Transferred to Dayton

I hadn't forgotten that Kerri was someone else's wife, but it was apparent to me even at this very early stage that she wasn't reserved in displaying the womanly charms she possessed in such abundance. And importantly, her husband wasn't hesitant to let her share them. I guess Brett's innate charisma and social ease also made him fearless, which in turn precluded any feelings of jealousy. Though I wasn't planning on taking any undue liberties [well ... except with my eyes] as a result of his lack of possessiveness—he was my friend, after all—I would be happy to take anything that was freely offered.

"Come on, we'd better go. We can stop on the way to pick up something quick to eat." That was Kerri, quite obviously anxious to start her night of dancing. She headed out the door. Brett and I both stood and watched her exit. Wow, that woman really knows how to carry herself.

Brett looked at me with a knowing smile and winked, as if to say, "This promises to be great night. Just you wait and see." At least that's what it conveyed to me. [Looking back now, it was great night indeed. Keep reading.]

"You heard the lady. Ready?" he said.

I smiled back and nodded, then followed him out the door.

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Their two-door Mini has a back seat, but works best for a few groceries or people without legs. Brett was driving, so I offered to crawl in the back, but Kerri insisted on doing that because she was smaller. While I couldn't dispute the physical size argument, I thought she might be uncomfortable being back there because of what she was wearing. I was wrong.

"Are you sure, Kerri?" I asked. "I'd be happy to sit back there. I'm, um, dressed for climbing in and out more than you are." I couldn't help doing a quick scan up and down her body to emphasize the point.

She smiled and brushed her hand down from my shoulder to my elbow. "Oh, you're thoughtful, but no, I insist. I'll fit in that space more easily than you will." She bounced happily around to the driver's side where Brett opened the door and flipped his seat forward so she could step in behind it. I was standing next to the door on the passenger side, watching. [Closely. Just like a gentleman would do, right?]

The convertible top was already down, so my short-term hostess didn't need to bend really low. She did need to lift her leg up fairly high, though, to step in with those high heels of hers. Had Kerri looked at me as she was doing this, I would have looked away; since she wasn't paying any attention to me, focused instead on her entry into the small space, I took advantage. Her initial high step rewarded my attentiveness with a quick flash of color in her crotch. A moment later as she stooped, shuffled, then sat, her loose vest drooped away from her chest, and my eyes glimpsed the final and conclusive proof of her braless state: a deep pink nipple momentarily peeked out.

Kerri ended up turning sideways in the seat, with her back up against the side of the car behind me, her feet on the floor behind Brett. She reached down and adjusted her skirt, tugging the hem down in that well-practiced feminine maneuver, because it had ridden up while she was getting settled. That meant Brett probably would have had even a more intimate view than I did, but he didn't seem to notice. Too bad I couldn't have been on both sides of the car at once. I could have enjoyed it on his behalf.

On the trip to the club, Brett pointed out some local sights along the way and told me a little about Dayton, including that it was the real birthplace of aviation because the Wright brothers were from Dayton, even though Kitty Hawk, NC, got most of the glory. I let him talk, just absorbing my surroundings a bit, knowing I'd be living here before too long. I hadn't divulged that yet, as you know, still waiting for the right opportunity.

I couldn't actually see most of Kerri because she was sitting behind me, but when I turned my head toward Brett I could see her legs behind him. One foot still rested on the floor, but she had moved the other up onto the seat, and her shoe was missing from that foot, so she must have unbuckled and removed it when I wasn't paying attention. While this wouldn't be considered unusual had she been wearing shorts or jeans, her position—if you recall my description of the brevity of her skirt—would have made for interesting viewing for someone at the right angle.

And there were most definitely eyes at the right angle. Driving down some multi-lane streets as we were, we both passed and pulled up beside other vehicles on that side when Brett stopped at stoplights. There was also the trip through the drive-up at Wendy's when we grabbed that quick bite Kerri had mentioned earlier. I noticed the guy at the window glanced in the back seat a few more times than might ordinarily be expected. Something there caught his eye, and judging solely from the position of her legs, I could totally empathize. It looked to me like Kerri made no attempt to cover up. I also didn't know at this point if she was aware of her one-man audience, but she gave no indication she was concerned about it at all.

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At the club, for the next few hours, I watched as Kerri danced. This is to say, I watched her prance, dip, twist, grind, shimmy, shake, swirl, gyrate, sway, spin, wiggle, writhe, slink, and generally move her body in the most delightful ways. Brett was right: Kerri loved to dance. Sometimes it was with arms-in-the-air-and-hair-flying abandon. At other times, it was steamy and sultry, gazing seductively at her dance partner with a "wouldn't you just love to fuck me" look.

Brett was her most frequent dance partner, but I also had several turns, which brought me "up close and personal," as the saying goes, with my friend's wife.

In case you're wondering how close and personal, I'd just have to say that Kerri was slightly more reserved with me than she was with her husband ... but with him she wasn't reserved at all. I was the recipient of the sultry-but-coy looks just as he was, as Kerri teased us both with her overt sexuality. I'll admit I'm a sucker for exposed feminine skin, which she displayed liberally, but in case I might have missed some that would have been otherwise covered, she remedied that by bending over toward me a few times, causing her chain-suspended vest to droop away from her chest, granting me a view of nipples jutting beyond the contour of her breasts—unmistakable even in the dim light of the dance floor. On one of those occasions I know Kerri recognized where my eyes were focused, but her response was a grin and a wink before she rotated and the vest returned to its assigned position.

For me, all this was pleasure, but guilty pleasure, like I was sneaking cookies from someone else's cookie jar without permission. In a sense, permission had been suggested by Brett's complete lack of jealousy, and Kerri's uninhibited contortions around me. The only part of her body I hadn't devoured with my eyes was the small portion covered by her skirt ... and at one point in our dancing she had even backed up to me and rubbed that part rather intimately against me, triggering a predictable (but still guilty) response between my legs. My penis apparently didn't share the same apprehension that my conscience did.

But despite having granted myself permission to drink in and enjoy all the visual delights that Kerri was offering, I felt constrained by the fact that Kerri was someone else's wife. The ring she wore on her hand was not one I had given her. My eyes were participating fully in the experience, but the rest of me resisted.

Brett, on the other hand, obviously felt no such constraint. When the two of them danced together, his body was fully involved. And his hands roamed. From my vantage point, sitting just off the edge of the dance floor, I could detect no sign of objection from Kerri. At one point, they were essentially dry humping on the dance floor. Brett was grasping the sides of her hips and—whether it was the natural movement of the dance that was causing it, or whether it was intentional on his part, I couldn't be sure—her skirt was rising even higher. More of her thighs were gradually revealed until it seemed the panties I had glimpsed earlier must surely come into view at any moment. But the skirt's ascent stopped when Brett's hands moved from Kerri's hips to the bare skin of her belly and began to move upward.

At this point, Kerri, who had been bent at the waist and no doubt flashing other nearby dancers the same view I had recently enjoyed, straightened up against Brett, then reached one hand up behind his head and pulled it down to where their lips could meet in an over-the-shoulder kiss. His hands, meanwhile, continued upward, disappearing beneath her vest. Though the front panels mostly hid his hands, they couldn't hide the movement beneath them, nor could they conceal the angle of his arms or the fingertips in the gap between her boobs. To anyone watching it was quite evident where his hands were.

[And speaking of anyone watching, when I tore my eyes away from that scene for a few moments to scan around the club, it was plain I wasn't the only one caught up in it. Some male eyes were gawking, as mine had just been; others were glancing more discreetly, no doubt because they were accompanied by their dates or wives. The reactions of the women in the crowd were (predictably, based on my experience) more mixed: some seemed oblivious, some watched and smiled, some looked on with disdain ... but still looked on. There was no shortage of audience.]

Once again I felt the pangs of envy I had felt earlier. It was vicarious, of course, but I could feel Kerri's supple boobs cradled in my hands, her hardened nipples pressing into my palms. Ah, what power our imaginations possess.

Eventually Brett and Kerri broke their kiss, he removed his kneading hands, she turned around to face him, and they continued with another phase of their unscripted dance routine. I noticed that throughout the racy phase that just ended, somehow Kerri was still successful in making it look like a dance, not a groping session. Well, mostly successful.

Not long after that, they took a break and joined me on the sidelines. Brett sat across the low table from me, and Kerri planted herself crosswise on his lap. Brett hugged her loosely from the side, while she brought her arm around his back and idly ran her fingers through his hair. We chatted, or attempted to, over the music. Kerri was decidedly in her element here. She did indeed love to dance, yes, but I was beginning to see it was more than that. I already knew that Brett was comfortable being in the spotlight, but I think Kerri also reveled in the attention she drew. Displaying her body fanned the flames. The audience didn't make her self-conscious, it energized her. She was almost giddy with excitement as she squirmed in Brett's lap.

Suddenly, Brett started tickling her ribs. Kerri shrieked and clamped her arms to her sides, laughing, and when she did that, he tipped her backward, cradling her with his arm behind her back. Instinctively she kicked her legs outward and up to balance herself, and the laughter turned back to a shriek again. Brett silenced that shriek, though, by leaning down and planting his lips on hers. She responded by wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down closer to her. With her legs up and parted like that, anyone in the right position on the dance floor would have been treated to an enticing view up Kerri's skirt ... at least they would have, had it not been for Brett's hand in the way. It wasn't a chivalrous act on his part to protect her modesty, though. You see, it took just one of his arms to cradle her and prevent her from falling over backward, which left the other free for other purposes. The purpose he had in mind—and carried out—was to run his hand up the inside of her thigh, not stopping until his fingers were fully underneath her skirt.

[Most everyone in the US, maybe most of the world, has seen the iconic V-J Day kiss photo, where the sailor, ecstatic over the end of the second world war, is celebrating by kissing the girl in Times Square. What was playing out in front of me now was kind of like a seated version of that. Only rated PG-13.]

The flexing of the tendons in the back of Brett's partially covered hand hinted of finger movement, and once again I gave myself permission to imagine what he might be feeling under there. Kerri arched her back in response, returning his kisses with a new aggressiveness. I couldn't hear it over the band and the beat, but felt sure I could see her moaning. His fingers must have been having an effect. [Now that I reflect back on it, that action was probably beyond PG-13.]

Eventually he brought her back to an upright position, and Kerri stood and tugged the hem of her skirt down. She bent and whispered something to Brett, who nodded, then playfully swatted her lovely behind as she walked away. "Ladies' room," he mouthed to me. I nodded.

Normally, I would have been tempted to blame at least some of their over-the-top behavior on alcohol. It is known to engender behavior that stretches a person's normal sense of propriety. But unless they were somehow drinking when I wasn't looking (and I had been closely watching the female half of the pair for essentially the entire night to this point), neither had consumed that much. I hadn't either. It is fair to say we each had enough to be mellow, but mellow doesn't describe how they were acting. I was beginning to see that she ... well, "they" is more accurate ... seemed to be quite accustomed to bringing what would normally be considered bedroom behavior outside those confines. What I was witnessing was not just PDA: Public Display of Affection. This was more like PDF: Public Display of Foreplay.

When Brett's better half came back to our table, she had someone else in tow, quite literally. Kerri was pulling a blonde by the hand, as the shorter girl behind her struggled to keep up. Both wore big smiles, though, so apparently the towee wasn't being dragged against her will.

"Look who I found!" Kerri announced to Brett with excitement in her voice, then she turned to me and introduced me to "her dancing friend" Mandy. I was surprised when Mandy reached out with both arms to pull me into a hug, then she gave a longer one to Brett. They (she and Brett) appeared to know each other already.

Mandy's outfit was more casual than Kerri's, because she was wearing a light blue tank top, jean shorts, and boots. A better description is called for, though, because your mental image will probably change when I fill in the details. Her tank fit loosely, scooping low in front, and had deep arm holes that extended down to the bottom of her ribs. She was exposing a dangerous amount of side boob ... not that I'm afraid of danger like that. But what I noticed most when Kerri introduced her was that the material was thin. Very thin. Mandy's areolae and nipples were behind that thin cloth, but it really wasn't up to the task of hiding them very well, nor could it hide the outline of the barbell piercing in her left nipple. [But, after all, why wear jewelry if no one can see it? I liked her way of thinking.] I'll admit that seeing a woman's nipples press and distort the fabric of her top is one of my turn-ons; I think that is one of the sexiest things on earth. So Mandy's tank (actually, the woman in it) definitely caught my eye.

Her denim shorts were the distressed style, where rips and thin spots allow peeks at skin that would normally be covered. When she reached up to hug Brett, it accentuated how short they were, revealing the beautiful junction where leg meets ass cheek, and also revealing the fact that there were lateral rips crossing the lower portion of both cheeks. Her lovely skin was peeking out from underneath. There was no sign of panties through any of the various portholes, so I had to assume she was wearing a thong [or nothing?]. That view was difficult to find fault with, too.

And Mandy's boots weren't just boots. These were b-o-o-t-s. They extended perhaps 3" or so above her knees. It's interesting how they drew attention to the exposed skin between the top of the boots and the bottom of her shorts, and made it look totally scandalous.

"We're going to dance a little bit while you guys take a breather, okay?" That was Kerri speaking.

Brett grinned. "Well, make sure you two don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

Kerri rolled her eyes. "Like that will be really hard," she smirked, then leaned forward and gave him a kiss. Mandy giggled, then grabbed Kerri's hand and headed toward the dance floor, apparently eager to get started.

Kerri followed, but only took one step before stopping abruptly. "Oh! Wait a minute, Mandy! Stop." There was some concern in her voice, and she grabbed her friend's arm to stop her. "Hold still. Don't move!"

Mandy stopped where she was and looked back over her shoulder. "What? What's wrong?"

Kerri bent over slightly, looking down at the back of Mandy's shorts, then reached down and put her hand on them. Mandy, seeing her gaze and feeling Kerri's touch, asked again, "What is it? Did I sit in something?" She also reached back to brush the back of her shorts.

Kerri caught her hand and answered in a serious tone. "Just hold still. There's something—" She paused to look closer, then added, "Oh. There. Don't worry, I'll get it."

Mandy looked worried now, frozen in place. Probably she had visions of a bug or spider crawling on her, any woman's nightmare. Worse, there were gaping holes down there where a little multi-legged invader could escape, and the thought of that possibility was awful indeed. I didn't see anything, but Kerri must have.

Kerri pressed three fingers through one of the horizontal slits in the back of Mandy's shorts, and onto the bare skin underneath. Mandy chirped, startled by the sudden intrusion in an intimate area, but held still. Brett and I watched with interest as Kerri used her other hand to widen the slit and hold it open, while her fingers caressed the delectable area she exposed. After perhaps five seconds of this, Mandy spoke. "Hey, girl, what are you doing back there?"

"Oh!" responded Kerri. "My mistake! I thought I saw something ... but turns out it was only my fingers on your ass!" She cracked up and swatted Mandy on the derriere she had just been feeling. "Come on! Let's go dance." She took off toward the dance floor (which was only steps away, actually).

Mandy uttered something resembling an exclamation that wasn't decipherable, but then giggled and followed. "You are such a—oh, I can't believe you, girl! You just wait!" Apparently she wasn't too concerned about her friend feeling her up. At least that's what her laughter meant to me. I thought it was pretty bold on Kerri's part, and it made wonder if this sort of play had been in their repertoire before.

Brett looked at me with a grin and raised his eyebrows in amusement. "Gotta love that," he said. I had to agree.

The two girls danced together for a while, and Brett and I later joined them when the band led everyone on the floor in forming a conga line. I hadn't seen that in years. Each person placed their hands on the hips of the dancer in front of them, and we all did a snake-like shuffle around the dance floor to the beat of the music. I had the pleasure of following Mandy's sashaying hips while the same skin Kerri had recently fondled winked at me through the openings in her shorts.

Eventually even Kerri had her fill of dancing. As we were preparing to leave, Mandy apparently wanted to make good on her "you just wait" threat. She came over to give Kerri a goodbye hug, which is not normally an eyebrow-raising event between two friends, and especially between two women. But during their embrace, Mandy reached down with one of her hands and pulled sharply up on the front hem of Kerri's skirt. Then, just as swiftly, she reached that same hand between her friend's legs and started a stirring motion. [See? Everyone knows there is treasure to be found there.]