The Tale of Two Couples (pt. 5)

In October, I was one of about a trillion bridesmaids in the wedding of a friend. The reception was held just a mile from my parent's house and there was going to be dancing. B was living at my parent's house and I really liked the idea of dancing with him. I asked the bride if he could come over after the food and cake.

When told who this guy was, another friend's response was, "well, it obviously won't work." I was crushed. Was she right?

B is a great dancer; pulling me close, pushing me away, swinging this way and that. My meter was ticking over into Seriously Turned On.

When the Electric Slide was losing its zap, we decided it was time to leave. However, we weren't ready to call it a night. So, along with another couple, we headed to a bar by the frightful name of Finnius T. Flubberbusters. Although it was almost ten years since graduation, I discovered five or six fellow alumnus hiding in the cracks of this dismal place drinking and playing pool. The surprised looks on their faces told me I was the last person in the world they expected to walk through the door. And I was very ready to walk right back through it. But I had a tall, handsome man by my side, I was still slim (unlike many of my aging classmates), and I was ready to have some good, redneck fun.

Unfortunately, so was another patron of the establishment. A lanky red head, with hair swinging down to her cute little behind, sidled up to B while the four of us were chatting and asked him to dance. He accepted. Twice. While I watched him dance with her just like he had with me at the wedding a little while earlier, a unfamiliar feeling surged through me. The usually passive cat in me pounced and (silently) hissed at Little Miss Red. I dug my claws into "my" man and took him away. My dancing took on a new intensity, trying to tell him through my moves that I was ready to be his.

To this day I don't know if his little excursion with that sexy l'il thang was a strategic move on his part. Whenever I ask him he just grins. Whatever it was, it worked... kind of. It was later that night when I sat on his lap and cried as he told me I would love him. Jealousy had lit one fire but guilt was still burning hard and strong, smothering any other feelings that might be attempting to grow.

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