Peter Bradley, watching TV in the lounge, heard the key in the front door. He checked his watch... 7.15 pm ... yes, made sense. Must be Vicky, home from work.
"Hi Peter," she said, brightly, walking into the lounge and seeing him installed in the armchair. "How was your day?"
"Oh you know, the usual," replied Peter.
"Yeah sorry, stupid question."
"Sure getting to know the daytime soaps," he said, smiling at her.
"Something'll turn up, Pete, I know it will," said Vicky.
He wasn't hopeful. It'd been over three months since getting laid off from the construction company he'd been with for the last ten years and, what with the Credit Crunch and everything, the building trade was in the doldrums, absolutely nobody hiring. Plus, he was in his late forties now, not past it by any means, but certainly no spring chicken.
Thank god for Paul and Victoria, anyway.
He'd known Paul Connors for years, they'd been friends since meeting through the local golf club. The two men were about the same age and, despite Paul being a successful businessman and Peter a humble builder, they had similar interests and personalities ... probably what had kept the friendship going this long.
Still, he'd been surprised when Paul had made the offer, just after Peter had lost his job. They'd been having a couple of beers, winding down after their usual ultra competitive Saturday two ball, and Peter had been giving in to a touch of self pity.
"Can you believe it? Sheena kicks me out, cleans me up on the divorce, and then I go get fired ... all in the space of a couple of months ... what the fuck am I gonna do, Paul? ... Christ, I don't think I can afford even a fleapit in this town." He slammed his glass down on the table.
"Listen Pete, why don't you come and stay with us for a while?" said Paul. "Just till you find a job and get back on your feet."
"Really?" said Peter. He'd been to Paul's extremely desirable apartment quite a few times and the idea of living there, even if only for a short while, was not unappealing.
The apartment, however, was not the only thing in Paul Connors' life that was extremely desirable, and Peter thought he'd better just check on that.
"What about Victoria?" he asked.
Paul had married Victoria six months ago, a decision that surprised Peter, and indeed most of his other friends, who had Paul Connors down as one of life's perennial bachelors.
Their surprise didn't last long though ... no longer than it took them to meet Victoria for the first time. Because Victoria Graham (as then) ... Victoria Connors (as now) ... was just 23 years old and she was drop dead gorgeous.
Paul nodded and grinned. "Vicky's fine. I've already cleared it with her. She likes you, mate, you know that."
Peter did not know that. His relations with Victoria had thus far been friendly, but not what you would call affectionate. He found it slightly difficult being around her, if he was honest, because she was so damned hot. Even though she was the wife of a friend, it was nigh on impossible not have inappropriate thoughts. Indeed, if Peter had a concern about moving in with Paul Connors, that was it ... would he be able to hide the fact that he fancied the pants off the guy's wife?
Well, he'd been staying with them for a few weeks now and he thought he'd done okay on that score.
Not that it was easy, fuck no. For one thing, Victoria was a trainee lawyer in the big city and she dressed for work in those sharp, professional suits which Peter loved to see women wearing ... well, attractive women anyway. And no trouser suits with Vicky, thank you very much. Why would you if you had legs like hers?
No, always a skirt ... form fitting, usually quite short but never slutty ... sexy as hell.
Like now, for example, just home on a Thursday evening, she was in a dark green number. She'd ditched the jacket in the hallway, slipped off her shoes, and was sat on the sofa facing Peter.
In the mood for a chat, too, it would appear.
"Come on, you know it will," she said, pursuing the point about something turning up.
"Guy like you," she smiled.
"Guy like me?" inquired Peter, smiling back, wondering what she meant.
He was fighting hard not to stare at her fabulous legs. Vicky's skirt was the sort which rode a fair way up her thighs whenever she crossed her legs ... as she'd done twice already since she'd sat down. Damn the woman, thought Peter, didn't she realise the effect she had on him? Shit, he could feel an erection coming on and she'd only been back five minutes!
He was feeling ever so slightly on edge. For the first time since he'd moved in, it was just the two of them this evening. Paul had gone on a short business trip and wasn't due back until tomorrow. Not that he expected something to happen, obviously, let alone had planned anything but ... still ... alone in an apartment with a gorgeous looking girl like Victoria Connors, he was not unaffected by the prospect. Any red blooded male would feel the same.
"I mean, you have so much going for you," she continued. "I think so, anyway."
"Oh yeah? Like what?" he said, and immediately regretted his rather grumpy tone, uncomfortably aware that he was over compensating for the burst of excitement he felt at hearing Vicky say what she'd just said.
Vicky ignored the question. She stretched her arms above her head and gave a tired sounding groan. "God I'm beat," she said.
Peter made an empathetic noise and, since she was now looking up at the ceiling, he treated himself to a quick lust. Not so easy, actually, since he was torn between her legs and the way the arm stretching had caused her breasts to strain against the material of the flimsy lace top she had on. Oh god. His gaze lingered slightly too long and, when he dragged his eyes back to her face, he found she was looking straight at him. Oh double god!
She didn't seem too put out, though ... in fact, she was smiling at him. Maybe she liked being ogled thought Peter, hopefully. In which case, he was the man.
Perhaps she was even flirting with him a little?
Vicky got to her feet. "Listen, I wanna get out of these work clothes. Why don't you fix us both a drink while I go get changed? Mine's a scotch on the rocks."
"Um yeah, sure Vicks," he mumbled.
"Then we can have a nice chat ... okay, sweetie?"
She strolled out of the lounge under Peter's lustful gaze. Oh jeez, look at her arse move in that clingy skirt!
Peter Bradley was no fool and he was fairly sure that Victoria knew what she was doing with this risqué behaviour. She was flirting with him, no question about it. Calling him sweetie, implying that she admired him ... the exaggerated waggle of the hips as she'd sashayed out of the room.
But what to do?
Peter went to the kitchen, fixed a couple of scotches with ice, brought them back to the lounge. Returning to his armchair, he sipped his drink as he waited for Vicky. The TV was still on and he pretended to watch it while his brain whirred.
What to do?
The first thing was he didn't really know what was going on here. Not for sure, anyway. With her husband away, it could be Vicky was feeling a bit mischievous, nothing more. Peter had been there almost six weeks, quite a long time, and she'd probably picked up on how much he fancied her. After all, she must be accustomed to that, mustn't she? ... every man she met probably dreamt of getting into her knickers. Yeah, so maybe she'd decided it would be amusing to tease him a little ... have some harmless fun at his expense. In which case, no problem, he was more than happy to play along.
But what about the other possibility? What if, amazingly enough, Vicky fancied him back and this evening, with hubby away, was about more than harmless fun? What if a spot of adultery was on the agenda?
Peter considered that. He needed to keep living with Paul and Vicky. If anything happened and he had to leave, he would be skint and on the streets. It would be a catastrophe. Was he about to risk that for one night of passion with Victoria Connors? Risk pretty much everything and betray Paul at the same time? ... betray the friend who'd held out a hand in his hour of greatest need?
The more he thought about it, the more of a no brainer it was.
Damn right he'd risk it
Vicky was gone half an hour and, by the time she returned, Peter had worked himself into a state of high excitement. Conscious that it may be no more than wishful thinking, he'd nevertheless pretty much convinced himself Paul's gorgeous young wife was up for it. Feeling nervous, but still thinking clearly, he resolved to take his cue from her. If she wanted to go to bed with him, he'd agree in a heartbeat.
And if she was just teasing?
Well, then that might be quite enjoyable too, albeit very much second best.
His pulse rate, already quickened by the thought of doing something with Vicky, went ballistic when she walked back into the room.
She'd had a shower, judging from the wet, tousled hair, and she was wearing a short, silk robe. A short, silk robe and ... er ... nothing. Peter couldn't be cast iron sure but he reckoned she was completely naked underneath. He certainly knew she had no top or bra on because the robe was quite carelessly belted at the waist, and he caught flashes of her breasts as she settled herself on the sofa opposite him. Then she lazily crossed her legs and, in doing so, answered the other question. Yep, just the robe.
.... There is more of this story ...