Some of you are looking for delicate characterization, bald emotion, interesting plot twists, and realism. Look no further, since you will find none of that here. You were warned.
Also, there is very little sex in this story, and yet I would certainly characterize it as a 'spank' story. But I guess I have different standards than most...
This story could have fit into many different categories, but since almost all of my writing has been in LW, my fans (All three: one in the bedroom, living room and kitchen) can find my writings easiest here. And there is infidelity.
"Excuse me?" I said disbelievingly.
"It's quite simple," the tall guy said to me. "You've danced with her twice now and offered to buy her a bunch of drinks. So here's my offer. I punch you in the mouth now, buy you a drink and we call it a day."
"Or?" I was beginning to not like this asshole.
"Or I let you hit on her..."
I looked him up and down again. He was tall, but he wasn't built. His face was sunburned and his hair was a bit long. He didn't look like a wife watcher but it takes all kinds. I fell back to my normal lines. "Dude...I don't know what you're saying. It's just a dance. I'm sorry you're feeling all insecure." It's important in situations like this to avoid smirking. It just causes bad blood.
He quirked an eyebrow at me and smiled. "Okay. I can see you're going to be that way. I'm going down the road to pick up some smokes, a soda bottle and a couple of things at Lowe's. Have fun." Then he walked off. The fucker just walked off!
When I'd driven up in my cobalt blue Mustang with 2 inch raised Cervini hood painted a contrasting glossy black, I'd seen him outside smoking a cigarette. Since he wasn't with a woman, I didn't waste any time with him, instead checking out the various couples heading into the club. All of them looked at me as I rumbled up to the valet parking. Yeah, valet costs extra, but what is the point of driving a pussy wagon if the pussy doesn't see you drive up? That's why I have a barely street legal exhaust system.** You have to be seen.
I checked out the couples but a lot of them greeted each other. Groups were bad news. A girl might wander off from just a boyfriend; particularly if he's new, but she's less likely to if she's in the midst of a bunch of mutual friends. One guy saying she's a skank can be covered up. Witnesses? Not so much. Women are very particular about their reputations.
I cased the place very thoroughly as I entered. It was a Friday, so there was no obvious Easy Money in the place. What is Easy Money? Professional married women with independent incomes. The latest studies showed that they were 40% more likely to screw around on their husbands than stay at homes since they didn't need to worry about their incomes facing the vagaries of the justice system. It made them feel secure. But because it was Friday, most of them were either at home or with their husbands. No joy there.
This was opposed to professional SINGLE women. Of course I'd do them to, but they already came with a few strikes against them. They were looking for something permanent, they expected to be catered to (i.e. paid for), and they generally were pretty arrogant in their accomplishments and independence. And then there were the market signals: If they were so great, why were they still single? If I wanted to pay for pussy, I'd hire an escort and get some professionalism, instead of paying a like amount for a 'not tonight, maybe another time'. You had to be careful about single women. James Bond had it right, single girls make things complicated.
You know, a lot of people speak poorly of the other man, but honestly, I think they are just jealous and don't want to make any effort. I mean, I'm at the gym every day. I'm keeping my Mustang, motorcycle and boat cleaned, waxed, and set for company at a moment's notice. I need to make sure I'm always properly groomed and then there is the 'school work'. I need to be conversant in half a dozen women's magazines, current events, and, if I have the opportunity, doing personal research on any particular target I get in sight. The game theory alone is pretty hectic.
Take for example that set of three women over in the back booth. Do you go with the prettiest one and hope to hit the jackpot, or do you go with the ugly duckling who should be begging for attention?
Wrong answer! It doesn't matter what you choose, they are both wrong. First off, hitting on a group of girls without assessing their interest is a loser's bet. If they are having a girl's night out, you say hello, maybe send over a drink to ping their radar, but you stay away! If they're on the pull, then you try to pick out the one with the most baggage. Why? See, you aren't thinking. You need to pass the judgment of three of the most skeptical bitches on the planet. The cynicism of women in bars is pushed up to eleven in general. But if you make a nice guy play for the crazy one, the other two, who KNOW she's crazy, might wonder if maybe a normal girl might have a shot. That way, you get to make your play to all three. And if it works out? All the better. That's my theory and I'm sticking to it.+
But I don't normally do one night stands. It's that reputation thing again. Girls care about theirs and they are very mindful of everyone else's. So you need to make sure yours is not bad. Generally, I find a married woman, make friends and we fuck as long as the guilt doesn't get to be too much for her, she moves, or I get bored. Generally, the guy never finds out. Women cheat smarter. They plan.
So I generally have one or two girls staked out, depending on their availability. A guy needs his 'down time' after all. Fucking four days or nights a week is plenty and still leaves me time for the guys.
I frowned. Not that I had too much of that anymore. See, I broke Rule One: don't shit where you eat. Wes' wife wasn't the hottest in the land, but she seemed lonely. Hell, it hardly took any effort at all! A lot of pent up passion. And I broke Rule Two: Never at her house. It had been a very slow week. Suffice to say, the guys I normally hung out with were not particularly happy with me. Didn't they understand the Man Code? Yeah, I felt bad, but it was free pussy! And I never liked Wes that much anyway, but I missed Phil and Hank.
Wes' wife was trying to fix things but she was staying at her mother's house, so she wouldn't be available. I've been in this racket a long time and if she's not in the same house, much less the same bed as hubby, she's toast. She just doesn't know it yet. I stirred my drink. Maybe in a couple months she'd be good for a few rebound fucks.
So my problem, and the reason I was cruising this club, was that those three assholes were running me down to everyone we knew. I needed to branch out. I was getting older and I really didn't like the looks I was getting from a lot of the people around here. Maybe it was time to move. I heard Cleveland was nice. Maybe Dayton. Lots of lonely military wives there.
It was then that I saw her. She was sort of hard to miss. She wasn't dressed flashily. She had on a tight sleeveless blue button top with a scoop neck and a matching skirt which came down to below her knees. Her flowing blonde hair whipped around as she danced.
And she danced a lot! Oh, she danced with the tall guy, but she was dancing with everyone. Abandon. That's it. She was dancing with abandon and fearlessly.
Yes, she was surrounded by girls in little satin nothings but she was...almost manic. I was getting hard just watching her. I had to join the queue. I had gotten in two dances when I was interrupted by tall, dark and stupid.
Now, I'm not stupid. I gave one buddy a high sign and asked him to see what the dummy was doing. I wasn't going to be lulled into a false sense of security. But Will came back and told me the guy just hopped in this Blue Chrysler and lit out of the place.
So...was he stupid? Was he trusting? Did he not care? What the fuck was up with that offer? Maybe he was in an open marriage? From his offer, he COULD be setting me up. I looked around the club. A bunch of guys were doing the stupid play with her, throwing lines and alcohol with abandon. She'd drink a gulp with a guy, dance once and wait for the next one. Considering she was almost dry humping them, they seemed pretty happy with the results so far. But she didn't seem to have a bunch of heavies or constant companions around. At one point, she looked around a little lost, holding her hand to her brow as she scanned the crowd, probably looking for dickhead.
That was my cue. I approached from behind so my words could give her a little jolt of adrenaline. "He abandoned you. And that's a crime in this state."
She flinched and then turned to me. "You again. My, you are persistent."
"Not persistent. Appreciative. You dance well. You have energy. Anyway, I heard that guy you were with...whoever...he was running out for some smokes or something. Which is just stupid because the barman keeps some hidden behind the bar for sale if you're a guy on the inside." It helps to make yourself look worldly wise.
She laughed. It was a full throated laugh. "I doubt they carry his brand. He has very specialized tastes."
Bingo. We were up to strike two at this point for limp dick. I hadn't seen her smoking so that was probably a wedge issue. Second was being a picky bastard. First it meant he wouldn't be back soon if he needed to run to a tobacconist to refill and second, she probably had some question why this guy had to buy 'one particular brand of crap'. Oh, women'll demand a specific bra, perfume, or brand of purse, but God help a guy if he gets fussy.
He seemed like a cocky son of a bitch, now that I thought of it, but I had the panties of the wives of better men then him in my drawer. And he was insulting. I probably couldn't bring it off, but I'd be damned if I didn't do a full court press.
"I hate to sound trite, but you're new here."
"And you'd know that how?" she asked archly.
"Because I run around this place a lot. I like the energy."
She picked up her drink with her left hand and took a slow sip, a wedding ring flashing in the light of the bar. "Oh? Do you cruise bars a lot?"
"I don't 'cruise' anywhere, unless it's by the lakeshore or down Myrtle Beach. Nah. I meet my friends. I'd meet my girl. Like I said, this place has good music and good dance energy. You have to go somewhere."
"And where is this girl?" she asked, scanning the room.
"Europe. She got a good job opportunity and she grabbed it." You always need to have at least been in a monogamous relationship. Europe gave me a cachet by proxy that I'd either been with a European woman, or was cosmopolitan enough to have attracted a cosmopolitan girl.
And I waited for the follow up question I knew was coming "And you didn't go with her?"
I shrugged. Pat answer number 4. "She knew the language. I didn't. I don't like that part of Europe and I have plenty of family and friends here. She was a great gal, but she wasn't that special someone. It was her choice as much as mine. I mean, she could have stayed here and I'd have supported her, but she valued her independence more than our relationship I guess. So here I am."
See what I did? Not only did I show I was sophisticated enough to prefer one part of Europe over another, but I insinuated that I liked her more than she liked me, that I had money, and that I was loyal to family and friends, while she wasn't. If asked, I had her name, sexual quirks, that funny thing she did at the beach and a dozen other details all laid out. See what I mean about homework? Most guys just don't try hard enough! Lazy bastards deserve to have their wives run around.
"Tell you what? Let me get you some water. All that booze is dehydrating you. You don't want to fall over out there. Why don't we sit this one out and I'll keep you company since you've been abandoned." If you're dancing, you're not talking and you don't dance your way into her panties; you talk your way into her panties. She'd already seen me dance and I'm better than 90% of these bozos and Roderick and Gregor were gay. They just liked to dance with girls.
We found a reasonably private booth. She insisted on the seat where she could watch the door unfortunately. I could finally get a better look at her. She seemed in her mid twenties, which was just perfect! There were two female cheating demographics: the Twenties and the Forties. Both had huge spikes in their rates of infidelity. The former because they didn't know any better and just got out of college to the mundane dreariness of life and the later because they were 'established' which they took to mean matronly and undesirable...something I was more then happy to talk them out of. I know some guys think that 40 is old, but those doorknobs obviously never saw Demi Moore in that stupid Charlie's Angels movie. She was a very hot 40! I found the older women tried harder and were more prone to picking up their share of the motel expenses, a double win.
Her expression was a bit more calculating then I anticipated. She had some funny round scars on her upper arm and this clunky big plastic bracelet with a keyhole on it and a stupid l.e.d.. She fluttered her hands a lot and it seemed that her fingers seemed twisted out of true. I noticed she wore a long gold chain, the end tucked down in her blouse where the pendent marred the lines of her outfit. Even with all that, she was a hot piece of tail
"Let's start with your name."
"And what do you do?"
Her eyes crinkled in amusement. "I'm a homebody. This is the first time my husband has let me out of my cage in weeks. Ever since the move."
Perfect! A controlling, picky husband. And one of the twenty five factors that predict infidelity was moving to somewhere new. Women felt lost in a new community and they tried to find connections very hard. I was very hard and I would be happy to let her connect with me. I was feeling more hopeful already.
"So what brings you to Columbus?"
"Oh. Curtis is looking for some work."
"Work? He doesn't have a job?" I didn't sneer because that would put up her shields. But I did put in a tone of disbelief. Life changing event. Another factor. Possible depression, though she didn't seem that way.
"Well, he's more...freelance. His last overseas contract expired so we're at loose ends. I hope something comes up..."
"Freelance? A friend of mine said that's shorthand for unemployed." Let my 'friend' sneer at him. We shared a little laugh.
"Sometimes it seems that way. I have to say I don't like the travel." Good, good, trouble in paradise and separation. Ding ding. Was that the dinner bell I heard ringing?
"A girl has to have roots." I agreed. At least one. Sunk in 7 inches deep. "But you seem to be fitting in very well here. Lots of...admirers." Here I let a little sneer out.
We chitted. We chatted. I tried very hard to make her feel comfortable. At the very least, I wanted to get a few accepted kisses or gropes off of her if I could, just because that guy was an asshole. I'd give it a shot when he'd see it. Things like that tended to fester in guy's mind. The door out the back by the storeroom was a good exit. I even knew the trick to stop the fire alarm from sounding, so I was feeling rather secure.
It was getting close to an hour and dickhead still hadn't showed, but I was expecting him any time soon. Of course, after the water, I pumped her with a few drinks. No, I didn't dope her drinks or anything! What kind of low life scum do you think I am? I fuck WILLING women. It's her choice to take a drink. If it lowers her inhibitions, that's her problem but I'm no fucking rapist!
The songs had been running about 5 fast and two slow. It helps to know the DJs. They give you the mix. They were two in the fast set, so I invited her to dance. She scanned the crowd quickly and accepted, shaking her head slightly. "No funny business?" she asked with a smile.
"Cross my heart..." I made the obligatory movement over my chest
"...and hope to die? Okay."
When we got out, I signaled Scott the DJ. That was the other part of the Art. Set up and cash. I held up my hand behind her back until he could see me and waved my finger up and down twice. He nodded.
"....and let's bring it down a notch, boys and girls." He aborted the peppy techno dance mix and put on something slow and I suddenly owed him $50. If you don't have the green, you can't make the scene. Of course, once a girl promises you a dance, she's the worst kind of bitch if she suddenly backs out. Set the stage, my friend, set the stage.
She made a bit of a face when the music changed, then shrugged her shoulders and held her arms out. "I'm a woman of my word." I was a gentleman for the first dance, of course. Close but not too close. But I knew that the two drinks we had would be hitting her system and that the slow dances would run for a set of THREE this time.
"It's so nice to be out among people again..." She said wistfully. "You get to feeling...isolated...you know?"
"Of course. Your husband should know that. A girl like you needs a little excitement on the side. Outside of the boring routine."
She smiled brightly. "No...I don't see that as much of a problem. I generally give him as much excitement as he can stand."
Excellent. A woman who was sexually aggressive toward her husband: another notch on the infidelity checklist. How many was she up to? Five? Six?
The second dance, I saw a tall black leather jacket, so I moved in, kissing her full on the lips, and mauling her ass. Damn. It wasn't him. She didn't resist, but she also didn't join in, instead looking at me resigned. "You just aren't going to quit."
I gave her bad boy smile # 3. The 'Who me?' one. "Guilty as charged."
"A seducer and an oath breaker. I'm actually going to hold you to your promise." She leaned forward and kissed me hard and deep with a lot of tongue. "Do you know what the most famous kiss in the world was?"
I furrowed my brow. "Wasn't it that sailor and that nurse during World War II?"
She giggled. "No...it was in the Bible." Her voice dropped low. "A kiss like that has...repercussions. Do you know someplace close and private? For just the two of us?"
"There's a storeroom here with a lock." I said in similar husky tones. "I happen to have a key."
"Of course you do." she said in knowing tones. "Let me get my purse and I'll meet you there..."
We tore into the storeroom I unlocked with the key ($200 and a few dates to Reese, the assistant manager). It was in the back by the fire alarmed door. The music from the club still throbbed, but was muted in here.
I was kissing and mauling her breasts. She was pushing me into the store room by the time we got there, her clunky bracelet and her fucking clutch purse thumping my back hard. What the hell did she have in there, a brick?
The kissing was awkward. She kept twisting her head to look at the room, when I wanted to just shove my tongue down her throat. "Don't worry baby. There's no one here..." I was at least able to get my jacket off and had started on the buttons on her blouse, my mind racing. It had been an hour since he disappeared, so he'd be close to getting back I was guessing, so foreplay was out. It would probably take him at least 15 minutes of looking before he found us, if then. I could get my nut off in that time. Not sure how good it would be for her.
The other question was if I wanted to rip off a few buttons because she was a one time thing or see if this hot piece of ass was a repeat customer. I was guessing one off, but I wasn't sure. Better safe than sorry. A good piece of tail was worth the wait and worse comes to worse, I still get laid.