Dear Dora (Pickup)

Dear Dora,

I work with a guy named Don. Don had to go on a two-day business trip earlier this month, and he asked me if I would mind taking his wife, Carol to and from work each day, as he would have their only car. I said I would be glad to.

The first day was last Thursday. After I dropped her off at work in the morning, it started to snow, and my the time the workday ended, it was a raging blizzard. I managed to make it to Carol's office to pick her up. but we only barely made it to her house in the deteriorating weather.

I called home and told my own wife, Janet that I was stuck at Don and Carol's house, and would be spending the night there. Carol threw something together for dinner, and there was a bottle of wine, and, well, one thing led to another, and I ended up not staying in the guest bedroom, but in the master bedroom with Carol.

It was like we were newlyweds on our honeymoon. We had sex in every possible position, and I tried things I never had done before, and a couple I had never even heard of. I asked Carol if was typical of her sex life with Don, and she said, hell no, that Don was a real stick in the mud. I asked her what that meant, and we were off again for several hours.

We never did sleep that Thursay night except for occasional cat-naps between sex sessions, so we each called in the next day, claiming it was impossible to get in through the storm. Luckily, many other people also had called in, and Carol's office had actually just closed, and my own was operating with only a skeleton staff. Mid-morning Friday, Don called, worrying about Carol's welfare, and Carol said she was just fine, that I "had taken care of her."

So Friday was a free day. The two of caught up on our sleep, but mostly we just fucked like minks the entire day. Janet called late Friday and said I should just plan on staying with Carol again that night as the streets were still treacherous. I "reluctantly" said okay. Carol and I spent Friday night repeating everything we had done Thursday night at least once, and by two o'clock Saturday morning, I finally fell into an exhausted sleep.

A call from Don Saturday morning confirmed that he would not be getting home until at least Sunday night, and verified that Carol had everything she needed to get by. She said she was doing fine, keeping plenty warm, and getting plenty to eat. So to speak.

Not long after Don's call, a knock on Carol's door revealed that Janet had been able to wend her way over to Carol's house driving our SUV in four-wheel low. I guess as soon as she came in the house, she realized from the smell of the place what we had been up to. Janet made some accusations, the gist of which was not so much that I had cheated on her, but that I had been so selfish that she had been left out of the fun.

So the rest of Saturday and most of the day Sunday was spent back in bed figuring out all the variations that were possible with two women and one man. Various pairings took turns, giving each of us a little chance to sleep, and finally, by Sunday evening, we had all reached our limit.

Tired as we were, we knew Don would soon be home, so we divided up the work and aired the house out (with plenty of cold outside air and lots of Lysol spray and Febreeze), did the laundry and dishes, cleaned the worst stains off of the carpet, sofas, dining room and kitchen tables, pillows, entry mats, credenzas, walls and doors. By the time Don's car finally pulled into his driveway, the house was spic-and-span and all innocent looking, and Janet had a nice dinner going as if that was why we were there.

Don was very tired from his long trek through the blizzard, so Janet and I made our way out of their house, with especially warm goodbye kisses for Carol. Luckily, Don never thought to ask why we had brought both of our cars.

I have to work with Don every day, and it is very awkward speaking with him, especially when he has been so effusive with thanks for me and Janet taking such good care of Carol in his abscence. What should I do?

Signed,

Slippery Slope

Dear Slippery,

I have read your letter over several times, and I still don't quite grasp what the problem is.

Sincerely, Dora