Chapter Six Scissors
Decorated
in a brilliant red sash, the paper had come every Saturday night for weeks. My destiny delivered to me neatly tied in a ribbon. I never wanted for what I would do with my life nor how I could see my vision of life. It was in the paper on my doorstep by six o’clock.
I do not know how he knew what would happen or even how he knew it would be me, but there it always was, laid out in print with pictures for me to follow. Perhaps it was a fluke. Maybe he could see the future. Rather, I believed it was by God’s hand that all this came about. Ridding the lovely girls of their sinful ways and delivering from the hell they lived on earth, God answered their prayers. And, of course mine.
The lust for blood boiled in me often. I resist the urge to leave my guests for just those few moments. Lurking in the corners, down in the shadows, and behind that noisy rattle-trap air conditioner, I find watching those two in carnal sin such a pleasure. Those guttural sounds. Her moans of pleasure I find extremely tantalizing and the perfect complement to the rhythm of my hands on my cock.
Finally, they are finished. Slouching in the chair fits his demeanor. It is such a contrast to the lovely lady’s glistening body, those beads of sweat rolling across her tummy and down between her legs. She’s ready for relief from this world.
With the last drop of the bottle gone and while he still sleeps in the chair, I can finally make that picture come true. With the scissors in my hand, it is time.
Returning to my friends, I find them no less harmed for my absence nor any less ready for dessert. Angel Food Cake with a savory red sauce.
Chapter Seven A Night At the Key Party
From
the moment my eyes caught the view of that woman, I knew I was in for a wild ride. There was the first date where I managed to hook her dress in the revolving door and leaving her standing in the restaurant with nothing more than her panties and bra for coverage. Next came the wedding from hell where we both ate bad fish and spent our honeymoon night puking into 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 stood out, more like a floozy than my wife. The smoky dark makeup around her eyes intensified her subtle beauty. I never noticed the curves of her lashes before. She was beautiful. She was more beautiful than I had ever seen her before. There was a glow around her as she talked about the upcoming event. Although I appreciated it, the people around me gave me a strange vibe, as if I was there with a well-paid hooker.
“Just do what you always do. We don’t expect guys to be good,” she said, finishing her toast. “Besides, you are fine. I never complain, do I?”
She was right. She never complained. Sometimes she muttered things under her breath, but I couldn’t be sure they were complaints. The thought this was her suggestion burned all kinds of interesting scenarios as to why she chose to accept this invitation. Was it me? Had she finally decided she needed to see what she had been missing all these years? Maybe. I wondered how we got the invitation, anyway. There must have been a conversation somewhere that led to this. There might have been some girl talk that led one of her friends to suggest a day at the key party. Her dissatisfaction surely led her to want to do this. Yep, I was quite sure I was inadequate enough to warrant this. Whatever the situation, I knew the show had to go on even if I turned out to be the comic relief.
Women stood in line by the ladies’ room at the motel lobby, all dressed to impress the guy they chose. The smell of sweet perfume and female pheromones mixed together into a luscious treat. Wanting something to do instead of mingling with the competition, I decided to check in at the clerk’s desk and secure my own room key. The line wasn’t long, but with the short amount of conversation with the other guys, I came to the conclusion they were as nervous as I was. Although they never said it, I could tell they were just as worried about their wives. With the old-fashioned key ring and key in my hand, I headed off to seek my future in the arms of some woman to be named at a later date. As I passed the first attractive woman checking out my butt, I realized I must be someone’s draft pick.
Arriving in the dance hall, I bellied up to the bar for my first potion. I drank that first shot quickly, hoping to shore up my faltering nerves. It worked better than I imagined. With every step into the crowd I could feel myself drifting into the sexual mood of the room. The lady at the table would be nice. I hoped the woman by the piano might find my key attractive. I hoped to get the cola machine rather than the lady leaning against it. At least the machine weighed less. All the time, though, I kept seeing my wife just a few yards away, talking and mingling like she had done this before. Yes, I was a little jealous. No, I couldn’t stop it.
The music railed on into the night as I danced with this one and that one. I loved the feel of the curvy woman as we slow danced around the floor. That bony girl would never do. What if I broke her? The one built for sex, with legs that made a perfect line into her thinly veiled panties, heaving bosom, and strong arms, kept her distance from me. Finally, as the evening rolled to a stop, I had my chance. The pattern had been clear
—
some fancy rock song, then a country two-step, and then the slow dance. She was by herself, alone as the slow dance was about to be played. I had enough time to make my way across the room and ask her to dance before the announcer finished his speech.
“All women, the time has come to grab a key for the evening. Guys, room keys please.”
Damn! Screwed again.
I fumbled in my pocket to dig out the motel room key and dropped it in the hat. Disappointed, I made my way over to the bar and grabbed a shot of courage for the road. I noticed my wife was twisting her hair over by the juice fountain, a sure sign she was nervous as well. I suddenly found myself stroking her back as a way of reassuring her things would be well.
“Hoping for the sex bomb with the panties showing every time she walks, aren’t you?” she asked without looking.
“Anything wrong with that?”
“No, honey. I hope you get her.”
I hesitated before continuing the conversation. “Have you one that you favor?”
“See the bulge in that man’s pants?”
“Good choice. Hope it fits.” I really hoped she didn’t get that guy. With a bulge like that, there was no way she would ever be satisfied with my dick again. My mind was now circling the corners of my brain to see if I could remember the web address of the penis enlarging guru.
The room crowded around the hat sitting on the table near the door that led outside to the portico where all the room doors waited. As each woman pulled a key from the hat, they would stare at the number on the tag before exiting the door. When my wife, the last to draw, exited the room, the announcer called us all to the bar for one last round of drinks before the night’s main event began. We toasted the girls, their honor, and all of our organs which we hoped would rise to full mast at the sight of our blind dates. The bonding experience did more to rattle my nerves than calm them. I also felt a pang of nervousness for my wife, the love of my life, as she prepared for her first new lover in almost twenty years. I hoped she did well.
Room Sixty-Eight couldn’t have been more appropriate. Certainly she would ring my bell, but I would probably owe her one. After all, it had been twenty years for me as well. Oh, I can ring my wife’s bell like I am at a church bell tower just jerking on that bell rope, but women are different. How was I to know if those things worked on others? I stood outside the door for several minutes trying to get the courage to turn the knob and walk in.
“Hey fella,” a guy shouted. “That has to be the room. Everyone else is in theirs.” With nothing else to do, I pushed the door aside and strolled in as if I owned the place.
The dimly lit room smelled of candles and cinnamon, a light fragrance that actually helped ease the transition from fidelity to whatever this was we were doing. The dingy walls and decades-old decor seemed brighter in the presence of her special touches. You could hardly notice the water stains on the ceiling or smell the moldy curtains. The table, covered by a cloth and her bag was a good final touch.
Her face glowed in the flicker of the candlelight. The blonde hair lay on her shoulder as a soft blanket. The jet black bra provided a perfect background for her arms folded over her chest. I loved the way her soft curves of her hips melted into those shapely legs. Mae West would have been proud.
“We finally get to dance,” she said.
Although the voice was not familiar, those tits were unmistakable. She was the Bomb!
Thank you, Lord!
I studied, for too long, her curvy body draped across the bed. Perhaps it was the long lacy panties that covered her midriff or the way the nipple rings bulged the sheer fabric of the cups, but I knew this was going to be a wild ride. Before I could venture further in my visual safari, she dragged me to the bed, running her hand over my butt as she did. I found myself at her mercy, foiled by my own lust and depravity so much that I knew I would do whatever she wanted.
She knelt over me. I watched as she encouraged the straps of her bra down the length of her arm with her delicate fingers. A peek of the perky brown nipples flashed as the last of the fabric dropped over her rings. I gasped at the sight of those dangling toys spilling over the sides of her erect buttons. Without even realizing I was in motion, I found my fingers gently pulling on one.