Excerpt for Kerry Desires #3 - Wives Love To Play Too by , available in its entirety at Smashwords

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Wives Love To Play Too


Mike O’Connor

Copyright © 2017 by Mike O'Connor

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Sandra shuffled impatiently as she waited in the queue. There were six checkouts and only two were open. Three tills away, a Roma woman in an ankle-length denim skirt was arguing about the price of a tee shirt. The grey haired man in front of Sandra was attempting to buy a red dress that was on special offer, but the item just wouldn’t scan. The cashier had called for the supervisor.

“I’ll just leave it,” the customer said. “It’s probably not her size anyway.”

“The supervisor will be here in just a minute, sir,” the harried young cashier protested.

“Fine. But you might as well serve this lady, while I’m waiting.”

Sandra smiled as he stepped aside, to make way for her at the checkout.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Jason replied.

It was indeed a small world. Five weeks ago, he had met Mick buying panties in this very store. Now, he had met his wife, doing the very same thing. He stole a discreet glance at Sandra’s purchases. She was buying a black lace bra and panty set and a deep purple satin slip. Jason thought her husband would look good in them.

He took out his phone and texted Mick.

Are u free?

The reply was almost instantaneous.

Just finished a job. Can be at ur place in 20 minutes.

Ok. See u soon. Xxx.

While Mick was hurrying to make his tryst with his transvestite lover, his wife was staring morosely into a large cup of black coffee.

“What is wrong with you, Sandra?” her friend demanded.

She looked up and shook her head.

“I don’t know, Miriam. I’m all over the place lately. Can we go outside and have a smoke?”

The dark haired woman opened her packet of Pall Mall.

“We don’t have to go outside. It’s not illegal to smoke in your own house. At least, not yet. I’m sure our handsome, shiny new Taoiseach is working on it, as we speak.”

“You don’t like him?”

“I don’t like any of them. They’re all only in it for themselves. Corrupt bunch of thieves. But you don’t want to discuss politics. At least I hope not. Come on, unburden yourself. Is it Mick?”

Miriam had always been a straight talker. The punters in the bookmakers had loved her coarse banter and flirting. Of course, they had also been partial to her impressive chest and her ability to wear a pair of slender spectacles like a younger and lesser woman would wear a set of sexy lingerie.

Sandra looked startled.

“Why would you think it was something to do with Mick?”

“Aren’t most of our troubles man-related, in some form or other?”

“You and Bill seem happy enough. Not that I see that much of you, these days.”

Miriam had been the shop manager in the bookmakers where Sandra worked. The pair had become good friends, before Miriam had left. That had been six months ago. These days, they didn’t see each other very often. Sandra would not have been sitting in Miriam’s living room now, had she not met her in the car park, at the end of her brief shopping trip.

“We have our ups and downs,” Miriam conceded. “I’d rather he didn’t work such long hours, but that’s just the way it is. Here, forget about that bloody coffee. It’s gone cold anyway. Let’s have a real drink.”

“I’m driving,” Sandra replied.

“One won’t put you over the limit.”

“What if I don’t stop at one?”

“Then you can get a taxi home, or ring Mick to collect you. What do you fancy?”

“Whatever you’re having.”

“Gin and tonic it is, then.”

While her friend prepared the drinks, Sandra looked around the house. It was easy to see why Bill worked such long hours. Miriam worked too, of course, but her salary as a hotel manager couldn’t pay for this fine house and the 161 reg. BMW that was parked in the driveway. Sandra didn’t want to begrudge her lifestyle. It wasn’t Miriam’s fault that she had landed on her feet. Still, it did seem unfair, when she and Mick could just about make ends meet. Short of winning the lottery, they were never going to live in a house like this. Sandra’s wages were all that was keeping them afloat. Mick’s trade as a self-employed handyman seemed more like a hobby than a proper job. His stubborn refusal to consider taking a proper job was one of the many things she had begun to find so annoying about him.

She took a last drag on her cigarette and crushed it out in the ashtray.

“I actually managed to give these things up for six months,” she said.

Miriam handed her her drink and sat down beside her.

“What got you started again?”

“Lack of willpower, I suppose. Mick is always on at me about it. He bought me one of those e-cigarette things for my birthday. What kind of a present is that?”

“Not a very romantic one. Cheers.”

Sandra raised her glass and drank deeply. She missed working with Miriam. But it was more than that. She had actually enjoyed looking at her. She had been attracted to her. She still was.

“It’s good to see you again,” Sandra said.

Miriam smiled.

“It’s good to see you again too. How’s work?”

“It’s soul destroying. I see the same sorry losers, day after day, rushing up to the counter with their betting slips, thirty seconds before some stupid race that’s probably fixed anyway. Even when they win, they throw it all away again. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve felt like grabbing one of them by the ears and smacking his empty head off the counter. There’s one fool that spends the whole day in the shop, drinking coffee and studying the form of virtual horse races.”

“Does he win?”

“He won nearly eight hundred euro last Wednesday, on a two euro each-way Trixie. We had it all back by close of business on Friday. As you well know, the bookies never lose.”

“It keeps you in a job,” said Miriam. “Is Mick a gambler?”

“He does the lotto whenever it’s over ten million.”

“So he’s not a gambler?”

Sandra took another swig of G and T.

“No. He’s not a gambler and he’s not an alcoholic. He doesn’t beat me or…. Why are we talking about him?”

“I don’t know. Fuck husbands and men in general. Even when they’re trying to be good, they’re a pain in the arse. When did you last have a good ride?”


You heard me, Sandra. Look, we’re two middle-aged housewives drinking gin and watching Elaine on a Wednesday afternoon. That’s a sign of something that’s not good. Feel free to spark up another fag. In my expert opinion, what you really need is a good ride.”

“At this stage, Mims, I’d settle for a bad ride.”

“Are you fucking serious? What’s wrong with him?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s me. Can you top this up? I feel like getting drunk.”

Miriam got up and brought the gin and tonic bottles back to the table.

“What’s he doing?” she demanded. “You came here to get drunk and bitch about your husband, so let’s have it.”

“I don’t know what he’s doing. He’s always going out at odd hours, pricing jobs and chasing after people that he says owe him money. He behaves like this busy contractor, but he’s making less than he would on the dole. There are losers sitting in the bookies all day and drinking free coffee that make more than he does in the average week. Any time I try to talk to him about it, he gets all defensive and accuses me of nagging.”

Sandra refilled her glass and lit one of her own cigarettes.

“Do you think he’s seeing someone else?” asked Miriam.

“It’s the most likely scenario,” Sandra replied. “He’s gone right off me and it’s not because of drink or gambling.”

“Did you confront him?”

Sandra took a gulp from her glass and winced.

Mims, I am sick of confronting that man. It’s all I ever seem to do, these days. I accuse him of things and he denies them. He accuses me of other things and I deny them. If our arguments weren’t so fucking boring and pointless, we could be a warring couple in Eastenders. At least soap couples get to scream and throw things at each other. I’d probably have to run at Mick with a machete, to make him raise his voice.”

“What would you have to do to make him raise his dick?” asked Miriam.

Sandra supped some more gin and laughed bitterly.

“You tell me. Maybe I need to lose some weight.”

It was Miriam’s turn to laugh.

“You must be joking. You’re in fabulous shape. Do you work out?”

“I go swimming, once or twice a week. Other than that and the odd walk, I don’t make much of an effort. You look toned. Don’t tell me that perfect body doesn’t take some maintenance.”

“I suppose I’m just lucky,” Miriam said.

“No complaints from Bill, I’ll bet?”

“Not to my face, if he knows what’s good for him. How long have you and Mick been married?"

“Too fucking long. Sorry, that sounded less bitter in my head. Twelve years. It’ll be our thirteenth anniversary in September.”

“Unlucky for some. When did you last get the ride?”

Sandra looked at the TV screen. The busty presenter was discussing sexual harassment in the workplace, with a trio of female guests.

“There’s more to life than sex,” she said, lamely.

“Of course there is,” Miriam agreed. “There’s more to life than smoking and drinking too. Just ask any nun.”

“I think they’ve become more or less extinct.”

Her friend topped up their drinks and moved closer. They clinked glasses again and Miriam wrapped her right arm around Sandra’s shoulders. The blonde woman hesitated for a moment, then snuggled closer.

“You didn’t answer my question,” said Miriam.

Sandra took a gulp from her glass and laughed nervously.

“The last time I got the ride was over a month ago, if you must know.”

“Jesus!” Miriam exclaimed. “That’s coming close to celibacy. That husband of yours needs a dose of Viagra."

”It wasn’t with Mick,” Sandra replied. “A girl in one of the other shops was leaving and there was a staff piss-up. I got drunk and spilled a pint over some fella at the bar. I don’t even remember his name. All I know he was English and we somehow ended up in his hotel room.”

Miriam hugged her closer.

“Good for you. How did you feel the morning after?”

“I felt like shit. I wanted somebody to put a knife to my throat and put me out of my misery. You should never mix vodka, red wine and whisky.”

“So you had the mother of all hangovers. But did you feel guilty about cheating with that English bloke?”

“Of course not. Why would I? I have nothing against the English.”

Miriam laughed. “Good one. What was he like? Or do you even remember?”

Sandra thought for a moment.

“He was adequate. On a scale of one-to-ten, I’d probably give him a seven.”

“Are we talking inches?” asked Miriam.

It was Sandra’s turn to laugh.

“I didn’t measure the fucking thing. It seemed like a decent enough size and….. Do we really have to have this conversation. Why are you so interested in my sex life?”

Miriam took a swig of gin, then leaned in and kissed her. Sandra made no effort to resist. She was already buzzing from the alcohol and it seemed that Miriam was as frustrated as she was. Drunken housewives falling into bed together in the middle of the afternoon suddenly seemed like a very good idea. As they kissed, Sandra somehow managed to replace her glass on the table, without spilling it. When their mouths finally parted, Miriam grabbed her right hand and rose to her feet.

“Shall we go upstairs?”

“Why not?” replied Sandra.

She feasted her eyes on Miriam’s bottom, as she followed her upstairs. Her panty line was clearly discernible beneath her tight pink skirt. Sandra didn’t generally notice such things. Then again, she didn’t generally have sex with other women.

When they reached the bedroom, Miriam switched on the bedside lamp and drew the blinds. By the time she was finished, Sandra was already stripped down to her black lace panties and pink bra. Miriam didn’t seem to mind the mismatch.

“You have a fabulous body, Sandra,” she purred, as she cupped her breasts with both hands and squeezed gently.

Unable to voice a suitable response, the blonde woman just smiled and reached for the buttons of Miriam’s cream silk blouse.

“This isn’t your first time with a woman, is it?” Miriam asked, as she squeezed the nipple hard-ons that thrust against the cups of Sandra’s bra.

“How can you tell?” asked Sandra.

“I was just guessing.”

“Have you done this before?”

“We can talk later,” Miriam replied. “Right now, there are other things I’d rather do.”

She kissed Sandra again and reached around to unclasp her bra. As it fell to the floor, Miriam’s lips moved down over her neck and her hands cupped her bare breasts. Sandra moaned softly as the dark haired woman pinched and sucked her nipples, before continuing her downward progress. Sandra’s panty crotch was already damp. Miriam tasted her through the semi-transparent lace, then hooked her fingers in the waistband and slid her underwear down over her smooth, bare legs. Sandra’s crinkled labia puckered from a neatly groomed bush of dark blonde curls. Miriam smacked her buttocks softly and pointed to the bed.

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