by C. C. Morian
“You seem different,” said Justin.
“I love you so much,” she said, and snuggled up into the crook of his arm.
Justin was right, she felt different. Now she just had to wonder if it was good or bad.
We didn’t get drunk the next night, or the next. I had asked Emily if she wanted to, but she had said no, then shyly suggested that I needed to do some shopping. I hadn’t realized right away what she meant, and when it dawned on me that she meant condoms—a topic which she’d never brought up, ever—I pretended I didn’t know what she was referring to and made her say it out loud to tease her.
Instead of getting drunk we had sex, two nights in a row, a first for our entire relationship. It was our customary sex, in the dark, missionary style, but to me it was new, refreshing. Some change had come over Emily, or perhaps both of us. Emily was more animated, more active, pulling me into her. For any other woman it would have been perhaps just the natural movements of lovemaking; for Emily, who was usually reactive, it was almost a demand, a screaming.
Maybe we didn’t need the bucket list after all.
The following month I had to go out of town on a work trip. The first night away I called home from the hotel after my long day out in the field at the oil rig.
“How was your day?” asked Emily.
“Long, a little tiring. How about you?”
“Nothing new. I miss you already.”
“Me too.” I always missed Emily when I traveled, but this time I was missing the sex more than ever. Sure, I thought about sex on other trips, but it wasn’t like when I got home after a trip we would jump right in bed. Emily always just wanted to snuggle, to reconnect. I’d never understood that, why would you need to reconnect with your husband who’d only been gone a few days? Yet it had always been like that, and I had learned to accept it, even my body seemed to realize it, even though I always had a hard on even before I opened the door to our house. I forced myself not to fantasize about Emily when away, sometimes watching hotel or internet porn instead.
Yet right now, all I could think about was my wife.
“What are you going to do tonight?” Emily asked.
Masturbate thinking about you, I thought, wishing I could just say it out loud. I’d never talked to Emily about sex over the phone, let alone have phone sex. She’d changed, I thought, but not that much.
“Probably just watch some tv, relax, maybe go down to the bar for a beer. How about you?”
“I’m not sure, maybe I’ll have a beer too.”
“What?” I didn’t think Emily drank at all when I was away, and she wasn’t keen on beer.
“I’m joking, silly.”
“Oh.” What did I expect Emily to say? That she was going lie in bed and masturbate thinking about me?
“Although we still do have to do the next item on our bucket list.”
That surprised me. “Still joking?”
There was a pause. “Not if you want to.”
“What do you want?”
“Whatever you do.”
“You always do what I want.”
“Not always,” said Emily. “You took me to that French restaurant for my birthday, remember?”
Did I. The entire night was still vivid in my mind, the outfit, the men checking out Emily, our sex that night. My cock shifted in my pants, I still hadn’t got over the fact that Emily had not only given me an honest to goodness blowjob, but that she had swallowed some of my cum.
“Okay, the bucket list it is,” I said, feeling for myself through my pants, wishing I could share with Emily what I was thinking about, what I was doing, what I was going to do.
“Sweet dreams,” she said.
I certainly would, although I might not make it until bedtime for my dreams to start. “You too.”
“I can’t believe I’m going to do this,” said Emily, as Justin held the door for her to get in the car.
“Actually, I can’t either. Besides, you aren’t going to really get drunk tonight, think of this as practice.”
Emily laughed, never imagining that getting drunk was something you had to practice for. She thought you just started drinking. But Justin had explained to her that she first needed to find out what kind of alcohol she liked, since she hadn’t done much drinking, so they were going out to do some testing.
Justin had convinced her to wear her new outfit even though they were going to a tapas bar instead of a fancy restaurant. She’d been hesitant at first, but when she saw his look of disappointment, had quickly given in. After all, what good was it to have nice clothes if you didn’t wear them? The very thought of it went against her ethic of not being wasteful.
She was even more self conscious this evening, especially after Justin’s comment that men might be looking at her. He didn’t say men, exactly, but it wouldn’t just be women checking out her shoes. The last time out she had worn pantyhose, which she really didn’t like wearing, but they seemed most appropriate for the office. Her skin was very light, she didn’t tan well, so she didn’t feel comfortable going out without hose unless she was wearing shorts.
While dressing she rummaged though her lingerie drawer, resigned to putting on another pair of pantyhose after a long day at the office, when she came across unopened packages of stockings. Not thigh highs, but honest to goodness stockings. A gift from her younger sister, Lisa, the rebellious one who had left home at eighteen and run off with a Jamaican steel drummer. She had left Emily most of her wardrobe, telling her it would be a good change for her, it would attract a man like it had for her, not that Lisa ever had any problems attracting men. Emily, waiting for Justin to come around, had stuck everything in boxes, she didn’t need new clothes, and besides, most of them she’d never wear, tight dresses, leather.
Through the years she’d donated most of the items, keeping a few things, although she couldn’t remember ever wearing any. The stockings, for example, some nude, some white, even a few with a line running down the back, did women still wear those?
Emily had actually never worn real stockings. They had always seemed too—sexy? Stockings were what women like Lisa wore. Not that Emily didn’t love her sister, but they were so different, Lisa was always surrounded by men.
Besides, she didn’t have any garters. Or did she?
She rummaged through the packages, and sure enough, a garter belt. Emily didn’t even know exactly how to put it all on, but quickly figured it out. Almost changed her mind, it just felt so decadent. But it was humid, and the thought of putting on pantyhose again was too much to bear. It was for comfort, she told herself.
Now, in the car, she was acutely aware of the breeze of the air conditioner blowing against the bare skin between the top of the stockings and her panties. She hadn’t said a word to Justin, he’d think she was drunk already, wearing a garter and stockings. It would be her little secret. She’d never kept anything from Justin, not really, but this wasn’t something she would have to mention, after all, it was her underwear.
At the restaurant they sat at the bar, they’d been there before, it was pretty nice. Over appetizers Justin showed her the drink menu, something she rarely paid attention to when eating out unless it was to laugh at the funny names of the drinks.
“I can’t believe this one,” she said, pointing to a drink called Sex on the Beach.
“You might like it,” explained Justin. It has cranberry and orange juice.”
“So you’re saying I should drink it for my health? Why would name it like that, anyway?”
Justin had stared at her with a little smile until she understood. “Ugh. Is that what happens when people get drunk? Never mind. What about the vodka and peach schnapps?”
“You might like peach schnapps as a way to ease you into alcohol. Or any drink with some juice.”
“I’m amazed they write these names on the menu.”
“There are quite a few you could order that aren’t on here.”
“Really? Like what?”
�
�Hmm. I’m afraid you’d blush.”
Emily was intrigued, although she did blush easily, she was having a hard time imaging what could be worse than Sex on the Beach. “Try me.”
Justin considered, then leaned over. In a very sexy voice he whispered in her ear, “Mountain Dew Me.”
She laughed out loud. “You’re making that up!”
“Go ahead, order one from the bartender.”
“There’s no way I’m going to say that!”
“Go on, it’s got pineapple juice in it.”
“How do you know so much about these kinds of drinks?”
Justin shrugged. “Common knowledge.”
“I still think you’re making it up.”
“Only one way to find out, order one.”
Emily shook her head, still smiling. Justin. He knew she’d never do that, she’d be embarrassed if it was a real drink, and even more so if it wasn’t.
“Or you could order a Climax,” suggested Justin.
“Now I know you are putting me on.”
Justin raised his right hand. “I swear.”
“You order it.”
“Not my kind of drink.” Justin’s eyes twinkled as he looked at her. “Should I order one up for you?”
Emily did blush, she could feel it, Justin’s voice making his double meaning clear. She glanced around, afraid someone might have overheard, but the couple next to them appeared not to have noticed.
She’d never done this, had a conversation with sexual overtones, even with her husband. Not in public, anyway. For some reason she felt emboldened tonight. “You mean you don’t like those? Climaxes?” Tying to sound nonchalant, but the last word came out a squeaky whisper.
“I mean the ingredients in the drink,” replied Justin. “Why, were you thinking of something else?”
He had maintained a completely straight face, but Emily knew he was teasing her again. “Okay, then, if that’s how you want to be. Too bad, I was thinking of—.” She paused. “Having one.”
Justin stared at her, clearly surprised. She smiled, this was more fun that she would have ever expected. It was just harmless fun, right? This was her husband. Besides, no one could hear, the room was noisy.
“Maybe we should skip dinner,” said Justin.
Emily frowned. “Then how am I going to have my Climax?”
Justin squirmed in the bar stool. Emily was amazed at how her simple words were affecting him.
“Now you are teasing me,” he said.
She leaned over and gave him a little kiss on the cheek, something appropriate for being in public. “I’d never do that.” And then, before she lost her nerve, she motioned the bartender over. “Mountain Dew Me,” she said, trying to keep her voice from cracking. “And my husband will have a Cli—”
“A club soda!” interrupted Justin. “And a rum daiquiri.”
The bartender nodded and moved off, Emily stunned that he didn’t seem to be fazed in the least by her drink order.
“I can’t believe you did that,” said Justin, his voice tinged with surprise and what sounded like a hint of pride.
“I can’t believe you didn’t let me get you a Climax.”
“Let me get this straight, you were going to tell a guy you wanted to give me a climax?”
“I guess so. You were right though, these drinks must be pretty common, he didn’t blink an eye.”
“It’s because you were with me. Try going into a bar sometime, sit down between a bunch of guys, and order a drink like that. That’ll get attention.”
Emily pursed her lips. “You say this from experience?”
“Let’s say you overheard a woman at a bar say that in the midst of a bunch of guys. What would you think?”
That she’s some kind of hussy, thought Emily. Certainly Justin was right, everyone in earshot would look at her. She had this wild thought, her doing it, all the men looking at her, wondering. Was she alone? Available? Perhaps they’d look for a wedding ring, maybe not even that stopping them. Then eyeing her outfit, the leg hugging skirt, the really high heels.
Maybe even wondering if she was wearing stockings and sexy garters under her short skirt.
Now it was Emily’s turn to squirm in the chair, suddenly imagining everyone in the bar looking at her right now.
“Emily? You okay?”
She pulled her attention back to Justin. “Yes, I’m—fine.”
The drinks came and Justin toasted. “To learning new things about what you like.”
Emily clinked glasses. She already was.
I handed Emily another margarita. We were safely back at home, so I poured a second one for myself as well. At the restaurant, Emily had tasted four different drinks in between servings of tapas, and although she hadn’t finished a single one, she’d had more to drink that she probably realized.
I was trying to get my wife drunk. Who would have thought it?
I was a few drinks behind, limiting myself to one at the restaurant because I had to drive. I was amazed at how the alcohol had loosened Emily up. Maybe it had something to do with her small frame and her body not being accustomed to drinking.
At the bar, I’d almost choked when she had ordered the sexy named drink, wondering what on earth she would have been willing to do if she had actually been drunk.
Emily took a good sized sip. “You did a good job making these.”
“They’re easy.” We had settled on margarita’s, the mixings covering up the taste of the alcohol. Emily had been okay with the sweet rum drinks, but not anything else she had tried.
“I’m not,” said Emily, and giggled.
I wagged my eyebrows at her. “We’ll see about that.” I couldn’t believe the change in her already, and though she must have been buzzed, she was far from drunk.
I wondered if she had noticed the men at the restaurant’s bar checking her out. I’d been to lots of bars when I was single, and had always looked at the women; certainly the men there tonight would have done the same, married or not. Emily, focused on learning about the drinks—she even took that seriously—probably hadn’t noticed, but I had. All evening I’d caught men looking at her, her tight ass on the bar stool, he perky breasts, her slim legs and ankles, her sexy shoes.
I had to mentally pinch himself, this was my wife. I was so lucky, and I had been taking her for granted. No more.
I was again surprised at my reaction to seeing the other men ogle Emily. It had probably been going on for years, and I’d never noticed. Why wasn’t I angry? Part of it was pride; I’d be the one taking Emily home, not any of those guys at the bar. And I knew what they’d be thinking. From my own experiences when I had been single, whenever I’d had seen the best looking woman in the place picked up, or having her husband come over, I thought: That guy is so lucky. And then imagining what she might do to him later in the evening.
There might be men, right now, in their own homes, fantasizing about Emily. About my wife.
Jerking off with her in their head. Maybe even having sex with their wives and girlfriends, but fantasizing about my Emily.
I picked up my drink from the coffee table to hide my growing erection. Emily, on the other side of the couch, was facing me, her heels off, her legs tucked up under herself on the cushion, sitting on her small, pretty feet, comfortable. She was still wearing the skirt and blouse I had bought her, the skirt now exposing a lot of thigh, not making it any easier for me to control my erection. I’m lusting over my own wife.
And I might not be the only one.
“I can’t believe I’m getting drunk,” Emily repeated for the third time.
“I can’t believe you haven’t been drunk before. Actually, that’s not true, I wouldn’t have expected you to have been a big drinker.”
“I don’t think I could make a habit of it.” Emily took another big sip.
“You certainly seem to be enjoying yourself.”
“That’s because I’m with you, we’re doing it together. Speaking of which, drink up,
don’t think I don’t realize how far behind you are.”
“Margarita’s aren’t for guzzling,” I said. “You need shots for that.”
“I’ve never done a shot.”
I jumped up and went into the kitchen, my erection still pushing against my pants. In the cupboard I found what I was looking for, a shot glass, a goofy souvenir someone had brought us from Las Vegas. We’d never used it. I grabbed the bottle of tequila and returned to the living room, Emily watching me quizzically.
I poured the shot and handed it to her, taking her almost empty margarita glass. “We only have one shot glass, so we’ll have to take turns.”
Emily sniffed at the drink. “I have to drink it down in one gulp?”
“It’s the same as what you’ve been drinking, just without the mixings.”
“I don’t know, Justin.”
“You were willing to tell some strange bartender to do you. Now you won’t have a shot?”
Emily pursed her lips. “That’s not what I meant, it was just a drink order.”
“Sounded like it to me.” I sipped my own drink, pausing for effect. “Or to anyone who might have been listening.”
Emily’s eyes widened. “Could someone hear me?”
I shrugged, as if it might have been a possibility. “You never know. Come on, drink up.”
Emily glared at me over her glass, not angry, just pretending, or maybe hiding her embarrassment. Then, to my surprise, she jerked back her head, gulping the tequila, almost making it, the last few drops dripping down her cheek.
“Argg!” she groaned, her hand under her chin, trying to stop the liquid from hitting her blouse.
I laughed, everything she had done so both in character and out of character, the shooter unexpected, worry about the blouse so absolutely Emily. I grabbed a napkin and leaned over, dabbing at her face.
She gasped, the drink maybe hitting her, her lips trembling. Still laughing, I kissed her, licking away the rest of drink on her mouth.
“Need a refill?” I asked.
