Not Sure Whether to Be Aggravated or Elated
reverendhornibastard
Depraved Deacon of Degeneracy
I thought I had at least 48 hours before Mrs. Hornibastard raised the question again about inviting Amanda to participate in our private moments. I was wrong. Mrs. Hornibastard never brought it up. She just proceeded to invite Amanda to come over this coming Saturday night.
I only found out about this last night after dinner.
Mrs. Hornibastard and I were still at the table talking about our kids’ enrollment in all honors classes for next year when her iPhone announced an incoming message with one of those annoyingly cheerful chimes that iPhones are notorious for.
“Oh, too bad!” Mrs. Hornibastard commented as she read the message.
“What’s too bad?” I asked.
Mrs. Hornibastard put her phone down and took another long, slow sip of the Mandarin tea, making me wait for her answer.
“Amanda canceled to come over on Saturday night,” Mrs. Hornibastard informed me.
I was annoyed that she had proceeded to invite Amanda without checking with me first. Although I had already talked myself into agreeing to a weekend soiree involving Amanda, I had not yet told Mrs. Hornibastard.
“I thought we were going to talk about this first,” I said in as uncombative a tone as I could muster.
“Nobody said Amanda was coming over on Saturday so you could fuck her!” Mrs. Hornibastard shot back in one of those condescending tones that women do best. “Amanda is my friend and I don’t need your approval to invite her over for dinner on Saturday night or on any other night of the week.”
“OK, OK! You had previously suggested having her over this weekend for some fun and games after the kids went to bed. I just assumed that was what the invitation was about.” I explained. “I agree – you can have Amanda over anytime you want and I don’t have to be consulted if the plans don’t involve me.”
Mrs. Hornibastard took another long, slow, triumphant sip of her Mandarin tea.
“Why did she cancel her plans to come over?” I asked. I was just trying to make idle, friendly conversation.
Mrs. Hornibastard replied, “Amanda said she started her period.”
I struggled not to spew out my mouthful of Gator Ade. I couldn’t decide whether to be aggravated or elated. On the one hand, if that was really why Amanda canceled her visit, it certainly implies that she expected something more than dinner. To that extent, I was aggravated. This was precisely what Mrs. Hornibastard and I had agreed to discuss further. On the other hand, since I had already decided to give this a try, if Amanda thought she needed to bring a vagina that would be open and ready for business on Saturday night, this was actually cause for elation.
I could feel my love muscle starting to look for some extra room in my boxers.
“So why does Amanda think she has to cancel her plans to join us for dinner just because she is on her period? I asked.
Mrs. Hornibastard knew she was cornered. She smiled, flipped me the bird and said, “Maybe Amanda was just being hopeful.”
“Well, text her back and let her know she can still join us for dinner on Saturday night,” I insisted.
Mrs. Hornibastard picked up her phone and began pecking out her response to Amanda.
A couple of minutes later her iPhone chimed again.
“Amanda says she will join us for dinner on Saturday after all,” Mrs. Hornibastard announced.
“I will tell Randall,” I said. I suspect our 12-year old son will be pleased as punch to know that Amanda is coming over again. Randall has started taking extra long showers lately but his personal hygiene has not improved noticeably. I wonder if he’s been thinking about Amanda and the preternaturally tight leggings she wore last time she came over.
I know I have.
I only found out about this last night after dinner.
Mrs. Hornibastard and I were still at the table talking about our kids’ enrollment in all honors classes for next year when her iPhone announced an incoming message with one of those annoyingly cheerful chimes that iPhones are notorious for.
“Oh, too bad!” Mrs. Hornibastard commented as she read the message.
“What’s too bad?” I asked.
Mrs. Hornibastard put her phone down and took another long, slow sip of the Mandarin tea, making me wait for her answer.
“Amanda canceled to come over on Saturday night,” Mrs. Hornibastard informed me.
I was annoyed that she had proceeded to invite Amanda without checking with me first. Although I had already talked myself into agreeing to a weekend soiree involving Amanda, I had not yet told Mrs. Hornibastard.
“I thought we were going to talk about this first,” I said in as uncombative a tone as I could muster.
“Nobody said Amanda was coming over on Saturday so you could fuck her!” Mrs. Hornibastard shot back in one of those condescending tones that women do best. “Amanda is my friend and I don’t need your approval to invite her over for dinner on Saturday night or on any other night of the week.”
“OK, OK! You had previously suggested having her over this weekend for some fun and games after the kids went to bed. I just assumed that was what the invitation was about.” I explained. “I agree – you can have Amanda over anytime you want and I don’t have to be consulted if the plans don’t involve me.”
Mrs. Hornibastard took another long, slow, triumphant sip of her Mandarin tea.
“Why did she cancel her plans to come over?” I asked. I was just trying to make idle, friendly conversation.
Mrs. Hornibastard replied, “Amanda said she started her period.”
I struggled not to spew out my mouthful of Gator Ade. I couldn’t decide whether to be aggravated or elated. On the one hand, if that was really why Amanda canceled her visit, it certainly implies that she expected something more than dinner. To that extent, I was aggravated. This was precisely what Mrs. Hornibastard and I had agreed to discuss further. On the other hand, since I had already decided to give this a try, if Amanda thought she needed to bring a vagina that would be open and ready for business on Saturday night, this was actually cause for elation.
I could feel my love muscle starting to look for some extra room in my boxers.
“So why does Amanda think she has to cancel her plans to join us for dinner just because she is on her period? I asked.
Mrs. Hornibastard knew she was cornered. She smiled, flipped me the bird and said, “Maybe Amanda was just being hopeful.”
“Well, text her back and let her know she can still join us for dinner on Saturday night,” I insisted.
Mrs. Hornibastard picked up her phone and began pecking out her response to Amanda.
A couple of minutes later her iPhone chimed again.
“Amanda says she will join us for dinner on Saturday after all,” Mrs. Hornibastard announced.
“I will tell Randall,” I said. I suspect our 12-year old son will be pleased as punch to know that Amanda is coming over again. Randall has started taking extra long showers lately but his personal hygiene has not improved noticeably. I wonder if he’s been thinking about Amanda and the preternaturally tight leggings she wore last time she came over.
I know I have.
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6 comments
She probably won’t be wearing those exact leggings on Saturday. White, if I remember your linked pic correctly?
Just roll with this rev. Sounds like your wife is not to be denied.
Whatever she is or isn’t wearing on Saturday night I anticipate a quiet, “normal” evening with our cute, neighbor.
Actually, at this point I am more eager to watch Randall squirm in her presence. I wonder if she’s even aware of her impact on my 12-year old son.
By now, I’m sure Randall has learned to find photos of naked babes on the internet, but I suspect that the dip in the hot springs with Aunt Yuni is the only time he has ever seen a naked woman in the flesh (other than his mom or his sister - but they don’t count).
And Aunt Yuni did put on a great show for us.
Just wanted to drop my 2 cents and comment on your discussion.
I believe you should be careful regarding Amanda, because I have the impression that she is one of those women that are just batshit crazy, and some of them are very good at hiding it, your wife doesn’t seem to see it, but I think you know it.
Remember:
“A woman’s consent can be withdrawn at any point. Once the woman is no longer consenting, the “sexual relationship” may be considered rape...”
You wrote and I quote:
“Amanda says she is willing to just watch us fucking but she says she hopes that you will change your mind about her and ‘nail her’ as she puts it. Why do Americans refer to love-making in such violent terms?”
You never answered your wife question, why?
One las comments, regarding your son infatuation with Amanda, I would recommend you to shield him from her and encourage him to look for someone appropriate to his age, and don’t make fun of his growing “pains”, better is to have an open discussion with him and help him deal with his own experiences, appropriately.
Good advice.
I thought Amanda was nutty as a fruitcake when I first met her. But since she has become Mrs. Hornibastard’s friend she has been very normal. I don’t think her friendship with Mrs. Hornibastard has anything to do with her better behavior. I am beginning to think I just met her when she was going through a particularly rough patch.
If I had not met her in those circumstances I would regard her as perfectly normal.
Why didn’t I answer Mrs. Hornibastard’s question about the violent terms employed in English regarding sex? First of all, I think it was just a rhetorical question. Beyond that, I don’t know the answer. I speak 6 languages (4 of them quite well) and it always struck me as odd that “Fuck you!” is considered an insult in English whereas in most other languages with which I am familiar the equivalent phrase comes across as an invitation to romance.
Nobody is making fun of Randall’s infatuation with Amanda or any other girl or woman. Randall is only now getting his hormones, sprouting hair in places he never had hair before. Because of COVID and his virtual schooling, Randall has little opportunity to meet age appropriate girls.
I talk to him about sex and girls. I tell him anecdotes about my life when I was his age. He likes hearing the stories and asks questions. I want him to appreciate that his feelings are perfectly normal and that he shouldn’t be ashamed of them or worry that him mom and I will be upset with him about it.
I think he understands but he is still a bit shy about opening up about his feelings.
Compared to his twin sister who achieved “full womanhood” about a year ago, Randall is still straddling the fence between being a little boy and an adolescent.