, Bill, were friends of ours. As we sat in the bar nibbling on appetizers waiting for a table, they were arguing... again. Sometimes their arguments were esoteric, sometimes boorish, occasionally enjoyable.

The topic at hand originated when my dear, sweet Michael innocently commented that he thought waitresses who were friendly but slow to service probably received better tips than those who were better at service but unfriendly. That kind of statement was red meat to Joan and Bill. They immediately weighed in, taking opposing sides of course, as if the topic were critical to national security.

As most arguments go, the topic migrated from one point to another. Joan bumped it along challenging Michael with "so you prefer a flirty flunky to a reserved, but quality server?"

Before Michael could even say a word, Bill jumped in. "No Joan. He never said flirty. He said friendly."

Joan rolled her eyes as she mockingly said, "Yeah right. Like you guys really don't want a flirty waitress." And just like that, Joan had managed to move the debate onto yet another point which certainly put Bill and Michael on the defense.

Back and forth the three of them went, as I chose to sit this one out. I listened as the topic shifted from friendly to flirty to sexy to sex. When it arrived at 'what makes for great sex?' and Joan and Bill bantered away, Michael was quiet and pensive.

The debate came to a temporary halt when we were called to our table. As we followed the hostess, zig-zagging our way towards our table, Michael discreetly patted my ass a few times, the final time included a firm cupping of my ass. I tensed up, concerned that anyone sitting at the tables we were walking past who might be paying close enough attention to us would certainly see what he was doing.

After we were seated at our table and drinks were served, Joan looked across the table at Michael and put him on the spot. "So Michael. What do you think? What makes for great sex?"

In less than a second, I felt his hand slide over my thigh and straight to the crease in the crotch of my jeans. Although it was all under the table, I was startled and of course tensed up a bit at the sudden, intimate touch of his hand.

I don't think Joan ever sensed his delayed answer was timed with his wandering hand in my lap as he paused before answering. Finally, as his middle finger wormed against the warm denim of my jeans, the only thing between my pussy and his finger, he smiled and gave his answer.

"Tension." I laughed at his simple, one-word answer. Perhaps it was a defense mechanism to deflect the tension I was feeling because of his finger against my pussy as we sat in a public place. Perhaps it was a nervous reaction or a guilty conscience.

Joan and Bill also laughed. I tried to blend in with their reaction, although I knew they certainly were not reacting to the same stimulus that I was!

Bill echoed Michael's answer. "Tension?"

"Yeah, tension." Michael shrugged his shoulders as he spoke with a matter-of-fact tone of voice. He elaborated. "Great sex has an edge to it, an energy that is released after being pent-up. Could be risk. Could be adventure. Could be daring. Could be pushing the limits. Whatever the form, it is tension."

By the time he finished his commentary, he had deftly unbuttoned, halfway unzipped and delicately pealed open my jeans an inch or two. My hand slid over his, partly to protest, partly to permit.

Joan smiled with an affirming expression as she said, "Remember Maui, Bill?"

His face instantly glowed as he chuckled "How could I forget?" He smiled at us and cryptically quipped, "LOTS of tension there on more than one occasion!"

All four of us laughed. Bill and Joan laughed at their inside joke. Michael laughed at the obvious double entendre. I laughed to disguise the increasingly naughty reality of Michael's finger slithering just over my clit. I was at the point where I was secretly wondering how I could keep this up. I wanted it. But it was crazy!

Soon thereafter, the topic shifted yet again. With the new direction of debate, Michael stopped. I lost track of whatever they were debating as I reckoned with the challenge of pulling myself together as Michael slowly retraced his path and withdrew his hand. It was not easy zipping and buttoning back up without anyone knowing, but I somehow managed.

An hour later, dinner ended. We said our goodbyes as we walked to our cars. I was still wet. The moment we were in the privacy of our car I blurted out, "Michael! Oh my god!"

He laughed. "Did you enjoy that tension?"

As he pulled the car out of the parking lot, I pealed my jeans open, reached over, grabbed his hand and guided it to my moist panties. "What do you think?"

I giggled, "I think tension is a two way street, naughty boy." With that warning, I first moved his hand away from my body. Then I raised my ass up an inch or two so that I could slide my jeans and panties down to my knees. As his eyes darted back and forth trying to look at me while keeping an eye on the road in front of him, I teasingly said, "Better keep your eyes on the road, baby."

I then leaned towards him and returned the tension he had created under the table in the restaurant. I undid his belt. I unbuttoned, then unzipped his pants, pealing them back just the way he had done to me. Then I cupped his hard, warm, cock pressed against his jockey shorts. I gave it a squeeze. I teasingly asked, "Is somebody happy to see me?"

I had swiveled my body in the seat next to him in a way that made me feel shielded from any potential stray eyes in a vehicle that might cruise along side of us, allowing me to slide my jeans to my ankles and softly spread my legs a little bit. The dim glow of the instrument panel bathed my flesh in just enough light to give him a good view.

He moaned and said, "Oh Kathleen... very happy."

I slid my fingers up the cotton fabric of his shorts along the firm edge of his cock until I reached the plump mushroom head. I gave it a squeeze, echoing how he had cupped my ass earlier as we walked to our table. "Mmm yes. You feel very happy."

The drive from the restaurant to our home was about 15 minutes. Fifteen minutes of tension. Fifteen minutes of seduction and teasing. Fifteen minutes of Michael shackled to the responsibilities of driving as his eyes ached to see more of me.

The garage door opened. We pulled in and parked. The garage door closed. I had never given much thought to what sex might be like in the front seat of our car. If I had, I would definitely have not thought it was possible to have great sex there; and I would have been wrong.

After we experienced that wonderful treat of Michael cumming inside of me in sync with my own orgasm, our sweaty and spent bodies sunk back into our separate seats. I am not exactly sure how we accomplished it, but both of us were naked. As I reached down to scoop up pieces of my clothing at my feet, I heaved a long, fulfilled, sigh of pleasure.

Michael's head was leaning back against the headrest. He rolled it to the side to look at me. He smiled at me. He winked at me. He softly said three words that said it all.

"Great fucking tension."