Dirty Pool

"But of course. Fill it up." My wife grinned as she teasingly elbowed me in the ribs.

With that the chef took the same bottle of mayonnaise he had used on her roll and loaded that little vagina like he was filling a jelly donut, pushing the sauce deep inside until it oozed out and ran down the crack between the two sides.

Then instead of giving that vulgar vagina looking creation to me, he handed it to my wife saying, "This one is my specialty. It is called the cream roll. Old Japanese tradition says I make it and the wife feeds it to her husband."

Now the chef was laughing. He had finally made the joke he had so painstakingly set up. My wife was laughing too. I only found it mildly humorous.

Through her laughter, my wife finally blurted out, "Honey, come here and eat his cream pie... I mean cream roll." Once again, she couldn't stop laughing as she pushed that thing toward my face. I recoiled at the very thought and pushed her hand away, which made them laugh even harder.

It seemed my wife and the chef were having a great deal of fun, all seemingly at my expense. I could hardly be mad about it though. The chef's routine was somewhat funny, and his clownish presentation made the whole thing completely non-threatening. It was obvious this was all part of his routine, and I suspected that he pulled that joke on at least one unsuspecting husband every night.

The chef took his final bow, ready to move on to his next victim. It was then that my wife looked at her watch and realized we were running late. We had been having so much fun with that sushi chef we had lost track of time. It looked like we would miss our seating time for the comedy show.

It was a good thing that Sushi Mod is right around the corner from the Comedy Den. Had we needed to go back to the hotel and get our car and drive somewhere we might have missed the entire show. Even as close as we were, we completely missed the time for our seating. By the time we arrived the warm-up comic was already well into his routine.

Turns out it didn't matter so much that we were late. Jennifer had somehow wrangled VIP tickets from the comic himself. Being VIPs we were ushered in through the performer's entrance and directly to our front row seats. We even had to squeeze passed the headliner, who was waiting in the wings watching the warmup. He was gracious enough, but there was no doubt that Jennifer's dress made quite the impression on the comic.

As soon as the headliner's act started, he wasted no time zeroing in on my wife. He started out by announcing to the entire audience how incredibly short her dress was. He then moved all around the stage looking at Jennifer from every possible angle. Then he grinned a naughty grin and said he was trying to see her panties.

I couldn't believe it. As soon as the comic mentioned he was trying to look up her dress, Jennifer pulled her skirt up and flashed him. The comic's mouth went agape and his eyes almost bugged out of his head. Then pointing to her crotch as he looked out to the audience, swearing that my wife was smuggling a Parker House roll in between her legs.

A couple of seconds later the audience realized the similarity between the look of that type of roll and a vagina, and the place fill with laughter. Then the comic feigned astonishment and announced that the roll she was smuggling had just winked at him. Then he puffed up his chest and proudly claimed, "I'd still eat it." The audience roared and Jennifer finally lowered her skirt.

After the roll smuggling comment he went on and on about what he had seen from up on stage, claiming to know all about her private grooming practices. Just like the chef back at the sushi place, this guy's routine was funny, but I had to admit I was starting to feel some jealousy over the attention my wife's dress seemed to be drawing.

Eventually, nearly every sex joke or innuendo caused the comic to point to my wife and comment about the 'special panties' he claimed she wore just for him. If I didn't know any better I'd say my wife and the comic had worked this routine out ahead of time.

He went on with his show and it was hilarious. The comic practically had the audience rolling in the isles with laughter. It was like being at a loud and raucous party, yet the connection the comic had built with Jennifer seemed incredibly personal and far too sensual.

At one point Jennifer whispered into my ear, saying that she had never been so embarrassed in her life, but I knew better. Her inability to sit still, and the way she kept putting her hands between her thighs to 'tuck her skirt in', left little doubt that the comic's lascivious talk had gotten her surprisingly aroused.

I was relieved when the comic finally moved on to his standard parts of his show and did some material that didn't include taking about Jennifer's pussy.

His act finally ended with him thanking everyone for coming out to see his show, then just he had to get in one more comment about my wife asking, "Mam, can I butter that roll for you?"

Soon after the comic took his final bow, the crowd quickly began to clear. As soon as a pathway opened, Jennifer grabbed my hand and practically dragged me back stage. She said our VIP tickets included backstage passed with a chance to meet the comedian. I wasn't all that sure she didn't make that up.

I also wasn't so sure about meeting a man who spent a good bit of the last hour openly declaring his desire to eat my wife's pussy. I figured the man was a professional, so of course I went along with what my wife wanted, but I have to admit I did drag my feet a little.

By the time we got back stage, the Comedy Den staff were intently attending to David. One attendant was providing him water; while another was replacing his lapel-mic and a third attendant was touching up his stage makeup. Yeah, standup comics actually wear makeup... Who knew?

As soon as David saw my wife, he shooed away the makeup artist and smiled a huge teasing smile...

"Hey, Short Skirt." He called out to my wife, obviously not knowing her real name. "Thanks for being such a good sport out there and not getting upset. The last woman I picked on in a show like that got up and left."

"Well I just thought I it was the right thing to come backstage and get to know the man who seems to be such a close friend of my vagina." My wife's response make the Comedy Den staff laugh.

All I could do was shake my head. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. My wife was star struck. It wasn't like this guy was Brad Pitt or something. He was just a comic. A really good comic I'll give him that, but still not someone I would say had star status. It's not like he'd ever been on the cover of People or US Magazine, or even between the pages of the lesser tabloids.

As we approached David, the makeup artist stepped in between us and started putting the finishing touches on his face, having to tell him several times to hold still. The man just couldn't seem to stop trying to crane his neck to get another glimpse of my wife.

Finally, his makeup had been fixed to the artist's satisfaction and she stepped aside. David's smile became a mile wide. "Hey Short Skirt, I'd like you to meet my brand new wife, Clara." The comic motioned for the woman that had been painting his face to join him at his side.

"She is everything to me." David continued. "My wife, my lover, my makeup girl, and my manager. She travels with me to all of my engagements. I'm not sure if I like it though. She makes me behave myself. Hey would you two like some autographed photos?"

I was glad to see this guy was truly all business when he met folks back stage. I was doubly happy to see that he was married and he wasn't going to keep hitting on my wife.

"Yeah, um, sure. That would be great." My wife said, looking a bit sheepish about the man's wife standing there, considering the things he had said to her during the show.

The comic slid a photo from the top of a stack and asked, "What's your name short skirt?" as he readied his pen.

"It's um, Jennifer." My wife answered as if she seemed to have temporarily forgotten her name. Like I said, she was star struck.

Then the comic actually mouthed the words as he wrote, saying, "To Jennifer. Thanks for the wink, and making this show my most memorable ever... David Limwreck."

Seeing what he wrote made me laugh. He had just signed an autograph that was no doubt he was making reference to my wife exposing herself to him, and how the crease of her pussy showed through her panties.

As he handed her the photo, David glanced at Clara to make sure she was paying attention, then he winked at my wife. "Don't worry about all that sex stuff I said during my show Short Skirt." He explained. "Those things don't upset Clara one bit. It's all just part of the routine. She was even the one who came up with the idea. In fact, Clara writes some of my best material. It's all for the laughs."

After that David relaxed and dropped the performer persona and we stood with him and his wife having a normal conversation. Well as normal of a conversation as can be had with show biz folks. We talked about how they got into the comedy business and the method they used to loosely develop routines like the one about my wife's short skirt. Then they told how David uses those routines as framework to ad-lib and make a better show.

They went on to explained how this ad-libbing style keeps each show new and fresh. The explanation made everything all seem so clinical. Jennifer looked disappointed that the comic wasn't as attracted to her as he seemed to be during the show. Still, the man couldn't stop staring at her and undressing her with his eyes, and I was still as jealous as ever over how Jennifer was eating up all of this extra attention.

When there was a pause in the conversation, I looked around. The theater was empty, and the club staff was scurrying around setting up for the late show. A stern look from the stage manager told me we had stayed well past our welcome.

Moments later that same stage manager butted in and told David it was time to get ready for the next show. That was our final hint that we needed to leave. So we said our goodbyes and dutifully followed the stage manager to the way out.

Just before we left the ready room, David jokingly offered Jennifer free front row seats at all of his shows... as long as she would wear that dress. Jennifer smiled at him in a way I hadn't her smile in years, and I'm not completely convinced the comic was actually joking.

Just steps from the performer's ready room the stage manager showed out through a little used side door. As we stepped through that door we were nearly run down by a fast walking group of somewhere between fifteen and twenty young and heavily tattooed Hispanics.

Most of these young thugs acted as if their slicked back hair and wife-beater shirts somehow made them the owners of that particular stretch of sidewalk. From the looks of things, they thought they owned about half of the street as well.

Jennifer and I gladly pulled back into the darkness of the doorway and waited for them to pass. I wasn't about to challenge them or get in their way. They looked to be heading for trouble as they all followed along behind an olive skinned young man who seemed to be their self-appointed leader.

After the last of them had gone by, Jennifer and I fell in walking several yards behind them. We matched their pace as we followed them along our path to our hotel, listening to the group's rambunctious banter as we walked.

They were speaking mostly in Spanish, calling each other Ese, Cabrón, and Cuero. I knew enough of their street slang to know they were calling each other things like fool, asshole, and slut. I could only smile about how each of them was trying to prove to the others how tough they were.

I didn't care what these guys were calling each other. In fact, I didn't care if these guys were out looking trouble. They could have been hardened criminals or some weird urban extension the Boy Scouts for all I knew. And even though they all took notice of Jennifer as they passed by that doorway, they didn't seem to have any need to bother us.

Not having to worry about the young thugs in front of us set my mind free again... and of course, all I could think about was that it was close to time for that big surprise Jennifer had promised me. There were dozens of things it could be running through my head as we walked. I thought of everything from a long slow blowjob to making that sex tape I was thinking about earlier.

But truthfully, at this point none of what I was imagining really mattered. I was so damn horny I would have been completely happy going back to the hotel for some good old-fashioned lights off missionary sex.

Still, Jennifer had been keeping a secret, and I just had to know what it was. At one point I pulled on her hand to get her to slow down so I could ask her to tell me what my surprise was, but she seemed bent on keeping pace with that gang of wannabes.

I'd grown tired of listening to the thugs in front of us so I tried to lay back as best I could, but I could hardly believe what was happening right in front of us. We just couldn't get away from them.

That little band of wannabe gangsters made every turn and crossed every street right ahead of us. It looked as if they were headed to the same hotel we were. I joked with Jennifer about how it looked like we were actually following these young fools, and she said, "We are," and giggled. I suppose that technically we were following them, and Jennifer seemed to find that fact quite amusing.

Finally when we were within a couple of blocks of our hotel, the noisy tattooed gang broke off from the path to our hotel and jay-walked across the street, disappearing one by one through the doorway of this place called Downtown Billiards.

All of the sudden the street had become eerily quiet. Now was my chance. Now I could finally ask Jennifer to give in and tell me what my sexy surprise was. But that didn't happen.

No sooner than the last of the gang filtered through the pool hall doors, my wife stopped in her tracks. Then she tilted her head toward the pool hall and gently pulled on my arm as if I should have known what she was thinking.

Of course my mind was still fixated on going back to the hotel to make a porno flick, so I didn't exactly follow along like she wanted.

Again, Jennifer pulled at my arm, but this time a little harder. "Hey Honey, let's go play some pool." She urged as she forcibly dragged me into the street. "This might seem strange, but all of the sudden I feel like we should shoot a game or two, don't you?" Then she gave me a couple of over exaggerated winks, but I didn't understand why.

I wasn't sure what she was up to, but I had a sneaking suspicion that this had something to do with those young men we had been following. I couldn't get passed the feeling I had missed something that Jennifer's eagle eye had spotted several blocks back, and not knowing what she could have wanted with those men made me very resistive.

"I don't know about a game tonight dear. I don't have my cue." I spouted out the first excuse I could think of hoping we could move on to the sex part of the evening. "You know how I don't like playing with those crappy house cues."

"Not to worry dear," she smiled. "I'll find the best cues in the place for us to use. You won't even miss playing with your precious little stick." There went my excuse. Shot down in flames with the humiliation of her favorite joke about fancy pool cues and small penises.

Her small dick joke aside, who was I to argue? With the short cocktail dress she had on I had visions of watching her as she bent over the pool table again and again, coming ever so close to exposing herself as she shot.

In my mind, there just isn't a sexier sight on this planet than my wife playing pool in a short dress... and for all I knew, this was part of the sexy surprise that kept us out of the fucking opera house in the first place. So I reluctantly went along with her plan and allowed her to pull me across the street and into the pool hall.

We had been here before. This place was sort of unique as far as pool halls go. The inside of this place looked more like an upper society social club than a pool hall. It had plenty of old fashioned woodwork, high ceilings with old fashioned belt driven fans, and live ferns tucked into nearly every available space between the tables.

Besides being an upscale place, this establishment had tables to suit nearly every player's needs. At one end of the room they had the 7-foot bar room style coin-op models with automatic ball return and their famous ease of play.

At the far end of the room they had the large regulation tables courting the best of players, and where the slightest error would guarantee a missed shot.

In the middle were a large number of the so-called 8-foot tables, replicating what most players would have at home. It was at one of those 8-foot tables that Jennifer and I found a place to play.

I found a waitress and got ourselves set up with our special mix of pool playing drinks while Jennifer went and rounded up a couple of house cues for us to use.

The cue my wife picked out for herself looked to be brand new and was likely fresh out of its wrapper. It was as good as a house cue gets, straight as an arrow with a new perfectly shaped tip.

The stick Jennifer handed me was an entirely different story. It was strangely warped in at least three different directions, and the tip looked like guys from a B-Grade mobster movie had been grinding chalk on it since the 1930's. It seemed my wife wanted me to be playing at a serious disadvantage.

Even with the bad stick, it turned out to be a perfect way to end an evening of good food and comedy. The waitress brought us plenty of drinks and that game or two my wife had first talked me into, turned into five or six. Even with the bent stick, I won almost every game we played. So much for me playing at a disadvantage.

I guess was lucky that night, and at one point I felt like I needed to start letting Jennifer win a few games so she wouldn't quit. On the other hand, I figured if she did get tired of my winning we could go back to our hotel for some marital fun. That was by far my first choice. Jennifer had been acting exceptionally horny all evening and I couldn't wait to find out what her surprise was. So I made my move.

"Hey Jenny Pie." I always called her that when I wanted to fool around. "What do you say we call it a night and go back to the hotel? I'd love to show you a few trick shots with my god given stick."

"What? You mean that little stick you mope around the house with all the time?" She teasingly grinned. "How could that thing possibly impress me with a trick I haven't already seen?"

"Very funny Jennifer Lynn Prescott. Very funny..." I used her full name in what I thought was the only way to properly respond to her second small penis joke of the night.

"Yeah I thought it was a good one." She grinned. "And that one about the guys that can only shoot when they play with their fancy custom stick was a pretty funny too don't you think?"

"Yeah that was a pretty good one. I should have expected it though. After all, we are in a pool hall."

"Speaking of a good one." Jennifer pointed over to one of the 9-foot tables. "Do you see that tall olive skinned man over there?"

As I looked to where she was pointing I realized she was actually talking about that self-appointed leader of those thugs we had followed to the pool hall.

"Do you see him? That one in the purple shirt with all those muscles?" She pointed him out again making sure I knew exactly who she was talking about. "That's the guy, and the table right next to him just opened up. Let's move over there and keep playing." Then she ginned at me with a sly and sexy grin.