Today, my eyes were much bigger than my tongue. Even an octopus couldn’t handle this situation.One woman slipped under me. Her femaleness bathed my dick with hot lubricating fluids while her arms and legs held me tight. Nothing mattered but our sexual desires. Just before the expected cataclysmic culmination to our mutually pleasurable experiences was to occur the lights came on. Every pleasurable sensation suddenly vanished. All those exquisitely beautiful female bodies vanished. At 11:57 PM, 3 minutes before the witching hour my nightgown-clad wife stood there slack-jawed and angry. I was naked, alone and writhing on the floor with my hard dick spurting like a teenaged boy consummating a wet dream. Wifey’s justifiable curses would have made a drunken sailor sound virginal. When the electronic clock in that damn computer chimed midnight big spinning wheels and dancing women were dancing on the walls. The old song, Spinning Wheel written by David Clayton Thomas and made famous by. There was none of the mystical significance that accompanied the first roll. Now we were simply playing a game.> This means I get to ask you something!> As per the rules. What do you want to know?Of course, it was one of those questions that very little seems to hang upon, and therefore is impossibly difficult to make a decision about. At once I was filled with the desire to ask if he was going to tell his father about us, but the fact that the question had occurred held enormous ramifications for me. Firstly, it implied that I had done something shameful (which, possibly, I had, except of course there were two of us in the toilet that afternoon), but, much worse, it said quite clearly that I considered there was an ‘about us’ of which to speak. I did not wish to consider this issue any further. Instead I plumped for what I think was a rather sanitised question, and one that with hindsight looks as though it were rather more to do with consoling the mythical fragile female ego. Truth.
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