She smirked in a way that it wasn’t clear whether she thought I was vaguely amusing or was a mental patient that must be avoided at all costs.
“You’ve probably never heard of it. It was sort of a party school.” But I proceeded to get her waffle started while engaging in a small chat with her and her husband. By the time the waffle was done, we had all spoken a few words to each other, and my wife, ever the proper social animal, invited them to sit with us. If it was just me, I probably would have continued behaving like an ass, but fortunately my wife did proper introductions.
“My name is Jennifer and my husband’s name is Jim. And despite his behavior, he’s a normal guy who actually does make good waffles.”
Our new guest, clearly happy that we appeared to be actually nice people, said, “I’m Olivia and this is my husband, Ken.” He smiled and raised his coffee mug to acknowledge his wife while biting into a bagel.
We all started chatting about the place, not in a particularly substantive way, but still all enjoying ourselves. Olivia had a dignified and commanding manner about her, but not so dignified that it was off-putting. It didn’t help that she had shoulder-length dark brown hair and a face that you couldn’t stop looking at. She was wearing a relatively modest top, but there was a suggestion of some slightly larger than average breasts there that, I needed to remind myself, belonged to someone who was not my wife.
It was nice to meet friendly people since chatting with strangers in person has become a bit of a lost art. The gals were doing most of the talking while Ken and I understood our conversational support roles. At some point, it turned out that both Ken and my wife were physicians, and the conversation dynamic shifted to Jennifer and Ken talking about medicine while Olivia and I had small side conversations. It was looking like a nice harmless breakfast when the conversation began to take a weird turn.
“Hopefully we’ll see you around more”, my wife said. And she meant it. She’s always looking for folks to hang out with.
“Actually”, Olivia said, jumping back into the conversation with Jennifer, “I think we are neighbors. Aren’t you in the other side of our duplex, #203?”
“Yes!” said my wife, happy that fate was conspiring to get her some company for the trip. “How did you know we were there?”
There was a pause. A very slight pause, but a pause nonetheless. “Oh, I think I’ve seen you coming and going.”
And then, even subtler than the pause, was another smirk from Olivia. People are good at lying with their words, but not nearly as good as with their faces. I think we would have noticed them around the bungalow, and Jennifer would certainly have introduced herself. And we really hadn’t been getting out all that much. Then it hit me, we were having breakfast with a woman who, perhaps only briefly, had seen us fucking like rabbits. She had seen my cock driving in and out of my wife’s pussy, and now she was sitting there drinking coffee, talking about some of the shops just off the property and smiling like nothing was going on. And smirking.