Inevitable

Those of you who, like me, have illustrious mates, whether they are famous (or infamous) locally, state-wide, or nationally, know what it's like to be "the spouse." My wife Cassandra is a well-known local politician so we end up attending all sorts of events and functions, many of which she is recognized at. I'm a simple businessman (although I own my own company and do quite well financially, thank you) and don't really enjoy the limelight, but Cassandra insists that I attend at least ¾ of the occasions with her.

Cassandra is a true extrovert and is flits around talking to almost everyone at every event – how she can know so many people and remember their names and something about them is beyond me – while I'm an ambivert, and one who disdains vacuous conversation.

What I primarily do at most of the events that I attend with Cassandra is appreciate the female guests. There are always many different types. Some of the most notable are: young, plump and charming; blonde with recent breast enlargement; thin and middle aged with passable face lift; old and classy; provocatively dressed to impress; showing lots of leg to de-emphasize deficiencies in face or chest; conspicuously bored; just pure hot; and plain but cheery. I can find something to appreciate about just about any woman – except those both old and obese.

While at the start of this tale I had a rich fantasy life when appreciating the women eventers (is that a real word?), I was almost boringly faithful. While at 45 and 6 feet 5 inches tall I was still at my college basketball playing weight of 215, my hair was still essentially all blond (any gray fit right in and is imperceptible), and I got more than my share of attention from females. However, I rarely even flirted and certainly never to extremes, and was skillful at deflecting drunken females who came on to me.

A Wednesday night in May found me at an almost typical event that I attended as "the spouse." Since the weather was beautiful the women had less clothing on than usual, there were a higher percentage of good looking ones than normal, and it was outside in a truly beautiful verdant setting, so the evening was enjoyable. Then I saw her and it moved from enjoyable to scary; she was a brunette who looked to be in her early forties with a smooth natural complexion.

She wasn't the most beautiful woman that I'd ever seen, and certainly wouldn't win a beauty pageant.

She wasn't particularly provocatively dressed, although her clothing was in excellent taste and highlighted her best features.

She didn't have a DD rack.

She wasn't tall (probably 5 foot three) even though I like tall women (Casandra is 5'10").

She didn't have a big ass (I love slim women with big butts).

What I could see of her legs, however (which included some thigh) looked as nice as any I had ever seen, anywhere.

Even more significantly, what she had was a way that she carried herself, smiled, chuckled, and sipped her red wine, that made her as sultry as a tropical breeze on a cold winter day. She naturally just seemed to flip her hair, purse or lick her lips, hold her hands, drink her wine, and move her shoulders, in a stimulating manner. Those sensual actions were nothing, however, compared to her walk – which absolutely mesmerized me. As she strolled, more than walked, her head was up, her shoulders back, and she lead with her boobs (while not double Ds, ample). Her arms swung loosely back and forth while her hips swiveled from side-to-side with her weight more in her heels than on the balls of her feet.

As I watched her move from place to place I didn't even notice my cock getting hard until she moved out of sight behind a veranda pillar, when suddenly I felt it twitch. I had a full blown erection, a first for me at one of these events. I calmed myself down by looking at plain, overdressed, or frumpy women, and cautioned myself not to try and find her and ogle her some more. "I really don't want my wife, or even a friend or acquaintance, suddenly catching me with a stiffy; way too embarrassing," I admonished myself.

About fifteen minutes after my boner had deflated, I was on an uneven brick patio standing still but looking at the swimming pool off to my left instead of ahead of me – despite my caution to myself probably instinctively looking for Ms. Walking Wet-Dream – when I was run into and felt a liquid soaking my chest.

"Oh, I'm so sorry; I tripped on a raised brick, and I've soaked your shirt," a distinctively female voice rang out.

I was perturbed by my unexpected shower until I looked down and saw who the culprit was – Ms. Sex-On-Wheels!

"I...I...don't think that it's too bad," I stuttered as she tried to soak up the red wine that drenched my shirt with a cloth napkin.

"I don't know if I can get much off," she stammered herself as she continued to move the napkin over my chest.

"Well at least if I had to get an unanticipated bath it was from the sexiest woman here," I chortled.

She stopped trying to remove wine from my shirt – although her hand remained in place on my chest – and gazed directly into my eyes with a look that was hard to read. Suddenly I was embarrassed by my declaration.

"I'm really sorry..." I choked out, "sometimes the filter between my brain and mouth doesn't function well."

She got a big smile on her face and said, still staring into my eyes, "I'm more worried about the filter between your eyes and brain not working," she laughed. "I didn't splash wine onto your corneas did I?"

I guess my filter was still malfunctioning because I continued even though by now I had time to think. "Actually my eyes are working just fine. If you don't think that you're the sexiest woman here either it's you who needs corrective lenses or you don't have a realistic self-awareness."

"Oh really..." she chuckled. As she continued to rub her napkin on my chest she glanced around. I should have jokingly told her "I'll give you a half hour to stop that body contact" but somehow I didn't have the nerve after the "sexiest woman" comment and follow-up.

"What about that young women to your left with the short red dress," she cackled as she nodded her head toward her right.

"She's certainly pretty but doesn't hold a candle to you in the sultry department," I deadpanned, staring down at her as her eyes flitted between looking at the red stain on my shirt, and my eyes, and then to her left.

"What about the women with the yellow pashmina and the Double D boobs to your right?"

"Some guys might find her great, but to me you're twice as sexy."

"I can't believe we're having this conversation," she chuckled as she continued her quest to eradicate wine from my shirt, "I think that you're just teasing me to get back at me for ruining your shirt, because I'm no Mrs. America."

"Maybe not, but you have naturally alluring mannerisms?"

"Like what?" she asked, finally removing the napkin from my chest and making intense eye contact.

"The way you flip your hair, purse and lick your lips, hold your arms, make eye contact during conversation, and walk – all sexy. I doubt that anyone taught you any of it; it seems to me that you're a natural.

"Have you been stalking me?" she laughed, putting her hands on her hips, even though one contained the wet napkin and the other her empty wine glass.

"Absolutely not," I chuckled, "I'm just a very observant guy who likes to look – but not touch or harass – classy women, that's all."

We both just stared at each other with sly smiles on our faces for a few seconds until she removed her hands from her hips. "OK, Stevie Wonder," she guffawed, obviously a reference to me supposedly being blind because I'm neither black nor musically gifted, "since I can't get the wine out how about me paying for your shirt to be cleaned and if it's hopeless get you a new one."

"I have a better idea; why don't you let me take you to lunch next week?" I replied.

"I'm happily married and not in an open relationship," she retorted holding up her left hand and extending her ring finger.

"Me too," I responded, holding up my left hand and extending my ring finger, "so we'll have a lot in common and something to talk about."

"Why would you want me to go to lunch with you if we're both happily married?" she verbally thrust.

"Because I want all of the regulars at the restaurant that I mostly frequent at lunch to think that I'm a real stud, and to be jealous of me," I parried.

She paused for a minute with a bemused smile then laughed "OK, but just because I feel that I should be kind to the visually handicapped. When and where?"

"Next Tuesday at Maxine's at 12:15; I'll have a reservation."

"What name will it be under?"

"Sorry, I never introduced myself – Rob Tipton," I said extending my hand.

"Cassandra's husband?" she asked, meeting my hand with hers.

"Yes," I replied as I took her small, soft, yet firm hand into mine; "and you are?"

"Gail Preston," she responded, and then giggled as I kissed her hand.

"Well, if you don't mind, Gail Preston, now I'm going to my car to get out of this uncomfortable garb and put my backup shirt on so that I don't get even more disapproving stares than normal. See you Tuesday; and please wear the same dress that you have on tonight; it's alluring."

"Maybe! Just Maybe! Bye," she snickered then waved as I turned and exited the patio. I didn't look back until I was a good fifty feet away, just in time to see her turn from apparently following me with her eyes to greet the guy I had previously seen her with and I'm sure was her husband.

I really did have a backup shirt in the trunk of my car; after I changed it I made a concerted effort NOT to look for Gail, but rather I found Cassandra, butted into her conversations for the next twenty minutes, and then we left.

"What's with the shirt?" Cassandra asked as we walked to my car. "I don't remember you wearing that one when we got here – it looks a little well-worn."

"Someone spilled wine on my shirt so I had to change to my backup in the trunk – I hope that the wine will come out at the cleaners."

"Who spilled it?"

"She told me that her name is Gail Preston; I never saw her before tonight, and we weren't talking when it happened – she just tripped on a brick on that uneven patio near the pool."

"I think that I recognize that name," Cassandra mused. Then she continued with "Was it red wine?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Let me see your soiled shirt," Cassandra said, so I opened the trunk and showed it to her.

"I think you should just wash it and then use it for a rag or for working in the yard," she snickered, "there's no saving it for party use."

*************

I had never been unfaithful to Cassandra ever since we became exclusive two years before we wed, or in the twenty one years since up to the time of the event where I met Gail Preston. In fact I hated cheaters. While I did appreciate women, and had a couple come on to me over the years that were hard to resist, I never seriously considered it. In addition to the plain immorality of cheating, I had a good life and three kids that I was trying to bring up right (18, 16, and 15 at the time), so it would be stupid because don't cheaters always get caught? So I was not thinking of having an affair with Gail.

Disturbingly, however, I was thinking of Gail, even if I had no plans for an affair. It bugged me that I couldn't understand why she was in and out of my mind for the next several days; it was more than that she was sexy. Just about the time that I wasn't preoccupied with her anymore, however, it was Tuesday.

I got to Maxine's about five after twelve, and was seated with a good view of the front door. I told the hostess what Gail looked like, and even if she didn't recognize Gail from my description (I didn't mention anything about her sex appeal) I hoped to see her when she entered.

About 12:17 – I wasn't checking my watch too often, was I? – I saw her come in. My opinion of her appeal was confirmed by essentially every pair of male eyes following her titillating sashay as she approached my table, wearing the same enthralling dress as at the event. I rose to greet her.

"Hi, Gail; thanks for coming," I gushed as I took her hand and kissed it.

"Such a gentleman – or cad, I'm not sure which yet," she chuckled once I released her fingers.

We had a very enjoyable ninety three minute (not that I was counting) lunch. We first went over the menu, then talked about the event where we met, what Gail and I did for our livings, our families, and current events. The conversation was never forced, always upbeat, and avoided any discussion of sexuality – with one exception.

All male eyes followed Gail again when she left the table to go to the washroom as I paid the bill. I met her outside Maxine's. "So, Gail, before we part, will you at least admit that the reaction of the male patrons of Maxine's confirmed my assessment of you, and that I'm not Stevie Wonder?"

"What...what do you mean?" she asked, surprisingly a little flustered.

"You didn't see very pair of male eyes following you as you walked in to the table, then to the restroom, and then back out here?"

"You're making it up, Rob – stop it," she said as she blushed and then playfully punched me in the arm.

"OK – but some day we're going to have to have a bet on it," I chuckled.

Then we mutually thanked each other, and she leaned in for a hug. The latter was unfortunate since my dick had a mind of its own and had predictably reacted to her presence. She had to have felt it, and the diabolical smile on her face confirmed it as it was now my turn to blush. After she fortunately declined my perfunctory offer to walk her to her car, I waved goodbye and said "I really hope to see you at another event," to which she cackled "Me too," I could swear staring at my crotch.

It took me most of the afternoon to calm down, during which time I vowed to keep my distance from Gail because my reaction to her was both atypical and disturbing. Within a week, I was no longer thinking about her – much.

**********

About three and a half weeks after our luncheon, on a Saturday night, I saw Gail again at another event, this one primarily inside since it was a hot day and air conditioning was necessary. While we glanced at each other quite often, we didn't approach one another until after the typical boring political speech that was the excuse for us assembling.

"Hi Rob, so nice to see you again," Gail gushed as she came up to me and gave me a side hug – for which I was very grateful since I was half-hard just from our furtive glances. "Have you ever met my husband Jackson?" she asked, turning to the guy at her side who I had suspected at the last event was her spouse."

"Hi Jackson," I said shaking his hand, "Rob Tipton; nice to meet you."

Just then Cassandra came up. "Hi – Gail and Jackson, isn't it?" she greeted them, extending her hand. We had a four way conversation for a few minutes before others came up and peeled first Cassandra and then Jackson away, leaving me "stuck" with Gail.

"You look great, Gail," I said, trying not to sound too forward.

"Still have that eye problem, huh?" she giggled. Then she surprised me with "Actually, I think that there more women here who would consider you sexy than men who would consider me sexy."

"I'd love to make a bet with you on that, but I'd be way beyond chagrinned to ask anyone here about that, either way," I smiled.

"OK, shy boy – then no more talk about appearances."

We chatted some more – I felt really weird talking with her especially when she did her sultry subtle touch of my arm or hand when making a point. I was sure that I was sweating profusely and that I was rock hard again, although I was afraid to look at my crotch, or conspicuously move toward a cool air vent. When it was obvious that things were winding down Gail – with another exciting light touch of her hand on mine – hit me with something else.

"Oh, by the way; I'll be in the same office building that you're in, on the sixth floor, Wednesday morning. Mind if I stop in to your office to say hi?"

"I'd be honored," I replied. "However, despite how honored I would be only if you let me take you to lunch again. This time at Burgomaster's."

"I've always wanted to try that place – but I'll probably be done with my business at 10:30 and don't want to bother you if..."

"Don't worry about that," I interrupted, "I'll just show you around.

"OK – it's a date," she chirped.

I didn't miss the likely duality of meaning of the word "date." "A date it is," I grinned as I kissed her hand again, she giggled, and then we separated to find our spouses.

After Cassandra and I left the event that Saturday night it was both pleasurable and disturbing.

It was pleasurable because as soon as we confirmed that our 15 and 16 year olds were in their rooms getting ready for bed – our daughter Brittany with a sleep over girlfriend – and that our 18 year old would likely not be back until the wee hours, we showered together for the first time in several years, I ravaged her body sucking on every part that I could, I brought her to two oral orgasms as she stuffed a towel in her mouth, and then I vigorously fucked her doggy, with a butt plug up her ass, to the point of delirium.

It was disturbing because as I was eating and fucking Cassandra I was thinking of Gail, and I'm sure that that was the reason that I ejaculated my largest load since I was a horny teenager into Cassandra's pussy!

***********

I tried to purge my mind of Gail before our meeting on Wednesday, but I found myself calling her cellphone every day for just a quick chat.

Searching the Internet while I was chatting with her one day I happened to come across an article on Yahoo that intrigued me. I quickly got off the phone and read it carefully.

Apparently, researchers at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill and SUNY Buffalo conducted a series of studies in 2015 and 2016 using hundreds of male and female undergrads as participants. While they evaluated a number of different personality traits or abilities that one sex found desirable in the other, they came to the unexpected conclusion that females found storytelling prowess in a guy more appealing than any other single personality trait or ability. Men, on the other hand, didn't seem to be fazed by a woman's ability to tell a good tale.

That study got me thinking – was I considered attractive to women because I could spin a good yarn? – because that was an ability that I had since I was a child. Was Gail's very positive reaction to me at our first lunch, and at the event on Saturday night, due in part to my stories, because she did seem to be smiling and appreciative throughout? I then consciously gathered in my mind stories, both from my personal history or news items, that I thought that she'd like. I guess that I couldn't fool myself that I wasn't trying to impress her.

Gail arrived at my office in smart business attire about 10:45 Wednesday morning. I took her on a tour of my firm, introducing her to all of the women and some of the – older – men. I told lots of stories. In return I got lots of laughs, chuckles, gasps, and her trademarked sexy subtle touches of my hand, from Gail.

I had reservations at Burgomaster's at noon. We got there a couple of minutes early, and were seated in a desirable, and private, location near a window but at the most remote portion of the restaurant. We had – at least as far as I was concerned and unless she was an expert faker, Gail too – a truly delightful time. However, our reactions to each other, my storytelling, and the somewhat sexual nature of some of my stories and our conversation – was more like a "date" luncheon than just two friends sharing a meal. After one story that was too provocative Gail said "Whew," and waved her hand in front of her face. Her other hand held mine under the table.