Beer Goggles

When we arrived at the Star Lounge that Friday night, I had no idea that it was about to change my life.

I had three buddies from college and we used to go on these guy's nights out about once a month. Jeremy and Tim were married. Scott had a serious relationship going. I had lost Cheryl two years prior because of a drunk driver. Most of the time we'd hit a local sports bar and consume a few "man sodas". But this particular night we decided to go the lounge: they had a band playing and, for reasons I can't remember, both Jeremy and Tim's wives were away. It would be a little naughty to go flirt with some women, maybe cop a feel on the dance floor, before hitting a Denny's at 1 AM for early breakfast--kind of an echo of college days.

I was designated driver, because I never want to be responsible for someone else getting that knock on the door, so we took my Jaguar sedan. Tim and Scott came over to my place and we picked up Jeremy on the way.

The place was moderately busy and we were there early. Jeremy and I grabbed a big table near the back, while Tim and Scott went to get beers. The table next to us had three women. Jeremy said hello.

"Hi, I'm Gail and these are Heather and Diane," answered the nearest gal, a perky looking bottle-blonde, probably early thirties. "We're having a girl's night out."

I introduced the two of us and pointed out Tim and Scott. "It's our guy's night out. You gals want to join us?"

"Seems like we're one short for you guys."

"It's okay. We can take turns dancing."

"Yeah, but someone will be disappointed at closing time."

"Well, these guys are married or as good as..." I put in, but Jeremy jumped to point out that "We're all on hall passes this week."

"We're married too," Heather added, flashing her ring. "But that doesn't mean we're not looking for fun. And we can help recruit a fourth," she added, nodding at me.

We scooted the tables together and started getting to know them. Gail and Heather were real firecrackers. They made it pretty plain how they wanted the evening to end. Diane was more reserved. She was happy to flirt and dance, but maybe not end up in a strange bed. The guys were eating it up, though.

Jeremy pulled me to one side and made clear his plan. "Don't be a stick in the mud, man. We can go back to your place and have some fun. No one will be the wiser. It's great that they're married, because there'll be no consequences Monday morning, eh?"

"Sure." But he could see my hangdog look. I'd have to look their spouses in the eye eventually and besides, I was now pretty much flying solo instead of hanging out with my buddies.

By now the band was in full swing. I nursed my cranberry and tonic, holding on to the table so the three couples could get more and more daring on the dance floor. Jeremy was talking to Gail, nodding his head in my direction a couple of times. She nodded back and scanned the room a bit.

Not much later, Gail came back with fourth woman. "This is Denise. She's a coworker of mine and she's here on her own. I thought she might join us?"

"Sure, come on over."

Denise wasn't very attractive. She was maybe average height, a bit overweight, and flat as a board front and rear. Her hair was brown and kind of mousy, and she was wearing these oversized rimless glasses that I thought weren't flattering. She had no chin to speak of. Her dress was of some heavy blue material and did nothing for her. But heck, it wasn't a date or something.

"You from around here?" I asked.

"Moved here a few months ago."

"Where from?"

"Kansas."

"You don't say! How do you like it here so far?"

"It's okay."

It was like an interrogation. She put no effort into it. After a while she said she was going to the ladies and headed off. Instead of returning to the table, she went to the bar and tried to chat up other guys.

Since that hadn't worked and I didn't feel like sitting alone, I went up to the bar myself. I chatted for a bit with a buxom blonde, but she was waiting for someone.

Turning to the other side, I found Denise at my elbow. We looked at each other and it was like you could see the speech bubbles over our heads: "Nah. Not really."

To my left, Heather came up with Tim. Heather was wearing a floral print blouse with a Peter Pan collar and very short sleeves. I don't know how she did it, but her rather large lungs seemed to defy gravity, even though you could look down between them practically to her navel.

Her cheeks were flushed and her one hand was fastened possessively to Tim's arm. While he dickered with the barkeep, she spared me a moment, pointed at another lady at a table, and said "Candy looks lonely. She's fun. Tell her I sent you."

Candy was indeed lonely, looked a well-put-together fifty-something, and desperate for any sort of male attention. But another guy got to her before I made a move and the last I saw they were exploring the rear exit of the club.

Denise was still there, so I bought her a new round. The band was loud, so she practically had to scream to tell me, "You don't have to be nice to me for Gail's sake."

"I don't know Gail. I'm just here with some friends."

"I'm not ready to hang out with you."

"Okay."

The very attractive redheaded gal who came up to order next to me didn't want to dance--she was refreshing drinks while her wife used the head. With most everyone seeming to be paired up, I gave up and headed back to our table.

When the band's set ended, everyone else joined me and a new round was consumed. Tim was like, "Hey, bro, these girls are hot. We should take them somewhere and play some games." Heather bobbed her head side to side like a demented Barbie to emphasize her support for this notion. I might be saving her from a terrible button failure incident if only I swept them away from here.

Scott, meanwhile, broke away from his "conversation" with Diane (if by "conversation" you mean "kissing each other's brains out") to add "Let's go to your place."

"We won't all fit in the Jag."

"We'll chase you in an uber."

Gail and Jeremy were excited by the prospect, so I gave in.

On my way past the bar I saw Denise sitting there alone, men all around pointedly ignoring her. I was some combination angry with my sometime-friends, jealous of their success, and maybe a bit sorry for her. So, in spite of her evincing zero interest in me, I nudged her elbow on my way past.

"Hey, we're getting out of here. Want to blow this pop stand and join us?" She looks at me as if seeing me for the first time.

"Where would we go?"

"We're all going to my place. I can refill you there," I say, nodding at her glass that seems to be mostly ice.

"You're not married like the rest of them?" She was looking at my ring finger, devoid of decoration.

"No. I'm the only straight shooter in this bunch."

"Let's go."

Scott and Jeremy and their erstwhile companions are already climbing into a ride share, so I take Denise, Tim, and Heather back to my car. The Jag looks rakish in its gleaming black paint under the streetlights and Denise gives me a reappraising look as she settles into being cossetted by all the wood and leather of the interior.

Tim and Heather crawled into the back seat as I fired up the big V8. The armrest between them has disappeared and he's got his hand up her skirt. From her tiny yips, his fingers are inside her. She's got something to hold onto herself, so I'm not concerned as I accelerate into traffic. I'm certain that they don't notice any of the trip.

Denise, by contrast, is content to look out the window as I chase the Uber driver towards my house. Maybe I looked better to her in the bar after she's had a few, but I have no such liquid encouragement. She's still not what I'd call cute and she's been so laconic that it's difficult to say what her personality is like. Maybe I'll regret this later. I'm sort of feeling regret right now.

Everyone piles out at my place and quickly the party takes shape in the living room. Gail cranks up the stereo with music off her phone. Jeremy and Tim make free with my bar materials.

I pour myself a good stiff drink.

I pour one for Denise too and we sit together on one end of the couch and watch the show unfolding. Gail and Heather have no shame. Now that we're not in public, they are rubbing their bodies up against Jeremy and Tim. Their hands are checking the tent poles both men are sporting. Not that the men are strenuous in their resistance. There is significant titty groping and crotch grabbing going the other direction. This dance will tilt to the horizontal real soon now.

Diane and Scott are still playing it kind of cool, sitting on the other part of my sectional, but their "conversation" is quiet and focused and they're feeling around for second base.

I turn back to Denise and finally she breaks the ice. "You think they're going to do it?" she asks.

I shake my head. "I think they're already there. You not one for dancing?"

"Nah. Maybe after they are done hogging the floor." She nods back to the party goers. Gail and Heather twerk together for a moment and then deftly trade men. I sip my vodka and experimentally put my arm around Denise.

"Whatever happens, I'm not doing that." She holds up her glass and empties it.

"That's fine," I reply. "I don't need you to put on a show. Your glass, however, looks defective: it seems to have leaked." I refill us both.

Scott and Diane decamp in the direction of a guest bedroom. Apparently, they've decided to skip the public displays of affection. It only takes seeing them move in that direction and the other two couples are also searching for more intimate surroundings. They leave the music going and I'm sitting with Denise alone.

"I don't approve of their antics," she says. "They're married and should know better."

"I agree. Plus they put me in a bad position: I like their wives more than I like them most days. But you and I, we're not married," I observe. "Should we know better?"

"I don't think either of us is that attracted to the other," she replied. "But maybe it's the scent in the air. Maybe..."

I leaned in and kissed her gently. It wasn't bad. It wasn't full-on. But it felt okay.

"Maybe," she tried again, "we could fool around a bit." I kissed her again. Yes, there was definitely something okay about that.

"Do you have a bedroom?" she inquired.

"You know I do."

"I'm going to want you to prove it. But first I have to warn you."

"Warn me?" My ears went up.

"I'm a good lapsed Catholic girl."

"I'm not sure I understand how those three adjectives fit together." I finished my drink off, in preparation for finding the bed.

"That means I'll sleep with you out of wedlock, but I insist that neither of us commit any other sins tonight."

"So... I can't sell holy offices, bear false witness, and I promise to respect your mother in the morning?"

She laughed.

"I'll explain it in the moment." She put down her empty glass, reached over, and kissed me. Yes, yes, a kiss filled with adequacy.

I muted my enthusiasm to an appropriate level, then pulled her up off the couch.

"Madam, your den of pre-marital iniquity awaits." We head towards the private areas of the house.

Gail and Jeremy haven't had the decency to close the door on the guest room they've taken up in, which means we're forced to observe her waiving her heels up near his head. The other's rooms are shut tight, but the doors are rattling with intimations of whatever interior rumpus is going on: I suspect a high-stakes game of bedspread Twister.

We reached the master suite. I let her enter and close the door behind us.

She turns to face me, and we embrace for the first time. The enthusiasm is improving.

Denise takes off her oversized glasses and puts them on the nightstand, then kicks off her crepe soled sandals and sits on the bed. My shoes join hers and I snug up next to her. We get our arms around each other as our lips resume their entanglement. She feels pleasantly solid in my grasp, with a pleasant curve to her waist. She has one hand on my shoulder and the other in my hair and this clinch is stoking the first real feelings of desire in me.

Her dress is a muted shade of royal blue, ankle length, and buttons down the front. The tie has a bow knot in it and the end recommends itself to me. I tug it a couple of times and am rewarded with a satisfying relaxation of tension on it.

Our kisses don't stop, but she's exploring disrobing options too. Her fingers deftly loosen my top shirt button. I make the corresponding move on her dress. She has the second loose, so I need to hurry it a bit: I have far more buttons to assault than she does.

"It's not meant to unbutton, silly," she whispers in my ear.

"But it's more fun than making you pull it over your head," I retort. I've discovered that she's not wearing an undergarment up top. I'm personally a breast man, but there's nothing really in there to hold up or contain. I keep unfastening as she pulls my shirt out of my pants. There's some flummery with sleeves on both sides and then we're both naked from the waist up.

She pauses one eyeblink to admire my doughy physique, while giving me a look over her promenade. Her breasts are little more than speed bumps, each surmounted by tiny tight-clenched bee-strings. As we fall back into an embrace, I let one thumb brush a sensitive nubbin and am rewarded with a hiss of approval.

The feel of skin-on-skin is like another shot of vodka. She smells good and there's something electric about her tongue on mine.

Then she pauses to rise up and push the remains of her dress to the floor. She's wearing nylons and she pushes these down to match. I release my belt and work on shedding trousers. Quickly I'm down to boxer briefs and she's in her panties.

Instead of sitting, we lay side-by-side. There is a gentle stroking of fingers wandering between my thighs. She's getting my measure, outlining what I have going on there.

I let my fingers discover the warmth in her lacy undergarment. Her legs are a little chunky, but her pubic bone is prominent. I trail my fingers outwards, tracing her wide hips with their boney ridges projecting to make her waist swoop inwards.

"They're child-bearing hips," she whispers. "Good Catholic breeding hips. And I've committed no sin to keep you from putting them to their intended use."

"No protection?"

"Nope. And you've agreed that you won't sin by using any either. Nor shall ye spill your seed on the ground," she intoned, one finger pointing aloft, with the tone of papal authority. We can't help but laugh.

"I wouldn't want to stain the carpet in any event, but I was thinking of spilling it here in bed," I said, as our bodies enjoyed some bumping and grinding.

"If you take those silly briefs off," she says, pulling the offending waistband around my tool, "I'll ensure you spill it. But there's only one place that's happening tonight: wouldn't want you to do laundry in the morning," she says, before she adds, whispering, "My greedy cervix will drink it all up."

I push my skivvies down and they hang up around my ankles. As I try to shake them free, she rolls me on my back. We laugh as I shake my leg vigorously until the offending thing flies off. Then she leans forward, letting her long hair hang around our faces as she straddles me, her silken panties brushing my exposed hardness. I grasp her hips as our tongues twine again.

She's the perfect height, as the undulation of her pelvis demonstrates perfectly. My engorged head isn't just near her entrance, with each motion of her hips, it stabs as far into her as the slick material of her panties allows.

"I want them off as much as you do," she says, "but they are our only protection. I have six sisters and they all have big families. My fertility isn't in doubt. You take those off and I'll have to get the justice of the peace to explain your rights and obligations to you. Because I'm birthing every baby you put in me."

I roll us over, putting her on the bottom. She's not that attractive, but lust and alcohol have brought me to this moment. I let my cock feel her out again. The placement, angle, and repose hint that, if that merest hint of cloth weren't in the way, we'd be perfectly joined.

I sit up and take hold of her waistband, with its tiny fake bow right in the center and the little hearts embroidered all around, and draw the last vestige of prophylaxis away. Her mound is lightly thatched with dark black hair, highlighting barely parted lips. She raises her legs up high, so I can draw the material down past her knees, past her feet and off.

Then her legs spread open and her feet land to either side of me. I move between them and lean down to kiss her. Legs and arms embrace me, body-to-body, skin-to-skin. One part of me feels a hot damp spot just brushing against it.

"Umm... you feel it, don't you. So dangerous where you want to go. You didn't know me a few hours ago, but if you go there we'll probably be tied together for life." She rocks her hips side-to-side and I lodge right at her opening.

"Oh, I feel my sin," she moans, "dirty lapsed Catholic girl, rutting in bed unmarried. I let you get me drunk and begged you to disrespect my chastity. Put it in me and punish me for my sin with a lifetime of motherhood."

I want to enter her, but her words caution me that I shouldn't. I might wake up in the morning on my way to marry to a stranger, the woman I didn't think of bringing home from the bar, the one who didn't want me. At the same time, I feel her wetness coating me, the slight resistance of her inner walls. I can always pull out, I think, and sink the rest of the way in.

Her eyes go wide as I slip in and then, with a blissful smile, they slide shut. "Mmm... so perfect. Fallen women get no mercy. My only saving grace can be if you wash my womb clean with your babymaker. Anoint me down there. Oh! Oh! That's just right."

And we do fit perfectly, just tight enough, just the right connection. Our loins align and dance together just so. She gasps and moans with each push; I pant and exhale with each pull. It's our first dance and its gyrations are flawless.

"That's it, that's it," she cries, "so ripe and fertile. Your seed can't miss my wanton egg, fallen from grace tonight. Our transgressions locking our souls together. Put your dirty sinful jism in my belly."

Her legs quiver, heels banging against my flexing behind, holding me inside and inviting me deeper. Our motions one moment syncopated; the next in perfect rhythm.

"You're getting close, aren't you? Getting close to knocking up the sinful strumpet you picked up in a bar. The filthy harlot who gave her virtue to you after a few drinks. Go ahead, do it. Make me litter the carpet with your brood."

I am close. I feel my shaft swelling up, my balls beginning to churn. I'm dimly aware that I'm groaning with each thrust, readying to flood her.

"Pump it in me. Baptize my fount with your hot cream. Do it. Do it," she pleads.

I am at the point of no return. She can feel it, the tightening of muscles, delving deeply into her wet cavern. I could pull free, pull back, shoot my cum across her belly. I don't. A torrent of thick hot cum pumps down from my scrotum, works its way through the long tunnel of my flesh, and spews heartily into the waiting mouth of her womb.

"I feel it! I feel your sin uniting our flesh!" she cried. "Uh! Uh! Uh!" she worked her vulva intensely down, into the point where we were joined, seeking--and finding--that last pinnacle of release. I held her shuddering body a long time.

The first time I awoke that night I was disoriented. It was completely dark and there was an unfamiliar warm somebody in bed next to me. I took care of business and crept back under the covers. My errand had woken her and I was greeted by warm arms and a moist kiss. My own paws seem to naturally land on her big hips. Both of us were drowsy and still slightly tipsy, but part of me was wide awake and ready to insinuate itself... anywhere. She snuggled closer to me and drew her top knee up, then used her hand to get me just so. Our coupling was slow, and it took a long while before any urgency built. When it came, it was overwhelming as I fired into her for the second time that night. This time her reply was a soothing "Shh! Shh! Shh!" as she petted my head and we lapsed into sleep once more.