My Wife Takes my Girlfriend for Dinner is a flash fictional tale of exactly 750 words and is a continuation of My Husbands Girlfriend.
She asked for this. My wife. To take my girlfriend for dinner. She says she wants to get to know her. I’m sure she does.
We await my girlfriend at a tiny restaurant, seats tucked away in the back for privacy. Leg bouncing beneath the table, I sit across from my spouse, who wordlessly scans the small dining area like she hasn’t seen the paint and plastered walls a hundred times. It’s where I proposed. I’m sure that’s why she picked the place.
The host arrives, my girlfriend in tow, and as one, my wife and I stand. My girlfriend smiles at me then turns to my wife, who embraces her like they’re long-lost friends, kissing both cheeks and glowing in a way I’ve rarely seen in many years. I can’t help but be a bit surprised. I had expected amicability. Genuine fondness hadn’t even crossed my mind.
When she finally lets go, my girlfriend kisses me, open-mouthed. A bit of tongue. She touches my cheeks and smiles, a question in her eyes, but a smirk on her lips.
She’s enjoying this. She’s not the only one. My wife has been almost giddy since first dawn. I have been a wreck, imaginings of refereeing catfights occupying my mind. My girlfriend adjusts my tie.
Pulling her chair to my wife’s side, until their shoulders brush, my girlfriend sits. She looks at me with an apologetic expression. I shrug, a mixture of amusement and intrigue and something else, something primitive, stirring inside my gut.
I watch them. The two women I love.
My wife, fair skinned, dark hair pulled back tightly into a neat braid, amber freckles lining her rosy cheeks. And my girlfriend, copper-toned, loose blond hair cascading over a shoulder to the valley between her lifted breasts.
Ivory and ebony.
Hot and cold.
The two lean toward each other, heads almost touching. They share whispered words reminiscent of lustful sighs. They giggle like schoolgirls, faces filled with effervescent smiles.
The waiter appears, and my girlfriend requests the honour of ordering the wine. She loves this place, has been coming here since she was a child. My eyes meet my wife’s and her grin grows wide, a glint in her eye.
They fill the glasses. A swish and a swallow. Dinner is ordered. Appetizers and entrees only.
“Dessert will come later,” my wife says like it’s an inside joke, one I do not know the punch line to, and the two women laugh. My wife’s low and throaty. And my girlfriend’s higher pitched, a gentle lilting ring. One complementing the other. Flowing together like an unchained melody.
My wife sips deep red wine. It stains her mouth, highlighting her lips. Her eyes sparkle as my girlfriend tells of grand adventures. She listens with rapt attention, her eyes slipping to watch my girlfriend’s lips move. Her tongue peeks out to lick her own.
My wife looks over at me, cheeks rosy, her blush growing.
Like a fading echo, like déjà vu, I envision slim pale shoulders pressed between tanned thighs, a matching hand tightly fisting chestnut curls. My fingers curl around the arm of my chair.
My girlfriend catches me staring. She winks. She presses a question into my wife’s ear, one I do not hear. Her eyes glow, her expression changes. To one I do not know.
My wife throws her head back and emits a belly laugh. I witness my girlfriend’s eyes peruse her, taking her in while my wife is unaware. Sizing her up. I expect to find a look of rivalry, disdain. Instead, I find curiosity and hunger, and hardened nipples.
The moment is interrupted. Dinner is served. My wife states, “That looks divine.” My girlfriend smiles, says the dishes’ name in Italian. “Would you like a bite?”
They taste daintily from each other’s plates. One holding their fork for the other. Each set of lips opening to taste a perfect morsel, closing to slide across the silver tines. Each mouthful enhanced by satisfied groans. Gentle sighs.
Plates are cleared, glasses filled. My girlfriend traces my wife’s wedding band using a single finger. They share a heated stare.
I hear my wife’s breath catch. Her hand comes up quickly. She asks for the check. She tosses a card onto the table. Her signature hastily scribbled.
The two women stand.
And behind them I follow. A shadow. An extra cog.
As I stumble in pursuit, watching them enter a hailed taxi, I only have one thought.
Can I watch?
header image by Elina Sazonova:
My Wife Takes my Girlfriend for Dinner has been linked to Week 159 of Mmm Mondays.
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