Insulted a woman

My wife and I decided to go to "16 Tons" with Timur and Inna on Saturday. They are a pleasant couple, and time with them usually passes easily and sometimes quite fun. And they invited two more, Sergey and Irina (her name is rare, so I changed it on purpose). We know them, but not well—we met once before, although Sergey and I studied in the same year, we didn't really communicate. Nevertheless, everything went very well, there was live jazz playing, many attractive ladies, and some of them were dressed very lightly. In such an atmosphere, unless it's an exclusively male gathering, after about the third or fourth beer, everything I say

somehow mysteriously ends up being only about sex, and when I, unnaturally craning my neck, try to discreetly check out another girl in an "ultra-mini" and a bodysuit without underwear, my wife says to me so sweetly: "Close your mouth already!? Otherwise, you'll start drooling." In general, our conversation was that kind of "tense-casual," the sort where some participants try to steer toward something more explicit and arousing, while others are simply bored and periodically make half-hearted attempts to change the subject. But everyone laughs merrily all the while. You guessed correctly who exactly was trying to change the topic—it was, of course, my wife! That's how it has been every previous time and will be every future time.

We ended up spending about four hours there. And, you know how it happens when you enter into personal contact with a woman (clearly of a sexual nature), without directly addressing each other. It shows in words, glances, mutual reactions. I don't know about others, but for me, such things sometimes lead to me falling in love and then suffering from the flames of passion for months.

That's exactly the kind of contact I had with Irina. I felt extraordinary pleasure from how she, initially somewhat afraid and shy about what was happening, eventually held her gaze on me and didn't look away with increasingly moist eyes for as long as it wouldn't attract the attention of others. Obviously, I was doing the same thing.

I must say, the inner uplift I felt was colossal, but, alas... The situation didn't allow anything. I even started to slyly think about how I would call her at work on Monday and what and how I would say...

In the end, we decided to go to our place as a whole crowd and somehow continue, although we had already drunk so much that Timur and I rode home in the trunk—for fun (the car is a hatchback, great, you can see the stars...). My wife, the least drunk, was driving without a license, with our standard version of events if the traffic police stopped us: making naive-stupid eyes, my wife says, pointing at me: "What, do you want this one behind the wheel!?"

In short, like in the good old student days, we walked around, bought beer, walked the dog, even watched a bit of porn all together. I have this unattainable dream: why not all merge together in one big ecstasy in such a situation, especially since clearly I'm not the only one present who wants it? Naturally, I've sung all my songs about sex and sexuality, especially in this aspect, probably a thousand times (well, to be honest, no more than five hundred). Everyone giggled, and around five, everyone went to sleep.

Being in a state of "joyful excitement" (obviously from interacting with Irina), I even "forced" my wife to have sex (that's me just maintaining my reputation; the initiative was actually hers). And then I desperately needed to go to the bathroom. I went. Sergey and Irina were sleeping in the hallway room. In the morning twilight, I see Irina sitting on the edge of the bed, holding her head in her hands in a very tense, somewhat unnatural pose—like she's feeling sick (well, that happens...).

I hesitated a bit, shuffled my feet, wanted to ask if I should bring some container so the lady wouldn't have to trouble herself with running to the bathroom if needed. I approached her, squatted down, tried to look into her face for a while, and carefully touched her hair.

And then... well, you know how a harp sounds? That exact resonance flowed through my fingers and filled me entirely, making me feel an idiotic desire to fly and scream something incoherent.

At first, she didn't react at all. I began to very carefully stroke her hair and saw the tension in her posture gradually start to fade. I stroked her hair like that for a while, and then she slowly, very slowly, pushing the blanket aside, lay on her back.

Seeing that she had no clothes on, I felt that inside me, apparently, a suddenly arisen waterfall crashed into a simultaneously formed volcano, but their interaction was sexpornotales.cc so catastrophically desirable that only the last glimmers of awareness of the cretinous comicality of the situation—Sergey was sleeping right there—stopped me from "inappropriate actions" (a quote from Clinton). Although, not completely!

Clenching the edge of her blanket between my teeth, I stroked and caressed her, and she, waking up (or did I imagine it?), closed her eyes again, and we continued like that for a long time.

In the morning, when we and Tema with Inna (obviously the other, "our" couple) got up, Sasha and Irina were already gone. We had breakfast, then they gathered and left too. And I spent the whole Sunday in rather mixed feelings. That is, remembering the "event" and Irina was, on one hand, very pleasant, but on the other—mixed with a feeling of something "bad," something you want to forget as soon as possible.

I walked around like a drowned man for a couple of days. Eventually, I told my wife; she's understanding, despite some apparent grumpiness, and in general, our relationship allows for "certain things." She listened, she listened, and says: "You're a creep, you insulted a woman, and that's just not done. You can't measure everything in the world with your dick!"

That's where it all ended. And I sit here and don't understand, what exactly did I do?