Crazy Gina

"See, now this is a dirty little secret." Her smile changed, becoming crafty and a little bit feral. She tossed her head. "Want me to show you what I'm wearing under there? I'm not shy."

"No no, Gina, that's fine," I stuttered. "My mind was wandering, that's all. I'm sorry."

"Wandering. Hmm. If that's what you want to call it." She was sweeping her finger across her tablet now, the one the school had given her, her flirting seemingly forgotten, which was just as well: my wife came bustling in a moment later, sitting in a chair with a groan.

"Goddamn!" she exclaimed. "Lunch and breakfast both came out simultaneously."

"Did you stink up the bathroom?" Gina was still flicking precisely at the tablet. "I figured that was you yesterday."

"No, yesterday was Shannon Boyle." My wife made a face. "I might not be up to Mexican, sweetie. Or maybe I'll just stick with chips and guac."

Before I could answer, Gina spoke up. "Oh yeah. The reason I came in here when I saw you," she said to me, as if she'd just arrived. "Do you like softball?"

"Uhh, I've played before, but I wouldn't call myself a fan," I said cautiously. Her mind was working again, I could tell. She put out a placating hand.

"No no, don't worry," she said. "Mike's putting together a team, and he wanted to get in touch. What's your phone number?"

"Umm." I coughed out my digits, which Gina tapped into her phone. "What's the time commitment?"

She rolled her eyes. "Look, Andy, take my advice. Just tell him no." She looked over at my wife. "Have fun at dinner, bitch, but get back on time. I have no wish to face a bunch of parents without you nearby."

"Sure, bitch." We beat a hasty retreat, me grateful for an erection that had only gone down once my wife started talking. I gave Gina a haunted look as I left; she replied with that same secret grin.

This was going to be a problem.

* * *

The text arrived as we were driving to the restaurant, the kids bustling in the backseat. I was the passenger, mostly because we were in my wife's neighborhood and she was the better parallel parker. When my phone twinkled I dug it out of my pocket expecting to find something from my friend Curtis.

Instead, it was a URL from some unfamiliar number. And, while my thumb hesitated over the link, another text came through.

ITS GINA

Ah. I shrugged and clicked on the URL, then watched in dawning horror as it took me to the website for the Secret Whispers lingerie store. I was quick to angle the phone away from the driver's seat, and my wife noticed. "Who's that?"

"It's Curtis," I lied. "Problems at work with that coding seminar we're supposed to do." The web page showed the store's inventory, a selection of lacy thongs in various colors. I frowned, scanning up and down the page and wondering what was going on. Just then, the text app vibrated with another message from Gina.

SKU 3973207-GH

Frowning, I headed back over to the website and scanned quickly for that SKU among the products on the page. I finally found it in a region of thumbnails at the bottom, where the garments got lacier and more expensive. I clicked on one of the tiny thumbnails, another text whipping in as I waited for the new page to launch.

THAT'S WHAT IM WEARING TODAY. IF UR WONDERING.

The product page finally came up, and I couldn't keep from exhaling slowly. The model on the page was a phenomenally gorgeous woman, photographed from the middle of her slender thighs to the very bottom of her prominent ribcage, the flesh on display young, firm, and smooth as a peach. Her underwear was incredible in the front view, and I hadn't been far off: a tiny, lacy triangle the color of deep red wine, in satin, covered what had to have been a completely hairless pubic area. The pointy lace on the edges of the triangle, transitioning into a set of straps that arched high over the model's bony hips, was in deep black, the waistline a clear five inches south of the woman's belly button.

I clicked the button that said "rear view."

I guess I should have expected it, but I was still stunned by the view of the model's tanned, naked asscheeks. They waited there, plump and inviting, completely symmetrical and with nothing but a pair of black-lace lines running over the top of the cheeks and into the crack.

Shit.

My daughter Ella was smacking at her little brother's arm, and I was clearly supposed to be regulating. Instead, I was sitting there trying to decide what to do as the phone went again. I swapped back over to the texting app.

WHAT DO U THINK?

Well, there it was. Crazy Gina was pulling me into her dirty little secret, ready or not. She was expecting a reply, and given her mental state I couldn't just ignore her. I hesitated, then sent back something intended to be non-flirty.

EXPENSIVE.

I heaved a shaky sigh and put the phone back in my pocket, then twisted around to deal with Ella and Jake. Despite the distraction, though, I definitely felt the phone vibrate.

ONLY THE BEST 4 MY PUSSY!

I stared at her message and groaned involuntarily. My wife glanced over. "What's wrong?"

"Oh. Curtis deleted half the shit in the presentation software," I said vaguely; it was the first lie that came to mind, but Curtis was dumb enough to have done it for real. "He says he has it under control, but he's an idiot, so... I'm sorry, hon. I'll turn it off during dinner." Did she want a reply? Was I supposed to flirt back? I pondered, then decided to wait her out. It didn't take long.

DON'T U BELIEVE ME?

A pause, then another text: this one was a picture. A picture of the same thong on a different woman. On Gina Torrey.

She'd shot it upwards from below, like an upskirt shot; I could see her face in the background, beaming down with that odd secret smile. Below that you could see the subtly humped real estate of her breasts and belly, tightly encased in the grey ribbed shirt she'd had on at school. In fact, the acoustic tile above her head suggested she was still there, maybe in a bathroom. Closer to the foreground was her skirt, pulled up around her waist so that the thong could get plenty of light.

And there it was. The wine-red triangle, the spiky black lace, the smooth flesh of her lower belly and abs, her navel beneath the bunched skirt. She'd kept her legs tight together, a wide gap of daylight visible right at the top of her inner thighs where the sheer winy satin sprouted from her vagina, the plump lips of which were plainly visible through the tight cloth. The tops of her legs were as toned as the rest of her body, tight muscles standing through the pale skin.

Clearly, I had to send something back. I thought about it.

UM, THANKS BUT THAT WASN'T NECESSARY. I paused, debating internally, then sent it and waited, staring listlessly out the window at the passing buildings.

WHAT? she sent back mercilessly. DID YOU WANT THE BACK VIEW?

I gulped and turned the phone off. We were getting close to the restaurant.

* * *

When I got home, leaving my wife at school, I raced to put the kids into bed so that I could get into my office and masturbate. I dropped my keys and wallet into the drawer, fired up the laptop to find some porn, and then realized I hadn't checked my phone since before dinner. My hand trembling, I pulled it out and powered it on.

I was not surprised that there were three texts awaiting me. 5:45:

HELLO? BACK VIEW?

Then at 5:52:

EARTH 2 ANDY?

And finally at 6:05:

I GUESS UR EATING ALREADY. HERE U GO!

This time, she was definitely in the school bathroom; she'd taken the shot in a dirty, cracked mirror, looking back over her shoulder with pouty lips and a twinkle in her eye. The skirt was once again bunched at her waist, and I could barely see the lace straps; for all practical purposes, Gina had sent me a picture of her bare ass. It was gorgeous, putting to shame the model's from the website: small, bubbled, beautifully full and luscious, her cheeks peered boldly out from my phone in foreshortened glory. A tribal tattoo crowned the lace straps. She was flexing her legs, bent slightly over the sink so that she could force her ass out at me.

I sighed, already rock-hard. I ignored the laptop; there would be no need for it with Gina's two pictures. I had to send something back, of course, but that could wait a bit. I'd been married with kids for a long time, so I knew how to get myself off quickly and efficiently. I found the ass pic worked better for me than the frontal. Panting, with my cum running slowly down my belly, I considered how I should respond.

A part of me was excited at Gina's attention: she was a knockout, bold and adventurous and sexy. I had no doubt she'd be an absolute wolverine in bed. A much, much larger part, though, was scared to death of her. She was unstable and careless, and she was my wife's best friend. That smaller part figured what the hell; this couldn't end well, so why not just take a picture of my cummy dick and up the ante on this chick.

I was so tempted I actually lined up the shot and took a few pics. It was the grossest, most ludicrous thing I'd ever done: there on my phone lay my half-hard penis rising from my tangle of red hair, covered in spit and semen, still gripped by my hand. I imagined for a moment the thrill she'd get opening the text, and I trembled with excitement as I set up the text. Just to see how the message would look. It wouldn't even have needed a caption.

Meanwhile, my more rational self was deciding what I'd actually send. Probably something obvious: WOW! would be innocuous, as would SHIT! Maybe just an emoji; I went to the emoji menu, not even noticing as my thumb treacherously brushed over the "send" button as it crossed the screen. For a few seconds I stared obliviously at the grouped emojis before, with absolute horror, I realized what had happened. My mocked-up message had gone out.

I'd just sexted Crazy Gina Torrey.

If there was a worse outcome, and I'd had three weeks to think about it, I couldn't have come up with one.

There was a dead silence in my mind as I sat there, my wilting penis still out and my mouth wide open, staring at the message app to see what would happen next. There passed a few ominous seconds before I saw the little dots that indicated she was composing a reply. I wasn't sure whether I wanted a long reply or a short one, but I was obscurely glad she was at least sending something. Meanwhile, I was already inventing excuses: it had been a mistake. It wasn't really a picture of me; I'd just found it online. And why was I looking at pictures of hard penises? Uh, well... my cover story clearly needed some work.

And then her message burst through.

HMM, it said. IVE NEVER SEEN GINGER PUBES BEFORE.

I gaped at my screen. Could that possibly be it? Nothing more? I leapt to my keyboard, typing out a message about how sorry I was, but her next text came through before I could get done.

IM IMPRESSED U WERE ABLE TO RUB ONE OUT SO FAST AFTER I SENT MY PIX.

I blushed, not expecting that kind of response. I guess I wouldn't have expected her to be offended, but she didn't even seem excited or amazed. Just... matter-of-fact. Like there was nothing at all unusual about her best friend's husband jacking off to racy pictures of her. And then taking a picture of his cock and texting it. I swallowed and put something together as quickly and carefully as I could.

LOOK, GINA, I DIDN'T MEAN TO SEND THAT. IT WAS A MISTAKE, AND YOUV'E GOT TO DELETE IT. I'M REALLY REALLY SORRY.

The text disappeared toward her with that little shooshing sound, and as I sat back in my sweaty chair and waited for her response I started feeling a little foolish. There was something vulgarly silly about all this; it was the kind of thing that high school sophomores worried about. Almost immediately, she started putting a reply together; it was just a few seconds before it arrived.

DONT BESORY. IM NT OFENDED. NOT DELETING THO. USING IT RIGHT NOW.

The typos made me wonder, but her next text tried to explain.

SRRY ABOUT TYPOS. USING LEFT HAND.

My mouth went cottony as I realized what she meant. So I waited longer, still tense and half-naked; no more than three minutes went by before a long string of happy-face emojis came sailing across the screen. Then came the word.

AAAHHHHHH...

And then, after another minute or so, the picture.

The wine-colored thong was gone, the skirt pulled up higher above her navel, her pussy wide and pink, glistening with the juices she'd allowed to puddle on what looked like a wooden desktop. Her right hand, the fingers soaked, pulled her inner lips casually open to show, in violent detail, a raw clitoris questing out from above. I saw no hair anywhere. I could see the sleek, pale back of her right thigh; she had perched that foot on the front of the desktop to open herself wider, her left leg slack and uncomfortable as it hung off the desk.

A response was definitely required, and I had no idea what I should say. I knew that starting this had been a horrible mistake, and that letting it continue would make everything far worse, but simply closing the app and pretending like none of this had happened was not an option. Not with Crazy Gina.

My thumb hovered over the keyboard. She'd be getting impatient, I knew. I hesitantly spelled out my message.

YOURS AREN'T GINGER.

I heaved a sigh as I sent it; I'd followed her lead, but under the circumstances what else could I do? She'd never, ever believe it had all been a mistake, and even though it had been, there was still the undeniable fact that for some reason I'd taken the picture and gotten the message ready in the first place. Which still made no sense to me.

NOPE. BROWN. BUT THEY MOSTLY JUST GET IN THE WAY. U SHUD TRY SHAVING URSELF.

I let my breath out in a shuddering sigh. I barely even noticed that my hand was once again pulling absently at my dick.

WHY?

BETTER FOR HYGIENE. AND UR COCK WUD LOOK EVEN BIGGER.

Despite myself and the deep, deep fucked-upness of the whole situation, I was getting hard again with the flirting. A thought came to me all of a sudden.

AREN'T YOU SUPPOSED TO BE AT PARENTS NIGHT?

I could picture her impish smile as she replied. I AM! NO PARENTS RIGHT NOW SO IM PLAYING INSTEAD.

Jesus Christ! My wife's classroom was right next door to Gina's office.

I THINK I HEAR SOME1 COMING THO, SO GOODNIGHT CUTIE! THX!

I whacked myself viciously to a second orgasm. It felt amazing.

* * *

I didn't encounter Gina again for several weeks. I was on tenterhooks early on, wondering whether she'd text me and not sure whether I wanted her to or not. As the days passed, though, with absolutely no contact, I decided she must have thought of our sexting adventure as a harmless fling with no real strings. I even settled back into my weekly ritual of sex with my wife, though I'll admit that I felt a little weird about it the first time.

But life went on until the evening that Gina had scheduled a planning meeting for the Spring Fling, involving the four or five teachers in charge of setting it up. They were meeting at a restaurant near the school, and since my wife had forgotten her wallet she needed me to come drop it off. The school was in the "upper" part of town, so called by the locals because it wasn't near the sea, so I had to scan the narrow, hilly streets for nearby parking before I could get in and drop off my cargo.

At length I nudged into a parallel space and stepped off toward the restaurant; I still had to pick up both kids after this. I felt a little foolish carrying my wife's colorful, quilted wallet; I had never understood why women's wallets had to be quite so big, almost mini-purses. But whatever.

She'd taken me to this restaurant before, and the smells as I ducked in made me salivate: rich, fresh seafood waited in a display case by the door. I smiled at the teenaged hostess and told her I was looking for a party of four or five, all women. She knew exactly who I was talking about, and rolled her eyes. "Some of them got started drinking way early," she laughed as she led me deep into the restaurant.

I followed her round little ass into the dim recesses at the back of the restaurant, where I saw the back of my Audrey's head crammed into a four-top with five people. Across from her sat Gina, whose eyes lit up with interest as she saw me approach. "Well!" she said loudly. "The savior comes!" She lifted a bright yellow drink to her lips; from the state of the glass, it was clear the hostess had been talking about her.

"Hi everybody," I said modestly, holding out the wallet like a membership card.

"Hey!" My wife shot to her feet and gave me a big hug. "Thanks so much; I know this is a pain in the ass for you." We kissed, to a whooping cheer from Gina. "Let me show you around. Here's Amy and Shannon; you met Shannon at the Christmas party last year, but Amy's new." Shannon, a stunning history teacher who obviously worked out, nodded gravely at me; Amy was a chubby young nonentity. "And this is Lucas, our token male."

"A nod to gender diversity." Lucas reached up to shake my hand. I'd heard stories about this poor sap; as the only man working in their part of the building, he took a great deal of ribbing. At the moment, he looked like he needed some of what Gina was having.

She sat there in another scoop-neck top, this one in bright green; her bony chest led down to her solar plexus. Her brown hair was done up into two braids, each about 8 inches long. "Hey Andy," she said with a wry smile at me. Her eyes flickered up and down, lingering briefly on my junk. "Got a haircut recently?"

"Not recently, Gina."

"Huh," she said, her smile turning steadily more wicked. "You look like you could use a trim."

"I'll remember. Nice braids, Gina," I said, smiling back. Without even trying, I remembered every feature of the woman's vagina. I knew she knew it.

"Oh, these?" She took a sip of her drink and tossed her head. "These are my reins."

"Your what?" I was certain I'd misheard.

"My reins. R-E-I-N-S. Gives 'em something to hang onto while they're riding!" She cackled then, slapping the table, while next to her Amy put her hand over her mouth.

"That's disgusting, Gina!" My wife was smiling, though. Lucas just looked mournfully at me, hoping for rescue, but I could do nothing for him. "You fat slut. Oh wait! You're not fat."

"No indeed," Gina murmured, a twinkle in her eye; it was a joke they told often. She was still eyeing me brazenly, and I wondered vaguely how long it would be before my wife realized it. Lucas certainly did; he was looking with some shock at Gina. "Going to join us for din-din, Andy? You can squeeze in right next to me over here, if you want." She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

"Hell no," I shook my head, glancing around at the others. "Got kids to pick up. We can't all sit around and get wasted on fruity beverages all day." She grinned slowly.

"It's just a fuzzy navel," she said quietly. She stared straight into my eyes now, knowing just what I was thinking: that I'd seen her navel, and that it had no fuzz at all. She confirmed this a few seconds later. "The drink is only kind I ever have," she added with a wink.

"Nasty hoe," my wife laughed again, and this time Shannon pursed her lips and glanced around the restaurant. I decided the time had come.

"I'll be off. You ladies have fun with poor Lucas," I said, giving him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "But not too much fun."

There was general laughter. "Gina will be having his baby shortly," Shannon said dryly, and with a definite sense of disapproval. My wife had said she was dating some kind of oil-rig worker. Lucas flushed.