It's always intrigued me what goes through a woman’s mind when they flit from the kitchen to the lounge to the bedroom and back again. It makes it difficult to concentrate on work when you know something is up.
“How was your day off?” I shouted from the makeshift study; a shabby desk in the corner of the lounge that had been converted for the sole purpose of working from home. I waited patiently for the reply.
“I went to that pop-up art gallery in town,” she shouted back. I nodded my approval to the wall and waited; Angela rounded the corner of the lounge, leaned against the wall and smiled.
“There’s some hot totty frequenting those places, you know.”
Her beaming face was having a conversation all of its own as she recalled the day’s events. “What kind of art was it, modern or traditional?”
“There was this one woman, simply attired in a white one-piece dress, she kept glancing at me, making eye contact.”
Who wouldn’t glance at Angela? Her vibrant red hair was enough to turn heads in the most crowded room and her voluptuous figure would often command attention even from the straightest of women, and I’m sure Angela would have been dressed to impress even at an afternoon Art show.
I smiled, whatever question I had planned on asking next would fall on stony ground.
“We got chatting over some modern confusion of colours that some bloke had ridden his pushbike over and one thing led to another – we had so much in common.”
I raised my eyebrows, so much in common, for Angela, had different meanings to the rest of humanity. Her free spirit with all its twists and turns would often take on a life of its own that most would deem inappropriate.
“She was such an interesting person…” her voice trailed off as she moved towards the bedroom. The spray of water from the shower drowned out her voice and I busied myself with the work I was supposed to be doing.
Angela eventually appeared from the bedroom just as I was gathering the ingredients together for the evening meal.
“Darling, I have to go out for a while,” winking at me, she leaned in and kissed my cheek.
“It’s chicken Caesar salad,” I responded in the vague hope of changing her decision and convincing her to spend time with me.
“Tempting – but.” Another kiss on the cheek, a twist of her body, and the sway of a skirt that was far too short saw her disappear through the door and into a waiting taxi. I bit my lip and busied myself with the all-important preparation. The chicken was seasoned, sizzled to perfection and plated up. Clingfilm adorned the one bowl that was set aside for Angela’s eventual return.
The picture at the end of the kitchen worktop brought back memories and a smile. It was taken on our wedding day just inside the city hall registry building. Everyone who looks at it comments as to how happy we both were, and they’d be right. Angela was kitted out in a modest blue dress that seemed to show off her deep green eyes and the beaming smile on her face was as vibrant as her hair.
Only three people know the whole story of that photograph. Perhaps a few more could either hear the commotion through the paper-thin walls or were otherwise indisposed in a nearby cubicle where she got fucked by the best man over the sink unit in the lady’s toilet. Either way, that picture reminds me of how she walked down the aisle with cum dripping from her pussy and a smile on both her and my best friend’s lips. I uttered those immortal words, ‘I do,’ knowing I’d let her do anything.
Before you start thinking otherwise, it wasn’t a cuckold situation in the slightest. It’s just that Angela has a way of expressing herself that I couldn’t and wouldn’t want to curtail.
Two hours later, she was taking another load in the hotel room we had booked for the night.
Without Angela, I spent my evening watching a film on the television, eating, drinking, and wondering what she was up to and with whom. The last droplets of wine were on their way to my mouth when the door opened and in walked a woman in a white dress, followed closely by Angela.
“Caroline, this is my husband, Matt. Matt, meet Caroline.”
I quickly put the glass down and rose from the sofa. Thrusting my hand out I took Caroline’s, “pleased to meet you,” I offered. I glanced at my wife. Who the fuck was Caroline?
My wife took her coat and draped it over the nearest chair. “Go through,” she motioned to Caroline with her hand, “I’ll join you shortly.”
The confusion on my face slowly faded as I watched Caroline head towards the bedroom. Angela smiled and put her fingers to her lips to keep me quiet. She sidled up to me and kissed me, our tongues mingling together; stealing a moment or two from our guest. As we parted, she pushed her fingers into my mouth and urged me to lick them. My eyes opened wide.
“In the lift on the way up,” she said, “she’s a filthy fucker.”
Angela peeled her top off and kicked her shoes into the lounge as she walked backwards. Her skirt pooled on the floor just outside the bedroom door. Why wasn’t I surprised to find she wasn’t wearing any knickers?
She winked at me just before she slipped inside.
The moans weren’t long in coming. I sat back on the sofa, finished the last of my wine and tried my best to concentrate on the film. Instead, I imagined a healthy and energetic soixante-neuf in progress in the other room. The groaning confirmed they hadn’t fallen asleep and my inquisitiveness got the better of me. I peeked around the corner of the open door, half expecting to find them still getting acquainted with each other but that wasn’t the case.