And watch I did; watch Pat and Harry really put on an exhibition of how it should be done. A few times they were the only ones on the floor while others just looked on and clapped. I gotta admit, I felt proud of Pat watching her and Harry perform.
Later pride gave way to pissed as the music became softer and slower and every time Pat came back to our table to rest a minute, while downing another drink, she’d refuse dance with me, claiming she was too tried, but as soon as Harry Baby reached for her hand she quite willingly followed him out on the floor.
Oh yeah–the drunker they got the more they rubbed on each other, while dancing. His hands were all over her, I’m pretty sure he was finger fucking her right there on the floor one time. I was getting pissed and in my head I imagined how I’d go over there slap Harry and drag Pat back to our table, kicking and screaming.
Of course, all that only took place in my mind; each time I tried to fetch her, my legs just wouldn’t lift my body, so I just sat through the humiliation until they announced the last call for drinks and the singer said, “Okay men, last chance to claim a dance with the girl you’ll be taking home.”
There was a lot of shifting about as most women shifted back to the fellow who brought them. I could only go mostly by sound, because I kept clenching my eyes closed, trying to keep the tears from dripping down my cheeks. That’s when I got the shock of my life.
“Don’t you want to claim the last dance?” My eyes flew open–Pat was standing there, her hand extended.
I was up in a flash and we moved to the music, her body pressed against mine, her arm around my neck and her lips nibbling on my ear. Lord it was wonderful! Even if she had been playing up to Harry most of the night, at least for these few minutes it was like it had been back in the old days.
As the last strains faded and we all headed for the exit, Pat pulled me to a halt, saying, “It’ll be just a few minutes till Harry is ready.”
“Why do we care how long it takes for Harry to get ready? He has his own car, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, but since he’s had so much to drink, it only makes sense for him to ride with us.”
“Oh! We taking him by his place–guess that makes sense, he does look like he’s ‘three sheets into the wind.’
“No, we’re not taking him by his house; his wife would raise hell if he walked in like he is now.”
“Well where are we taking him?” I asked the question, but had a sinking feeling I knew the answer.
“He’s sleeping with us tonight. I will not let his wife see him like this; she’ll make his life miserable.”
“She was right there at the party–don’t you think she already saw him?”
“Fat lot of attention you were paying! She left before things got started getting good–claimed she had one of her many migraines coming on. So, No! He’s sleeping at our house tonight and that’s all there is to it.”
“Where? In the guest room, I suppose.”
“Don’t be silly, he’ll be sleeping with us in our big king sized bed. I always did want to see how it felt to do a threesome.”