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As the daughter of one of the town's prominent businessmen, she was used to being treated with a certain respect.She looked around for people from her group. What few there were in the bar where equally besieged. She tried to head for one of them. The crush of Africans was thick. She could feel them pressing against her. Hands seemed everywhere. She tried to avoid them but whenever she turned hands seemed to accidentally touch, or not so accidentally touch.To brush her bottom, her waist, her. The only one remotely interesting was one we had been to before for happy hours etc. So we slid in at the far end of the bar and the wife had another martini. As I'm talking to the manager whom I'd gotten to know I feel the wife take my hand and thinking she wants to hold hands I pay no mind. Next thing I feel is her wet pussy under my hand. It was dark at our end of the bar but we were also right opposite the door. I looked around and she had her leggings down around her thighs, grinning and. Wearing a nice dress and looking all pretty wasn't enough to put her in a good mood. The one thing makeup couldn't take away were her crow's feet and turkey neck; just seeing her own reflection depressed her even more.Later, she noticed she wasn't the only one not having a good time. Her friend Betty was ready to leave with the goal of going straight home. "What are you doing out here?" Betty asked."Drowning my sorrows", said Helen. "Want to join me?" Thanks, but I'm going home and straight to. "John, I don't know how you can sit there so calmly, talking about the things I have done to you, to our life together. I can't think of any way to prove to you that I won't stray or cheat on you. You have seen me doing things that most men would have shot or for sure, left their spouses over. Why do you still want to try to save our marriage? Why would you be able to still love me after all of the things I have done? I have been the biggest slut in the state for Greg, and I never really tried.
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