A Night Out with the Boyfriend

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Instead of hanging around the resort pool like we normally do on balmy evenings, Cyan, David and I decided we needed a little time away. Cyan is my lovely wife of thirty years, a willowy, longhaired platinum blonde who has aged spectacularly; David is a good friend and occasional lover to Cyan. We enjoy sharing her.

David suggests a neighborhood bar in a nearby city, familiar from his “lothario” days several decades ago. It sounds like a good place to have a great time. He gets to drive, as our car has seats for two. Cyan sits up front while I am in the back seat. She has dressed for the evening in her “man killer” outfit, a black faux leather short jacket and micro-miniskirt with matching knee-high boots. It is especially stunning on her, and always turns heads.

I’m amused that he holds her hand the entire drive. Both Cyan and I are concerned David is falling in love with her, in violation of the firm ground rules we set when he expressed interest in her in the context of the swinger resort. Nonetheless we enjoy his company bonus veren siteler and his attentions to Cyan always rub off in her affections for me, not like it was ever a problem.

We arrive at a restaurant across from the bar for a light repast. Cyan and I share a salad; David is a meat-and-potatoes kind of guy. He is a carpenter and general contractor so his fueling requirements far exceed ours, and I don’t blame him a bit for not joining us in the rabbit food.

After our relaxed dinner we stroll to the bar. Located walking distance from a regional college, it gathers a young crowd. The bouncer is a little wary as we walk in especially since we’re old enough to be some of these kids’ grandparents. We’re clearly up to… something.

I squeeze my way into the crowd at the bar to order drinks for us while Cyan and David scope out the pool tables. They find one unoccupied and rack the balls; I set our drinks on an adjacent bar table. Cyan selected a cue stick for me, but one look down its length sent me searching bedava bahis for something resembling straight, which proved a challenge.

We teach David our rotation game, which works better for three players than 8-ball. This is when the fun starts in earnest. Cyan’s miniskirt shows lots of leg and… well… she’s not wearing panties. She has a fresh shave for the occasion. Showtime.

Slightly bending for her first shot displays a bit of cheek, which gets the attention of three or four guys in their 30s sitting nearby. Now that we have an audience, since I’m ahead of her in the rotation I make it a point to position the cue ball to increase Cyan’s reach for each subsequent shot.

They can’t take her eyes off her now as each play shows more cheek, and, eventually, clear views of pussy. During us guys’ turns, we alternate reaching under her skirt to play with her goodies. Lifting her skirt for a front view is fun, too, for the shock and awe from the gallery.

We eventually relinquish the pool table to deneme bonus a trio of 20-something guys antsy to push us off, totally oblivious to Cyan’s little show. Their loss; they were sort of being jerks about it, too. We find a table next to the fellows who were appreciating Cyan’s finer bits, exchanging pleasantries while enjoying another “show”, a barmaid in a loose, low-cut blouse, breasts swaying in full view whenever she bent over, which was every chance she got. It was funny, and fun.

The three of us finish our drinks, decide we’ve had enough, and gather ourselves for the trip home. David and Cyan wend their way to the front while I hang back to say goodbye to the appreciative audience and thank them for their good humor.

“Thanks, guys. We had a great time!”

“I’ll bet!” one responds. “She’s gorgeous! Nice ass!”

“Oh, I agree! Wanna know something neat?” I pose.

“Sure!”

“I’m her husband. He’s her boyfriend.”

Their eyes get real big in the surprise.

“Really. We’re heading back home to continue our fun. She fucks him first and then I get the sloppy seconds.”

“No shit!”

“Yeah, no shit. Next time I’m first. Oh… by the way… she’s 75.”

Silence. Chins on floor.

“G’night, guys!” as I saunter out wearing a Cheshire-cat grin.

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