Swing-High

Their photo hadn't lied; I recognised them as soon as they entered the bar.

Yet it hadn't told the whole truth either, but I knew that ' no photo ever can. The good side and bad side next to each other, in the flesh, takes a moment to adjust to, a missed beat then I, we are greeting them like old friends. Except they are not old friends.

We break apart lips greeted, bodies grazed ' each pair sizing up the other, tallying the pluses and minuses. We are smiling and over-talking, giggling and talking-over each other. Small talk, curious questions, whispered answers.

We settle with our drinks into a booth, I opt for a white wine spritzer, I can make it last long enough to get to know them or short enough to be gulped if needed. He begins to sup a pint of Guinness, I approve, real men drink Guinness, my husband drinks Guinness. She prefers gin with tonic and ice, a timeless classic, a grown-up choice. The drinks hint at a shared understanding, a meeting of the minds. Desire begins to loosen my tongue and eyes.

I look around at the other drinkers; we must look to them like two couples out for a drink, comfortable, informal, close ' long-time friends. Who is with whom? The eagle eyed punter might scratch their head, our relationships obscure ' fluid.

As our glasses begin to empty, as the conversation continues its gentle eddy, we dip our toes into the deep water momentarily before retreating to the safety of the shallows. Options remain open for just a little longer. Social smiles now replaced with the genuine kind. Friendship forged.

The moment arrives, he suggests another trip to the bar, and half gets up, hand round his wallet.

'Or back to ours?' I say, 'only if you want to that is.'

My husband nods along, 'it's up to you guys', he echoes.

They glance at each other, and smile; his leg wedged firmly against mine presses his answer into my thigh. She turns and nods to me and my husband smiles. We get up, slipping on our coats; he takes my arm and whispers close to my ear, 'you lead the way'. My husband and she drop in line behind.

We escape the noisy clamouring of the bar full off young hopeful bodies flirting dangerously on drunken dreams, into the cold night, our giggles transforming into white clouds around our faces. We are special, superior ' how little they know, the young, they gambol in fairy tales, nasty little things coated in sugar, the sting in their tale only ever a page away.

'You have a beautiful home', she says to me as we enter the lounge, my husband kneels and lights the fire.

'Thank you' I say 'it needs decorating'.

I survey the room, at once familiar yet foreign, out of kilter its normal purpose adjusted, its furniture reconstructed. Throws flung across the settee, large cushions lazing on the floor. Anticipation hanging heavy in the drapes ' pulled close '

we sit close ' he and me ' she and mine.

We head out into deep water, intimacy seeping into our tongues, which loosen and entwine. We slip off our clothes, they snuggle together confidentially. He tastes warm, bitter ' his hands trace out his longing over the curve of my hips, under my breasts. New hands, unfamiliar hands. I stroke his penis, long and lean, he pulls me closer it warms my belly, I feel wet, ready.

We stop and look at each other, our pupils large our lips swollen and raw. I glance over his shoulder at her on mine ' my husband sees me and reaches out his hand, I stretch my fingers and brush his, he clasps my hand and pulls me gently, his eyes ask.

I reply 'let's join them'.

He nods, placing his hand across my round bottom to guide me in, now four, we snuggle down. Our limbs entwine, combine, we kiss and caress our tongues probing.

She and me, mine and me, he and¦¦¦¦...

She and me and mine. He watches.

He and she and me. Mine watches.

Moaning, smiling, stroking, sucking, tickling and guiding, learning and pleasing ' flying.

*****

We smoke in comfortable reclining, and talk in lengthy tomes, limbs entangled, my husband's shirt loose around my shoulders. Coffee warm in our palms. Pretence silenced ' truth spoken, sung, crowed from the rooftops in our acts of ecstasy still burning on our cheeks and lips. The fire slips into dreamy sleep.

*****

We part at the door lips meshed, bodies embraced, the cold air brushing our cheeks barely dampening their glow. We wave as they drive away swallowed by the night. My husband pulls me close to his side.

'There were really nice', he says.

'Yes they were', I reply, 'he was very sexy, and she too', I blush.

'Do you want to see them again', my husband asks,

'maybe', I say, 'but there is always more to try'.

He laughs, 'yes that couple from Milton Keynes are still interested, you know the ones with the picture where she looks like she is hanging upside down',

'yes, I know the ones you mean, lets meet them next time ' what were their names?'

My husband shakes his head, 'whose, the couple who have just left or the ones in Milton Keynes?'

My turn to shake my head, 'you can't have forgotten their names already?'

He kisses me lingering, running his hands up under my breasts cupping them softly, 'I never knew their names, its not important, is it?'

'No' I agree as we deconstruct the lounge, kids are home first thing.