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He was here for a few days, as he said; he'd be gone forever after that—so we erroneously thought. I'd approached him with Marianne's tentative approval. I arranged a dinner meeting for the three of us.After some shy-time where all concerned consumed a significant amount of liquid courage, Marcus began flirting shamelessly with Marianne. It took a bit longer for her, but soon Marianne was reciprocating. Me? I was—what—an interested spectator. I will admit to feeling some negative vibes as Marianne began to more or less ignore me as the flirtations went on; but, I reasoned; and I was still able to reason; Marianne and I were in our mid-forties, Marcus was in his early thirties, too young for him to get involved with us to any significant degree. Again, that was my reasoning. I was wrong.Again, Marianne and I had engaged in so many different private fantasies, on so many nights, and never tried hardly any of them. It seemed to me that here was an opportunity to get one of the biggees. Said he'd get me a part," she complained, pouring herself a drink and rinsing her mouth before she swallowed it. Already slurring her words, she had a few more as I drove home.She was passed out when I turned off the car. It was a cold night, and I didn't think I should leave her in the car. Nothing I did roused her, so I decided I would drag her inside. Completely limp, once I got her out of the car, there was nothing to do but carry her.I whacked her head a few times going through doors, but she would hardly notice with the hangover she was due for. Initially, I headed for the couch but figured she'd be more comfortable in her bed. She hadn't yet undressed in front of me and her clothes were all in place, so I left her that way, although I did slip off her shoes.Later I learned her modesty was less important than her expensive dresses that she could easily rip in her sleep. If she was half-asleep, I would help her undress—she rarely wore underwear. If she was totally out of it, it.
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