High Life: Alice Makes a Change

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Ass

My name’s Alice, and don’t get me wrong, I love my husband James more than anything in the world. He’s given me two wonderful kids and a life that I could only have dreamed about, growing up as the daughter of a delivery driver in the outer suburbs. He’s ripped too, six foot one, towering over me whenever we go out. I have to wear heels to be able to look him in the eye. He likes that. I like that too. Oh, and when he fucks you, you stay fucked, hence the two kids and the notion of me straying from his bed never having even occurred once in fifteen years of marriage.

I’m pretty sure he feels the same about me, and as far as I know he’s never cheated. Not that he hasn’t had the opportunity. He’s smart, handsome, with grey eyes the colour of the sea on a rainy day. That sounds a little poetic, but it captures the way he makes me feel when he wraps his strong arms around me and I stare into those eyes. It’s like looking at the sea. There’s eternity in them. I can feel my body responding even now, just thinking about the way he looks at me.

But this isn’t helping.

As I said, he’s had plenty of opportunity over the years. He’s played football at the top level and up until last year was out on the grass every few days for one of the big teams. You’ve heard of them, but let’s leave it there. We need to keep some semblance of anonymity.

He isn’t a big hulking man-mountain, though. No, he played on the outside: athletic, fast, and with a brain between the ears. Always looking for the chance, and able to adapt and change direction like lightning. He always played by his instincts, and they were unnervingly right.

He kept me on my toes. Or rather, the steady stream of attention kept me on my toes. We would go to balls or events and it would be uncommon if he hadn’t been hit upon at least twice, often with his wife, wedding ring on full display, standing in her little black dress and killer stilettos, right next to him. But his response was always the same. He laughed and joked and made sure they had a good time talking to him, and then he took me home and gave me at least one good reason not to doubt him. Often two, and on the one occasion he was in the running for the annual Player of the Year medal, three times with a pre-match event between my knees in the cab home. The driver had quite happily circled our block a half dozen times until I had really, definitely, completely reached my destination.

I had never analysed it too much, but often some of our most thrilling sex was after such events. I supposed that maybe the attention of these other women stroked his ego and boosted his performance, but there was more to it than that. There was something reciprocal on my side, watching these women desire my husband. It gave me a strange little nervous, excited feeling in my tummy, like I was under siege, but then a delicious rush of arousal as I walked away with him, leaving them in our wake.

Which leads me to the day I did something dumb, something that in hindsight was obviously going to go off the rails. It started with a couch, and frustration.

James loved the couch. It was battered and comfortable and he wanted to keep it. Since the shoulder injury that had finally shuttered his professional playing days, he’d started to get sentimental about the most unlikely of things.

“Ally, I like it,” he told me, “It feels good.”

“But it’s seen better days,” I replied. I realised that I’d folded my arms over my breasts in a classic defensive posture. I was determined to get my way.

“Just because it’s very best days are behind it doesn’t mean that we need to throw it away,” he said.

I shifted my folded arms slightly downwards, so I could gradually compress my breasts into a distracting cleavage. I was wearing baggy track pants and a loose t-shirt. Rookie mistake, but looking at his stern face I began to appreciate I would have had to go full lingerie to distract him from his current tack.

“Some things get better with age,” I said, more gently now, “You love them and you know they’ll always have a place in your home. When they get broken, you make sure they get mended, because you want to keep them forever.”

I gave him a meaningful look.

“But an old couch is not one of them,” I finished. “There’s a sale on, and I found a really nice one. It’s the softest leather and will go perfectly with everything else we have in here.”

James reclined on the couch, hands behind his head, legs stretched out. His t-shirt rode up slightly, exposing a toned midriff. I’ll be damned if he wasn’t playing me at my own game.

“So,” he said, “You have your eye on a newer model. All you need to do is get the old one out the door.”

I brought out my phone and took a picture of my man on the couch.

He reacted with surprise. “What was that for?”

“I’m posting it on Highbridge Life,” I replied, mentioning the local social page, “For the On Sale section. I’ve already put down the deposit for a new one and it’s getting delivered on Wednesday.”

James Ankara escort looked at me critically. He knew he had been outmanoeuvred but I could tell that in his private life, as when out on the field, he’d seen it coming and was angling for a new opening. He slid his t-shirt off and leaned forwards, wrapping his huge hands around the backs of my knees. I collapsed astride him.

“Then we should give the old veteran one last outing to remember,” he said.

The truth of the matter was that ever since the shoulder injury, James had been out of sorts. Not exactly moping around the house. But he was drifting, rudderless. I had suggested coaching the local team or maybe the juniors but he seemed dead set against getting back into football. Maybe it was too painful.

I posted the picture of the couch on the Highbridge Life group under For Sale, with the caption, “Still has plenty of bounce. Would this look good in your home?” Of course, it had James in the picture, but I thought I was being smart. Who wouldn’t use a bit of celebrity muscle to tart up a scruffy couch shot? And in a way, it worked beyond all expectations. I sold the couch within the hour. And then later, I sold my husband.

I could tell James wasn’t happy as soon as we got out of the car.

“It’ll be fine,” I said, “You’ll be great.”

James scowled.

“Jodie sounded very nice on the phone,” I prompted.

James shrugged, shoulders rippling in the t-shirt. I was dressed up to the nines, legs bare, and I’d picked a cocktail dress in aquamarine that stopped above my knees. My eyes are green and I’m a natural redhead, though while I’ve been described as fiery I’m really anything but. My day job is in media relations, so I know the importance of dressing to impress, and frankly after attending so many functions over the years with my husband I’ve learned that when facing a pretty blonde with endless legs and a neckline to her navel, the best defence is a good offence. I’d picked the dress because I was proud of my body, proud of the way it showed off my bottom, the way that people could admire my mostly flat stomach after pushing out two boys, and see clearly why James was with me and not some bimbo. I loved the way we would be in some interminable conversation at an event and his hand would casually drift down to settle on the top of my behind. It made me think of his sizeable manhood. It certainly passed the time.

“I feel a little under done,” he said as we stood on the path in front of the venue, him in jeans and a t-shirt and myself fully made up, in cocktail dress and high heels.

“Come as you are, she said. And she asked for your measurements.”

“How much did you sell me for?”

“A couple of hundred. And I didn’t sell you, she bought your time,” I corrected him. “You make it sound like I sold you into slavery.”

I could see he was still uncertain.

“Look,” I said, “If you don’t want to do it, then we won’t. Or if you do it and don’t ever want to do it again, then we won’t. How’s that?”

Grumbling, he conceded. I took his hand and we went inside.

Jodie was setting up the tables and called out to us from across the room.

“Oh, lovely!” she exclaimed, looking me up and down, then switched her gaze to James, “And we’ll get you sorted right now. Thank you so much for doing this.”

Jodie beckoned us into a side room stuffed with boxes containing glassware and spare tablecloths. I watched her from behind; she was mid-to-late fifties with the requisite shoulder-length blonde hair and carefully trim figure. Her face was elegant in the way that left you wondering what she would have looked like in her twenties, and the kind of mayhem she would have been able to wreak with men. She might have had a little work done, but if so it was the expensive kind that didn’t leave any tell-tales.

Jodie produced a suit carrier and handed it to James.

“Here,” she said, “Try this on. It’s a little unorthodox, but it should be just the job.”

I watched his face as James unzipped the bag to reveal a tuxedo in swirling purple and black.

“I think it should fit just perfectly. Shall I leave you to it?”

James fingered the fabric. I nodded.

“We’ll be straight out,” I said, and Jodie left us alone, closing the door behind her.

“I feel like a goddamn circus clown,” James said, the moment the door was closed.

I stepped up close to him and spread my hands across his chest, feeling the muscles underneath. I kissed him meaningfully.

“You’ll look great, and you will rock this. And if it goes well, you could maybe do this regularly. I think people will be queueing up.”

I gathered the hem of his t-shirt in my hands.

“Now let’s get you stripped.”

James didn’t move, but he also didn’t resist as I pulled his t-shirt over his head. I undid his belt and slid his jeans to the ground.

“There. Not so hard,” I said, looking down at his tight, black underwear. I traced a finger along the outline Ankara escort bayan of his bulge. “Not yet.”

I kissed him again.

“But, tonight.”

I handed James the shirt that Jodie had picked out. He took it and began to dress. I smiled. He was getting into the headspace, his nerves dissipating. Game on.

After he had slipped on the tuxedo I made him do a spin for me.

“How’s it feel?” I asked, admiring the cut of the jacket and the way it showed him off.

“A little tight in places. I think you gave her the wrong measurements.”

I ran my hand over the front of his dress shirt.

“No,” I said, “I think Jodie knew exactly what she was doing.”

I leaned in close to his ear and whispered, “It’s making me hot just looking at you. Imagine what it’ll be doing to the audience.”

For the first time that evening, I saw James smile. A little show of the old self confidence that I’d fallen in love with the very first time we met. That had been missing for quite a while. This could be very good for him, I thought.

We left the storeroom together and found Jodie by the stage. She was in conversation with one of the serving staff but stopped abruptly when she saw my husband, dressed up in the tux.

“My, what a difference,” she said. I could read her mind, but I had to admire the way she covered herself by launching into a discussion on the running order for the night.

“It’s quite simple,” she told us. “I’ll give you a nod around nine thirty and we kick off the auction. There’s a sheet that will be up on the podium already with the items. Just remember to remind them regularly that it’s for breast cancer. There are some stats on mortality rates etcetera that you can slip in if you want.”

She looked at James and gave him a dazzling smile. Was she trying to hit on him?

“But I’m sure you know the format. You’ve probably been to more of these than I have,” she said, “And that’s saying a lot.”

Jodie was right. It was a fairly standard night, running to a tried-and-true formula. We sat at a table of eight, chatting away to well-to-do couples with variously-sized businesses. James was more comfortable now, working the table. I looked around the room; Jodie definitely knew what she was doing. Waiters circled with mid-price wine, people were drinking and laughing. She knew how to prize open a wallet.

The auction itself was fairly unremarkable. An advertising company had offered a free listing package, the owners of Sanctuary Point had chipped in a full day pampering experience at their spa. A man stood on the front of the stage and told the audience the story of how he’d lost his wife of thirty years, and then they rolled into the big ticket items: a luxury yacht getaway, a trip to somewhere exotic, an all-expenses-paid private members area day out at the races.

Finally, at around half ten, we were done. Despite his earlier nerves, James had run the event with style, cracking jokes and exuding charm. He’d led a rousing round of applause when the man had told his wife’s story. It actually brought me to tears, sitting quietly in the dark, watching my husband work. He seemed to have found something, finally, and it made me glad.

At the end, Jodie ascended the steps to the stage and thanked him profusely. When James returned to our table, I could see he was buzzing. Jodie came over to us and crouched down between our chairs so that we had to lean in to hear her.

“That was superb, James,” she began, “And Alice, I have to say that was one of the better uses of my expense account that I can ever recall.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” I said, “Keep the money. Put it towards the total.”

Jodie raised an eyebrow.

“It’s our pleasure. I’m just glad that we could help.”

Jodie’s eyes were scanning my face intently, almost uncomfortably. She smiled, and seemed to be considering something.

“I have an idea for how we could maybe raise a little more,” she said at last. “I’ve had a word with a few people around the room, and I think we could find more auction items.”

James leaned in further and said, “That sounds like a great idea. What are we auctioning?”

Jodie smiled again, but this time it was sly, conspiratorial.

“People,” she said.

My face must have betrayed me.

“Oh, my dear, it’s all harmless fun,” she said. “You’ll see.”

James laughed, “Oh this is great. Yes, let’s do it.”

Jodie patted us both on the back and said, “I knew you were good sports.”

I watched her as she walked back over to the stage, hips swaying in her cocktail dress, blonde hair carefully arranged over her shoulders, and felt a sudden twinge of unease. I looked across at my husband, but his eyes were fixed on Jodie as she climbed the steps and tapped the microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she announced, “I believe I wasn’t quite truthful when I told you that the formal proceedings were concluded. It looks like we’ve found some more auction items to bid on. Escort Ankara Would you like to see?”

The room responded with raucous applause. The wine was doing its job. Jodie’s hands fluttered in the air, making motions to quieten the room down.

“Okay,” she said, “Good! In that case I’ll hand back to James!”

My husband made his way back to the podium. I saw Jodie pointing into the crowd and beckoning. What was she up to, I wondered?

A young man made his way up to the stage and stood next to Jodie and James. I saw Jodie’s mouth moving very close to my husband’s ear. It gave me a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach, being left on the outside while she conspired with my husband.

James leaned towards the microphone.

“Okay, let’s take a look at our new item!” he called.

The young man stood under the spotlight, waving nervously at the crowd.

“Say hello to Noah,” James said, “Noah is twenty-two years old, likes rock climbing and the outdoors, and would love to be put to work in your garden.”

James grinned and said, “Do I have any offers? Shall we start at fifty?”

The bids began to trickle in, and I watched in amazement as a pair of later middle-aged ladies descended into a bidding war over Noah, pushing the final price up to over five hundred.

There was resounding applause. Jodie once again waved into the crowd and this time a young woman came up on stage. Jodie whispered into my husband’s ear.

“This is Willow,” he announced.

Willow seemed a little unsure, isolated in the light. Like Noah, she was young and attractive, with long brown hair and slim hips.

“Willow’s speciality is pool maintenance,” James said. “She’s sure to be able to get you sparkling. Let’s start off at a hundred this time.”

I watched the bidding ramp up. Again, it was from the older set in the room and I felt uneasy about the prospect of the girl offering her services to one of the men bidding furiously for her.

“We’re up to six hundred, the bid is with you sir, at the back,” James said, indicating a portly man stuffed into a dinner suit at one of the further tables.

I saw Jodie whisper in Willow’s ear. I was too far away to make our very much but her posture shifted and then she gave a small nod. Jodie seemed to be orchestrating something, and sure enough she had a few words in my husband’s ear.

“Willow’s been a very good sport and agreed to a little something extra. The winning bid will be able to specify her uniform!”

This didn’t seem right. James took an offer of seven hundred from a new bidder almost immediately and this time the bidding broke through a thousand. That seemed a lot for pool maintenance. I suspected that Willow would find herself in a bikini in the winner’s back yard. Or maybe not. I guess if he was able to specify a uniform, then maybe he was able to specify a complete lack of uniform. This was starting to get out of hand.

It was probably time to wind this show up. I waved at my husband to get his attention, but I could see that Jodie was deep in conversation with him again. This time, though, it wasn’t the fact that her mouth was practically nuzzling his ear, it was the strange look on his face that made me pause. Finally, after she had been speaking non-stop for about a minute, he nodded.

My instincts told me it was really time to go, and I began to stand up.

As I did so, Jodie came to the microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen, to conclude the night we have one last item,” she said.

I watched in shock as James made his way across the stage to stand in the spotlight.

Jodie applauded. I could see she was grinning like a cat.

“James has very generously donated himself as the concluding item tonight,” she said. “Many of you will know of his exploits on the field, but may not know that he is also very handy around the house.”

Jodie paused, scanning the crowd.

“Where should we start the bidding?” she asked, “Let’s say five hundred.”

I stood, suddenly frozen to the spot. Jodie was relishing the moment, and even James seemed fine with it, waving to the crowd. Jodie collected the first bid quickly and an intense way tug-of-war emerged between mature ladies at three tables. I watched the situation incredulously. Two of the women were obviously sitting right next to their husbands, who were also laughing. I saw one encourage his wife to bid again.

The bids went up in increments of fifty and a hundred, finally stalling at over two thousand.

“I think we can do better,” Jodie said, and nodded to James.

In response, James shucked off his tuxedo jacket, revealing the white dress shirt underneath. He was clearly having the time of his life, but I was not. Then he began to unbutton his shirt. What had she told him?

I suddenly felt very isolated, hemmed in by cat calls and cheers, watching my husband strip off the white shirt completely to reveal the toned pectorals and hard stomach of a professional athlete. He stood in the spotlight, bare chested and waving to the crowd as Jodie asked for new offers.

I stuck my hand up. Jodie locked eyes with me across the room and cocked an eyebrow. I felt chills in my stomach, but not the usual tingles of nervous excitement I normally felt when I saw women hitting on him. This felt real.

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