Nancy's Wild Saturday Ch. 01

"This isn't much fun," she said.

"Not compared to what you're going to being doing later, it isn't." I congratulated myself on being so casual about helping my wife have sex with some other guy. But, at some level, the idea of being replaced even temporarily by this guy was bothering me.

Something in my tone alerted her. "It will be fun, won't it?" she asked, looking at me seriously. "You're sure you don't mind me indulging this unattached-lady-needing-to-have-a-fling fantasy?"

I felt like quibbling, being passive-aggressive: "Does it count as a fantasy when you really do it? If that's a fantasy, what counts as reality? But, whatever it is, so long as I can watch, there's definitely no problem. I'd feel different about being entirely left out, I think."

"You know, if I really get into it, really get carried away, it might feel to you like I'm leaving you out. I might even forget you're watching. I hope that's all right."

It was pretty strange standing in the middle of a bustling casino talking with my beautiful wife about her having sex with a strange man while I watched. But, strange as it was, her last remark went straight to my cock. Her warning me that she might get so carried away while having sex that she might forget I was watching – well, for some reason, I found this especially erotic. Maybe because, bless her, she was aiming at real, not merely staged, sex.

It was about 5:30 by then, and I was curious about what had happened in the UNR football game. I left Nancy at a bar and asked a casino worker if he knew anything. He didn't, but he asked another guy who said the Wolfpack had beaten San Jose State by maybe thirty points.

I rejoined Nancy at the bar and informed her that local fans were likely to be in high spirits because their team had won big. The drinking was probably well under way and inhibitions were relaxing by the minute.

Well," she said, "maybe we need to get going pretty soon. I'm tired of giving Harrah's our money and I don't want to settle for some falling-down drunk."

By 7:00 we'd located two bars near the University of Nevada campus. One was almost directly across the street from the football stadium, but it was way too raucous and crowded.

The other one, called the Outrigger, was down the street near I-80. When I stuck my head inside to check it out (Nancy stayed in the car), I saw that it was also crowded but wasn't quite so full of swaggering jocks as the other place. There were the expected college types celebrating their team's win, but there were others who looked like they didn't give a shit about football. The drinking appeared to be somewhat under control. The ratio appeared to be about 3:1 men to women.

I returned to the car and explained the physical lay-out to Nancy. It had an upstairs area, used mainly for dining, and a downstairs bar with lots of tables and what looked like booths. The music coming from down there was pretty loud, but I thought it might be possible to have a conversation both upstairs and down.

Nancy said it was worth a try, so she gave me a parting kiss (she reminded me that this was the last time she'd acknowledge me, except by cell phone, this evening), flashed me a big smile, and entered the place. I watched her disappear inside wearing her new sweater-coat over her sexy blouse and skin-tight jeans.

Since her new sweater had a large pocket, she'd put her wallet in it along with her key to the motel unit and her cell phone. We'd stopped off earlier at drug store where she bought some condoms and a tube of gel. These went into her sweater pocket, too. She was able then to leave her purse in the car.

I had to park the car almost a block away and walk back to the place. As I walked, I went over the fiction my wife had created for herself as we chatted earlier at the motel. Her role for the night was as follows: she was twenty-five third-grade teacher from San Francisco, married to an unsatisfactory husband, visiting Reno with a friend who'd gone off with someone to Lake Tahoe until tomorrow morning, and staying at a crappy old motel because her friend had booked it by mistake. Bored with casino gambling, she'd gone walking and just stumbled upon the Breakaway.

It was a good enough story to work. Besides, a horny and slightly drunk guy wouldn't be looking for minor discrepancies in a story coming from an incredibly hot woman like Nancy. And, an anonymous man among strangers, maybe I'd get to watch her getting picked up. I'd done this several times before in Colorado and in Berkeley, and (besides watching my wife actually perform sexually with a guy or guys) it was one of my favorite things about what we call "sex theater."

Arriving at the Breakaway, I ordered a beer and found a seat in the upstairs section facing toward the door. Since I couldn't see Nancy, I assumed she was downstairs somewhere. I thought I'd give her a while to interact without being watched. It might help her get into the spontaneous thing if her husband wasn't hovering around all the time.

About forty-five minutes passed and I was about to wander downstairs when my cell phone sounded. It was, of course, Nancy calling. She said she'd met three people downstairs: a man, his girlfriend or wife, and another man. The unattached man was visiting the couple for the weekend and they'd attended the UNR football game together. Anyway, the three of them had invited her to join them for dinner at a place called El Borracho. I guess the food at the Breakaway wasn't all that great.

I asked her, only half-seriously, which of them she had her eye on. "The unattached one, I suppose," she answered. "He's definitely interested in me and I think I'm already his date, sort of. It's hard talking to you now with all this noise, so we're off now. And don't worry. The guy driving seems pretty sober. I'll probably see you at this Mexican place, right?"

"Definitely," I answered. "El Borracho, huh? I think that means 'the drunkard' in Spanish."

"Stop showing off," she said, ending the conversation.

I went back to my seat and waited for the four of them to come upstairs and exit. I knew it wouldn't be hard to identify the lucky guy who wasn't attached to the other woman in the group. I paid close attention to the top of the stairs for almost ten minutes, during which time maybe a dozen different people came upstairs or went downstairs, before they finally emerged.

Nancy (easily the best-looking female in the place, I noted with pride) came up the stairs first, followed closely behind by a tall wiry man with a crew-cut and reddish or maybe weathered skin. Then came another woman, rather short and dumpy, and a man who walked behind her stiffly and maybe a little unhappily. He was short, too, but looked very muscular. Nancy's new friends weren't kids. They appeared to be in their late thirties or early forties.

As soon as they left, I got up and followed them out. I spent several minutes looking for them outside but somehow missed them. Then I went back inside and asked to see a phone book. It took a friendly waitress a while to find one, but she eventually brought it to me. I looked up El Borracho (my hands sweating as I thought about Nancy and the wiry stranger snuggled close together in the back seat of a car). I was relieved to discover that the Mexican restaurant was on Virginia Street, too. It would be easy to find.

What I didn't count on was that downtown Virginia Street on Saturday night would be so jammed with traffic. The cars were full of teenagers "dragging Main," as we used to call it. The point is it took me almost forty-five minutes to get from the Breakaway on North Virginia to El Borracho on South Virginia. Since the guy driving the car Nancy was in lived in Reno, he'd know to avoid the traffic jam I got stuck in. It was almost 9:00 when I got there.

It turned out to be a rather small restaurant-bar. Fortunately, parking wasn't a problem. I parked almost directly across the street from the place.

When I got inside, I realized I was a bit hungry. So I sat down at the bar and ordered a Tres Equis and some burritos as a bar snack. Then I looked out into the dining area and located Nancy and her three new acquaintances sitting in a booth already eating their dinners.

Nancy had her back to me, sitting against the wall with the wiry guy just to her right. Since the possibly-married couple were facing me, I could see their faces pretty well. The short guy was pretty animated and seemed to be having a good time talking to the wiry guy and my wife. His significant other appeared to be almost sullen, though. She was definitely not having a good time.

I returned to the bar where I stolidly ate my burritos and nursed my beer. I checked on my wife every five minutes or so. They were taking their time eating, it seemed.

About thirty minutes later, though, an unpleasant incident occurred. I heard a woman's raised voice, which was suddenly stifled, and looked over by the front door where the noise was coming from. I was surprised to discover that it was the short, stocky guy and his dumpy wife (or girlfriend) standing face to face having an intense discussion. She was obviously angry and he seemed to be trying to placate her, or at least keep her from making too much of a scene.

I stood up and glanced back into the dining area. Nancy and the wiry guy had stood up and he was helping her on with her sweater-coat. Then he put his arm around her shoulder, leaned down, and kissed her on the cheek. Just as he did this, Nancy caught sight of me watching them. A worried look swept briefly across her face. Something was up. Maybe the whole plan had been scotched by this angry woman.

Nancy excused herself, pulling away from the wiry guy who seemed reluctant to remove his hand from her shoulder, and headed toward the women's room. A few minutes later, she called me at the bar.

"Jason's wife is freaking out," she explained. "Tom, the guy I'm with, is visiting them from Sacramento. The problem is that Tom's girlfriend is a friend of Jason's wife, and she's pissed about how he's coming on to me. She's been glaring at me all night. She jumped on Tom a few minutes ago, saying he should be ashamed of himself. Then she got up and stormed out. Jason just went after her."

"Well, what's going to happen?" I asked.

"Tom is really, really hot for me. And he said, like it should matter to me, that he's already broken up with his girlfriend in Sacramento and that Jason's wife, whose name is either Mary or Mary Ann, just doesn't know it yet. He thinks I'm a school teacher and the idea of dating one is some sort of turn-on for him."

The fact is that Nancy was, briefly, a school teacher. She quit, though, to go to work at an insurance company. Anyway, I was finding all this pretty hilarious. "Well, you wanted this to be like a real date, Nancy. And now you've got it, soap opera and all."

"Back to your question, here's what I think is going to happen," Nancy continued, trying to stay serious. "Jason is going to drive his wife home and have Tom and me to get a cab back to the motel. I told him he can't stay too long, that my wayward girlfriend might decide to come back early from Lake Tahoe. He's OK with that. He's already told me he can't wait to be alone with me. Well, so he thinks, at least. You'd better drive over there and get ready for us."

There was a short pause. Then Nancy, who'd been almost giddy, added a serious last-minute concern (almost a warning): "Cal, I have a feeling that tonight will be different for both of us. I'm going to let myself go places I've never gone before, and as you watch you might not recognize me at times. I'm not sure what that means, yet, but I want you to be ready for something very different."

I was about to ask her explain this a bit more when she added: "Or it might be a totally boring evening. The guy could be a total bust."

I told her that I'd try to be ready for anything and that I hoped she'd experience something with this guy worth remembering. Then I rang off and headed out the door, passing just inches from where Jason and his wife stood locked in seething marital contempt.