Thick and Thin: The Beginning

"But I know what you're asking," I continue. "I take it we're addressing the elephant in the room and doing it out here to try and keep things civil?"

Chrissy laughs, but a bit nervously. "This morning you said we were okay. I hope that's still true."

I lower my voice. "Well, you know, watching your wife orgasm on another man's penis is not something you can just shrug off. And I have to admit that memories of last night have been playing almost non-stop in my head all day." I consciously put a small worried frown on my face.

Chrissy's voice drops into a sultry drawl and she puts a hand high up on my thigh. "If that's true, then you should remember that I also came on your cock right afterwards." She emphasizes the dirty versions of the words I used and it's thrilling.

"I do. And I have to say it was one of the hottest things I've ever seen, let alone experienced."

She stares at me and then suddenly raises her hand and slaps it back down again, hard, as she spits out, "You bastard!" Fortunately, I have on my heavy board shorts and even more fortunately, she has a big smile on her face as she says it and follows up the slap on my thigh by grabbing my junk through my shorts.

"You had me worried for a minute, you asshole," she carries on more quietly as she squeezes my quickly hardening rod. "Acting like you're upset with me, when you're the one who undressed me for him." She keeps looking into my eyes, but gives a sideward nod toward Lance.

The blonde stud laughs. "Man, that really blew my mind. I thought I was way more stoned than I should have been. I mean, I already thought it was a dream that I was kissing Chrissy. Then when you separated us and I felt your hand on my chest, I thought, 'Damn! The kiss was real, but now Bryan's going to slug me.' And then you were opening up her blouse and baring those beautiful tits in front of me and I thought I'd gone back into the dream."

I take a quick look around to see if anyone is close enough to overhear us and see Chrissy doing the same. Call it lawyerly discretion; as true for paralegals as for attorneys. However, we're in the shadiest section of the pool deck and everyone else is soaking in the sun.

Chrissy lowers her voice theatrically, clearly indicating to Lance to watch his volume. "So, why did you do that?" she asks me. "He and I lost ourselves in the smoke and the song and had what could and probably should have been just one out-of-the-blue kiss. You got us separated and it was just dawning on me that I should apologize to you, when I realized you had my blouse half open and it almost felt like you were pushing me back toward him for another kiss."

I sip my drink as I muse. "Hmm. I don't know about physically pushing you, but yeah, I may as well have been."

"So?" she insists. "Why?"

I put a hand behind her neck and pull her head to mine. I hold her there while I kiss her long and hard. There's just a second's hesitation on her part, then she's giving as good as she's getting.

Finally, I let her go. "That's why." She just looks the question at me this time.

"When I broke the two of you apart and kissed you myself, it could have gone a couple of different ways. You could have pushed me away and turned back to Lance. That would have been bad. Or more likely, you could have pushed me away and blushed about what had happened with Lance and tried to quickly get past it. Instead, you kissed me with the same passion you were giving him, the same passion you just showed me, the passion that meant you were ready to make love. And so, I just went with that and did what I wanted and what I thought you wanted. Was I wrong?"

Chrissy goes quiet, seemingly thinking about my question and her answer, taking a long sip of her margarita. Then she smiles. "No point in arguing against obvious evidence. You just end up making your opponent's case for him."

It had been a favourite saying of Saul Lieberman's and now of his son Aaron's as they trained young Associates who joined the firm. She and I chuckle at the inside joke as we stare into each other's eyes. I wonder if mine are sparkling as brightly as Chrissy's. It sure feels like it.

Lance makes a little louder than usual slurping noise with his next sip, which I take as a form of clearing his throat. I give him a smile and explain. "She could hardly argue that I was wrong about her wanting me to do what I did, based on what she did do afterwards."

He nods. "Ah, actions speak louder than words, I get it."

Chrissy arches an eyebrow. "What I did afterwards? What about what you two did?"

Lance pulls the Coleman jug out from under his chair and gives it a swirl before refilling our cups from the spigot at its bottom. The slushy contents come out with occasional plops. As he pours, he speaks quietly. "You mean how I pulled up your skirt and pulled down your panties while I sucked your pretty little titties?"

I counter with, "I think maybe she means how I put my cock in her mouth as you kissed your way down from her breasts to her bush."

Chrissy licks some of the remaining salt from her cup rim in slow motion; her tongue an erotic pink snail. She takes another long drink. "Mmm," she purrs after swallowing. "A mouth on me and something in my mouth. Very distracting, very difficult to argue. Not that there was really anything to argue against."

I put on Aaron's best Yale-educated patrician tone. "And if you cannot argue against the evidence itself, are you able to offer any extenuating or mitigating circumstances for your actions?"

"Actually, your honour," Chrissy drawls. "I think I may have been impaired by nefarious means." She turns her eyes to Lance. "A light, fun high? That was light?"

Lance responds with, "Did you see any monsters last night or get lost in contemplating the meaning of life in your navel?"

We look at each other and shake our heads no. We hadn't had any heavy, depressing or paranoid experiences.

"And how did you feel this morning when you woke up?"

"Well, I did almost oversleep and had a little trouble getting my ass in motion. But...once I did, I felt fine," I admit.

Chrissy agrees. "Me too."

Lance continues in a smooth, friendly, logical voice. It's clearly part of his arsenal of charm that enables him to convince people that it's completely reasonable to pay the price of a house, for a car that they'll never be able to drive to even half its potential.

"So, that takes care of the 'light'. Now, anyone want to tell me they didn't have fun?" This is said with the kind of smile I'm sure people get when they take a test drive in a Ferrari, or have hot, three-way sex with a gorgeous woman.

Chrissy's voice is deep, almost guttural when she says, "I can't remember ever losing track of how many orgasms I had before."

Now, Chrissy is not stingy with her orgasms, but she was right about last night. At one point I couldn't tell if she had three in a row or just one amazingly long one with peaks along the way.

"And I've never seen you squirt so much," I add, hearing the drop in my own voice.

"And you loved it, didn't you?" she challenges me while staring into my eyes. "I remember you gulping between my legs like drinking from a water hose on a hot summer day."

"Every drop I could get," I admit with my own Ferrari smile.

"I'd like more," she says, softly, but clearly.

"More what?" I ask.

"More of your mouth trying to drink me dry. More of your cock trying to choke me." Her head tilts towards Lance. "More of his cock trying to choke me. More of both of your cocks inside me at the same time. And a lot more orgasms." She looks fully at Lance. "And more light and fun?"

He smiles and nods. "Hang out here five or ten minutes, then head up to your apartment. I'll be over in a bit after I wash off the chlorine and get some things together." He gets to his feet, gathers up his towel and walks toward the building, sipping from his red Solo cup.

As he goes, he stops here and there to chat to other people and I pick out words about seeing some of them later that night down here for grilling and chilling. Smooth and discrete; no wonder we haven't been able to figure out which of our fellow tenants he's slept with.

Chrissy reads my mind. "I bet we're his first threesome, though. At least here."

"We had a threesome." The mixture of awe and disbelief I'm feeling apparently sounds in my voice, because Chrissy brings her mouth to my ear and returns her hand to my crotch.

"And we're going to have another," she whispers in a tone that makes my cock jump under her hand.

I don't think we last the minimum five minutes Lance suggested, before we start gathering our gear to go. I drape my towel over my arm in front of my groin to cover the lump that still remains, as well as a dark spot from pre-cum.

"The margaritas," says Chrissy. Lance has left behind both the jug and the re-used Fanta bottle, still half-full of Silver Patrón. Left them behind intentionally, I suppose, as we'll probably want them up in our apartment anyway.

The bottle of tequila goes into the hand of my towel-carrying arm, then I grab the cooler jug by its handle. Chrissy puts her pool wrap on over her bikini -- emerald green today -- and drapes her towel over her shoulder. She picks up both our small kit bags and we follow Lance's path to the building's pool entrance.

And just as Lance had, we say hello or chat with people as we go; fighting our impatient desire, in an effort to keep everything looking normal.

One stop is actually interesting. It's with two women in their early-40's. They're both nurses at a local hospital and became roommates after each had divorced. Patricia, or Trish, is about 5' 6", with big boobs. You'd probably list her as a Black BBW on a porn site. Today her Double-Ds are on display in a purple one-piece with a deeply cut cleavage.

Her roommate, Angela, is a small Latina with a plain face, but a cute smile. She'd been pretty flabby when she'd first moved in, but after a year of using the building's workout rooms, she's been tightening up nicely. I suspect that the year of being away from an asshole of an ex-husband and living with the fun-loving Trish has been even more instrumental in Angela's transition. She's gone from being super insecure, to acting more like a woman who deserves attention and respect.

Trish gets right to it in a teasing tone. "Good thing you showed up when you did. I was starting to think your Amazon princess might be falling under the spell of Sir Lancelot."

Her comment shocks me; have we not been as subtle as we thought? Angela saves me before I have to respond.

"You mean like you?" she tosses at her roommate, with a leer.

"Hell, if pretty boy wants to play 'Lance-a-Lot' with me, I won't kick him out of bed for eating crackers," the sexy plus-sized woman cheers. "Not even for leaving cracker crumbs in your bed," she adds with an even bigger leer back at Angela.

Angela just giggles nervously in response. It will take more than a single year before she's completely out of the shell her douche bag-ex berated her into.

"Anyway," Trish continues, "he said he'd be back down later for a burger burn. How about you guys?"

I suddenly realize that part of me is relieved to hear he's apparently not planning on staying over the whole night with us.

Chrissy replies to Trish. "Well, we're headed out for a few hours shopping and such." She turns to me. "I guess I just assumed we'd hit a restaurant while we were out. Do you want to do that or maybe pick up some chicken or something to grill here later?" Damn, she was as smooth and discrete as Lance, laying down an alibi in advance.

"Well," I muse. "We did miss out last night because of the storm. But, how about we just play it by ear?" I turn my words toward the ladies. "That way if we end up staying out later than we expect we won't be accused of standing you two up. I wouldn't want to ruin the chance for future invitations." I give the two of them my 'charming' smile, while also staring obviously and lasciviously at Trish's big melons and Angela's medium ones.

"Mmm, I do love me some cracker crumbs," purrs Trish and both women break out in laughter that continues behind us as we walk away.

"Have you been taking player lessons from Lance?" Chrissy whispers after we're far enough away from the roommates.

I counter with, "Are you still sure we're his first threesome in the building?"

She considers a moment. "First, yes. Last? I doubt it."

CHAPTER FIVE

Upstairs in our apartment, we're in each other's arms before the door finishes closing. Chrissy's lips go to mine while her hand goes to my crotch. She sighs happily when I immediately jump to life under her touch.

"Me too," she moans. I slide my hand into her bikini bottom and feel how wet she already is. Yanking her bikini top up, I latch onto one perfect breast as I slide a finger deep into her twat. She cradles my head against her chest and moans.

Suddenly she's pushing me away and stepping back. I reach for her, but she puts both hands on my chest.

"I want to shower off this sunscreen." She wears SPF 50 or 70 to protect her lovely, but sensitive, pale skin. After rubbing her hand across my cheek, she adds, "And I'll appreciate it if you shave before you start keeping your promise to drink me dry."

The smile on her face is so damned naughty that I'm a heartbeat away from taking her right there. She sees it and skips away, laughing. I follow her into the bedroom and then the bathroom.

"Shave!" she demands as she fends off my next grab for her. I grouse, but take out my shaver and go to work. "I think I'll give my legs a once-over with a razor too," she says as she drops her bikini and steps into the shower cabin.

Before turning on the water, she pokes her head through the door opening. "When you're done, why don't you refresh the margaritas by straining out the ice before it waters them down and transfer them to a pitcher? And go ahead and have one, since you're still behind." She blows me a kiss, closes the shower door and starts the water.

I finish my shave, peel off my own swimwear and use a washcloth to wipe the pre-cum from my sticky cockhead. Closing the bathroom door behind me, I get fresh briefs and khaki shorts from a dresser and change my long-sleeved rugby for a lighter t-shirt.

We'd both emptied our red Solo cups before leaving the pool and I think my buzz might be sufficient, but I still do as she requested and pour the remaining 3 or 4 cups of margarita through a strainer into a half-gallon glass pitcher. I put in a splash of Cuervo and add two large ice balls.

The pitcher goes on the small coffee table where we started last night, along with some margarita glasses and two deep saucers, one with lime juice and water and the other with salt. Dipping a glass rim into the juice and then salt, I pour in only about four ounces of margarita as a compromise effort to catch up to her and Lance.

How does one pass the time while waiting for another man to come over and help you screw your wife? I pick up my guitar and sit down on the loveseat. In between sips of my drink I go through some scales and other warm up exercises. The feel and sound of the coated strings has me feeling glad I splurged on the expensive gear. Hell, it's the most expensive guitar I've ever owned and I'd gotten it for free, so the cost of the strings is actually inconsequential in the bigger picture.

At a knock at the door, I lay the guitar on the loveseat and go over to let Lance back into our apartment. To screw my wife. Again.

"Hey." He smiles at me, but his eyes are looking around, obviously for Chrissy.

"She's still in getting ready," I answer to the unasked question. "Come on in." Pointing over to the living area, I add, "Have a seat and pour yourself a drink." Lance walks over and begins putting together his own salt-rimmed glass, while I pour mixed nuts into a couple of small bowls in the kitchen.

I lay them out on the coffee table, along with a stack of paper napkins. Lance clearly saw my guitar on the sofa cushion, because he's taken a seat on the playing stool. I retake my seat, but before I can pick up the guitar, he holds his glass out for a toast. We clink edges over the table.

"Here's to clean living," he says whimsically. Then, with a twisted smile, "And dirty fun."

I have to chuckle. "To dirty fun," I repeat before sipping more of the icy tequila.

Lance drinks and puts his glass down, then reaches down to a small bag he laid by the table leg. It almost looks like a clutch purse. He zips it open and pulls out two fat, pre-rolled joints and a Bic lighter. Spotting the extra saucer I'd brought over to serve once again as our makeshift ashtray, he places the joints and lighter on it, then picks up his glass and takes another drink; we're obviously going to wait for Chrissy before lighting up.

Picking up the Gibson, I start strumming one of my and Chrissy's favourites, another Stevie Nicks song, "Landslide". Lance comes in with me and we turn it into a pretty decent two-guy duet.

As I work through the guitar break in the middle, the bedroom door opens and my fingers come to a stumbling halt. Chrissy is standing there in a royal blue Japanese kimono robe that makes it just a bit more than halfway down the thighs of her long, athletic legs. If she was on a beach, it would make a perfect cover shot for the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition.

She stands framed in the doorway a moment, letting us soak in the vision of her, then walks over to us on bare feet. Halfway there she starts singing.

"Mm, mm, I don't know.

Mm, mm, I just don't know."

I find my place and start playing just in time to back her up on the next chorus.

"Well, I've been afraid of changin'

'Cause I've built my life around you

But time makes you bolder

Even children get older

And I'm getting older too

Oh, I'm getting Bolder too" **

'Bolder indeed,' I think as she sits next to me while I bring the song to a close. The way her robe rides up on her thighs when she sits down, makes me suspect Lance might have a view right up to her panties if the stool isn't set too high. And if she's wearing panties.

He stands with a huge grin and puts together a margarita for her. "Know any other Fleetwood Mac?" he asks me. "Maybe, 'Go Your Own Way?'"

"I'm no Lindsey Buckingham, but I'll give it my best."

I pick up the pace and Lance starts in on a song from the album that ironically marked the Mac's greatest success as a band, while documenting the internal romantic breakups that were tearing them apart. Chrissy and I back Lance on the choruses while I think about the McVie's divorcing, Buckingham and Nicks breaking up, and Stevie actually sleeping with the married Mick, leading to another divorce.

The solo at the end is a burner, but not really made for acoustic guitar and like I said, I'm no Lindsey Buckingham, so I wind the song down after the main body of lyrics.

"So, why do we know all the words to songs from our parents' teenage years?" Chrissy laughs before reaching out for a joint and the lighter.

"The same reason we know so many Beatles' songs," says Lance as he lifts his glass for a drink. "They're still so good after all these years."

"Amen to that," I say, before accepting the lit joint from Chrissy, who is holding in her first hit.

After inhaling carefully, I pass it back to her and she passes it straight on over to Lance.

"Speaking of songs my parents' liked, here's one I first heard on a vinyl album from their collection. It's by another Chrissie." My Chrissy smiles broadly when she hears the fast, jangly strumming and we launch into The Pretenders', "Don't Get Me Wrong."