A Little Red Dress and Some Wine

(Sorry for the inconsistent font on this story - compared to most of the stories on this blog. I've had technical issues with Microsoft Word, and can't currently get this quite right, but have decided to go ahead and publish all of these stories. I've done my best, and it will have to be okay for now.)

The little red dress showed off Joanne's firm breasts, slender waistline, and long, lean legs to advantage – to the extent that even her boyfriend, Dave, couldn't fail to notice. Her long, chestnut hair was loose, instead of tied back, as she normally wore it.

“More wine, babe?” she asked, not waiting for an answer, before reaching for the bottle, ready to refill his glass.

He was quick to cover the glass with one hand, lightly touching her arm with the other. “I'd better not, Jo – thanks all the same. I've got to drive home later.”

“You could always stay the night. You know that, Dave.” She brushed a strand of hair out of her large blue eyes.

“Yes, I know.” He found himself studying the pale green table cloth.

“But you aren't going to, are you?” said Joanne, looking even younger than her twenty years.

“It's been a nice evening. Let's not spoil it,” he suggested, allowing his eyes to meet hers again.

“The divorce will be through soon, won't it?”

Dave took a deep breath. He must remain calm. There was nothing to be gained by losing his temper with Jo – a fact learned through bitter experience. “Yes, I suppose it will.”

“Do you think things will be better between us, once everything's – you know, sorted?”

“There's nothing wrong between us. At least, there wouldn't be, if you could refrain from nagging me for five minutes. I might as well still be married, when I've got you, moaning the whole time.”

So much for staying calm. She did this to him every time.

Joanne got to her feet. “I'll clear the plates away – and the glasses too, if you won't have more wine.”

“I'd love a coffee,” he said, mainly to pacify her, but also because it was true. And Jo made great coffee – not like that instant muck he used at home.

Joanne nodded. “I'll make some coffee then, shall I?” She was talking very fast. “We'll have that, and then you can go home, and I promise I won't nag you any more. Did you decide what you're doing for your thirtieth?”

“Probably wondering what I'm doing, going out with a girl who hasn't even got her twenty-first to worry about for another ten months,” he said, only half in jest.

“You're obsessed with my age.” Matching Dave's light-hearted tone. And with the same underlying implication that her words were more serious than her playfulness might suggest.

Dave knew, in his heart, that he had been wrong to continue seeing Joanne for so long, when there was still a strong possibility that he and Yvonne would get back together – especially after last night.

He felt aroused just thinking about last night.

He had to tell Joanne the truth, of course. He knew that. But right then, the temptation was to stay the night, after all.

One last night of passion, before devoting himself to his wife and three kids. What harm could that possibly do?


Paula Writes