1. Statistically, February Sucks


    Date: 7/7/2024, Categories: Loving Wives, Author: byRobertaBob 

    My name is Linda. My husband's name is Jim. We've been happily married for ten years. We have stable jobs, a nice house, and two wonderful children. We are a fairly normal American couple.

The evening of this tale, our friend group of four couples had gone out for dinner and dancing at The Fairmont. This gathering has become our tradition over the past few years. Late February is a sports desert, a wonderful time to entice our guys into romancing us. The Super Bowl is over and March Madness is weeks away. Our only competition for their attention is regular season hockey, but some perfume and short dresses wins that coin flip.

The staff cleared away our dessert plates and refreshed our drinks. The band finished tuning and launched into a rhumba.

Jim grabbed my hand, saying, "I've got this!" and led me to the dance floor. He had surprised me with dance lessons about five years ago, and he knew the rhumba box well enough to guide me around while smiling lovingly into my eyes and staying off my toes.

After the rhumba, a foxtrot, and a waltz, we went back to our table and our wine. The guys were debating which of the NFC teams had the best chance to challenge the conference champions next season when my friend Dee made a low whistle and nodded not very discreetly across the room.

"Get a load of that hunk!" she whispered.

I looked where she indicated and saw a tall muscular man in a thousand-dollar suit making the rounds and stopping to speak a few words at each ...
    ... table. He had black curly hair and dark smoldering eyes. He looked a lot like a young Joe Namath - if Namath had been able to bench 400 pounds.

I shot a glance at Dee. Even she should have recognized him.

"That's Marc LaValliere," I said. "The tight end. I pointed him out to you during the divisional championship."

Dee sighed like a school girl. "But he had a helmet on. Hey - don't you have him?"

I nodded. I have him, and Heaven had put him tonight in my path. I silently thanked Vince Lombardi and jumped out of my seat. "I'll be right back."

I hurried to the ladies and returned in less time than it takes Cordarrelle Patterson to blow through a lousy kick coverage. Dee ripped her eyes away from the stud to focus on me. On my tits, that is. I had removed my bra and now the girls were bouncing free. If anything gets me into sexy Canton, it will be my firm alabaster puppies.

Our husbands were still deep in comparing rosters and didn't see my costume upgrade. But Marc did. His head swung around in my direction. My head turned away casually like I didn't know he was there, I shook my shoulders so the twins did the wave. I let my knees ease apart.

Oh, yeah. I had torn my panties off. Marc eyes snapped to my exposed crotch like a dog finding a squirrel.

He headed straight to our table. Six-five two-sixty quiets the room when it is in a horny hurry.

"Hello," he said, his attention fully on me and only me. "I'm Marc. May I have this dance?"

The guys finally ...
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