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A few slight chuckles fell out of my mouth. "Sense you are standing your date up, would you mind if I slept with you?" I wondered, bringing my hands came to her face. "I'd love nothing more, but you gotta stop stealing my bras and panties. They are mine, but I'd love to buy some for you," she told me, pulling me to her. "I'd really love that, but as I said we just have the same taste in unmentionables." "Just so you know, you will have to give me a fashion show, there is no getting out of that." "Okay, Stella," I laughed, rolling my eyes. "Also, I have a stressful job, so I may need your services on a regular basis. If that's okay with you." "I think I'll get over it and see if I can squeeze you in." "Maybe at work too?" "Oh, I'd love that," I replied, cheesing. "I don't think that guy could even compete with you, so he is probably better off. I'd just be starring off into space picturing you naked right between my legs." "Next time, don't make me practically beg you to make you feel. Scott Fitzgerald once said " The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposing ideas in mind at the same time and still retain the ability to function..." The eternal argument about open vs closed marriage; about sharing vs exclusivity is one where I honestly can see both sides. I'm no genius; my wife - and every one else - is very clear about that – but here's a little diatribe about this anyway.Edited by my good friend NoneTheWiser, who has a habit of coming up with better names for my stories than I do.There is no sex in this story.Sam was sitting at the bar, sipping his Bud Lite – 'Diet beer', his thirteen-year-old son called it, razzing his dad gently – while kind of watching the game on the big screen.He looked around and counted. There were twenty-six different screens in the sports bar, showing twelve different sports. At least two of them he had never even knew existed. He shrugged. No wonder no one talked any more. Too busy watching other people do.
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