Beau looked down at her, smiled happily and dropped his hand from her back to a more possessive resting position on her upper buttock. He pulled her closer and she responded by grinding her belly and groin against him again, this time keeping her hips moving in an insistent sexual rotation. All the while, she locked eyes with me, clearly defiant, as if she were daring me and any other observers to do anything about her so openly and obviously rubbing her body against this black man.
Finally looking up at him, she extended her hand to the back of his neck, pulled his head down and put her mouth to his ear. As Beau spun her away, it appeared that she had her tongue in it and I saw that large black hand, in stark contrast against her tight cream-colored skirt, drop more, almost cupping her ass as he pulled her in tighter. I looked around, hoping that, in fact, only those two black couples were paying attention to the fact that my white wife was dry-fucking my black manager on the dance floor.
The band played continuously, segueing from one number to the next until they finally took a break. Blondie and Beau returned to the bar arm-in-arm, both of them now sweating in the coastal humidity despite the air conditioning. As they approached, I could see Beau was trying discreetly to conceal his erection with the hem of his suit jacket. As she perched atop her stool, Blondie looked directly at the rather prominent bulge in his trousers, smiled naughtily at me, then back at him, and teased,
“Oh my, Dickie boy, your boss has some real nice moves on the belly-rubbers. He got this little ol’ Cajun girl all hot and bothered out there, I swear he did, cher.”
Then, looking directly at his erection, she whispered wickedly,
“Well will you just looky here, Dickie boy? Why I do believe your boss has taken a fancy to your little ol’ wife. I think he likes me, cher…” then flicking her eyes back to his groin, she teased, “At least it sure looks like part of him does…”
Then with devilish mirth, “Sure felt like it when we were dancin, too, tu sais (you know)?”
Waiting a long beat for effect, she looked back at me, smiling even more wickedly, and murmured,
“Yeah, cher, I think maybe your boss would like to give your little baby girl a big ol’ bone-us, hmmm?” placing a leering emphasis on bone.
I just stared at the two of them, not sure what to say—clearly they’d been up to a helluva lot more than just sexy dancing out there. I replied quietly, “I think maybe you’ve had too much to drink, Blondie.”
Blondie stuck her tongue out at me, then snickered smugly,
“Oh connerie (bullshit)! Don’t be such an ol’ fuddy-duddy! Tais-toi un instant et écoute (Shut up for a moment an’ listen), Dickie boy!”
With an absolutely diabolical grin, she whispered,
“I can now confirm somethin’ else with first-hand knowledge…you know, that other thing that you always hear about black men? Well, I do believe that’s true, too!”
Grinning naughtily, she waited another beat, looked steadily into Beau’s eyes, her own eyes smoking with sexual heat, as she purred,