Spicy Shorts: Seven Hotwife Stories by Boswell Ben

Author:Boswell, Ben [Boswell, Ben]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2023-02-09T00:00:00+00:00

Bros Be'fo Hos

C onor: Since when did it become a crime to watch football with your buddies?

Diane: His friends are a bunch of douchebags. Eighteen weeks of the regular season. Four weeks of preseason. A month and a half of playoffs. Six months of every year I have to deal with those assholes. I don't know how many times I've hinted, pleaded, whined for them to go elsewhere. I even once suggested they go watch at a strip club just to get them out of my hair. But noooo... it had to be our house every fucking week.

Conor: Look, we have the nicest house. TV room. Seventy inch OLED TV. Leather recliners. Got a keg on tap. Why should I have to go to a bar to watch the game?

Diane: It's the same damn thing every week. They show up early, stay for a game or two. Get drunk as skunks. Beer farts. Chips all over the floor. And Hell, I could deal with all of that, but I just don't have to put up with the rest of it. I mean, I know I have big boobs. I've had them since I was thirteen.

Conor: I think Diane sort of likes the attention. She's got that young Courtney Cox thing going on, and who doesn't like the occasional compliment?

Diane: If I wear a t-shirt, I get lines about my "headlights'' and questions about whether I'm cold. If I wear a button down shirt, I get asked if the "girls want to come out and play." If I happen to have yoga pants on, they make camel toe jokes. Jesus. I shouldn't have to wear a fucking burqa in my own house to avoid being harassed.

Conor: Yeah, my buds aren't a bunch of stuck-up snobs like Diane's friends. They're more blue collar, ya know?

Diane: I don't even know where that fucking affectation came from. The four of them grew up in Bethesda, for Christ's sake. Tibor's father was a diplomat or something. Brad is a lawyer. A bad, personal injury lawyer, but still a lawyer. They have no reason to act like dockworkers.

Conor: They're just regular guys. They like to have a good time. Drink some beers, check out the cheerleaders, root for the Ravens. Regular. Fucking. Guys.

Diane: Douchebags. They even look the part. Tibor's this big, moon-faced doofus. I don't think I've ever seen him string more than three words together at a stretch. He just sits there, a blank, vaguely bovine expression on his face. He's a bartender, if you can believe it, though I can't imagine anyone wanting to drink in any bar where he's serving. Brad is a more classic douchebag. Aging frat boy, with blue, often-bloodshot eyes, thinning blond hair, spreading belly. He still wears polos with a popped collar. He used to be something of a lady's man, I guess, if railing a bunch of coke-addled sorority skanks counts. Rick is a rat-faced little turd, sort of Bogie without the class, intelligence, or charisma. It's like they're trapped in their teens, but we're all in our thirties now.

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