the trash cans and espousing our love between heaves. Having birthed our first child in a cab on the way to the hospital and the second on the deck of a cruise ship, the world became so dull once the little proteges found nests of their own and moved out of our lives.
Still too young for the rocking chair, we embarked on a string of adventures in search of the perfect exciting evening. Some were physical, as in a sky dive or two. Naked scuba diving enhanced one special evening. We thought nothing could top the weekend excursion to the Tantra Seminar. It took weeks to straighten out my back.
With all the crazy things we had done, I never imagined I would agree to take my wife to a key party. You know, a party where all the guys throw their room key in a bowl and the wives select one to determine who they will go with. Well, it just wasn’t done in proper circles in our day, but the days of our lives on earth were growing shorter with each passing year, I guess my wife really wanted to know what all the key party fuss was about. I wanted to try something new and when Susan suggested that our anniversary night would be the perfect time to try it. I thought, “What the hell. We live but once.”
Having not been a part of the swinging generation when I was that age, I wasn’t knowledgeable about what happened at parties like this. I suppose Susan had read about one in a magazine or some such thing, but I just couldn’t figure out all of the things I needed to know. The internet was no help. I Googled the subject several times before finally finding an episode of a television show that featured a motel key party in its program. It all looked so simple on television — even a guy like me could do it.
Should I wear a suit and tie? Was there a proper pair of socks for the occasion? I certainly needed new underwear, but would my boxer stylings make the lady revile the moment she picked my key? There was too much to contemplate, and the wife was not making it any easier.
I just stared at my wife as she slid on those panties up her stocking-covered leg and covered her neatly trimmed bush. Every detail of her appearance was given special attention, from the perfumed hair to the glistening body lotion. That new sexy look was driving me crazy. Thoughts of another man ravaging my special woman started to make me rethink this proposition. I could almost imagine the expression of ecstasy across her face as she arched her back in a simple, unfettered orgasm. She was going to be hot. I was going to miss out on seeing it.
I, on the other hand, was going to be ordinary, a single man standing in the corner hoping to be picked first from the bowl, but I knew it was going to be elementary school kick ball all over again. The plain black slacks reeked of last to be picked. My hairdo, the early receding style, was straight out of The Three Stooges. My suave way of talking probably resembled Potsy Webber more than James Dean. I was doomed.
I watched the cars passing by as we drove to the restaurant, wondering if the lady in the passenger seat of the car next to us would be my date for the evening. Having never met any of these people, I couldn’t even be sure if the woman I saw standing next to me at the store might not be my date for the evening.
The thought that I wouldn’t even know the woman I was about to be very intimate with gave me a degree of comfort, and for that I was glad. Being a stranger, if I suffered from poor lovemaking skills, I’d never have to hear about it again. On the upside, the pain of finding out about my own clumsiness in the bedroom would help me be a better lover to my wife. I kept that thought floating as I drove along. Of course, Susan might learn a thing or two as well. I liked that thought.
The load of clanging of dishes sliding into the sink and the smell of bacon cooking kept my thoughts balanced between panic and fear as I sat across the table from my wife at the Waffle House. The new ruby-red lipstick
Still too young for the rocking chair, we embarked on a string of adventures in search of the perfect exciting evening. Some were physical, as in a sky dive or two. Naked scuba diving enhanced one special evening. We thought nothing could top the weekend excursion to the Tantra Seminar. It took weeks to straighten out my back.
With all the crazy things we had done, I never imagined I would agree to take my wife to a key party. You know, a party where all the guys throw their room key in a bowl and the wives select one to determine who they will go with. Well, it just wasn’t done in proper circles in our day, but the days of our lives on earth were growing shorter with each passing year, I guess my wife really wanted to know what all the key party fuss was about. I wanted to try something new and when Susan suggested that our anniversary night would be the perfect time to try it. I thought, “What the hell. We live but once.”
Having not been a part of the swinging generation when I was that age, I wasn’t knowledgeable about what happened at parties like this. I suppose Susan had read about one in a magazine or some such thing, but I just couldn’t figure out all of the things I needed to know. The internet was no help. I Googled the subject several times before finally finding an episode of a television show that featured a motel key party in its program. It all looked so simple on television — even a guy like me could do it.
Should I wear a suit and tie? Was there a proper pair of socks for the occasion? I certainly needed new underwear, but would my boxer stylings make the lady revile the moment she picked my key? There was too much to contemplate, and the wife was not making it any easier.
I just stared at my wife as she slid on those panties up her stocking-covered leg and covered her neatly trimmed bush. Every detail of her appearance was given special attention, from the perfumed hair to the glistening body lotion. That new sexy look was driving me crazy. Thoughts of another man ravaging my special woman started to make me rethink this proposition. I could almost imagine the expression of ecstasy across her face as she arched her back in a simple, unfettered orgasm. She was going to be hot. I was going to miss out on seeing it.
I, on the other hand, was going to be ordinary, a single man standing in the corner hoping to be picked first from the bowl, but I knew it was going to be elementary school kick ball all over again. The plain black slacks reeked of last to be picked. My hairdo, the early receding style, was straight out of The Three Stooges. My suave way of talking probably resembled Potsy Webber more than James Dean. I was doomed.
I watched the cars passing by as we drove to the restaurant, wondering if the lady in the passenger seat of the car next to us would be my date for the evening. Having never met any of these people, I couldn’t even be sure if the woman I saw standing next to me at the store might not be my date for the evening.
The thought that I wouldn’t even know the woman I was about to be very intimate with gave me a degree of comfort, and for that I was glad. Being a stranger, if I suffered from poor lovemaking skills, I’d never have to hear about it again. On the upside, the pain of finding out about my own clumsiness in the bedroom would help me be a better lover to my wife. I kept that thought floating as I drove along. Of course, Susan might learn a thing or two as well. I liked that thought.
The load of clanging of dishes sliding into the sink and the smell of bacon cooking kept my thoughts balanced between panic and fear as I sat across the table from my wife at the Waffle House. The new ruby-red lipstick
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