Geoff and Marie’s Good Life: Part 13

Appetites Vary.

Diversity is a good thing.

Based on posts by Only In My Mind, in 15 parts. Listen to the Podcast at Explicit Novels.

I guided my friend through to join the women and helped him to the head of the table. Megan sat to his right, Lucy to his left. I sat opposite him, Marie to my right, Angie to my left. Rather than a traditional Sunday roast, Megan had ordered a beef wellington with horseradish mashed potatoes, and green vegetables sautéed in garlic butter. The ladies were at ease in their near nudity; Angie having, just about, covered her bare tits with some pointless scrap of translucent fabric.

The men, well, we did them the courtesy of admiring them. The conversation was surprisingly normal, by our standards at least. Lucy expressed her gratitude at being offered a place to stay. She was a little overwhelmed when Megan corrected her. Not a place to stay; a home.

I shared the photo that Mike had sent me, showing Eddie with his new friend. "He rejected Lucy for HER?" Was Charles' incredulous response. Lucy was more sanguine. As far as she was concerned, Eddie had made his preference clear. In her mind she was already single, with an entire team of people willing to love her and a wealth of emotions that she needed to set out on canvas. That thought also reminded her. The day we christened her studio, she was determined to make a mold of my genitalia, while I was erect.

"How many castings are you intending to make?" I asked, in all innocence.

"A dozen or so in latex or silicone rubber for your Harem, or the Coven as Marie refers to us." I shrugged. That seemed a lot but, what the hell.

She fell silent for a moment, as though calculating. "And then I thought, because it's such a nice shape, I'd do a limited edition of signed epoxy castings, about a hundred, each numbered and with its own unique marbled pattern."

Everyone stopped eating and stared at her. "What?" She seemed defensive. "He only has to make a squiggle. Not his actual name, for pity's sake." She shook her head. "I was going to ask him if I could add a drop of his semen into the epoxy to infuse it with his essence. I could double the asking price then." She looked around the table at each of us in turn. "Well, think about it, anyway," she suggested to my wife and I.

We changed the subject to our plans for the wedding and returned to enjoying our meal. For dessert there were individual warm pear frangipanes with brandy ice cream. By the time we had finished, not a morsel was left.

We helped to tidy the kitchen and, after sitting and chatting for a little while longer, my three companions dressed and we left, making a short diversion to return the restaurant's delivery boxes. I picked up their home delivery menu on the way out. I was mortified; our meal must have cost our hosts over three hundred pounds. My 'expensive' wine from M and S seemed a bit pathetic by comparison.

As we drove home, they discussed, without inviting input from me, my plans for the evening. Apparently, while I pleasured each of them individually in my bed, the other two would discuss the details of our wedding ceremony. We hadn't decided on a date but we needed to have the costumes selected very soon so that we could give the students who were making the outfits the design brief for each guest for their course-work. Lucy was intrigued at the idea of creating some scenic backdrops for the venue as well as helping with prop design. I was content to be well out of it.

I'd swallowed one of my little chemical helpers as soon as we got home so, leaving my wife and Lucy to look on-line for inspiration, Angie joined me in bed. "Angie. I promised you a special treat if you earned it. You've earned it today, with Charles. But tonight would you be disappointed if we just made love? No toys, just you and me? Then we can find enough time to really explore your kinky side."

"It's a deal," she agreed, unbuttoning my shirt. "You, me and the toy box can wait for another day. I'm okay if it's just the two of us for now."

I helped off with her top and we kissed for a while, me savoring the feel of her lace covered tits against my chest. In time, we wanted more so we finished undressing ourselves and I led her to the bed. She sat me at the edge and knelt between my thighs. "I'm doing this because I want to," she reassured me. To be fair, I intended to return the favor, because I also wanted to. Isn't it nice that we have balance in our lives.

Angie's oral ministrations were affectionate rather than porn-worthy, intended to show her love rather than display her ability to swallow my entire cock. When she finally took me over the edge, there were no theatrics; no swirling my cum in her mouth. She just quietly swallowed my sperm, cleaned me and looked lovingly up at me. Angie is a complex character. Strong, assertive, willful even. But behind that was a vulnerability, an uncertainty in social interactions. But with Marie and I, she relaxed totally.

Pulling her to her feet I made her swap places and I knelt in turn, between her thighs. I repeated her own words to her before I leaned in to taste the nectar between those lips. For ten full minutes I knelt there, kissing her thighs, her mound; running my tongue along her labia and, briefly now and again, tantalizing her clit.

As soon as I felt myself harden again, I knew it was time. I stood up and stretched (I'm fairly fit, but the years, and rugby, have taken their toll) then joined her on the bed. We made ourselves comfortable, Angie having decided she wanted 'snuggling' from behind. I indulged her. It isn't the best position for vigorous sex. It isn't the most visually stimulating; but, for screwing someone you love, it has a special languorous intimacy that I cherish. There was no rush for us to climax. My cock was perfectly content to slip slowly back and forth in Angie's slick tunnel.

I realized that I was getting close and started to use my hand on her clit. She stopped me. "Take your time, Geoff," she murmured. "I've come once already. This is nice as it is. You need to learn that sometimes we need the intimacy as much as the orgasm."

I think I understood. So, instead of our customary race to the finishing line, we kept a slow, tender rhythm until I couldn't hold back any longer and spurted inside her. "See," she murmured. "Wasn't that nice. You came and I could just enjoy the experience without arsing about having to fake an orgasm. This was much more satisfying."

We lay for another ten minutes, just talking, before Angie left for the bathroom. I got up and used the shared bathroom then, wearing just my dressing gown, went downstairs. Marie and Lucy were studying our TV, where Marie was casting the images of Star Wars costumes that people had shown an interest in for our wedding. Lucy was trying to decide what outfit appealed to her.

I gave Marie a pointed look to suggest the it was her turn upstairs. She shook her head. "Angela is going home tonight and Lucy tells me we're dropping her off at her place. I'm happy to wait until bed-time."

Lucy smiled and shook her head too. "If you want me, I'm yours. But I'm content that I've had my ration for today. Tuesday, however, Marie will be at the shop. Would that be a convenient time for you to model for me?"

'Model': Now there was an innocent enough expression; slightly less so if you prefixed it with the word, 'penis', for accuracy. Presumably, once the casting was done, my erection wouldn't be allowed to go to waste. So, two birds, one stone; cock casting and studio christening all in one visit. Mr. Efficiency, that's me.

I dressed and made us a light supper and we ate once Angie re-joined us. At nine o'clock we left our planning session, having given Lucy some ideas to work with, and I drove her home. Angela and Marie followed us. We shared a bottle of wine, Angie sticking to the one glass, while Lucy showed us the unfinished works in her studio. She pointed to a stack of half a dozen propped against a wall. "I can't finish those," she commented in a flat tone. "I started them while Eddie was pissing me about, but my outlook has changed since, well, you know, and I'm in such a different place now that I don't know where the next brush stroke goes." She picked one up and examined it critically. "This isn't art," she decided. "This is an emotional breakdown on canvas." She made to throw it away. I stopped her. She looked at me in surprise.

"It's an asset," I reminded her. "If Eddie gets a solicitor and he bids for a share of your works, give him these."

"But they aren't finished," she protested.

"Would Eddie know that?"

"No, but;”

"So," I pointed out, gently. "Keep them. If Eddie plays silly buggers and demands a share of your work as marital assets, you can honestly say these were painted while you were together, the judge would be impressed and you unload these on Eddie."

"But they are shit," she argued.

"And where would Eddie go to unload this shit?"

Her eyes widened. "The gallery in town," she gloated. "If Eddie tried to sell them there, Carl, the owner, would check with me for the provenance. I'd tell him the truth and he'd sell them off cheap as unsigned, unfinished, unattributed works; he'd have to. Both to keep me sweet and keep his reputation." The three women exchanged malicious smiles. "I almost hope he tries it," she added. "I'd love to put one over on him one last time."

We stayed with her until ten, when she declared that it was time for us to get away and for her to go to bed. Eddie was, fortunately for all of us, still notable by his absence. We left, agreeing to return before eleven the next morning, and Angie dropped Marie and me off on her way home. The two of us followed Lucy's example and went straight to bed.

As we cuddled up close, we each asked the other, almost in unison, "Are we still okay?" The fact that we were both concerned more about our spouse's feelings than our own, suggested that we were. Then my wife slipped her nightie off and lay back down next to me. What followed convinced me that we were fine.

The next morning, Angie collected us after breakfast and we arrived at Lucy's house about quarter to eleven. By then, the two guys in the van had moved most of the boxes with her clothes out of her bedroom and were starting to empty her studio. They refused our offer of help so we made them a cup of tea and retired to the kitchen out of their way. We were still there twenty minutes later when Megan arrived.

Accepting a coffee from Lucy, Megan produced two brown, official looking, envelopes from her bag. They were both addressed to Eddie. The first one she held up had a large figure '1' in the top left corner. "This," she explained. "Is Eddie's formal notice that you have begun divorce proceedings and letting him know that, to comply with the legal requirements, you are now living apart, effective from midnight tonight."

She turned her attention to me. "I liked your suggestion that Lucy keeps those depressing unsigned works to hand. We have included our proposals for the fair division of assets and advised Eddie to seek his own legal advice. If he gets greedy, we will have to try to agree a compromise or go to court for a Financial Order. In either of those cases, those works could come in useful."

She held up the second envelope, appropriately enough with a figure '2' in the corner. This document," she announced, cheerfully. "Informs your soon-to-be ex-husband that you are waiving your right to occupy, granted by the trust set up for Alison. Your daughter, the de-facto owner, has retained me to act on her behalf to put it on the rental market."

She gave a beatific smile that lit up the room. "As Lucy occupied under the terms of the trust, there is no tenancy agreement. Eddie's name appears on none of the utilities so, as far as Alison is concerned, he can pay the commercial rental fee, and stay, or piss off and live with his girlfriend. He certainly hasn't a leg to stand on if he thinks she'll let him live here for free, now that Lucy has moved out."

"What will you be asking for the rent?" I asked, just out of interest. She told us. The rest of us sat, slack-jawed, gaping around the table at each other. "How much?" I admit, my voice came out in a less than masculine squeak. She repeated the figure. "That's more than the fucking mortgage would be," I pointed out, then begged Megan to excuse my language.

"True," Megan conceded, unperturbed by my profanity. "But a landlord has to cover additional contingencies; electrical safety, insurance, maintenance, management fees and the like." She shrugged. "We are actually not stiffing Eddie. If he can't afford to pay, I guarantee we'll have a family in here paying that per month, within three weeks of taking possession."

"Eddie can't afford that," Lucy observed, without satisfaction. "Even if he stopped drinking and gambling, he'd barely be able to cover the rent. He'd just about have pennies left to live on."

"That's as may be," Megan replied, acerbically. "But much of my professional life has been spent dealing with people who ignored the consequences of their actions." She listed some examples on her fingers. "Drunk drivers, offspring contesting their parents' wills after years of ignoring them, vandals, shoplifters, idiots who thought it was okay to defraud insurance companies and, yes, cheating spouses." She shook her head in despair. "Nobody made them act that way; they made choices, just like Eddie. He could have managed his money instead of blowing it on booze and horses. He could have treated his wife with respect. He did neither; he made his choice, so he gets to own whatever that brings."

We were contemplating her words when one of the movers knocked on the kitchen door and announced that they were finished. He suggested that Lucy go through each room before they left, to confirm that the guys had collected everything that she wanted taken. It was a somber moment as we five checked each room in turn.

"Is there anything of yours in the garage?" I enquired, remembering that Lucy sometimes sculpted in metal.

She smiled and shook her head. "I moved my welding gear to Megan's last week. They had room in their garage and I knew that Eddie would never notice that it was gone." She took one more slow look around the living room. "No. That's it. This is Alison's house now. I've lost two husbands here. I won't say that the wrong one died; but I'm close. Fuck it. Let's go."

We followed her out and watched as she locked up and gave her keys to Megan. We stood and waved as the two of them got into their cars to follow the van to Lucy's new home. I think we all realized that this day had been long coming, but even knowing that, we still knew that Lucy had to be hurting inside.

We three went home. Lucy, Charles and Megan needed time together to reach some sort of accommodation about, well, Lucy's accommodation. Our presence wasn't required. We grabbed a light lunch and I turned the TV on. Dear God! There were adverts on already for Christmas. I turned to my wife to see if she found it as irritating as I did, only to pause at the thoughtful expression on her face.

"Angie," she said. Our fiancée looked up. "You like stately homes, don't you?" Angie agreed this was, in fact, the case. "Well how do you feel about a trip to Derbyshire?"

"Because?" Angie prompted.

"Because I think you'd love Chatsworth," Marie suggested. "And in November there's a Christmas market in the grounds and the house will be beautifully seasonally decorated." My wife turned her attention to me. "Geoffrey?"

"Sounds good to me," I agreed. "I'll book three tickets."

"I'll book us somewhere to stay," Angie offered. "Somewhere nice."

So that was agreed. Finishing our lunch, we decided that we ought to get some fresh air, so we went for a stroll together. Marie assumed her place holding my right hand and Angie holding my left. Without really intending to, our return path took us past the pub. We decided that, as we were obviously people of low moral standards, we might as well go in.

Tony, the landlord knew us well enough; Marie and her friends are there every other Friday after all. We chatted as he pulled my pint and poured the ladies' white wines. I remembered there was a function room upstairs and asked to see it. It didn't take long. It was just a large rectangular room. On the plus side, it had a small, raised stage at the far end and there was a bar near the door. On the other hand, it was a bit tired.

Tony saw my expression. "I know," he acknowledged. "It desperately needs repainting, but since Covid, it's been a Catch22. We need new business but we don't have the cash to invest to attract it."

I paced out the room and we went back to the lounge. "If the walls were just white," I suggested. "Then you could mount a projection system on the ceiling and have an almost infinite selection of décor for any occasion."

My ladies listened to our conversation with interest. Tony considered my idea. "So, instead of choosing a color scheme for the room, I just paint it plain white and project whatever the customer wants for their occasion," he mused.

"Exactly," I agreed. Gender reveals, weddings, kids' themed parties or Goth Halloweens; hit enter on the computer and the room's personalized."

"Or Star Wars weddings," Angie contributed. "Nice thinking Geoff."

I bowed, modestly. "Peter works in IT," I reminded the ladies. "This isn't directly his field but he may know someone who could advise us." I turned back to our host. "Would you be interested if I could find out what an installation like that would entail?"

Apparently, he would and, after discussing the practicalities of hosting our celebration there, we resumed our walk home in a rather more excited mood. We were still talking about the logistics when Colin arrived, with Mia in tow, and asked what we were arguing about. We'd moved onto the timing by then. Angie favored March but Marie was concerned that our student friends needed more time to design and create our growing collection of outfits. My wife thought a summer wedding would be nicer, possibly even outdoors. I was on the fence.

Colin looked at us with a mixture of surprise and, it hurts me to admit this, disappointment. "Surely you know the date. There's only one day it can be." He looked sadly at our blank stares. "For goodness sake grandpeople. Star Wars Day! May the Fourth."

I confess: I hung my head in shame. I glanced at Angie. She was shaking her head, muttering, "So damn obvious that a child could see it. What's wrong with me?"

Marie was bemused. "What's going on? What do you mean; Star Wars Day? Is that a thing? Do people send cards?"

Mia took pity on her in the face of Colin's despairing silence. "May the Fourth sounds like the Jedi blessing, you know, May the Force be with you," she explained patiently. "May the Fourth; May the Force."

Marie 'got it' then. "So if there's one day in the year to do Jedi stuff, it's May the Fourth." She gave a deep sigh. "God! But nerds are weird." She looked fondly at Angie and me. "And I'm stuck with two of them."

It was Marie's turn to cook and Colin asked if Mia could eat with us as her mum was working late. Of course, she was welcome and Angie volunteered to help in the kitchen. The two women left us, with Marie making very clear who was in charge as they went.

That left me with the two teens. "Homework?" I asked.

"Did it at lunchtime," answered Colin.

"Me too," Mia added.

"Right then. Go amuse yourselves. You can have the TV if you want."

"Well Grandad. The thing is; We were talking about 'The Talk', and we have some questions."

"Oh you do, do you?" This wasn't quite how I'd visualized this going. "To be honest, I don't think it would be appropriate for me to have that particular discussion with Mia." I turned to address my comments directly to her. "Mia, sweetheart, this is a conversation that you should really be having with your mum. Even if it makes her too uncomfortable and there are no aunts or older female cousins to ask, it should still be a woman you talk to rather than me."

"But why?" She asked.

"Because if anyone found that a man had been discussing sex with a young woman not related to him, they might think that he was grooming her. Can you imagine how being accused of that would change all of our lives?"

"I suppose so," she conceded.

"How about this?" I suggested. "You ask your mum the same questions that Colin has for me and you can compare notes. But," I put on my laboratory manager voice. "No personal research!" They nodded, grinning, and I told them to clear off: I'd deal with that problem later. I sloped off to read my book; I felt as though I'd not has a minute to myself in ages.

Marie and Angie had excelled themselves. When Linda arrived, we sat down to a dish of roast Mediterranean vegetables served with potato wedges, fetta, pitta bread and smoked garlic mayonnaise. I hadn't heard a single cross word from the kitchen either. The kids demolished their meals and asked for second helpings. Marie made sure that there was some left for Wendy, who was coming to collect Mia on her way home from work.

When she arrived, Wendy was so apologetic about Mia staying for tea. Marie told her that, rather than watch TV or play on their phones, both kids had helped prepare the meal. I quietly wondered if that explained the lack of temperament from my wife's sous chef, as Angie admitted she could be a diva in the kitchen. In fact, Wendy was almost in tears when Mia brought out the plate that we had set aside for her. Colin, our sommelier, offered her a glass of the red that Angie and I had shared earlier over our meal. It was only a Grandeza Gran Tradición from the local supermarket but Colin though that a Spanish wine would go well with a meal that didn't stint on the garlic. He chose well.

I left the women to chat and went back to the works of the late Terry Pratchett. Colin joined me. "Grandad."

"Yes, Colin?" I replied, putting down my book.

"Mia's mum seems so sad," he observed.

"She does rather," I agreed, wondering where he was going with this.

"Do you think that she's pretty?"

"Yes, I suppose that I do." I admitted.

"I do too," he said. "But she's always saying that she's so fat and ugly that no-one likes her."

"Her husband left her," I tried to explain. "When that happens to someone, they tend to look at themselves and think what they should have done differently. It dents their confidence. It's even worse if someone says it's you that's driven them away."

I decided to share. "Grandma's friend, Lucy, has just left her husband. He's been acting horrible towards her for a while now. He says that she's too old and wrinkled to be attractive anymore."

Okay; those weren't his exact words but I wasn't going to describe Lucy's snatch to a youngster. "But he lied to excuse his own behavior. He's been seeing another woman who's nowhere near as pretty as Lucy but, rather than admit he's been cheating, he blames Lucy for driving him away."

"So is Lucy happy now?" He persisted. Shit! I could see where his logic was taking him. I wouldn't lie though.

"She's happier than she was, because she has her friends to support her and now she realizes that he was the problem, not her." I was careful not to take credit for my part in rebuilding Lucy's self-confidence. "She's sad that her marriage has failed but she knows that she wasn't the cause."

"So what would help Mia's mum?"

I thought carefully. Colin deserved an honest answer, if not a detailed one. "Wendy needs to be surrounded by people who compliment her, who support her, who remind her how good a mum she is, people who are just there when she needs a hug. Grandma's friends are like that and," I lowered my voice to a whisper, "I think she's going to invite Wendy to join them."

"Mum likes her too," he added. "Do you think that she might feel better then? It's just that I know that Mia worries about her and I want them both to be happy."

"You're a good lad, Colin. As long as you and Mia are friends, her mum knows that her daughter has someone to rely on. That's one less worry for Wendy. There's nothing else you two can do. Now it's time for the adults to step up and try to repair the damage to her self-image. That's probably starting now." I realized that it was just the two of us; Mia must be with the other women. I suspected that my wife, daughter and lover may be, very subtly coaching Mia in how to bolster her mother's damaged confidence. Wendy was a good natured, fine looking woman who deserved better than the hand that she'd been dealt. Marie and Angie were batting for her so her life was about to change, God help her, though, if they did unleash Lucy on her.

That reminded me. Tomorrow was Tuesday: Cock casting and studio christening day, and Angie was staying tonight; presumably sharing a the bed with my wife and me. Colin was right; it wasn't fair that Wendy was alone and unhappy when our lives were so full. I resolved that, whatever Wendy decided if the ladies invited her to join their coven, I wouldn't object.

"What are you thinking about Grandad? You're smiling to yourself."

"I was just thinking that sometimes a good deed is its own reward." I replied, rather disingenuously.

Our conversation was interrupted by the women emerging from the kitchen. Mia seemed happy and Wendy seemed quite excited. Apparently I was in charge of feeding two teenagers on Friday because Wendy and Linda were joining 'the ladies' in the pub after work. There was quite a positive buzz as our guests departed. The kids seemed to sense a new energy in Wendy and her main concern seemed to be what to wear. She hugged each of us, thanking us for her meal and, on my turn, I gave her an extra squeeze and whispered, "don't fret about what to wear; you'll look lovely whatever you choose."

She blushed and looked a little flustered as she led Mia to the car.

"Nice one, Dad," Linda complimented me as she gave out her goodbye hugs. "She needed that." Then she and Colin left too and it was just the three of us.

"I agree with Linda," Marie told me. "That was very nicely done. You deserve a reward. What would you like?" she asked with a saucy wink.

I gave the question some serious thought. "I think that my perfect evening would be; a nice cup of coffee, the next episode of the Mandalorian and then an early night with my two best ladies."

"That," said my wife. "Was an excellent answer, so that's what you shall have." And within ten minutes I was on the sofa, Marie on my right, Angie on my left, and a coffee made from some of the blend that my wife had begged from Megan on Sunday. By ten o'clock we were in bed together. And I was right, it did prove to be the perfect end to the evening.

The Model.

Geoff and Marie's adventures continue. Our narrator is Geoff, a retired lab manager; In the course of a packed week, he has to do some modelling for an artist friend and a birthday treat to organize, while his wife guides him through the minefield of multiple relationships.

It was a Tuesday morning in late October and, as I showered, I pondered over the odd direction my life had taken these last few weeks. Take that day; my wife, Marie, and our shared lover and betrothed, Angie, were in the kitchen preparing breakfast. We had all made love the night before but the two women had rejected my advances that morning because I was meeting another of my wife's old friends, Lucy, so that she could make a casting of my erect cock and then have sex in her studio. And when I say 'old', the adjective is doing some heavy lifting, because first, Marie has known Lucy for decades, and second, none of the four of us will ever see sixty again.

Lucy, as a token of gratitude for some complimentary comments I made about her lady parts, followed by me fingering her until she came, has declared herself to be permanently available as my free-use sex toy. As she had, only the Monday before, left her husband for cheating on her with a trans-woman, Lucy was still settling in with another friend who had offered her a place to stay.

That friend, Megan, is another one of my wife's circle of retirees who I have had sex with, in her case with her husband's knowledge and approval. Due to his age and health issues he had, for some time, been encouraging his wife to take a lover. When Marie offered my services, someone he knew and liked it was, oddly enough, a relief to him. Anyway, that Sunday, while Marie, Angie and Megan pleasured Charles, Lucy and I had sex in her new bedroom. That still left her studio across the hallway 'un-christened', a situation that we were to resolve that Tuesday morning.

Lucy is, of course, quite a well-known artist and the emotional turmoil of her husband withdrawing from her, and then gaslighting her into thinking it her fault, had left her with a lot of emotional angst. In her case, however, she has the talent to unload these emotions onto canvas. She's somewhat like a blues singer in that respect; she dumps her misery into her art, and then gets paid for it. And she does very well too.

Apparently, many of her post-fingering works are inspired by me, who she represents as an amorphous turquoise blob. The artworks are fresh and vibrant compared to the gloomy work from immediately prior to my vaginal therapy. Those could probably make even the most emotionally sterile Goth burst into tears.

Now Lucy has decided that she wants to make a dozen or so replicas of my erect cock to give to all of my wife's close circle of friends, on the grounds that I have fucked them all too with Marie's enthusiastic approval. Indeed, two (or possibly three) of the coven were due to visit us the following day. I made a mental note to ask who to expect.

Shrugging my shoulders, I finished my shower, dried and dressed and followed the scent of bacon and eggs downstairs. Angie greeted me with a kiss and a cup of tea. My wife put two plates full of food on the table and queued up for her turn. By the time we came up for air, Angie had added a third plate and taken her place. We ate, chatting about our plans for the day.

Angie had some 'consulting' scheduled that lunchtime. I'm convinced she occasionally freelances for GCHQ, but we know better than to ask as apparently she's signed some sort of non-disclosure agreement. Marie is volunteering at a charity shop and I, of course have my own assignation. We wished Angie goodbye and engaged in a little housework before it was time for us both to set off.

I dropped my wife off in town and, as she gave me a parting kiss, she surprised me. "You have a free pass this morning Geoff. I'll want to hear all about your day," she warned me. "But all of the rules are suspended. Trust your conscience, my love." She gave me a heart melting smile and strolled cheerfully off towards the shop.

I was rather nonplussed. What the hell did she think I was going to do? She knew that Lucy and I were going to be intimate but something else was going on too. Thinking about it though, I realized that, for all my doubts about my women's machinations, I was getting more sex now than I ever did as a student, so what the fuck was I worrying about. And on that cheerful thought, I put the car into gear and headed towards Lucy's new address.

Megan opened the door as I pulled up outside their gorgeous home. I would have been more impressed with her timing if I hadn't already been aware that she and Charles had an excellent security system that alerted them to vehicles entering their driveway. Megan looked, as always, as though she was dressed to impress. Well, I say always; I have an indelible mental image of her admiring her naked self in my bedroom mirror, her face covered in cum and generally looking like a well-used whore. I had taken a photo on her phone and she shared it with her husband. No secrets, she'd promised him.

We went through to the small sitting room that Charles favored. Lucy was sitting opposite him chatting about how she allowed me to use her body however I wished. Charles hung on her every word while shamelessly looking up her characteristically short skirt. Neither Lucy nor Megan was offended.

Charles and I greeted each other amicably enough. I'd slept with his wife and, in recognition, the previous Sunday I'd made it clear that my wife, our fiancée and my sex toy (Lucy) were free to do whatever they wished to make him happy. They did; in fact he was still gleefully so. Charles had obviously been giving that some thought. "Geoff, old chap," he began as I sat down next to Lucy. "Been thinking about that conversation you and I had some weeks ago." I nodded noncommittally. "Thing is," he continued. "I'm coming to the view that I placed needless restrictions on you."

He glanced across at his wife who sat next to him, obviously not sure where this was going either. He carried on. "It's apparent that you and Marie have an incredible bond. It's equally obvious that, despite your affection for my wife, you are not trying to steal her from me." He directed his next words to his wife. "Megan, you have my approval to sleep with Geoffrey and any or all of your friends whenever and however you see fit. My only condition is that you share the details so that I may have at least a vicarious sex life.

Megan considered for a moment. "Thank you, darling," she replied. "I don't see that as a regular occurrence but you have my word that I will never have sex without your knowledge." She gave a rather common smirk. "In fact, I shall try to provide you with even more pictures, if it's at all possible." Her husband's face lit up.

Lucy stood. "Okay, this is all very civilized but I want to make a cast of Geoff's cock and I can't do it while he's making polite conversation with his trousers on." She reached down, impatiently, and pulled me to my feet. Then, turning to Megan. "Coming?"

"Excuse me?" Megan seemed confused.

Lucy sighed in exasperation. "I need him erect," she reminded her friend. "Yes, I'll be naked, but I need to monitor the alginate. Seeing as Charles has given you a free pass, you can get your kit off too and keep him stoked up until it sets."

Megan was still playing catch-up as Charles and I looked on in amusement. "How?" She asked, almost plaintively. "You'll have his genitalia in a bowl of glop."

"Oh for goodness sake Megan," Lucy retorted. "Let him play with your tits; stick your finger up his bum; stick his finger up your bum. You're a married woman, surely you can think of something to keep him hard!"

I'm not sure if I'd ever heard a man 'chortle' before. I thought it was something that last happened in the nineteen thirties. But Charles did it then. A refined masculine equivalent of a giggle at his wife's discomfiture. He smiled as Megan looked helplessly at him for support.

"Run along dear," he suggested. "Go and give Lucy and Geoffrey a hand." He seemed delighted at his double entendre. And so, with Lucy leading the way and Megan grumbling quietly behind me, we climbed the stairs to Lucy's studio. Once there, I stood in the center of the room and looked around. There were two easels with blank canvasses propped either side of the window and some of her post-orgasm works set around another two walls. These were clearly identifiable by the light, the vibrancy and positivity of the colors. I'm also embarrassed to admit that I recognized my turquoise color-avatar in quite a few. Of her gloomy pre-orgasm works, there was no sign.

Lucy noticed from the table where she was preparing her casting materials. "I didn't throw them away," she answered my unasked question. "You were right. If Eddie wants some of my work as part our assets, then he can have those that he inspired." Her eyes flashed with anger. "He can have the shit ones; the ones fuelled by the hurt, lies and betrayal. I just don't want them where I can see them."

Megan stepped up behind her friend and gave her a hug. "And if we have to go to court, then that's exactly what I'll tell the judge." She gave a feral smile. "Divorces are supposed to be no-fault but if I'm forced to explain why we're offering these as part of Eddie's settlement, then the court will hear exactly who the injured party is."

I felt a slight shiver at Megan's words. I'm glad she was on our side. "Right," said Lucy, apparently content with her progress. "Let's get your trousers off, your cock hard and this first cast made." She strode towards me with purpose. "Then you can sit me on the edge of this bench and give this room a proper opening ceremony." She grinned across at Megan. "Maybe Charles would like to come and watch." She clapped her hands mischievously. "Ooh! Perhaps Geoff could give you a seeing to as well."

Megan shook her head in despair. In theory, she was the matriarch of Marie's friend group; the oldest, possibly the richest, certainly the most socially connected. Those niceties meant nothing to Lucy. To her, it was just Megan she was talking to, and that required no additional deference, so none was given.

I was guided to an arrangement of dining chairs that had struck me as odd when we'd entered the room. Four of them, arranged in a line, with a footstool separating the central pair. I began to understand. Lucy slipped into artist mode. "Right. The pair of you, get your kit off and let's get that cock pumped up to eleven." Lucy cheerfully ignored Megan's glare as we complied. Lucy instructed me to lay across the chairs with my groin over the gap created by the footstool. While I got comfy, she fetched a plastic box, about the size of a shoe box, though perhaps a little deeper, and put it on the footstool; packing underneath it until the lip was touching my belly and my thighs. I suppose that made it a junk box.

"You have a sticky-up cock," she explained. "So I think alginate is the best material for the mold. If this doesn't work, I can try plaster bandages but they are slower to set and that means we have to keep you hard for longer." Turning to her unwilling assistant, she added. "Megan, get him hard while I prep the goo."

By now, I was face down with my meat and two veg dangling in an oversized take-away container: not the most erotic of positions. Megan, obviously at a loss, decided to rely on Lucy's experience of these situations and took her advice literally. The next thing I knew was that her lubricated index finger was going the wrong way up a one way street.

Now, this wasn't totally virgin territory; Marie and Angie had insisted on testing some butt-plugs on me (or in me, whichever) on our return from our first visit to the local sex-shop. There had also been episodes of bum rubbing by one whilst I was actively ploughing the other one's furrow, but this was my first actual prostate massage. I'll admit now that I wasn't complaining. It also occurred to me that this wasn't beginner's luck. Megan had definitely done this before, the dirty bitch. I wondered to myself if she'd give lessons.

Lucy took a malicious delight in both Megan's discomfort and her results. "You dirty cow," she crowed, more or less echoing out loud my own thoughts. "You've done this before: Lucky old Charles. Does he still get to enjoy it?" She asked, as she began pouring the freshly mixed blue syrup into the bowl around my nether regions. Megan gave a noncommittal grunt as she continued to work her finger in and out.

"Keep him there, Megan; nicely on a rolling boil. For God's sake though, please don't make him come." Lucy checked her watch. "Three minutes at least, five would be better." She crouched down next to me, giving me a close up view of her boobs. Their modest size had limited gravity's effect. They were still remarkably perky for her age and I knew from recent experience that they were rather sensitive.

"Are you still stiff, Geoff?" She asked. "Or there something else we can do to keep you hard?"

I gave the matter some serious thought. Or as serious as I could manage given Megan's magical ministrations. "That would be a great name for a band," I told myself and then, getting a grip on reality. "Tell me what you want me to do to you once we've finished this," I suggested.

She nodded in approval. Apparently, that was a good idea. "Well, first of all I'm going to wash you. The alginate is food grade, so it's safe but, as I'm intending to suck your cock, I'd prefer to get you clean. If we can get Charles upstairs, he might like to watch Megan go down on me while we do it."

She smiled at the look of anticipation on my face. Then I'm going to sit on the edge of my workbench. I'll open my thighs so that you can all see me fully exposed and glistening wet. You'll step up and run your finger between my lips. You'll circle my clit, just barely touching it until you know that I can't take any more then you'll slip your cock inside me and pound me and pound me until you spew your spunk deep into my cunt."

"Then I want Megan to suck you clean: to suck your cum and my juices off your cock. If we're lucky, Charles will be able to watch and maybe we'll see how Charles and Meggie feel about you slipping my assistant one as well." I could actually feel the disapproval emanating from the woman behind me, probably only partly at being referred to as 'Meggie'. Lucy's words were working though. The images she'd put in my head, along with the gentle manipulation of my prostate had me as hard as I'd ever been.

We stayed like that for at least the full five minutes, then Lucy stood up. "That's enough now thank you Megan," she announced. "We need him to go soft now so that we can get his cock out of the mold with the minimum damage. To the mold," she added hastily, looking down at me.

Megan left us, presumably to wash her hands. Lucy went back to her bench and started to tidy her modelling materials away. Making space for sex, I realized. After two or three minutes of just laying comfortably with my eyes closed, I realized that I had lost my erection and that Little Geoff was actually living up to his name. "Lucy?" I called. "Do you think you could release me?"

After checking that I was sure that I had subsided, she removed the wooden frames that she'd used to support the mold and gently lowered it away from me. There were no slurping or sucking noises. No hairs got, entertainingly, for her, or painfully, for me, caught in the alginate. She stood and carried it carefully to the bench. I eased myself off the chairs and followed her.

"In theory, I could make a plaster cast now but I think I'd rather wait an hour or so to be sure the impression is totally set," she decided. "Let’s get you clean and then we can get on with the fun bit."

We crossed the hallway to her bedroom and squeezed into the small but complete en suite. She grinned up at me as she washed me clean. To be honest, there was barely any traces of the alginate on my cock. I hoped that meant our efforts had worked. Of course, by the time I was suitably clean, I was hard again.

We returned to the studio to find that a fully dressed Megan had managed to get Charles upstairs. He was sitting on one of the chairs, breathing heavily but otherwise apparently okay. "It seems that I have been invited to some sort of dedication ritual," he declared. "I must say, I'm quite looking forward to it."

Lucy led me to stand in front of them; so close that they could reach out and touch us. She knelt in front of me, side on to our audience and gently wanked my cock. Gazing submissively up at me, she engulfed my glans with her lips. With a bob of her head, half of my shaft disappeared into her mouth. I sighed with pleasure. She pulled off and turned to give the others a radiant smile. They sat enraptured. I tried to remember if Megan had ever been there when I'd had sex with one of her friends. Apart from that time with Lucy in the pub, I thought not.

Lucy returned to her task. Rubbing her tongue along my length starting at my scrotum and ending at my tip. And so she carried on; taking me in her mouth, licking me, taking my balls in her mouth. Varying her attentions so that I was constantly stimulated but never so much that I was likely to come. I was lost in the moment but, even so, I don't believe that either Charles or Megan blinked once.

After, three, perhaps four minutes Lucy paused. "It's time," she told me. I helped her up and we walked hand in hand towards her cleared workbench. She reached underneath and pulled out a yoga mat that she laid over the edge. "Fetch the others," she suggested. "They need a closer view."

I helped Charles across the room whilst Megan brought his chair. She went back for her own whilst I got him settled. I followed Charles' gaze to see that, good as her word, Lucy was sitting at the edge of the bench, thighs wide apart, showing her delectable snatch to an appreciative audience. Even Megan seemed entranced at the sight. The snatch that Eddie, Lucy's husband, had deemed to be too old and wrinkled to be attractive.

With a salacious smile Lucy slipped a finger between her labia, then three fingers two holding the inner lips apart so that we could see her middle finger slide inside her cunt. "Dear God!" Charles exclaimed in awed tones. Megan gave his hand an affectionate squeeze as we watched my toy exhibit herself.

I was still completely hard when we both knew that it was time. I stepped between Lucy's legs, gave her a long, passionate kiss and, taking my cock in my hand, I slipped slowly but easily inside her. It was an odd feeling. We weren't making love but nor were we so turned on that we wanted to fuck like rabbits; the way that we had previously. No this was purely recreational sex; it felt good, we were both enjoying it and we were both intending that the other should orgasm but there was no urgency. Wordlessly, we agreed to put on a performance for our friends. That's what we did. Lucy lay back while I supported her and used my grip on her for purchase as I thrust powerfully back and forth.

My partner mirrored my actions, raising her hips to meet me, both working hard to please the other. We were sweaty, panting messes when we finally climaxed. I came first but managed to stay hard long enough for Lucy to follow me over the cliff. It was almost a relief to be able to relax. Lucy pulled me down for a long tender kiss.

"Thank you," she whispered in my ear. "This makes the studio feel more like home. Even more than the home I just left," she added sadly.

Finally, I slipped out of Lucy as I leaned over her reclining body, both of my hands taking my weight as I caught my breath. It didn't take long for my heart rate and my breathing to settle at which point I helped Lucy into a sitting position. We grinned at each other. It had been an excellent fuck. Lucy hadn't finished though.

"Charles?" She asked in a soft beseeching voice. "Would you be offended if I asked Megan to clean Geoff's cock?"

"Eh? Er, no?" He seemed at a loss as to what he was being asked.

Lucy switched her attention to her friend and raised an eyebrow in enquiry. "Oh! Alright," Megan huffed. "I hope you realize that I'm not your bloody maid." She stood and turned towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Lucy asked.

"To get a damn facecloth," replied a bemused Megan. "Like you asked."

"I asked you to clean him, not wash him," Lucy clarified.

"Oh." Our friend looked concerned as the penny dropped. "Charles," she addressed her husband. "Lucy is asking me to clean Geoffrey's cock with my mouth. We seem to be testing a lot of boundaries here. If this makes you at all uncomfortable, I will decline."

Charles considered for a moment. "You showed me a photograph of the aftermath of you having sex with Geoffrey and I have touched his wife intimately. I think that this is entirely your choice, my love." He sat back, obviously content to watch whatever transpired.

Lucy reached out for my hand and pulled me to her. She turned me so that I faced away from her and then she put her arms around my chest and leaned her chin on my shoulder. It was such a casually affectionate act that, for a moment, I felt a pang of concern; not that I was being unfaithful to Marie, but more that Lucy and I were developing a relationship that I couldn't explain. I was afraid that, in my ignorance, I'd hurt her somehow. I needed to talk to my wife about it. How fucked up is that!

Megan, rather hesitantly, knelt at my feet. I remember her request after our first evening together. She'd told me that making love made her feel as though she was cheating on her husband; sharing affection that should be only his. But, somehow, merely giving and taking sexual pleasure seemed; acceptable. I'd never spoken of that to anyone else. Possibly Megan had told her friends, I knew they were more frank about sex than most men, but I suspected that Lucy was operating on instinct.

Megan took my flaccid cock on her mouth. Lucy watched approvingly as her friend sucked the residue of our sex off me. Charles watched, fascinated. I tried to reason how to behave. Then I remembered the advice Marie had given so many times, and had repeated that morning; "Trust your conscience," she had said. I decided that honesty would serve us all best.

Without dislodging Lucy, whose tits were still distractingly pressed tightly against my back, I stroked Megan's hair. "That's so good," I complimented her. "Do you like the taste of Lucy's cunt on my cock?" She gazed up at me, her pupils dilated with lust. She'd just watched two of her friends fuck within arms' length and now she was sucking my cock. She was obviously conflicted by her situation, fellating me as Charles watched.

Lucy hadn't finished though. She obviously felt that we were at a cusp in this complex web of relationships. "Charles. Megan won't admit it to you, but she needs to fuck Geoff. I'll stay here with you if you refuse to watch, but I think that we should join them."

He looked at her, startled by her words and Megan pulled away from me and began to protest.

Lucy shushed her. "Megan," she chided her friend. "Your nips are stuck out like doorstops and I imagine that your knickers are sopping wet. Denying what's obvious is dishonest. You need a fuck and I'll entertain Charles while you scratch your itch."

"Charles," Lucy was on a roll now. "I admire you for loving Megan enough to allow her this. But you've both overlooked something." They looked at her in puzzlement. She explained. "Because you equate sex to penetrative fucking, if you can't have an erection you can't have sex. But you can!" She exclaimed in frustration. "So, instead of you giving your wife to Geoff, you and he are going to swap women. They can do their thing, you and I will do ours. Preferably in the same room; my room. Please?" She implored.

Charles looked intrigued. He looked hopefully at his wife. I admit, I was worried: Lucy is an amazing artist with a gift for capturing emotions on canvas. In most practical respects, however, she remains a dingbat. My concern centered on whether this was an area where Lucy's strength lay. I was at a loss but my instincts told me that we were on Lucy's turf and I should trust her. The decision was down to Charles.

"I confess," he conceded, "that the thought of us exchanging women seems less demeaning than merely having another man servicing my wife on my behalf."

Lucy nodded in agreement. "I think Geoff realized that when he suggested that we were all free to play together last Sunday. I think that we four should share a bed. You should be part of your wife's experience, at least some of the time."

Megan sat quietly as her husband considered. "Yes!" He declared. "An excellent suggestion." Megan looked less enthusiastic than her husband.

Lucy led us to her bedroom; I followed, supporting my good friend, Charles, with my arm around his shoulder. Megan trailed, rather reluctantly, behind us. We would have seemed an odd procession if anyone had seen us; Lucy and I both naked, Megan and Charles both dressed. Lucy soon dealt with that disparity with her usual tact. "Right you two. Get your kit off and your bits out." It was obvious that her talent was predominantly on the visual arts rather than the spoken word.

Nevertheless, very shortly afterwards there were four naked people in the room, three of them wondering who had put this loopy blonde in charge. "Geoff, Charles, lay on the bed side by side. Megan, you're with Charles, I'm with Geoff."

Now, I wasn't privy to Lucy's plan, but it was obvious that she had one. I also knew that she had a huge heart and whatever it was she had in mind was for our friends' benefit. I complied without complaint, helping Charles onto the bed and then walking around to the other side to take my own place. Lucy took Megan's hand and led her to Charles. "Caress him. Show your love," Lucy instructed. Then she walked round to where I lay watching and snuggled up next to me. She kissed me gently. I responded in kind and our foreplay began. My hands found her tits, hers stroked my balls. Eventually, I bent to suckle while my hands moved lower, cupping then entering her warm, moist passage.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed that our friends were similarly, if less energetically, entangled. Reluctantly abandoning Lucy's boobs, I followed my hands south. It had been a while since I had tasted her. It was time to reacquaint myself with her scent and flavor. Marie, Angie and Lucy, each with their individual character. Lucy's was musky, like dark chocolate with a vanilla edge. I lapped enthusiastically at her opening, already wet from our initiation and with some of my cum glistening at the entrance. That bothered me not at all.

I heard Megan moan gently. By my side my friend was laid between his wife's thighs. He caught my glance. "It seemed unfair exciting her like this, only then not being able to;” He broke off. I nodded in understanding. He was wrong, but I understood. He loved Megan. To him, foreplay with no hope of penetrative sex seemed to be denying her something fundamental. Instead he just denied her all intimacy. It was well intentioned, but cruel.

Lucy's voice broke into my thoughts. "Megan. It's time for you and me to change places."

Charles and I were gently encouraged back to our original positions and the women swapped sides. Both of them were obviously aroused. "Mount him," Lucy ordered. Him, in this instance, being me. I thought Megan was going to argue but, carefully gazing at her husband, she eased herself astride me and gingerly lined my cock up against her lips and, never breaking eye contact, lowered herself onto me. The atmosphere in the room was electric.

"There Charles." Lucy spoke softly. "He's inside your wife but nothing has changed. She loves you as much as ever, and he loves Marie. You've lost nothing and gained this." Charles gave a startled gasp. "We saw Megan's skill at this," Lucy revealed. "She's done this before for you; hasn't she?"

Lucy was laid behind Charles so I had no view, but Megan did. From what little I could see, I was fairly confident that Megan was watching Lucy give her husband the same internal massage that I'd been the grateful recipient of earlier that morning. My cock was inside Megan and Lucy had at least one finger inside Charles. From where I lay, he seemed content with the arrangement so I left him to Lucy's tender care and focused on his wife.

Megan too seemed to realize that her husband seemed unconcerned to see her impaled on me, so she used me to rekindle the orgasm that Charles had begun to build in her before Lucy intervened. I'm sorry if that sounded as though I'm complaining. I had a woman in her mid-sixties bouncing on my cock while I played with her remarkably full tits. I'm a straight man. My needs are simple. I was as happy as a pig in shit and it was barely lunchtime.

I could tell Megan was close. In this position, at this point, my wife usually loses it and I have to take over. Megan was made of sterner stuff. She was chasing her pleasure and a mere man was only required for one thing, and that thing was currently sliding up and down her cunt. "Don't you dare fucking come," she snarled. "You can; Come; When; I.;” I had to guess the rest of the sentence, though the glazed, unfocussed eyes and the ragged breathing made her intentions clear enough.

Finally, she found her happy ending. Her belly muscles twitching as the spasms hit, her head thrown back as a wave washed over her. Her whole body shuddered as the intensity drained away. She started to lower herself towards me. "No. Charles." I whispered in her ear.

She pushed up and nodded. "Thank you Geoffrey. That was most satisfying," she acknowledged, politely, if breathlessly. "Thank you too, Charles. You are too kind to me." And, discreetly disengaging from my cock, she cuddled up to her husband. "Thank you, Lucy. Would you like another turn with Geoff or;” She kissed Charles. "Would you prefer Lucy to carry on, or may I take over?"

His eyes opened wide in surprise as Lucy pressed more firmly on his prostate. "Good lord!" He exclaimed. Megan lifted the hand that had been stroking him and stared blankly for a moment. The pearly white fluid apparent on her wrist.

It wasn't exactly an orgasm, he later told me, but it was near enough and certainly better than nothing.

Megan caught Lucy's eye. "I don't think Geoff came in me. Do you want another turn?"

Lucy had me move to her side of the bed and lay behind her. The other two moved over to make room and there we were. Me behind Lucy. Charles next to her but facing his wife who was, in turn, facing him. Both women were caressing his body with their hands and tits.

"Remember what I said when you asked me, on Sunday, what my role in your household was." She reminded me. "I am yours to use whenever and however you want." She pushed her gorgeous little tush back into my groin. "Fuck me. Don't try to make me come. Just use me like a wank toy."

Perhaps you'll think less of me when I admit that I did exactly as she'd suggested. I reached for the bottle she had been using that was on the bedside cabinet (I assumed that with little foreplay she may have needed a bit of supplementary lubrication) and applied a palm-full to my cock. Laying back behind her, I eased inside and began humping into her tight warm glove. Charles had to be aware that the woman currently fisting his cock was simultaneously being fucked from behind by the man his wife had just ridden. I thought that he summed up the situation quite succinctly. "Dear God, can this day get any stranger?!"

I lasted perhaps four minutes before I felt the urgency build in my balls. Lucy must have sensed my instinctive change of pace and clenched her cunt muscles even tighter. That finished me. "Oh! Fuck! Lucy!" I groaned as I spurted inside her, pressing my belly hard against her soft sweet cheeks.

We lay still in that position for a few moments until I slipped out and she turned to face me. "Thank you, Geoff," was all she said. I understood. She had chosen to repay my affection for her by giving herself to me. Every time I used her, it was a sign that I respected and appreciated her gift. Odd though it may seem, there was a Lucy logic to it that made sense; but a warped sense that needed navigating carefully.

We spent another five minutes, we four, quietly regaining our breath before helping Megan get her husband into their shower and then leaving them while we attended to ourselves. After our showers, I joined them for a light and a surprisingly not at all awkward lunch before I left to collect Marie from work.

Charles and I had chatted in his sitting room as the two women worked in the kitchen; I know, typical males. In our defense, Charles is ninety and I was a guest. Anyway, during our chat he reassured me that he was less concerned than ever about his wife and I having sex. He'd just seen her inhaling my cock and riding me. As far as he was concerned, nothing in the way we'd behaved made him feel insecure in their relationship. He intended to regard future intimacy between us as being comparable with her visiting a spa or a therapist. His wife returned to him, content and relaxed, and he had no fear for their marriage.

He also referred to my relationship with Lucy. "She loves you, you know, old man," he advised me. "Megan admires you. She respects you. She's even quite fond of you. But, Lucy." He regarded me carefully. "She's actually in love with you. Tread carefully."

I acknowledged his concern, while admitting that she had a special place in my heart too. His contented smile convinced me that she'd made a place in his heart as well. We shared a look; how her husband could have left such an exciting, vibrant and loving wife was a mystery to both of us.

We'd moved on to other topics when the women arrived with lunch. They had put together a salad of smoked salmon, pasta, cucumber, radish, tomato and shredded lettuce with a dill and cream cheese dressing. Megan took care to ensure that they both ate a well-balanced diet.

Marie looked surprisingly flustered when I met her outside the charity shop that afternoon. My first thought was that, somehow, that morning I had crossed into my wife's discomfort zone. She must have noticed my concern. ""Don't be silly, dear. I've already spoken to Megan. You and I are fine." She shook her head, apparently annoyed with herself. "It's Jo's birthday on Saturday and I need to get her a card and a present. I've been putting it off and I still have no idea what to get her."

"There's the gin shop just round the corner. They also sell other spirits," I observed. "What about a bottle of really good Trinidad rum?"

Marie considered. "I'll pop into the card shop if you go and scout out some candidates."

Now, If there's one thing I'm capable of, it's browsing in booze shops, so I toddled happily off on my mission. When my wife finally joined me in the gin emporium, I was deliberating between two bottles; an Angostura Rum 1919 or a Jung  and  Wulff Rum, Trinidad No.1.

"I like that label," she observed, helpfully picking the dearest of the two. "Is it expensive?"

"Not compared to those over there." I pointed at the shelf opposite. "They are in the hundreds. This." I raised the bottle of Jung and Wolff. "Is about eighty pounds and apparently." I inspected the label. "It tastes of toasted cinnamon, cumin seeds and zesty orange with a subtle vegetal oak richness." That last part was beyond my understanding.

"Is that too expensive for Jo?" She asked, hesitantly.

"I'd rather this than a bottle of supermarket rum from a factory in Slough. When were you planning on giving it to her?" I asked.

"Well, that's another thing," she complained. "She should have been one of the students for our language class tomorrow night." That was our code for Marie's friends visiting for carnal purposes. "But her son is visiting and taking her out for a meal tomorrow so we'll have to find someone else. On the other hand, it's our ladies' night on Friday so we can make it a birthday party for her."

We had paid for the J and W Rum and left the store when a rather naughty thought occurred to me,

To be continued in part 14. Based on posts by Only In My Mind, in 15 parts, for Literotica.