Escape From Comfort

“Kick it! Kick the ball, Merry!” I called out eagerly to my six year-old daughter on the soccer field. (“It’s a Pitch, Daddy!”)

Why we parents all yell at our kids during a soccer match is beyond me. None of them listen to any of us. I guess that it is just a coping mechanism so that we can pretend that these games where no one keeps score are entertaining.

Meredith did indeed kick the ball. Expertly. Right to a girl on the other team.

“For crying out loud, Merry! Not her!”

THAT Merry heard. She turned to me and scolded me at the top of her voice, “She’s my friend, Daddy!”

Sure enough, the friend kicked the ball right back to Merry. Merry went to kick the ball back again, but this kick was more like her usual skill level and the ball careened off toward the rest of the players. Every kid on the field, including one goalie, chased after it.

Beside me, my friend Peter was laughing hard. He clapped me on the back, looked at me, then shook his head and laughed again. Peter’s daughter was on Merry’s team also. The mass of girls converged on the ball and it popped free randomly, rolling off toward the other team’s goal, the one whose goalie had left to chase after the ball with her buddies.

Peter’s daughter Felicity popped out of the mass of little girls first, chasing the ball as it rolled toward the goal. Now it was Peter’s turn to scream head off. “Run, Felicity! Run!” She caught up to the ball as it slowed before the net, other girls chasing madly behind her. “Shoot it! Shoot it now!” screamed Peter.

It was Felicity’s turn to grow ears. She turned and looked for Peter in the crowd. “What do you say, Pop?”

The rest of the mass of muddy little girls surged around the ball and play went on.

I looked at Peter with a shit-eating grin. We raised our cans of Coke and clicked them together. The game continued interminably.

Directly in front of us stood our wives, right at the spectator’s line, cheering everything good-naturedly. Both were much more earnest and focused on this titanic athletic contest than we were. Meanwhile, with our daughter’s moments in the spotlight with the ball fading into the distant past of three minutes ago, Peter and I both got bored again.

Peter cleared his throat and took two steps backward. I raised an eyebrow but slid back beside him. “What don’t you want the women to hear?” I asked curiously.

“Nothing,” said Peter casually. “I just think the vista is better from here,” he added with a sweeping gesture of the field that ended with an indication of the women.

“I get your point,” I said calmly, my eyes resting on my wife’s shapely, jeans-clad backside. Of course, it was hard not to let my eyes slide to the right and take in Peter’s wife’s smaller but equally enticing tush. We clinked Cokes again wordlessly, and I reflected that Peter had just as good a view of my lady’s ass as I had of his.

C’est la vie. We were lucky men.

“So, I was thinking,” said Peter. “Why don’t you and Sara come over for dinner Friday at our place? Could you get a sitter?”

“That would be great,” I replied. It would be more than great, actually. Erika and I had just moved to town a few months ago, and aside from her parents, we didn’t know many people. In our early thirties, we were discovering it was harder to make new friends than when we were younger. I went on, “I don’t think we have plans, and it would be nice to actually get to know you guys and have a conversation without being interrupted constantly by watching the hellions run around like crazy people.”

“Let’s run it by the actual decision makers,” said Peter and we stepped back up behind our wives. Peter wrapped his arms around Sara and I rested my hands on Erika’s sleek shoulders. “Ladies,” asked Peter, “I was hoping Erika and George could have dinner at our place Friday. How about it?

Erika asked, “Should we bring Merry?”

“I thought we’d fob Felicity off on Ma for the night,” replied Peter. “Could you get a sitter on this late notice?”

Erika laughed. “Mom and Dad are always on about having Merry stay over. If George and I play our cards tight, they might take her for the whole weekend.”

“Oooh!” teased Sara. “George and Erika alone for the weekend. Gonna do some hot, hot shopping at COSTCO?”

“Maybe, if we get REAL wild,” snickered Erika, “George will take me to Target, too!”

“So we are on for Friday? 7:00?” said Peter firmly.

It was a date.

Friday afternoon, Peter called my cell. “Hey George! I just wanted to say, we will probably pretty much hang out in the back yard tonight, and with as hot as it it, you and Erika should dress casually. Sara and I will just be in shorts and t-shirts.”

“Thanks,” I replied. “I’d been dreading the inevitable conversation where Erika demands that I tell her what was appropriate to wear. Like I’m supposed to know any better than her when we accept an invitation!”

“We have that same convo, man. All the damned time. That’s why I called. Just trying to help a buddy out!” We laughed and hung up.

I dropped off Merry at her grandparents’ early on Friday. We tended to avoid having Erika do the drop off because all the hugs, the ‘I’ll miss you’s, and the ‘just one more story’s took forever. And that was just from Erika’s mom. Merry was pretty clingy with her Erika as well.

When I got back, my wife was in our bathroom getting ready. She was out of the shower and doing her makeup in her underwear when I came in. I sighed. In part, I sighed because my wife is beautiful. Not just beautiful through the eyes of the man that loves her, but beautiful as in objectively freaking hot. She was a college cheerleader when we met my senior and her junior year in college, and eleven years have failed to make much of a dent in the overall package. Her legs are sleek, and their curves perfectly match her aforementioned scenic ass. Her waist remains slender and while her belly might not be the convex wonder it was in college, she had worked crazy hard to restore its flat perfection after the baby.

But my sigh was also in part due to her underwear. She was wearing a simple pair of flesh-toned beige panties that were cut low at the hips, with an equally plain beige bra. There had been a time when, if we were going out for the evening, Erika would have always sported some sexy, even racy, bra and panty set or even a teddy, in black or a bright color. And she never would have let me see what she had on before, you know, I’d worked for it.

But ten years of marriage and a child had transformed the spark our marriage to a warm, nurturing ember. We still loved each other deeply, don’t get me wrong, but our relationship that had once been about adventure together had morphed almost without our knowledge into companionable comfort. It is hard to preserve much mystery in a relationship when you both know each other well enough to talk without using words.

I stepped into the closet and slipped on a pair of loose-fitting khaki shorts. I chose them because, well, Sara is almost as hot as my wife, and I’d never seen her in shorts before. The prospect of that had crossed my mind several times since Peter had warned me about the dress code and I thought better baggy shorts than sorry. I then rifled through the collection of Polo shirts in different colors that form the core of my casual wardrobe. I grabbed the green one and came out, pulling it over my head.

“No,” said Erika firmly, looking at me in the mirror.

“What? I like this one.”

“No,” she repeated. “The collar on that one is getting frayed. Don’t you see it? Drop it in the gardening clothes basket and we’ll buy you a new green one next time go to the mall. Wear the fuchsia one.”

“Really? The pink one?” I asked, obediently tossing the green shirt into the gardening clothes basket, never to be worn in polite society again.

“It is fuchsia, not pink. And you look sexy in it,” said Erika. “And I want Sara to see how sexy my man is,” she smiled sweetly at me.

“Well, thank you,” I chuckled. “I hope you are wearing the tight blue shorts, rather than the soft white ones. I want Peter to know my wife’s ass is better even than his wife’s.”

“Oh ho! Are you saying that Sara has a nice ass?” she teased.

“Um….”

Erika laughed and finally shooed me out of the bathroom. She came out a few minutes later.

She was wearing the blue shorts.

We walked the couple of blocks over to Peter and Sara’s house. It was a little hot for comfortable travel by foot, but it was nice to walk together without Merry trying to hurl herself in front of traffic all the time. Besides, this way we would not have to worry about driving home if we ended up drinking too much.

I rang the bell and Sara answered the door, Peter right behind her. Whoa. Sara was wearing a rather spectacular pair of cut-off jeans, or at least they were spectacular on her. They were low-waisted, but her own flat stomach left a considerable gap running around her between the waistband and her body. The legs were several comparatively modest inches long, but her legs were so elfin that they too moved loosely free. The only place the shorts were tight enough for them to keep from falling off was around her hips and across her nice, pert ass. The old, faded, Aerosmith concert shirt she wore was casually, disappointingly loose, but it was cropped just enough at the bottom to leave an inch of delectable belly showing above her shorts.

“Come on in,” she said, backing up into the house. As Peter stepped forward to shake my hand, I sensed Erika behind me take her turn to pause. Peter was wearing loose, knee-length gray cargo shorts, but the pause had to be for the shirt. It was a white cotton, button-down, short-sleeved camp shirt that looked about a size too small. At least the arms and shoulders were too small. It was unbuttoned halfway down, giving a broad view of a waxed smooth chest. ‘Jesus, he waxes his chest?’ I thought with a sudden competitive twang.

Erika and Sara shared a quick hug and I offered the bag I held to Peter. “Thanks for inviting us. I brought a bottle.”

Peter slid the bottle of Whistle Pig out of the bag and whistled in turn. “This is better than anything I have in the house right now. Can I pour you a glass of your own offering?”

“Please,” I said happily.

“I’ll take one too,” put in Erika. I looked at her. She had mostly been drinking wine lately. She shrugged and smiled at me playfully. Her look told me that since Peter and Sara were still new friends, she was ready to roll with their groove a little. She was also nervous about making new friends, just like me.

“Four glasses it is,” declared Peter, not asking Sara. I followed him into the kitchen while the wives discussed the house. Peter pulled four huge ice cubes from a bag in the freezer, four large square glasses from the cabinet, and then proved himself to be a heavy pourer, filling each glass full.

“Whoa, man! Don’t try to empty the bottle in one round!” I laughed.

“It’s been a long week at work,” grumped Peter.

“Hey, that soccer game was a long week all by itself,” I prodded good-naturedly.

Peter smiled, “Yeah, that too. Drink up!” We carried the glasses in to the women.

“Peter Estherhazy, you are trying to get me drunk!” exclaimed Sara upon being handed the glass.”

“Of course! If you dress like that, a man’s got to do what a man’s got to do!” replied Peter, kissing her briefly on the side of her neck.

Erika and I exchanged glances. “They flirt like newlyweds,” whispered Erika.

“I know. And I think they’ve been married as long as we have,” I whispered back.

We shared another look, half sheepish, half jealous. Erika broke the mood by standing on tiptoe and kissing me just a hair longer than was really proper in the present circumstances. “So,” she asked brightly to Peter and Sara who had been looking at us in turn, “what’s the plan?

This time is was Peter and Sara’s turn to look at each other and smile. But Peter just swept his hand toward the back of the house. “We thought, heat wave or no, it was time for some good steaks on the grill.”

At their invitation, we ditched our shoes and we followed Peter and Sara out to their back yard, which turned out to be much smaller than ours and hemmed around by one of those high privacy fences. It did have a nice pool shoe-horned in that kept the whole yard cooler than it might have otherwise been.

Peter and I did the Man-Fire-Food-Talk act while Sara and Erika split their time between hanging out by the pool and working in the kitchen, finishing up Sara’s baked potatoes and broccoli casserole. We all sat and enjoyed a truly excellent meal, our giant drinks, and then got to work on a second round of giant drinks. In fact, the second round was even bigger. The ice cubes had melted down a good bit, so there was more room for whiskey in each glass. When pouring for Erika, Peter told her merrily to just say when. Erika just smiled up at him, whiskey still pouring until the glass was full. “That’s a dangerous game,” said Peter, who stopped just before the delicious brown liquor reached the rim of her glass. “If this was a bottle of Jack, I’d have just kept pouring until it overflowed and you had whiskey all over you!”

“Chicken!” taunted Erika, sounding for a moment like her college self.

As the sun set fully, the ladies gathered up the plates while Peter and I sat and talked companionably. The wives returned fairly quickly and I surmised that the plates has simply been removed, scraped, and stacked. Washing them was apparently going to be left to Peter, and perhaps me, later.

“So you’ve never had a pool?” asked Sara as they re-emerged. “You should put one in, they are amazing.”

“I don’t know,” replied Erika. “Don’t you worry about Felicity all the time?”

“She was a handful when she was just learning to move around on her own, wasn’t she Peter?” Sara said, raising her voice to momentarily include us in the conversation before she turned her back to us again. I didn’t mind. At least not the part where Sara turned her backside to us. “But she now understands that the pool rules are hard and fast, like roads and hot ovens.”

“Maintenance seems like a chore.”

“That is what men are for! Besides, an after dinner dip is the best. Want to try?”

“It does look good, but you should have told us to bring suits!” laughed Erika, “And I’m afraid a suit of yours would not fit me.”

“Ha! I wish they would,” replied Sara, giving her sweet retort an edge that was just a bit envious, and a little bit raunchy. “But I wan’t thinking of wearing suits.”

“Sara!” gasped Erika. She stared wide-eyed at Peter’s wife, then flashed a significant glance at us, blushing the whole time so deeply that I could see it in the dusk.

Sara calmly looked both of us over, then held Erika’s gaze again. “Because they are here? They ARE our husbands, you know. We’ll just reap the rewards of their gratitude later.”

Erika stared at Sara for a moment, then took a big gulp of pure whiskey, set down her glass and whipped off her blouse! She then turned away from Peter and me and slipped off her bra as well. She seemed to be stripping as quickly as possible so that she could run and hide in the water. Still turned away, she undid her fly and pulled both shorts and panties off as one. With a shriek, she turned and leapt into the deepest part of the pool, popping up in water up to her neck.

My eyes snapped back to Sara, whose shirt was long gone and who had apparently not been wearing a bra to begin with. Her breasts were so damned pert, and at just barely less than half the size of Erika’s, were still damned tasty-looking. She pulled her shorts and a minuscule red thong down as one, just like Erika, and strode smoothly but wonderfully slowly to the pool’s edge and slipped in after my wife. She surfaced in much shallower water, her nipples barely hidden beneath the surface.

“So,” I said with outward calm barely concealing inward raging turmoil, “that just happened.”

“Yeah,” said Peter, sounding more relaxed, less surprised, but just as appreciative, “that just happened.”

And just like that, our conversations resumed as if nothing had transpired. The girls kept on about the benefits of the pool, Erika sounding much more on board, and Peter and I kept on chatting. I don’t remember what he and I were talking about, as I was concentrating pretty hard on the naked women bobbing around in the pool in front of us.

But then Peter, just in the normal course of conversation, observed, “That is a really spectacular pair Erika has. How did the conversation go about getting them done?”

I thankfully had not just had a sip, or I’d have choked on it. I checked the reality warping field around me again. Yep, my friend had just asked me about my wife’s boob job while said wife was buck naked in said friend’s pool, cavorting with said friend’s also buck naked wife while trying to keep the aforementioned boob job below the surface of the water. Checked out. Just another day in suburbia.

Peter filled the pause in the air as I remained silent. “I’m just asking because I sometimes think Sara might be interested in enhancements herself. I think, especially right now, that I would be on board with the idea… But I’d like to know how to navigate that conversation without being fed my balls….”

I thought back in a flash. Breast-feeding then weaning Meredith, along with a ruthless commitment to losing her baby fat, had left Erikas ‘girls’ in what she felt was a sorry, diminished state. For my part, I thought they were still lovely (if slightly diminished) and made an effort to ensure I demonstrated my continued admiration regularly. But Erika kept moping about them and I’ll admit I lost patience eventually with her lack of self-confidence. One evening, after half a glass too much rum, Erika saw a particularly nice pair of tits being featured on the TV show we were watching, and went into her mopey, self-pitying routine.

“Listen,” I had grumbled, “I’ve got a bonus check in our account that we can’t spend on a vacation this year. Use it get get yourself the pair you want. Hell, use it to get THAT pair,” I said pointing to the screen where the catalyst for the conversation was currently bobbing.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” she exclaimed, slapping me on the arm, but with surprisingly little heat in her anger. The show moved on from the bobbling tits, and so did our conversation. I forgot about the whole thing. Too much rum, remember?

Two days later, I came into the living room to find Erika watching Merry watch Baby Einsteins and reading her iPad. She looked up at me seriously, and flushed a little as she blurted, “I’ve been thinking about what you said about your bonus check. She turned around her iPad to show me a lovely woman pictured on a medical practice website. “I just booked an appointment to see what they can do to restore my girls. Want to come along?”

Did I want to come along? That’s like asking a guy did he want to go shopping for Ferraris, except it was for tits. Who could say no? Who could think no?

“Sure, I guess,” I said slowly. “When?”

We met with the doctor three days later. Each day in between I was mildly surprised that Erika did not back out. I also had to admit to myself that I was more excited each day when she didn’t. That was how I found myself in a well-lit doctor’s office, with the man examining my wife’s naked chest and showing her a book of breasts. After fairly brief deliberation, Erika settled on a modest 200cc implant that would get her back to her original, perky, buoyant, small C-cups. I was largely ignored throughout the process. The doctor seemed content with our thinking, and left to do paperwork and to let us talk it over. After he left, however, one of his nurses, a pretty woman a little older than us in dark blue scrubs came in. She did some additional diagnostics on Erika and chatted about what she was thinking. Erika told her her tentative decision and I actually saw the nurse frown a little. She picked up the chart and looked it over.

“That will barely get you up to a C-cup, you know,” she told Erika. Erika agreed, as that was largely where she had started. The nurse made ticking sound in her mouth, temporizing. Then she said, “The doctor doesn’t like to say this, because it ultimately makes more money for the practice, but, um… the number one regret we see from patients, and we don’t get many regrets, comes from women who got a modest enhancement and realize afterward that they could have gone for more. A lot of them feel strongly enough about it that they come back for a second procedure.”

Erika laughed, then asked, “Really?”

The nurse looked at her, then tossed a quick glance over her shoulder at me, “Honey, in your case, we are taking about 100% elective cosmetic surgery, or in coarser terms, you are here to pay big bucks for big tits. Why spend thousands on ‘enhancements’ that just get you back to where you started?”

“I don’t want to look silly…” said Erika quietly.

The nurse cleared her throat, deliberately moved between us so her back was squarely facing me and lifted her scrubs top up. “Do these look ridiculous to you?”

Erika stared. “No,” she breathed quietly. Then her voice sharpened. “You can go around with those and not wear a bra?”

“Ha! Now you are asking practical questions! Honestly, I usually wear one, except at work or on a date. It is just a bit more comfortable. Here I don’t wear one, well, because women sometimes like to see the doctor’s work beyond that sample picture book he loves so much. Go to 400 or 500ccs, and this is about what you’d get. Go on. Feel them a little. They don’t look OR feel silly, do they?”

Erika touched the woman’s chest softly. “Wow,” she breathed, avarice suddenly in her eyes.

“I feel left out of this decision making process,” I observed drily.

The nurse just shot my a playfully repressive look over her shoulder, and pointedly did not offer to let me evaluate things. Erika snorted and lifted one hand from the nurse’s ‘exhibits’ to flip me a cheerful bird.

She went with the 400cc job.

I recounted a rather dry version of the story to Peter, who asked a question of two that seemed quite clinical and tame. I thought he was about to get to the ‘how do they feel?’ questions that guys always want to ask. Guys never actually do ask, but I always half-dread, half-anticipate they will. I think Peter really was going to start asking impertinent (but highly pertinent) questions when he was interrupted.

“Peter, dear,” called Sara, stepping around to face us and incidentally moving so that her nipples broke the surface of the water, “I’m thirsty. Can you get us some acrylic glasses so Erika and I can drink in the pool?”

Peter excused himself and sauntered into the kitchen, returning with four heavy plastic tumblers. He poured the women’s drinks into the tumblers and walked over to the pool’s edge. Kneeling down he handed the glasses in. I noticed that he had approached the pool nearer to the shallow end so Erika had to come into the shallower water to get hers. Bastard even held the glasses fairly high so both women had to reach way up to get their drinks.

Peter turned and wandered back to me, where he transferred our drinks to the plastic tumblers as well.

“Thought better of using glass poolside?” I asked, taking my whiskey back.

“No, I figured we’d get in too,” chuckled Peter, unbuttoning his shirt. I saw both women watching suddenly intently as the shirt came off. Peter might be shorter than me but he did put on quite the gun show. A completely polished and waxed gun show. He started unbuckling his shorts and asked me, “Coming?”

“Uh, maybe in a few minutes,” I temporized.

“Ha! Got a hard on?” laughed Peter. “Come, it’s not like they don’t realize they are smoking hot.” With that, he shoved his pants down to reveal that he did indeed think they were hot. He turned, grabbed his glass and hopped lightly into the pool.

His waxing extended way down below his torso.

A naked dude with a pubeless hard-on just called my wife smoking hot. I was trying to process that when I looked up to see Peter in the pool between Sara and Erika with his arms on both their shoulders. “Coming in?” he called. Erika didn’t even look too weirded out by the naked guy draping his arm around her. His hand would probably have been dangling on her breast if it hadn’t been holding the glass. She did look a little scandalized, but mostly she looked like she was challenging me to freak out as much as she had.

Yep, reality-warping field still in place.

Every basic instinct, every habit, screamed at me to sit right there and hide my erection from public view, but I also immediately realized that being the only clothed person in a group of naked folk was very nearly as embarrassing as being the only naked one in a room full of fully dressed people probably was.

Screw it. I stood and pulled off the pink, fuchsia, shirt. I might not be as jacked at Peter, I thought as I undid my fly. But I was taller.

Longer, too.

I took a deep breath and tugged my shorts and underwear down. I didn’t bother to try to be modest about it either. I faced right at Erika and our friends. If I was going to do it, I would follow Peter’s lead. I figured that brazen would be less embarrassing and less attention-grabbing than silly covering up. My dong bounced free and waved around as I dropped my pants. I picked up my drink and casually as I could, walked over to the pool. Inside, I was on fire with nervousness. What the fuck was I doing? What were we ALL doing? I sat down the edge and slipped into the water. Brazen might have felt better than rushing while holding a hand over my junk, but I was still very much the center of the undivided attention of everyone while I approached the pool.

It was cool, almost cold, but alas, the temperature did not shock my erection away when I slid into the water. That condition was apparently not abating anytime soon, not with Erika and Sara standing naked in front of me. At least my cock was nominally out of sight once I was fully in the pool. Nominally. The pool had good underwater lighting and the evening was getting darker all the time. The water might have distorted what you could see within it, but it hid it less and less as night kept falling.

I walked through the chest high water to the other three. Without anyone saying anything about it, we fell into a sort of square, with each of us at a corner. Peter and I faced each other, with the women to our sides, facing each other as well. Erika was at the deepest corner of our formation, leaving her breasts almost entirely submerged. I was fine with that, as that meant my cock was pretty deep underwater also. Sara was on the shallowest corner of our little setup. I was cool with that too, as her tits were almost breaking free of the surface.

And we just fell back into the conversation from earlier in the evening, chatting away about kids, jobs, Netflix, and other stuff, and sipping on our whiskey. It boggled my mind. We were all acting as if we were not naked as the day we were born and standing in a pool with other grown-ass adults.

At least we were acting that way on the surface. There was an undercurrent of… something. Laughter at jokes came quicker and was louder than it had been before, but any obvious openings for a dirty joke or double-entendre were always ignored. Our kids had always been the number one subject of discussion among the four of us, but as this night went on, the subject of the girls drifted into the background.

At one point, Erika and I exchanged a glance. Her eyes widened at me and her smile got a little wild. I rolled my eyes back at her in agreement.

It is pretty unnatural to stand around in a group and not move a bit, especially in cool pool water. Our group therefor drifted a bit as time went on, but we always kept the same formation and spacing, about four feet apart–well outside of what any of us would have considered Personal Space. Then I noticed, again without any apparent leadership from anyone, that we were drifting into the shallower end of the pool. The big give away that it was happening was the way Sara’s tasty, pert nipples were now well above the water. In fact, her entire tits were hanging beautifully above the surface.

Peter was eyeing his wife’s chest. Erika was staring at those breasts as well. Once I became consciously aware at how exposed they were, I desperately tried to stare at anything else. Erika caught my eyes wandering everywhere but in Sara’s direction, and she laughed silently at me. Her look at me said, ‘Can you believe this shit?’

My replying glance told her, ‘It’s crazy!’

Erika’s gaze drifted back to Sara’s chest bobbing on the surface and I realized two things. First, Erika was having to bend her knees slightly to keep her own nipples from breaking the surface where she stood. Second, she was staring at Sara’s breasts with something that looked like jealousy. That second impression was lunacy. Sara has delicious, pert, shapely, and enticingly nippled breasts, but my wife had zero reason to be jealous them. Zero.

Unless it was because those breasts of Sara’s were exposed above the water for Peter… and for ME… to see, and hers were not.

As if I had read her mind, and without missing a beat in the story she was telling, Erika flashed a quick, cryptic look at me. Then she straightened her legs and drifted forward. The rest of us naturally moved shallower in concert with her, keeping our tacitly agreed upon formation. By the time she had finished what she was talking about, don’t ask me what the hell it was, her breasts were almost entirely out of the water. God, they looked awesome.

Then it hit me, the whole time Erika was casually revealing herself, her eyes weren’t on me, and they weren’t on Sara. They were fixed on Peter. I looked at him, and he was not so reluctant to stare at unfamiliar mammaries as I was. ‘Ha!’ I though at Peter boastfully in my head. ‘Suck on those puppies!’ I paused. ‘Or don’t… or… um…’ I had never known it was possible to become tongue-tied in an inner monologue.

As she finished her story, Erika flushed a little, and I could tell it was in response to Pater’s gaze. Fuck this. I was going give my eyes their fill of Sara’s body. In addition to her ripe breasts, Sara was almost elfinly slender. Her shoulders were straight and her skin stretched tautly over her collar bones beneath her long neck. She in no way looked skinny or bony, but you could barely make out the contours of the bottom of her rib cage. Erika’s progress toward the shallow end had brought Sara out of the water almost to her enticing navel and I could see her stomach was amazingly flat. She certainly had no six-pack, but you could clearly see the vertical dividing line in her abdominals.

Sara went on to tell a story of her own next, but her own story reminded her of something and she turned to Peter to make an aside about their car problems. My eyes left her and I looked at Erika. She was smiling broadly, but I though little nervously. Her expression read to me as, ‘Whoa! THIS is new.’

For a moment, I didn’t understand what new ‘this’ she was thinking about. It clearly wasn’t her own exposure, she’d been gloriously free of the water for a while now. That’s when I realized that while I was checking out Sara’s carriage, our little square had become slightly rectangular instead. Peter was now a small but perceptible step closer to my wife than he was to his. And Sara had closed the same distance with me.

Erika’s face was outwardly calm, but I could see the confusion in it… and the excitement! She looked at me again. ‘Is this actually happening?’ her gaze said to me.

‘I guess it is. Whatever THIS is,’ I shrugged back in nervous response. We looked at each other eyes, almost scared of each other. Sara and Peter finished negotiating over who got the loaner when the car went in to service, and our conversation resumed. By mutual but silent consent Erika and I each heaved a gulp of air and slid another small step closer to Peter and Sara respectively.

The moment we made that small, accepting step, the atmosphere altered palpably. The conversation was still banal, but the feeling was now electric. I had thought that Sara’s nipples had been hard already, but in moments after I moved that little bit closer to her, they sprang to arresting levels of pertness. They were fantastically erect, and I thought I could probably hang my keyring from them. I glanced back at Erika and saw that her headlights too were on high-beam.

My erection had never gone away, but it was now intruding itself into my conscious thoughts much more forcefully. And I noticed that Peter was just like me: We both seemed at somewhat of a loss as to what to do with our hands in order to keep them occupied and away from fondling ourselves.

I gulped a breath and slid another step closer to Sara. She had decided to do the same thing, at the same time, and we both jumped at the sudden closure. It was the first formation change among the four of us that was obvious, not subtle, and we all laughed hysterically, but without actually mentioning why were were laughing. By the time we stopped laughing and resumed our discussion on how best to binge Stranger Things, Peter and Erika were right next to each other too.

And Sara and I found ourselves just little bit too far away from Erika and Peter for comfortable conversation. Neither group moved to close that suddenly uncomfortable gap.

But Erika and I could still use our ‘Marriage Radio’. I looked at her and smiled. She smiled back at me with nervous reassurance. I flicked my gaze toward Peter and raised an eyebrow at her with a tiny grin. She looked at him too, much longer than I had, and shrugged back at me with a naughty little smile. Then she looked at Sara momentarily and then back at me. I bit my lower lip cheekily.

We stared at each other. Then we each turned and began two separate conversations, each with the person we were standing near.

Peter and Sara picked up on our change in body language, and responded. In moments, Sara had turned in the pool to directly face me. In the next minute or two, we slid closer and closer until we were only inches away from each other. My cock’s hitherto unknown Naked Hot Babe Proximity Alert was screaming. I cast a glance into the water. My manhood could not have been floating more than an inch from her belly. I looked into her eyes, and she stared back into mine. Then she just barely licked her lips.

“Come on, George,” Sara said loudly enough to intrude on Peter and Erika’s discussion about the stars overhead, “Would you help me in the kitchen for a while?”

Peter just looked at his wife briefly and waved languidly with a smile. “Thanks hon! Have fun!”

Erika looked at me. It was quite dark now, but to me, her gaze was half asking me if she was okay and if I was okay, and half telling me to beat it. I smiled broadly and followed Sara, well, Sara’s ass, out of the pool. She paused by the towel bin they had and rubbed herself dry in a quick but outstanding show. Then she dropped the towel back on the rack and meandered inside, still naked. I copied her as fast as I could.

The living room was dark as we passed through it into the well-lit kitchen. Sara walked to the cleared-off island in the center of the room and turned around, leaning back against it. She looked at me with an expression that was half invitation and half hunger.

I found myself approaching her without thinking. My hands reached out to lightly caress her hips, then run up her flanks. Sara took my chin in her hands and kissed me as my hands reached her chest and took hold of her supple, responsive breasts. I teased her eager, outthrust nipples and her tongue probed the depths of my mouth.

Then her hands came up and cradled my balls, slowly starting to run up my cock and I jerked backward, suddenly confused. Thankfully, Sara did not seem insulted by my sudden backpedaling, nor even surprised. Instead, she just mirthfully asked, “Aren’t you enjoying yourself, George?”

I gulped and nodded frantically, like a six year-old. “I… Yes, very. But, I… It’s Erika. I’m not sure she… I’ve got to know if she’s really ready for this.”

Sara, just leaned forward and caressed my chin lightly. “Not jealous, are you?”

“Jealousy would be pretty stupid in a man standing in here with you like this,” I replied, more than a little surprised that I meant it. “I’m just worried that SHE might not be ready, or jealous, or whatever,” I went on, still confused.

“So, let’s go see, then,” said Sara simply, and she led me quietly back into the darkened living room. Once through the door, she gestured me to lead, and I crossed to where I could see Erika and Peter standing by the pool, definitely no longer looking at the stars. They were kissing… pretty energetically. Peter had one arm around her, massaging her soft, ripe ass, sliding up under it a little, in fact. His other hand was buried in one of my wife’s delicious tits.

Erika had one hand wrapped firmly around his cock and was sliding it up and down. Her other was stroking his smooth, muscular, hairless chest, and my own skin itched. I feared a waxing was in my future. I felt my cock throbbing even more urgently.

I felt a hand reaching around me and softly caress that pulsing member. “I’d say she has pretty much bought into the idea,” Sara murmured playfully. I turned to her and she led me much more firmly back toward the kitchen, this time using my cock like it was a leash. Once through the door, she let go of my manhood and kept walking. I pounced forward and lifted her swiftly into my arms. She giggled in surprise. I carried her over to the island and set her down on the edge.

I was determined to move past any lingering doubts about, well, all of this, so I found myself moving forcefully. I spread her knees and stepped between them, lowering my mouth to suckle, hard, on one of her fantastic, over-achieving nipples. Sara sighed and ran her hands over my back while I devoured her breasts.

When I came up for air, Sara kissed me again, deeply, then began to pull me up onto the countertop beside her. I eagerly cooperated and climbed up with her. I pressed her back into the middle of the expanse of cold granite and lay half atop her, my hands exploring between her legs gently. I moved my kisses down her long, elegant neck and licked gently at her nape.

Sara’s legs spread invitingly, and my fingers delved deep inside her. Her hands again caressed and tugged at my manhood in response. Suddenly she pushed me off of herself to my side. “Stay down,” she instructed quietly and pushed up on her knees. But not for long. She immediately laid back down alongside me once more, but this time she was facing the opposite way.

Lying her side, she clasped my cock gently and pointed it toward her mouth. I eagerly rolled fully on my side in response and she began to lick my glans softly, tormentingly. Her hand rubbed the base of my shaft as she did so.

Despite this incredible attention, I realized that I was still almost as much turned on by the image of Erika’s ass being firmly clasped by Peter, her eyes closed in pleasure at the way he was clearly worshiping her. Almost. The combination of Sara’s naked reality and intruding imagination about Erika in Peter’s embrace left me hotter than I could remember ever being.

I realized that Sara had positioned her crotch right before my own face and I leaned forward to begin to gently kiss the mere wisp of hair rising from between her legs. With him worshiping my wife such a turn-on for me all of a sudden, I felt I owed it to my good friend Peter to worship the hell out of his wife in turn.

Sara softly raised one thigh, resting her foot next to her lower knee. It gave me all the access I needed and I dove my face in-between her legs to lick eagerly. My lips bumped first across her swelling clitoris, then I found my tongue could easily penetrate her damp, swollen labia. I reached out a hand and grasped her small, firm, enticing ass, massaging it aggressively as I plunged my tongue inside her.

In other news, my cock was now well immersed in Sara’s mouth, and she was demonstrating significant skill in stimulating it. Her free hand had moved from stroking my shaft to cradling and caressing my sack. I groaned as best I could with my tongue buried in her folds.

Frankly, it was little embarrassing. This was fucking intense, but still, we had only been at it a few minutes and I was ready to come. I briefly paused my attack her slit and begged for mercy. “I’m sorry, Sara, but if you don’t ease off, I’m going to pop already!”

Sara chuckled around my cock in her mouth. She released me with a slurping sound and gasped, “You just please… keep up your good work down there! Remember, our kids are both sleeping over tonight. If you pop now in my accommodating mouth… well, we do have all night.” With those instructions, Sara went back to town on my cock as if determined to get me off in record time. I kept groaning in response and sucked gently, then firmly on her little, eager clit.

Sure enough, I could not hold myself back under the combined assaults of the weirdness of the whole situation, Sara’s expert, eager ministrations… and the image of Peter’s tongue in my wife’s mouth. I tried to shout a warning, but my mouth refused to leave her delicious, gyrating pussy. My feet kicked wildly as I felt pulse after pulse of my cum jetting into Sara’s mouth. She did choke little at the initial unheralded blast, but hummed happily as she kept her lips closed around my cock, sucking eagerly as I emptied myself. As my eruption faded, she rubbed eagerly up my cock, harvesting any slowpoke drips that might have lingered in my shaft. I eagerly plunged my tongue back into her pussy and rubbed softly at her clit with my thumb. That extra massage, and the what felt like an ocean of jizz I had just deposited in her mouth, seemed to do it for her as well.

Sara gasped in ecstasy, letting my cock pop out of her mouth as she desperately sought air to maintain mental function. I delved even deeper in her with my tongue, my face crushed against her sex. She kept rolling around on the counter top, unable to escape my assault and she nearly shrieked with the next round of orgasmic waves.

For an instant, I was alarmed that Peter and Erika might hear her.

Then I realized that I hoped to hell that they did! Here I was having a grand old time with another man’s wife, and part of me was trying to show off my prowess to my own.

I held onto Sara’s hip as she tried to roll away onto her back. I followed on top of her and kept tasting her. She shrieked again, and I knew they had to have heard us that time. I have no idea how many waves of ecstasy I made erupt within her before she desperately pounded the granite surface and breathed, “Uncle! Stop! Please!”

I rolled onto my back beside her, gasping for air and revealing in the aroma of her that was lathered across my face. Sara collapsed bonelessly on the granite beside me, her chest heaving prettily.

“Think they heard me?” she asked between gulps of air.

“I sure hope so!” I replied through a laugh of wonderment again at how that was, in absolute fact, true.

We lay there, side by side and transposed, on the granite counter top, letting ourselves recharge quietly.

“I need cheese,” Sara suddenly declared.

“Cheese?!?” I asked mildly incredulously. “Pardon me, but who craves post-orgasmic cheese?”

“I ALWAYS like cheese,” said Sara sweetly as she softly slid to her feet and opened the fridge. “I like cheese under all circumstances. And cutting some to serve up is a nice relaxing activity that will give my body time to stop shivering from what you just did you me and get ready to shiver from what you are going to do next!”

Oh, so there would be more?

Yes, please.

And the cheese did sound good, now that I thought about it. I sat up and watched the naked prep cook slice up a small variety of good-looking cheeses onto two wooden cheese boards. She added a bunch of grapes to each and a small pile of prosciutto.

She picked up one board and I realized that she hadn’t made one for me and one for her, but one for us and one for the two engaging in whatever skullduggery outside. “Let’s go see if they are ready for a snack, too,” Sara said brightly, as if she was simply continuing her normal hostessly duties.

I followed her and her deliberately swaying ass through the living room to the screen door leading out back. She stopped there abruptly and I bumped into her from behind. I regret nothing about that.

“Hey guys!” Sara called. “Anyone ready for a snack out there?”

“Hell yes!” sang out Peter from the darkness.

After a barely perceptible hesitation, Erika also called out a yes.

Sara looked at me with an expression that was a mashup of lust, reassurance, sympathy, amusement, curiosity, and lust, then pushed open the screen door.

We stepped out onto the patio and spied Erika curled up like a cat in Peter’s lap on one of their big, upholstered chaise sun loungers. Erika gets very cuddly after a good orgasm, and she was looking extraordinarily cuddly right at that moment.

I paused in my steps behind Sara. This guy had literally just fucked my wife, or some close approximation thereof, and here I was bringing him a goddamned charcuterie tray. I SHOULD have been jealous, and yet I was not. Instead, I was more than a little turned on by how cuddly Erika looked there with Peter’s hand clasping one gorgeous breast.

He was holding her tit right in front of both me and his own wife! And Erika seemed in no hurry to exit his embrace, either. The cheese really was an intermission, not the end credits. Why the hell was I not jealous? I mean besides my own animalistic desire to go back inside, eat some restorative meat and cheese, and engage in a shit ton of the ‘more’ that Sara had promised me? The fact was, I was happy for Erika. She was on a thrill ride, and I felt glad that she appeared to be loving it.

“I hope you guys have been okay without us,” I said easily, ambling up behind Sara, pressing myself against her. My still very wrung out cock twitched softly against the small of her back, as if murmuring it was okay, just give it a minute. I looked into Erika’s eyes, wanting to make sure I saw happiness.

I once more got that slightly wild-eyed, ‘this is crazy!’ smile from her. My smile answered in kind. It was all I needed. It was more than I needed, as my cock decided to start waking up again in earnest.

Feeling my manhood stirring against her spine, Sara smiled naughtily over her shoulder at me, then said, “I don’t think we are done in the kitchen actually, George. Do you mind?” she added, stepping back toward the house.

“Not at all,” I replied casually, reaching down to snag a grape and a chunk of bleu from the tray we just brought out.

“Hey, Mister,” Peter growled, “That’s OUR cheese. Go enjoy YOUR cheese.”

I stared at Peter for a moment. His face held an expression of challenge. Good-natured, friendly challenge, but challenge. I realized that my friend was actually diverting his attention from my naked wife to be sure I was okay too. That felt good.

I winked at him. “I believe I will,” I said, popping my stolen grape in my mouth. It burst deliciously as I bit down. I turned and followed Sara’s enticing parade. “You guys have fun,” I said over my shoulder. “Peter, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

Two laughs followed me as I returned inside. I felt my cock surging to life again as I stepped into the darkened living room toward the lights of the kitchen. In the back of my mind, I was becoming fairly confident that Erika and I would be good when this was done. Maybe, possibly, probably(?) better than before. But right then, my suddenly straining cock and I had a much more short-term mental horizon, and it pretty much included nothing besides screwing Sara six was to Sunday.

“Ahem,” came a voice from the darkness. I turned, realizing that Sara was not back in the kitchen, but was instead lounging on the huge couch in their living room, in the dark, with the tray of snacks on the table in front of her. “Nice silhouette,” she observed to me, and I realized that when I’d paused, my erection and I were outlined by the light of the kitchen behind us.

“Thanks,” I said, bemused. I turned and sat easily on the couch beside her. I grabbed several pieces of cheese from the board and leaned back, draping an arm around her shoulder. I popped a piece in my mouth, chewed it softly, and shifted the arm around Sara’s shoulder so I could companionably rest my hand on her breast. “This is good,” I observed quietly.

“The cheese?” she murmured, cuddling into my stroking hand.

“All of it,” I replied firmly. In the darkness, a hand found my cock and began stroking it again.

We finished the cheese we had in our free hands, and Sara piped up, “You know what? I think I don’t need any more snacks.” Her hand grasped my cock much more firmly.

“Fuck that cheese,” I agreed quietly.

“Fucking the CHEESE was not my plan,” she laughed.

I lifted my arm from her and spun down to kneel on the floor, moving to place myself between her knees. “Now I think you are getting it,” sighed Sara, sliding forward on the couch until her crotch hung off the edge.

I pressed against her, my dick hungrily brushing her sex. It was a nice low couch, perfect for this exact position. I steadied my shaft with my hand and powered my way easily and forcefully inside Sara. She sighed happily as I slid within her. I just quivered.

Rather than begin thrusting, I leaned forward and took her face in both my hands. We stayed like that, with me buried inside her and sharing a long, tender, weirdly almost chaste kiss.

But my body had other ideas, and when my hands slid down to caress her breasts, our kiss became much more passionate. Her lovely tits made barely a handful for me, but they were so wonderfully malleable and responsive to my touch. Her rock-hard nipples pressed into the palms of my hands.

It was insanely hard to keep from thrusting into Sara, but I was determined to extend this moment in time as long as I could. But then I felt her hands clasping my ass urgently. I remained still, even though Sara was beginning to writhe on the couch.

“Listen,” Sara mumbled through our on-going kiss. “If you don’t start fucking me right now, I’m going to scratch your ass to ribbons.” To illustrate her point, her caressing fingers suddenly clenched, her elegant, long, sharp fingernails digging into my soft flesh just this side of painfully.

I was not a man to refuse a lady. Discretion was the better part of valor. All those things.

I shifted my hands from Sara’s breasts to her petite hips and began to slide, then plunge in and out of her. Sara muttered that that was much better, and we proceeded to grunt and moan away as we enjoyed an intense, but for the moment still leisurely, fuck.

After a while, I knew it was either shift positions right then, or finish like that… imminently. I had no desire to finish yet, so I slipped free of her confines and sat back beside Sara on the couch. She happily took my cue and flipped over to straddle me, guiding me back to her pussy without delay. My eyes practically rolled back in my skull as she took me inside her again. Sara was having none of my leisurely ways and was humping up and down on me in gleeful exertion. It was glorious, but it was also apparent that things were not going to last long this way either. Sara was breathing increasingly shallowly, her grunts tending more toward gasps. Her breasts bounced up and down before me, not with the majesty that Erika’s would have (or quite possibly WERE right at that moment elsewhere), but arrestingly all the same. I felt a pressure building between my legs that would not long be contained as the real and imagined images overlaid themselves in my mind.

Then from outside, we heard a gasping shriek. A loud one. Several loud ones. A whole long series of loud, passionate, breathless, high-pitched moans. I recognized the sound. I felt a brief pang of remorse that I had not heard it that loud, or that extended, in a very long time. Erika was coming. Hard.

Sara stopped, halfway impaled on me, wrapped her hands around my shoulders and watched.

The couch faced away from the backyard, so I couldn’t see, but cowgirl Sara was taking in a direct view.

“Want me to describe it to you?” she whispered leeringly in my ear.

“Yes,” I breathed, my cock pulsing inside her, momentarily biding its time.

“They are on the grass. Erika is on her hands and knees, and Peter is grinding into her from behind,” breathed Sara. Erika began yet another series of loud moans. “Damn, they look so hot,” breathed Sara, clenching down on me absently. A lone, shriek came from Erika behind me, and I could tell that she was finally, desperately, ecstatically done.

“Hot, huh?” I growled and pushed Sara off me. She kept her eyes on our spouses outside and I slipped around and drove myself back into her from behind, as if mimicking what Peter had just been doing with my wife. I slid in and out idly, in no rush because I wanted a look too.

Erika had collapsed to the grass and rolled over under Peter. She lifted a hand to his still obviously unsatisfied cock. I could tell what was coming, but Sara apparently did not. I ground into her intensely, my eyes locked on my wife and my friend. I wondered what it would look like from a vantage other than my own.

Erika tugged at Peter’s cock and pulled it down to nestle between her lovely, glorious, generous, fantastic… and very, very fuckable tits. With it nestled in the middle of her chest, Erika pushed her breasts together around Peter’s cock.

“Wow,” said Sara in fascination about what we were watching. Or in appreciation of my increasingly intense penetration of her pussy from behind. Or both.

Peter needed but little coaching on what to do, and was sliding his dick between Erika’s breasts with wild abandon.

“I’ve never actually seen that in real life,” gasped Sara, a note of jealousy in her voice. Not of her husband being with another woman, but jealousy of what Erika could offer that Sara could not. I just fucked Sara harder. I gasped to her that right then she was offering me all I could possibly handle.

We both kept our eyes locked on outside, both sensing that Peter was about to lose it. I slid in and out of Sara relentlessly, not even pausing when Peter’s back arched hard and he froze with his dick at its greatest advance. He practically roared with release. I could tell from the soft jerk of Erika’s head, followed by a licking of her lips, that he had come all over her.

I lost it. I moaned loudly enough to actually attract attention from outside, though they clearly couldn’t see us, and shot my own prodigious load inside Sara. I felt myself pumping and pumping shot after shot of jizz, groaning loudly.

But my own cries were drowned out by Sara’s sudden burst of ecstasy. She thrashed wildly beneath me as I manfully tried to keep my own pounding going through her entire ecstatic cluster of orgasms.

At last, I collapsed on Sara’s back. Outside, we saw Peter roll over onto the grass, one hand pressing down on the top of his head as if her were trying to stuff his brains back in.

“Well,” I whispered in Sara’s ear. “If your neighbors didn’t hear you earlier, they damn sure all heard that out there!” She laughed in agreement.

Outside, Peter wobbled to his feet and lifted my apparently cum-sodden wife to hers. Together, holding hands, they jumped into the pool.

When they came inside, mostly toweled dry but still quite naked like us, Sara and I were sitting opposite each other in the booth in the kitchen that they used as a breakfast nook. Erika slid in next to me and Peter fell in beside Sara, his arm sliding easily around her shoulder. We had already opened a bottle of Pinot Noir, and Sara poured the two of them glasses of it as they sat.

Wordlessly, we clinked our glasses together as one.

“You should know,” Peter said suddenly, “Sara and I have rules.”

“Rules?” I asked, challengingly.

“Oh, not for YOU,” Peter hasted to say, “for US. I just thought you might like to hear ours, since you probably would be wise to adopt your own, unless you plan to go on with your lives tomorrow as if tonight didn’t happen….”

Erika and I wordlessly looked at each other yet again. We smiled. “Do go on, Peter,” said Erika calmly, her hand resting contentedly on my thigh.

“One,” said Peter, holding up a finger, “we always start any interaction like this as a couple. Together. We always need to be aware of what is happening with the other…” said Peter, then quirked a smile, “in general terms, at least. A lot of couples we know who swing don’t follow this one, but it is very important to the two of us.”

“Two, it is always another couple,” Peter went on, holding up a second finger. “We decided early one to avoid threesomes. They feel too dangerous to us. This works really, REALLY well because we keep it equitable. Threesomes are always at least a little unbalanced, be it with another man or woman. Again, many if not most other swingers we know don’t have this as a rule or even a guideline. This is not a monoculture we’ve given you a look at tonight.”

“Three, we both have to want, really want, our opposite numbers in the other couple. Enthusiastically. No one ever ‘takes one for the team’ and hooks up with someone they aren’t attracted to, just because the other one of us really has the hots for the other half.”

“Aw, honey!” I said, in a stage whisper, “They both think we are hot.”

Sara leaned forward, shaking her head and smiling. “Shit, George. We’ve been plotting how to fuck you two since the minute after we left that soccer parents’ orientation meeting where we first met. It was some hot sex that night while we planned our moves, let me tell you!”

Erika’s hand slid up my thigh to rest on my cock, which seemed satisfied and happy, even though it could barely twitch in response. “I think I can speak for George when I say we appreciate your sticktoitive-ness,” Erika said firmly.

“It’s weird though,” I said, looking at Erika. “I can’t think of another couple we know who are both hot enough to try this with.” Erika shook her head back at me, but we both were clearly thinking.

Peter raised his glass to me.

“Fourth, there are no solo missions. We don’t hang with someone from another couple without the other halves being involved. Whether we ‘know’ them or not.”

“Makes sense,” observed Erika. “You may be hot, Peter, but I could never have handled having fun with you had I not known that George and Sara were in here having fun too!” Her fingers curled around my somnolent cock appreciatively.

“They all make sense to me,” I said.

“Fifth,” said Peter, holding up his hand, fingers spread out in a sort of final gesture, “In addition to making sure things remain equitable and transparent, our fun is always about frolic and friendship. Not about deeper relationships except the one between us. We never swing with the same couple twice in a row.”

Erika and I looked at each other at that. I could see the wheels turning in her head and she saw them turning in mine, considering the implications of that.

“Well, Sara,” drawled Erika, “You’d best warm up your rolodex, because I want to return the favor of your invitation and have you guys over to our place pretty soon.”

Peter and Sara laughed. “It’s not like we do this all THAT often. We aren’t your weekly swinger party types. So far this year, we’ve only even considered seven different couples. Four we knew–well–already. Of the other three, you are the only ones who rose to the bait.”

“Only us?” I laughed in turn. “I surprised. You guys have some pretty bodacious bait!” I added, waggling my eyebrows at Sara.

Sara just smiled serenely and made motions that let it be abundantly clear that she was massaging Peter below the table as well. “I admit to looking forward to a reciprocal visit with you guys. Our regular frequency be damned, I’ll have to ask Peter to bestir himself and make the sacrifice to ‘open up our calendar’ for you guys.”