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She sounded confident and authoritative. But not mad. I was so startled I lost my balance and fell onto the floor. I turned around to look up at her. I was naked, on the floor with my cum on my inner thighs. "I didn't... She just..." I mumbled, looking up at her. I was fucked. She would divorce me. "No, baby, its okay," she said, looking down at me with a smile. "You were here the whole time?" I said. I was so confused. "Yes, I was here the whole time. The masseuse was asking me if it was okay. If I was good with her making you cum. Baby, she wasn't asking you." My head was spinning. My wife had watched the massuese get me off? Had encouraged it? I couldn't believe it. Why had she let it happen? "Well, now I don't feel bad about my masseuse making me cum during todays massage". She giggled. "It was amazing." She rolled her eyes and smiled.I was stunned. I couldn't process what was happening. The room was spinning. My wife had cum from her massage while I lay on the table next to her?. Her reflection, she thought, was how students looked on the TV. She wore a baggy yellow cotton T-shirt over a white, tight vest. Jeans with rolled up bottoms were held at her waist by a chunky leather belt. On her feet she wore basketball boots. Promising to take care of her friends’ best clothes she set off, under her umbrella, for the jeepney. Trapped in traffic, the jeepney crept slowly down MacArthur and across Abacan Bridge, and it was not until it forked left towards the hospital that it began to move freely. By quarter-past-twelve, it had arrived at AUF. She got out, and while crossing the road, morphed from ‘Blen, blow-job girl’ into ‘Blen, student nurse’. Just through the door of McDonalds, she looked around – there was no sign of Nick. Looking around again, this time with great care, still revealed no sign. She had given up her day-off to meet this jerk and been stood up. She felt foolish, angry, and imagined people watching her standing alone in the doorway – the girl who.
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