My Wife Flirts With Women
I can say I was there for the whole show last night. My wife compared *assets* with another woman, wore psychedelic Frisbees as pasties and totally lost her balloon-virginity to her best friend.
Chicks are just hot man.
And I’m just prevert enough not to care that this all took place at a very public Christmas celebration in our nation’s capital.
Last night was the Candlelighter’s annual Christmas dinner/party for Childhood Cancer at the Old Post Office Pavilion in Washington, DC.
And let me tell you, it was a blast.
They always do a great job. They bring in great entertainment, great food, and lots of fun stuff to do for the kids, along with some really cool presents that the kids can all pick from.
It is also a great time for parents and siblings of kids with cancer to talk and relate to other people who have lived through what they’ve lived through. It can get pretty emotional some years as it offers a release for something that spends most of it’s time bottled up.
The evening started with dinner and a speaker – this year it was a research doctor who studies the human genome to pinpoint the exact differences in cell structure in pre-cancer, cancer, and remission. Mostly his talk was over everybody’s head, but the overlaying message was fairly simple:
We’re not in the dark anymore. We know what we’re looking for.
He pointed out that the survival rate for kids (and adults) with cancer has improved dramatically, not because we’re discovering new treatments and cures so much as because we now regularly test for common cancers and have effective ways of spotting them in their early stages, before the tumors begin, while everything is still shifting at the base cellular level.
From there the evening goes straight from interesting to flat out fun.
They had juggling, face painting, cotton candy, popcorn, toys, sand art, spin art, ornament painting, and – of course – toys.
And the OPOP is a veritable cavern of balconies, stairs, and mezzanine for the kids to run around in.
As usual, we made an effort at keeping up in the beginning, but my wife and I quickly found ourselves a bench and watched the kids run off and run back like mad little yo-yo people without strings.
A few minutes into that, my wife’s friend came to sit down with us.
That’s when the real fun began.
These ladies met at one of the camp weekends for Special Love (another group that does things for kids with cancer) and became fast friends. Now, because of my job schedule, I rarely, if ever, get to go on the weekend retreats, so they’re used to playing around without my chaperonage.
So last night was an eye opening experience.
My wife’s friend . . . hrm . . . I need something to call her. She promised to make up a nick name for me but never managed it before we left. We’ll go with Sassy. Good a description as any and I’ll remember it.
(Her first suggestion when she sat down was that I should be moved to the middle of the bench and made into the filling of their girl sandwich, just to give you an idea about her personality).
So, Sassy sits down next to my wife and while I’m watching children flit about like sugarplum faeries, they’re huddled together thick as thieves and giggling like little girls. But I wasn’t paying much attention until I heard the word @ss come out of my wife’s mouth.
Or that’s what I thought I was hearing.
As my head swiveled up, she finished it as @ss-ets, but since she was cupping her boobs I stayed for the rest of the conversation. She was counting out her 5 *assets* which apparently consisted of each boob, each ass cheek, and her pussy.
I said, Only 5? I count at least 6 assets.
She asked me what the 6th asset was.
I told her, You’re talking out of it.
It pretty much all spiraled out of control from there, and it wasn’t long afterwards that my wife was sporting the Frisbee pasties and holding a big purple balloon in between her legs (which Sassy fondled until it exploded on us). Yeah.
I’ll post pictures later. We got some good ones of my wife and I and I think we got at least one credible shot of Sassy’s considerable rack.