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Sex Story

Life, they say, is what happens to you while you are making other plans. That's what happened to Barbara and I last Friday night when we were planning a quiet night at home.

We were headed home after a nice dinner at a local steakhouse. I had the New York Strip and Barbara had a rack of ribs. If you knew her, you'd raise an eyebrow at that. She's five-foot-three, and while she's not as willowy as she once was, she has stayed trim and well-toned through the years.

But her eyes have always been bigger than her stomach. Or in her words, "If a little is good, more is better." So we toted the better half of the rack of ribs home with us in a little foil-lined bag that rode on the seat between us. More would be better for lunch tomorrow.

This is what passed for a night out for us in recent years. Time was when we danced and drank and partied with the best of them. Matter of fact, I met her in a little bar shooting pool, a passion we shared but had not indulged for far too long. That night, we drank too much, danced too close and couldn't even wait to get back to my house to make love for the first time.

Now, ten years later, car payments, a mortgage and two demanding careers left us content to enjoy a fine dinner and head home by ten to curl up on the couch or in bed with an HBO movie. We didn't find it dull or boring, but we had definitely settled into a routine that included little beyond ourselves and our home. It seemed our wild days were just memories that we sometimes conjured as fantasies during lovemaking.

So, it caught me by surprise when she saw the sign outside a dance club advertising "Live Music," and said, "Let's see who's playing."

It shouldn't have surprised me, she has always been the impetuous one, but it had been a while since I'd seen that side of her. I, on the other hand, usually had to be dragged kicking and screaming into adventures that I never regretted.

"Come on, it'll be fun," she said. "It's been so long since we've gone out. We need to have a little fun."

"I don't know," I said. "It's getting late and I don't know if I really feel like dancing right now."

"Please," she said, scooting across the seat. She laid her right hand on my thigh and pushed herself up to lightly flick my ear with her tongue and whispered, "Remember, Key West."

Damn, she was persuasive. I didn't feel so tired anymore and spun the car around in the next driveway and headed back toward The Roadhouse Café.

Key West was a Christmas present to ourselves the year before we got married. It was the benchmark vacation against which all others were measured - and they always fell short - and the benchmark for personal debauchery. It was a week of sex and drugs and rock-and-roll that reached its pinnacle at Hog's Breath on New Years Eve. Barbara drank too much, danced topless in the teeming crowd and climbed one of the towers next to the stage to dance alone five feet above the floor. When one of the bouncers climbed up to get her down, she tried to dissuade him by throwing her arms around his neck and french-kissing him while her nearly-naked body writhed against him. He obviously enjoyed delaying the inevitable for a few moments, and when he finally made her climb down the disappointed crowd booed .

We finally left at 3 a.m. and filled the rest of the time before our 6:30 a.m. flight with nearly non-stop sex. We climbed on the plane exhausted, hung over and bleary-eyed. Even if we could turn the clock back, I don't think we could wring as much hedonistic delight out of another vacation.

My attitude was definitely better when I pulled the car into the club's parking lot. There were plenty of spaces. Ten may have been late for me these days, but the club crowd was just waking up.

The place was still half-empty when we walked in and the band hadn't yet taken the stage. A jukebox pumped out rock tunes, but the small parquet dance floor in front of the stage was empty, as were most of the tables that surrounded it. But the bar was full. All but a couple of the stools at the long wooden bar were filled with men who seemed to take their drinking seriously. A clot of men and women huddled around the pinball and video game machines. But there was no pool table. Damn.

The crowd was young, by that I mean, at least ten years younger than we were. And the men outnumbered the women two-to-one. It was early yet, I thought.

Heads turned and eyes followed our every step as we made our way to a small table near the dance floor. Were we the only strangers in a bar full of regulars? Or was it because I was a jacket-and-tie in a room full of Tommy jeans and pullovers? Or was it Barbara?

She may have been ten years older than everyone in the place, but she doesn't look her age. Sometimes she still gets asked for ID. She is trim and firm and sexy, but even more, she has a young attitude. Tonight it radiated from her. Her eyes had a glint of excitement that flashed in anticipation of having some fun. There was nothing old about her.

If that wasn't enough, she was the classiest woman in the place. She had worn her new black leather suit to dinner. She loved the soft, buttery feel of leather on her skin. It made her feel as sexy as she looked. When she bought the suit, she got two skirts, one longer and more modest, more business-like, the other shorter and sexier. She had worn the short one tonight and it exposed her shapely tan legs whose curves were accentuated by high-heeled pumps.

The skirt was as tight as it was short. It fit her like a second skin. Between the skirt and the heels, she had to walk in short mincing steps that showed off her tight, round bottom in a way that was surely both delight and torment for every guy in the place.

It was definitely Barbara they were watching.

Nonetheless, when we got to the table I pulled off my tie and folded it into my jacket pocket and hung the sports coat over the back of my chair. That's better. I may still be button down, but I won't feel quite so out of place.

When I looked up again, I saw Barbara headed for the bar to get a couple of drinks. That was Barbara. She didn't stand on chivalry. She was a modern woman, a feminist, if you will. She had a good job, worked hard and was proud of it. She paid for dinners as often as I did. She wanted to be an equal partner, and that suited me fine. I enjoyed her spirit and her independence. I didn't even mind that she had never worn her wedding ring since the ceremony.

She said that men treated married women different at work, that they never took them seriously. She didn't want to be patronized or dismissed because she was married. She wasn't someone's wife, she was who she was, bright, articulate, aggressive and hardworking. That's how she wanted to be judged.

I wasn't sure I agreed with all that but I did know it changed the way men treated her outside work. She attracted them like honey draws bees. And that suited her, too. She liked getting attention and enjoyed the effect she had on men, especially when they would get all flustered and tongue-tied when they were trying to impress her. I remember her laughing about one guy who saw her as he was getting out of his car at a convenience store. He tried to be suave but dropped his keys and bumped his head on the car door when he bent over to pick them up. His sheepish smile and nervous greeting fell short of his intentions. She said it was cute.

Attention is what she was getting at the bar. As she raised her left leg to climb onto an open stool between two groups of guys, her little skirt rode up and exposed a long expanse of her right thigh. The guy next to her didn't miss the show. And when she leaned over the bar to order, the bartender saw only the flash of cleavage her low-cut linen blouse revealed. He never even saw her flashing emerald green eyes.

While he got the drinks, Barbara talked with the guys at the bar and soon was laughing at their jokes and chatting animatedly. Even after she got the drinks, she lingered a bit to finish her conversation, then sauntered back to our table with several sets of eyes glued to her every step.

"They say the band is pretty good," she said handing me a tumbler of bourbon and taking a sip of her scotch. "They do a lot of stuff from the '70s and '80s. The guy on keyboards is supposed to be very good and they do a lot of Billy Joel stuff."

She was delighted at that. She's a big Billy Joel fan. We would know soon. The band was getting ready to start.

We drank and talked a bit, but soon were drowned out by the music. So we just listened for a while. After a couple of tunes, she pulled me up to dance. I balked a little - no one else was on the dance floor yet - and then relented.

I was more than a little self-conscious and hardly rhythmic, but that had never mattered to Barbara. She just loved to dance and she moved to the music as though she were alone in the world. By the time the next number started, I loosened up a bit as two other couples stepped out and two girls danced together at the edge of the floor.

By the end of the third number Barbara was tired and a little winded so we made our way back to the table. We both drained our glasses and I headed to the bar to get another round. The place was filling up quickly now. Most of the tables were filled and there was a crowd around the bar trying to get drinks. I elbowed my way through to a little space at the bar and waited with empty glasses and money on the bar. But I didn't get the attention that Barbara had.

As I waited, I watched Barbara at the table. She slipped off the leather jacket and laid it across an empty chair and sat down to listen to the band. It wasn't long before first one and then another guy approached her, obviously asking her to dance. I could see her smile and shake her head.

"Bad timing, guys, let her catch her breath," I thought.

Then the crowd around the bar thickened and I lost sight of her, so I turned back to try to flag down one of the busy bartenders.

The band had played two or three more numbers by the time I got the drinks and headed back to the table. I kept my attention on the brimming full glasses as I jostled through the crowd. I was nearly back to the table when I noticed she was gone.

I quickly scanned the dance floor before sitting down and spotted her easily even though dancers now crowded the small area in front of the band. Her movements were sinuous and fluid. She had abandoned footwork for a mildly suggestive swivel and sway that emphasized her delicious bottom and ample breasts. She danced with knees loosely bent and legs slightly spread to help balance on the heels. The tight skirt had begun to inch up drawing the hem higher on her well-toned and tanned thighs. What a vision!

"She's feeling the scotch," I thought. It never took much with her and we seldom drank these days. Alcohol always loosened her up and its effects were apparent as she danced with little inhibition.

I looked for her partner. With all the people out there it was hard to tell who she was dancing with until a tall, blond guy in khakis and a baggy blue pullover moved closer as she began to roll and pump her hips to the bass line. He caught her eye and she looked up at him with sly smile and added some emphasis to her thrusts.

She likes him, I thought.

When the song ended, he hugged her and she relaxed in his arms and hugged him back. Then she grabbed his hand and led him back to our table.


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As they approached, I could see that he was handsome, in a rugged way, and even his baggy pullover couldn't conceal his well-muscled arms and chest or his slender waist. He could have held her in one hand, but he followed her picking his way through the crowd as she pulled him along by his hand.

As he took a seat across from me, Barbara leaned over and shouted something in my ear. But even so near, she couldn't compete with the band and I couldn't make it all out. Something about him asking her to dance. Two things did get through. She thought he was cute and she thought he was hot, the last communicated by a little pinched expression of approval that seemed to say, "Oooooo," and a little shake of her hand as though she touched something sizzling.

Then she sat down and started to make an introduction, but I waved her off. It was just too loud, we could wait for the break. Then she took a sip of her scotch and turned to him and raised the glass with a questioning expression. He nodded and she got up to buy him a drink.

As she made her way to the bar, the bandleader announced they were going to take a break and the bar quieted.

I stuck out my hand and reached across the table. "I'm Stan," I said.

"Chad," he replied returning the handshake with a firm grip and a small smile as he sized me up. When his eyes fell on my left hand, the smile faded a bit and he released his grip. He was thinking: A married guy with a hot, unmarried woman at a rock bar on a Friday night...

"I didn't know you guys were together," he started. "She was sitting here alone when I asked her to dance. I, I..."

I was amused.

I smiled broadly and laughed at bit. "Don't worry. It's OK. She loves to dance and I love to see her enjoying herself,"

He relaxed a bit, but still looked nervous, though not nervous enough to leave before she returned with his drink.

Then an unexpected idea flashed through my head. It must have been the bourbon, but I was the one feeling impetuous and mischievous now. She was enjoying herself and enjoying Chad's attention and it was too soon for it to end. She would be disappointed. If I wanted to enjoy her later, it would be better if she wasn't disappointed.

I leaned across the table so I wouldn't have to shout and looked directly into his deep blue eyes.

"It's not what you think," I began.

"What do you mean?" he asked tensing again.

"Barbara is my sister," I lied. "She's down visiting from New York."

Chad relaxed immediately and he listened closely as I went on.

"She just got her divorce," I said making it up as I went along. "After more than two years of fighting and arguing with that bastard in court, she wanted a vacation so she came down to spend a couple of weeks with me. Sort of a celebration.

"It is good for her to finally have some fun," I said. "She's a great woman and deserves better than she's had. It's been a rough couple of years."

Chad brightened and I could see the wheels beginning to spin in his head, and then I added:

"I don't think she's even been out with anyone since this whole thing started," I said, "so I was really happy to see you two dancing out there. I was afraid that bastard had put her off men altogether."

"Well, I don't think that happened." Chad replied, smiling and winking. "Did you see her out there?"

Suddenly, we were co-conspirators and on our way to being best buddies. No doubt he was thinking that if he could win over Big Brother, Sis wouldn't be far behind.

About then Barbara returned with his drink and another for herself. Mine was still full so she hadn't bothered. I couldn't believe how quickly she could get served.

She slipped into her chair and turned to Chad and put out her hand.

"By the way, I'm Barbara."

"I know," Chad said. "Your brother has been telling me all about you."

Barbara shot me a look both withering and quizzical and I gave her a small smile in return. I would let her figure out what it meant.

"He has, has he?" she said. "Nothing too bad, I hope?"

"Not at all," Chad said. "He only has good things to say about you."

Before the conversation could get much further, the first notes of the next set broke from the stage and after a few bars, Chad tugged Barbara up for another dance. She gulped down her scotch and headed toward the floor. As they left, Chad gave me a smile and a knowing look and then turned to follow her, his eyes riveted on her bottom, rippling and rolling beneath the black leather skirt.

They danced with greater abandon now, close and suggestive. Barbara's moves were becoming more primitive and Chad grew bolder, bumping and rubbing her body as they spun and circled each other. By now the dance floor was thick with people and I could only see Barbara and Chad in glimpses as the crowd parted and closed in waves. I sipped my drink and watched.

After a while their dance carried them to the near edge of the floor and I was fascinated by what I saw. Barbara's moves had become raw and primal, no longer merely suggestive. Her hips swiveled and thrust above parted legs in purely carnal motion. Her eyes were glued to Chad's and her smile was gone, replaced by an almost snarling expression of lust. It wasn't an invitation; it was a dare.

He responded by moving still closer. He placed a foot between hers so their legs would touch as they danced and each of her now frantic thrusts bumped against his thigh. He matched her motions in perfect rhythm. Thrust and withdraw. Thrust and withdraw. Her hands were raised above her head and pumping with each thrust. His reached out, slowly and lightly tracing her swaying body from her upper arms to her hips and back again. As the song reached its climax, Barbara inched even closer, her hips now moving in small circles, an insistent grind on the thigh now planted well between her legs.

When the song ended she collapsed in his arms, laughing and puffing at the exertion. He pulled her close and held her tightly as she caught her breath. After a few moments, he bent his head to her ear and said something and when she looked up at him, he covered her mouth with his and kissed her deeply.

Barbara responded by reaching up and encircling his neck with her hands and pulling herself up on tiptoes, returned the kiss. Even from where I was sitting I could sense the urgency of her kiss. Her hands moved over his neck and tangled in his thick locks, pulling his head down and closer as her lips devoured his. I knew her tongue was snaking into his mouth, yearning and searching for his.

Chad pulled her closer to him, crushing her against his chest with his left arm around her back. His right hand reached down to first cup her buttocks and then to lift her closer to his lips. The boost freed Barbara's hands and she slid them to his cheeks. She held his face in her hands as she continued the wanton kiss.

When they finally broke, Barbara's hands flew back around his neck and hugged him tightly cheek to cheek. She was out of breath again.

As they loosened their grip and Barbara's feet slipped firmly back to the floor, the band started a slow number. With her hands still wrapped around Chad's neck, she began to sway to the music. They danced crushed together with a slow rocking motion as they explored each other's bodies with light caresses. Chad would nuzzle Barbara, leaving tender kisses on her cheek and brow and she would stretch to brush his cheek with her lips or nibble lightly on his lower lip.

When the song ended, they broke the embrace and headed off the dance floor. Barbara wobbled a bit - too much scotch or a little weak in the knees? - as she walked back toward our table while Chad made his way to the bar.

"What the hell did you tell him?" Barbara asked when she got to the table.

"A little white lie," I answered, smiling. "He got a little weird when he thought we were together, and I didn't want to spoil your fun. I could tell you were enjoying the attention. So I set his mind at ease."

"Well, it worked," she said. "He was all over me out there."

"I could see, but I didn't notice much objection," I teased. "As a matter of fact, I..."

Barbara glanced over to find Chad at the bar and then looked back at me and moved closer.

"He got me so hot," she said. "Ohhh, I could have fucked him right there in front of everyone."

"We don't get out enough," I replied. She laughed at my little joke and said, "No, we don't."





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