Straight-Laced Friends: Rehearsal

Marlene was a step ahead of us all. She pointed the finger of blame at herself. She said, "Look you guys, I've had a little bit of wine, and I don't know what I might say or do. So look, let's make a rule, let's just say that whatever I do tonight will not leave this room. Or whatever any of us do. Nobody else needs to know anything that happens here, all right?" I said, "All right," and I heard Roxy agree. I did not hear if Dave agreed to it but of course he was not going to blab. Marlene kissed me again. It was getting steamy in my garage. "I just might be having a little more wine than I should," Marlene said, providing plausible deniability all the way around.

When Marlene broke our kiss she said, "I saw some pictures of groupies with the band at a club, maybe that's what they do, accompany them places, like going on a date."

Roxy made a mock-serious look and said, "Yeah, maybe they go to dinner and to the movies with them, and to church."

"I don't think so," I said. "Not church."

Marlene took a sip of wine and said, "Actually, when I think about it, the main thing I remember reading that groupies do, I think, is give the band blow-jobs whenever they want one."

Roxy gave a fake startle: "No! They do that?"

Marlene: "That's what I've heard. Of course I was never a groupie. I like music but I was always a good girl."

"Me too," Roxy said. "Always a good girl. I missed out on a lot."

"They say youth is wasted on the young," Marlene said.

After a pause, Roxie said, "My groupie name is going to be Nature Girl. That sounds okay, doesn't it?"

Marlene picked right up on it, "Yeah, good idea, names. I think I'll go with something simple, like Bambi." She looked at me. "You like that honey? Bambi."

"Sure," I said.

"Bambi," Marlene said again. "Maybe it sounds more like a stripper or a hooker than a groupie."

"What's the difference?" Dave asked. He'd had as much experience with groupies as any of us had had, that is: none.

"Oh they're real different," Roxy said. "Strippers and hookers do what they do for money. Groupies live out the fantasies that most women have but are afraid to act on."

Marlene said, "So is Bambi all right?"

"Sure," Roxy said, "If you like it. Who knows, maybe you'd rather be stripper or a hooker than a groupie. You can be whatever you want. Nobody is going to know, except us."

Marlene kissed me on the cheek. "That's a good point. I'll decide what I am later. For now I'm Bambi."

Dave was smiling, clearly realizing that he was powerless to stop this runaway train. He said, "Well if we're the band then we ought to at least play some music."

The whole atmosphere had shifted. Dave, especially, was playing with a lot of vigor, slapping that bass, punching out a nice beat. And the ladies were dancing, I mean holy shit. Let me say again, my wife is a knockout. I have never seen her actually turn up the heat like this; she was not showy, she didn't do stripper moves like you see sometimes, twerking and acting like a whore, that's not her style. She just moved her fabulous body to the music, her breasts and hips swaying, sometimes turning around where we could watch her hypnotic ass shaking in tight, faded jeans. And Roxy was glowing. She was voluptuous and curvy, her breasts were bobbling over the top of her blouse, with the lace of her bra just showing and a strap working its way down her arm. She would close her eyes and it was like when you dream that you're dreaming; she was otherworldly.

Poor Dave was standing there with his mouth hanging open. At first he tried not to watch my wife too closely, but she was impossible not to look at. She was like some Egyptian goddess of love gyrating and swaying to the love-vibration of the cosmos, and I thought it was fun when Dave's eyes followed her. But he really could not keep his eyes off Roxy. Both women were cool, dancing smoothly, no drama, not humping the furniture, these were beautiful adult women showing us boys what it's all about.

When the song ended I called, "Hey Bambi, could you fill my glass, please?"

"Sure," Marlene said. "No problem." She poured it to the top. "Would you like a blow job, too?"

I laughed. Well, we all laughed. I said, "No, Bambi, can't you see, I'm busy playing music. The music always comes first."

"Oh okay," she said. "Well just let me know."

Roxy turned to Dave. "How's your glass? You look like you could use filling up." She took the bottle from Marlene's hand and brought it to him. He held his glass and she poured it.

"Thank you Roxy," Dave said.

She said, "Roxy? Who's that?"

"I mean, thank you Nature Girl."

Roxy smiled. "That's better. And would you like a blow job before you start again?"

Dave wasn't quite ready for that. He thought for a minute and said, "I can't tell if you're joking or not." Sometimes Dave takes things too seriously; that's just how he is.

Roxy smiled at him with her unnaturally red lips. "Joking isn't the same as pretending. I am pretending to be a groupie."

"I see," Dave said. "So you weren't actually asking me if I wanted a blow job."

"Oh, no," Roxy said. "I only meant a pretend blow job."

Dave looked puzzled. "So, what is the difference between a pretend blow job and a real blow job?" he asked her.

"Nothing," she said, smiling irresistibly at him.

"Huh," he said, and that was that, he had been bested, game over. "But for now we've got to play some music for our dancers."

"Okay," Roxy said. "I'll be ready when you are." Poor Dave was definitely in over his head. There's basically nothing a man can do in this situation.

Speaking of helpless, we did a couple of Neil Young songs and they sounded pretty good. The new pickups on the strat needed some adjusting but I was getting pretty close to the tone I had wanted in the first place. We played three or four songs, concentrating, when we noticed that the women were not in the garage with us.

"I wonder where they went," Dave said. "We need our dancers."

"They must have gone into the house. Oh well. It was fun while it lasted," I said. I figured that Roxy had chickened out, maybe realized what she was doing and decided not to potentially embarrass herself.

We stayed on the Neil Young theme for a couple more songs, and then the door opened and Marlene appeared in the doorway. "Jacob, could you come help me with something?" I was setting my guitar on the stand when I heard her say, "Roxy, why don't you go keep Dave company for a few minutes. Jacob and I need to talk." Roxy came out into the garage as I stepped up into the kitchen.

Marlene shut the door. "Is everything okay?" I asked her.

"Oh yes," she said. "Everything is great. I just wanted to give them a few minutes to, you know, to get to know each other."

"Marlene, you are diabolical," I said.

"Who is Marlene?" she asked with a scarlet pout.

"I mean Bambi," I said.

"That's better."

"So," I asked, "Are you a stripper, or a hooker, or a groupie?"

"Oh yeah, baby," she said. She never calls me baby.

We were walking toward the living room, arm in arm. "Okay," I asked her, "How much is a blow job?"

"Maybe," she said.

"Maybe what?"

"Maybe I'm a hooker and maybe I'm not. Maybe it'll cost you and maybe not."

"Yeah, okay, so how am I supposed to know?"

"Maybe you won't," she said enigmatically. "Maybe you just have to go with the flow."

She led me to the couch and gave my chest a one-finger poke that sat me down. "Sit down and shut up," she said.

She poured me a glass of rosé and put some music on the sound system, using the remote control. It was a funk thing, maybe Parliament but I don't know their music that well. It sounded like Bootsy though. Again with the remote control she turned the lights down. Then she began moving.

I guess it had been a long time since I took my wife out dancing -- I did not remember that she moved like this. She slipped off her shoes while she danced, and pushed them onto the bricks in front of the fireplace, nice and neat. Marlene, I mean Bambi did not look at me while she danced, her eyes were focused in space ahead of her, and I had the feeling her mind was concentrated on the movements of her body, not only what she looked like dancing, but how her body felt with each gesture.

Without looking at me, swaying her hips, she reached down and popped open the top button on her jeans. There was no zipper, it was all buttons, and the buttons popped open in order, top to bottom, a few seconds between them. Her lavender panties came into view, a little more with each pop. Without stopping she looked at me and smiled. "You like?"

"I love it," I said.

She tugged at her jeans and slid them down over her hips. She was wearing a kind of bikini-type panties, pale, nearly sheer, with a little row of tiny bows along the top. Her pubic hair dimpled the fabric but did not show through visibly. She continued to dance while she slipped her pants down to her knees and stepped out of them. She bent over and gracefully folded them, as if it were part of the dance, and set her jeans beside her shoes. Then she turned around and danced with her back to me, scooting that beautiful round ass side to side seductively, thinly veiled in lavender. I could not do anything, I couldn't talk and I wouldn't have stopped her. All I could do was sit there and stare at my sexy wife -- I mean Bambi the stripper, apparently.

It was a little strange knowing that her friend and my bass player were still in the garage, and this dance could not really be assumed to be private -- either or both of them could walk in at any moment. I didn't know how it would go if Dave came into the house, I did not really like the idea of him seeing my wife like this. It was pretend but it was real, and I did not know if he could tell the difference. Or if there was a difference. I trusted Dave to be cool if he happened to stumble into this situation, but, maybe I can't explain it, I just didn't like the idea of him seeing my wife like this. At the same time, the chance that Roxy or Dave would catch us added a sense of urgency that contrasted with the relaxed pace of the dance. Bambi was taking her time, stripping slowly, teasing me, and the clash between her languid tempo and the danger of being caught created a sense of unreality that made it all seem like a dream or fantasy. I did not know what the girls had cooked up, or how much of this was spontaneous. Clearly they had devised a plan, but my bass player and I were in the dark.

Bambi's fingers deftly unbuttoned her shirt, one button, then she danced a while, then another and dance a little more, as her black lace bra came incrementally into view. I realized I didn't watch her dress or undress any more, I didn't even know what kind of underwear she had now. This would have to change. Her full breasts were half-covered by the lace of the bra, the delectable flesh trembling with her movements. I was hypnotized. I wanted to suck on that smooth skin, touch it, stick my face into that glorious crevasse and breathe deeply. Her blouse fell open and she turned her back to me, reached behind to unsnap the bra, then dropped it near the fireplace and turned toward me.

She appeared to be in a trance, swaying and concentrating. Her freed breasts moved like ocean waves, following her motions, rising and falling. She hooked her thumbs into the sides of her panties and in a heartbeat they fell to the fireplace bricks as well.

Now Bambi -- I was completely buying this new persona -- danced naked in front of me, moving to the music, turning to show me her gleaming body from every angle. She was magnificent, in full control, beautiful and sexy in every way. She came close and bent at the waist to position the twin globes of her ass right in front of my nose. I began to lean forward to kiss them but she stepped away. She turned around and came back to do a little limbo move facing me, leaning back to position the fragrant tufts of her pubic mound an inch from my lips. Again I leaned forward and again she danced back.

"I want to lick that pussy," I said.

"Maybe," she said. "Maybe later. And maybe not."

She was entirely naked now, and she sat beside me on the couch, running her hands over my body. She pulled my head down and kissed me deeply, it was a passionate kiss, no, more than that, it was a sexual, hungry kiss. It was a groupie trying to make memories type of kiss. Then she stretched out on the couch with her head in my lap, running her hands up and down my thighs, stroking my rigid cock through my jeans sometimes. Not focusing on it, just passing over it regularly, her fingers tracing its shape while she stroked my legs.

She slid down to her knees on the carpet in front of me and unbuckled my belt. She was close and I could smell her breath and the aroma of her aroused body and feel her warmth. In a minute she had my pants down around my ankles. My cock was stiff as a piece of pipe, twitching, and she took it in her hand and began pumping me.

Marlene, I mean Bambi, had acquired some skills before I met her, and then in the early days of our marriage we made a sort of concerted effort to get our sexual techniques up to speed, hoping to be the best partners to each other. She taught me what she liked, and I learned, and she learned to do the things that gave me the most pleasure. We spent most of our first year or two in the sack. Of course it cools down after a while, but she enjoyed role-playing and the occasional adventure, even still, and hadn't forgotten anything she had learned.

Bambi seemed determined to make this last. She took me deep and used her lips to suck me, tickled my balls with her tongue, kneeling in front of the sofa. I was moaning, my eyes closed, and sometimes I had to laugh out loud at the pleasure she was inflicting on me.

I heard the door click. "Bambi," I said, speaking softly. "I think they just came in from the garage."

Bambi lifted her head and looked toward the kitchen, where the garage door was. "Oh well," she said. "I've got work to do here. I've got to keep the customer satisfied." And she dived onto my cock again, taking me deep. I watched the kitchen.

In a few seconds Roxy appeared in the doorway. She stopped, taking in the scene. I tapped my wife's shoulder and said, "Uh, Roxy's here."

She looked up at me and said, "Who is Roxy?"

"I mean Nature Girl is here," I said.

"Oh, cool," she said, and she continued sucking my dick. "Maybe she can help."

"Hi Nature Girl," I said awkwardly, sitting on the couch with my cock in a stripper-hooker-groupie's busy mouth. "Is Dave still in the garage?"

She laughed, "No, he left. Once he could walk again."

Bambi raised her head for a second. "Ah, finished him off good, did you?"

"Yes, you could say so," Nature Girl said, holding her half-full wine glass at a bit of an angle. She shook her head as if in disbelief. "That was the most fun I ever had in my entire life." She laughed softly and looked off into space for a few seconds, remembering.

"It looks like you're doing a good job with the other guy in the band, Bambi." Nature Girl's buttons were still undone down to here, her lipstick was smeared a little and that gave her an even sexier look, if you know what I mean. She was a living monument to eroticism, her full hips stretching the cotton of her jeans, her smooth breasts quaking with her movements as she talked and gestured, sloshing her wine-glass absent-mindedly. There was a kind of laughing smile at the corner of her lips, an expression of delight and amusement, which I interpreted as a reflection of her recent experience with Dave combined with the probably-not-a-real-surprise of catching us in the act. I did not know how much of this the girls had planned and how much had "just happened," but here she was, and there we were. Nature Girl took it all in, as you would go from room to room at a wild party, accepting extraordinary behaviors as routine.

Bambi had my cock in her hand and was running her fingers up and down it while she conversed with her friend. A good hand-job is something I can endure for hours, there is something especially stimulating about the touch of loving fingers; it doesn't usually work out though, as the spouse also desires attention. While they talked I leaned back into the couch cushion cross-eyed and let Bambi give me unspeakable pleasure, paying no attention but just stroking me into ecstatic oblivion.

Eventually Bambi laughed and said, "From the sounds he's been making I think he is enjoying this." And with that she ran her lips up and down my shaft a couple of times, eliciting a moan from me.

Nature Girl chuckled. "Yeah, those are happy sounds."

Bambi sucked me again and then turned to Nature Girl and said, "So what are you going to do, just stand there and watch?"

Nature Girl said, "Well actually, it is kind of fun watching you two. Maybe I'll learn a thing or two."

Bambi took this comment as a reason to put on a short clinic in the Art of Sucking Cock. She deep-throated me, and while she was down there she did some mysterious thing with her tongue, it felt like she was licking the length of my shaft with her lips pressing against my belly. Then, back to the tip, back down her throat, back to the tip, a flick of the tongue and back down her throat. You might understand, and might not understand, that it was too much stimulation for me to have an orgasm. This did not trigger a release, it was like being battered in a car wreck, rolling down a mountainside, tumbling over boulders and trees, the vehicle in flames, the blood beating in my ears. I suppose I made some sounds. When I opened my eyes Nature Girl was standing there watching with a big smeared-red-lipstick smile on her face.

She saw me looking at her, "Wow," she said, "See? I knew I'd learn something."

"Uuuhhhnnnnhhhh," I said.

Bambi worked up and down my shaft with her tongue and her lips, sucked the head of my cock and then took me down her throat again by surprise. I felt like I was on a ride too extreme for any roller-coaster manufacturer to make, bouncing out of my seat and screaming silently, rightside up and upside down, inside out, my arms waving, feet flying out from under me. No safety belt. Thousands of feet above the ground.

Bambi lifted her head and said, "He seems to like that."

Nature Girl said, "If you want a little help, my new favorite thing of all time is finishing them off."

Bambi said, "That's a great idea. But not too fast. He's getting close, but they're such a great famous band, we should make this last."

"Good point," Nature Girl said.

"Here you go," Bambi said, pointing my cock toward Nature Girl. Bambi scooted on her knees to make room.

Kneeling, Nature Girl took my cock in her hand and looked closely at it. "Hmm, what do we have here? This thing looks like it needs some attention." And she placed her lips over the tip of my cock and teased me for a minute, flicking her tongue against the sensitive head.

She sat back and said, "Hey I have an idea," and somehow in a few seconds she had her shirt off, and her bra, and she leaned over me again and wrapped those big tits around my penis. She used her hands to push them together and began moving forward and back on me.

"Wow, great idea," said Bambi. "See, I never would have thought of that." She watched for a moment. "I'm not even sure I could do that." I made a mental marker to remember to see, maybe tomorrow, if she could. Her breasts were larger than average, but not like Roxy's.

It doesn't usually appear in lists of erogenous zones and such, but when God made human beings He was kind enough to endow the female with the finest, smoothest, firmest skin in the world, right there in the cleavage of her breasts. The feeling of some heavy, fine breasts squeezed against your cock is equivalent, in my experience, to the tightest pussy you can find. It is an exquisite pleasure, and all you can do is lie back and enjoy it. Nature Girl's red lips and dark eyes were near my face as she rocked back and forth, watching my expression for signs of impending explosion. Then she ducked down for a few seconds, sucking my shaft without mercy, and went back to tit-fucking me.