What's Your Plan?

True story:

I'm at a friend couple's going away party at a local pub -- a place I like, but haven't been to that often.  There are a lot of work colleagues and acquaintances there, all drinking and being merry, wishing our friends the very best for the next chapter of their lives as they leave town.  The place is well lit, but not fluorescent or garish -- warm.  It's a nice place; comfortable with fun, mannerly clientele, but not schwanky or snooty.  

I duck out of the party room to get another cider at the bar.  I like cider.  

While I'm standing there, waiting my turn, the guy next to me gives me the once over (psst. we know what you're doing).  Up and down, and stares for a moment.  Long enough for me to give him a look back, expecting some sort of comment or question.   "Do I know you from somewhere?"  Yes, really:  This line.  "No, no, no.   Really!"  He notices my tattoo.  "You have more tattoos, right?  Like all over!"  He swears he knows me, and starts to guess places.  Neighboring suburbs are named.  Places of work.    He seems to have known the person he thinks I am intimately, all be it hazily, as if there was some bumbling, sloppy, drunken sex had on a stairwell somewhere, sometime in the past.  He seems a little embarrassed.

 
At this time, my husband appears next to me to refresh his drink.

 
"Joe,"  He'd introduced himself as "Joe."  "Joe, this is my husband, Tim.  Nice chatting."

  
With my new cider, I make my exit down the bar back toward the party.   Several steps away, a woman tumbles from her seat gently knocking into me as I am passing.  We both apologize; she: for the knocking, me: for being there.   We are good both natured.  I continue on my way and she follows me into the next room.

 
She engages me in conversation.  Her name is "Ingrid" and she wants know what I do for a living.  I explain my job as a Props Master for theatre.   She doesn't seem to understand, exactly, but she thinks she gets it: custom built furniture and puppets and fake food, but NOT for the movies. 

"How do you know Bert and Maggie?" I ask.  Bert and Maggie work in the same business as I do.  Their names are changed to protect the witnesses.

"It's a long story." 

"Oh, ok."  I wonder what that long story is.  Bert and Maggie are not sinister.    Neither is sordid.  A nicer two people have never walked the earth.  How long and seedy could the story be if it couldn't be synopsized into a sentence or two.  Even, "We met when they held me captive for a weekend one summer and I  enjoyed it so much that we keep in touch.  I sure will miss them when they move to Philly." is pretty succinct.  Inquiring minds want to know!!  But I let it go.

 
She told me that I remind her of a friend of hers.  Her friend is married to a tattoo artist -- she has tattoos all over.   I told her that she should go talk to Joe, that he's looking for her friend.  
Again, my husband arrives by my side.  Introductions and a topic of conversation.  I am a butterfly and see another coworker that I need to say hi to. 

A little while later, Maggie asks me who I was talking to.  Quizzical.  "She said it was a long story." 

I’ve been told that this is a scenario for picking up a third for sex.  I didn’t realize this at the time, while I was in the middle of it, but was it?  I’m flattered, but what’s supposed to happen next?  What was your plan Joe and Ingrid?  

Ingrid is chatting me up and I pretend that it’s ok that she’s followed me into the going away party for my friends — after a bit, she confesses that she doesn’t know them.  She was attracted to me.  She wanted to get to know me a little to make sure I wasn’t a serial killer before inviting me to further the conversation with Joe.  Will they confess their scheme with a little apologetic embarrassment and hope I will find it amusing?  Am I open to the adventure of a threesome with them. 

Do they live close by?  Within walking distance?  Am I brave enough to go with them?  Is it their desire to please him?  Ingrid fucking Joe while I straddle his face grinding my pussy into his mouth before turning around, my knees over his shoulders, my head turned to lick his cock when Ingrid rises from her riding. 

Or are we here to please Ingrid?

Or me?

Have I been invited into their bed to add a little spice to their routine?  The added element of my decisions and tastes to mix things up a bit, while they play safely together. Exciting.  Rules laid out between Ingrid and Joe prior to ever meeting me — previous to each one fumbling through the story of my doppelgänger with tattoos all over.  Maybe they work better as a team. 

 

 

I have played the part of a character in someone else’s story.   Thank you Ingrid and Joe.  It’s been fun.