Chapter 5 - An Unforeseen Twist

I once read a vignette from the 19th century that spoke about the fun of visiting a county fair. The writer explained how, even with all the strange and wondrous sights, and sounds, and smells, the best part of the fair was watching the people. He remarked about the wide variety of folks and of wondering what those people did and where they came from. Well, tonight at this ball, Gwen and I were talking quite a bit about the other people. We didn't know a single soul, and so we felt no reticence in discussing what in our imaginations we thought the others might do for a living, or where they were from, or if they were good in bed or not. Now that last topic wasn't one that Gwen and I were often in the practice of talking about. But, with the mood and intent of the evening so obvious to us both, she didn't seem the least bit concerned about it. She often made quite a few comments and remarks that surprised me, like "I'll bet she bleaches that hair," or "He won't be able to get it up tonight," or "Hmmm, I can tell that guy is hung like a horse," and the most common comment of all, "I'm sexier than his wife, aren't I?"

Now, you have to realize, to hear my wife talk like that is completely out of character. She is known as a generous and loving person. She has faithful women friends (men too), and haughty put-downs are not part of her personality. I have known for some time that Gwen is exceptionally gifted when it comes to her intuition. Time and time again over the years, she has been able to pick up on someone's vibe and inform me of their thinking long before I even have a clue. Sometimes her intuition is borne out by future events, and sometimes there is no way for me to know, because it is the person's inner feelings she is so good at perceiving. But her uncanny knack has been proven to me so many times over the years that I don't ever take for granted anything she says that comes from her 'intuition.'

I kept up my part of the conversation, giving my two-cent opinions about numerous people, both men and women. But Gwen was practically a machine. She had an opinion about nearly everybody. I'll bet that by 10:30 she had commented to me about at least 50 people. I was almost to the point of overload when she finally said something that jarred me to attention. "Ron, do you see that woman over there three tables away from us in the creamy dress?"

I peered around behind me, following her gaze. I saw a very sexy lady, middle aged but looking fine, seated with her apparent husband. "Yes," I answered hesitantly.

Gwen: "I don't like that bitch!"

Ron (me): "What are you talking about? You don't even know her."

Gwen: "Oh. I know her well enough. I don't like her and she doesn't like me."

Ron: "Why? What's going on?"

As we talked I kept scanning my eyes over in the direction of the woman she was talking about. She was quite pretty, with fine aquiline features. Her hair was a lovely blonde. I couldn't tell how long it was, since she had it pulled up on top with just a few strands hanging down. She looked quite elegant. Her dress was very pretty soft satin in a creamy color that was practically the same color as her lovely skin. She was sitting at a slight angle to the table she shared with her husband. I had seen them on the dance floor during the last 45 minutes, but they hadn't intruded on my thoughts before now. Even though there was about 20 feet separating our tables, I had a clear view between the crowded tables. She seemed in genuine conversation with her husband, but I noted occasional glances in our direction. Her left leg was crossed sexily over her right and it was bouncing up and down, drawing my eyes to the luxurious expanse of skin she showed. Her gown appeared to be quite long, but with a long slit up the side, when she was seated, plenty of sexy thigh was visible.

Gwen: "She thinks she is sexier than me."

Ron: "Oh no. She isn't sexier than you. You are definitely the sexiest woman in this whole party, at least among the women within 20 years of your age, maybe with a slight exception for a couple of the women in their twenties."

Gwen looked at me with that annoyed look I had come to know only too well. "I didn't say she WAS sexier than me." She slowed down her speech to emphasize her meaning. "I said, 'She THINKS she is sexier than me'."

Ron: "And just how do you know this?" I regretted my question even before I let it slip out of my mouth.

Gwen: "Don't you know anything! Women can tell these sorts of things. I'll prove it to you. Just look over at her. See her swinging her leg like that. We've made eye contact a whole lot during the last ten minutes and she is telling me in no uncertain terms what I just told you. The bitch THINKS she is sexier than me!"

My wife's eyes narrowed a bit as she let a hard edge creep into her voice. It was now that I noticed my own wife's leg. Her left leg was crossed and it was bouncing up and down in a continuing rhythm that matched if not exceeded that of the woman she was talking about. "Does that prove she hates you?"

Gwen's annoyance with me was even more pronounced now. "God, Ron. Sometimes you are so stupid. Besides, there is more. We've been in silent conversation for at least the last half hour. She just keeps looking at me while we are on the dance floor. She licks her lips and wiggles her ass for my benefit. In fact, we've been having a bit of a competition out there. I guess you never noticed. It all started when she bumped her ass into mine on the dance floor. We were dancing among all those people and at first it didn't seem that odd, considering the crowd. But then it happened again, and then a third time. I felt her ass pushing up against mine, so finally I pushed back. It ended up in a duel with our butts. I felt her up against me and we could feel each other quite intimately. I noticed her muscles tighten up, almost trying to squeeze my left cheek between her cheeks. We had pushed back against each other so that each of us had one cheek pressed directly into the crack of the other. Well, when I felt her muscles clench up and practically squeeze my butt, I just had to fight back. I squeezed my ass so tight I practically pinched her ass down to a sliver. After that every time we came close on the dance floor she brazenly bumped or pushed her ass into mine. I never let her get away with it though. I pushed back and made sure she knew whose ass was best!"

I could hardly believe my ears. My wife was telling me details of her encounter and it was clear that she was serious. I wondered what the other woman was thinking. I wondered if she was telling her husband a similar story. I wondered lots of things. My curiosity was intense, but the more I thought about it the more it seemed that Gwen was telling the truth. I looked over again. Her husband never seemed to be looking our way when I glanced in that direction. But now I could see the woman spent more time looking our way than she did at her husband. Her leg made that continuous motion up and down. I turned back to my wife and noted her leg swinging vigorously and just as I did I caught a glimpse of the tail-end of my wife mouthing something silently across the room in the woman's direction. I think I caught her mouthing the word "BITCH."

I let her know I saw it and asked, "Did you just call her a bitch?"

"Absolutely, she deserved it. She just called me a whore."

"You've got to be kidding," I thought. My brain was flooded with concern, questions, and mostly excitement. I had always had fantasies of women, including my wife, in sexual situations or in combat with other women. The reality of what was going on began to sink in. I asked my wife, "Does her husband know about this? Do you think?"

Gwen: "Yes, I am sure of it. He has been looking over here quite a few times at her guidance. I can just imagine what she is telling him. She better not try anything, or I'll make her wish she hadn't."

Ron: "What? What do you mean? Can't we just have fun and not worry about her any more?"

Gwen: "Hell, no. I mean hell yes. What I mean is we can just have fun, but it won't be because I'm not thinking about her. In fact, I'm having a wonderful time thinking about her and what I'd do to her to put her in her place. She thinks she is sooooo sexy. Well, there is no way she is sexier than me and I fully intend to prove it if she dares enough to keep challenging me like she is right now."

I didn't look back but I knew that she was doing something to add fuel to the fire. I could see my wife's eyes narrow to slits. Her brow furrowed in an angry look of disdain as she stared across the space. "Hot Damn," I thought. "There sure are some sparks tonight." Not the sparks I was anticipating. But they were sparks of a nature that made me just quiver in sexy anticipation. A whole new dimension had just been added to our evening at the ball. Aware that any question I asked might be considered 'stupid,' I tentatively asked, "Are you sure she doesn't like you? Maybe she DOES like you and wants to get in your pants."

"Well, well, Ron. Now you finally seem to be catching on. Of course she wants into my panties. She has been licking her lips, ogling my tits, and purring like a kitten over there. Acting all hot and bothered, but making sure every time that she thinks she is superior to me. She wants to make me think that I shouldn't even have come here tonight, to be scared away. I have no intention of letting her think like that. I can't wait to chew her up and spit her out!" Her fuming double-entendre caught me as much by surprise as everything else she had said tonight. I let my further questions remain back in my head, and I just sat quietly sipping my drink. Gwen was only beginning drink number three. I suppose the slight buzz from the alcohol might have been melting away some of her usual inhibitions. Ditto for 'Mrs. Creamy dress.'

We had spent about 15 minutes sitting and talking at our table. I spent the next couple of minutes just watching the other happy couples out on the dance floor, mulling over the situation, when all of a sudden my wife grabbed my arm and said "let's dance." Her eyes had never left their stare towards the woman in cream. The icy daggers were quite chilling, but I sensed a keen sense of power and awareness flowing out from Gwen. When she yanked me up to dance, I just knew it was with the intent of accepting the challenge being issued by 'the woman in cream.' Sure enough, I caught them out of the corner of my eye heading towards an open area of the floor. I let Gwen guide me and I could see that the other woman was leading her spouse towards the same area. Now that my attention was focused her way I could see the exaggerated sway she put into her hips as she glided across the floor. I noted her posture and the way she stood purposely tall. I was now able to also see that her dress had an extremely pretty embroidered flower, a rose, stitched into the fabric. Its long stem wound from near her navel up to her left breast, with the flower petals bursting open in a blaze of scarlet directly over her left tit. I hadn't been able to notice that earlier from the way she was sitting. . She showed nearly an identical amount of sexy cleavage as Gwen. Now it was plain to see that their abundant bust lines most assuredly had something to do with the way these two women were dueling. Their duel was one of body language, spoken purely for the benefit of the other. They spoke when they were close, and they could speak from afar. It didn't matter. They were now enveloped in a luxuriously sexy war. I have already mentioned the fine breasts that adorn my wife. Superb! Yes, they were superb, especially for a 50 year old lady. Now for the first time I could see the competition. As if the rose was needed. Hah! 'Mystery Woman' had very large pointy tits. They bounced and jiggled erotically with her every move. Their fullness swayed their way towards the open area of the floor and I found I couldn't take my eyes off of them. Fabulous! She looked, even at close range to be nearly as old as us. I wasn't sure, but I guessed her age at 45. Later I found out she was 44. She looked to be maybe a size 8 (10 maybe). She didn't have quite the height or the broad shoulders of my wife, but she was very, very similar in body shape. Besides her very intriguing tits, she seemed to have just the slightest of paunches. Not very many women in their age group have washboard stomachs, and even with the workouts that my wife had begun when her diet began, she hadn't been able to lose all of her 'extra tummy fat' either. Upon closer inspection I could tell that she was very pretty. Her arms seemed long for her body, and her legs were shapely and muscular.

In retrospect I think I now know why these two women picked each other out of the crowd. It might not have been their intent before the evening started, but once in the crowd of others, the need for some sort of 'alpha stature' must have developed in each of them. Gwen had transformed from her usual pretty appearance to one of ravishing beauty. It must have done her ego wonders to remember walking around that room on our entrance and to see the stares of awe she inspired. Not only had it been I been telling her how beautiful and sexy she was. Certainly the glances and stares of the others were further confirmation of that thought. Obviously she liked the feeling and she craved even more. Now that 'Mrs. Cream dress' had shown up, there was a rival. Women have a sense of rivalry that is much more keenly developed than we men can ever imagine. Somehow each sensed in the other a threat to the image they had of themselves. In only a few minutes that rivalry had simmered without my knowledge, but now that I had been informed of the status I was a player in the game too. My guess was that the other gentleman was feeling much like me. I assumed he was in a similar predicament, excited by his wife's sexy confrontation, but baffled by the cause. As I write this story you must remember that nearly three weeks have gone by and I have had time to discuss these events (over and over and over) with my wife. That, coupled with my own reflections, gave me the knowledge and insight that I now find time to share. But at the time of the events, this was quite baffling to me. Exciting, but baffling.

All this happened much more quickly than the time it takes to tell, but the story continues. I now had my first opportunity to get a good look at 'Mrs. Creamy's' gentleman. He seemed to be just about my age, mid-50s, maybe slightly older. His hair was graying similar to mine, only it was a little shorter (and a little less on top I might add). He was handsome without being striking. His suit was cut very nicely and he made a nice counterpoint to his wife's beauty. I guessed him to be a couple of inches taller than my 5' 9", but more slender. As we found our spots on the floor, guided by our wives, I caught his eye, and he, mine. I noted his one raised eyebrow: a sort of quizzical gesture. I responded with a much-muted shrug of my shoulders, hinting that I didn't quite know what to make of what was going on either. That instant ended abruptly with the start of another song. It was a slow song, and I held my wife. Now though I listened as my wife cooed in my ear, "Honey, don't you dare do anything to get in my way!"