Oddly enough, it was the waitress’s ass that set me up.
We were in our favorite waterside restaurant when Clarice caught me looking at the shapely server’s rear end.
“What are you thinking? Big ass? Nice ass? Or man, I’d like to fuck that ass?”
Her words snapped my attention back to her as she swirled a swizzle stick slowly through her outrageously blue cocktail.
She grinned deviously at me, and I laughed, running a hand through my hair.
“None of those things. I was just looking. Her jeans are tight. Like super tight. I’m only human.”
“So no ass-fucking thoughts?” she asked.
I shook my head. “Nope.” And it was the truth.
“How about my ass?” she asked.
“How about it? It’s a perfect ass. It’s my favorite ass, in fact.”
She leaned in, and I noticed her lips were stained a light shade of blue. Somehow it made her even sexier than usual.
Decades of marriage hadn’t lessened my desire for her one bit.
“No,” she said, drawing the word out. “What I meant was: Do you want to fuck my ass.”
I just sat there for a moment blinking like an idiot. “Is that a real question?”
She cocked an eyebrow and removed the swizzle stick to suck on the end. My cock went hard almost before I could inhale. I could barely believe it.
“It is. I wouldn’t joke about that.”