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While we'd been talking, she'd already poured four glasses of wine and set the napkins and utensils down.

"Ho-ly shit," said Brodie. "Is that little Monica? Monica, what the hell're you dressed like that for?"

Monica preened in front of him as she offered him his glass of wine and let him kiss her cheeks. "I thought a special occasion occasioned special accoutrement," she said sweetly.

"You're god damn right you do," he said. "Speaking French and everything..." Brodie shut his gaping mouth as his wife swept around the table to take her glass. "So, uh, what are these things, er, stuffed with?"

Monica gave a theatrical sweep of her hands. "Oh, just a little something I threw together. Pecorino Romano, garlic, parsley, bread crumbs and some fresh mint. Enjoy."

She swept back into the kitchen, Melvin and Brodie watching her every airy step.

Melvin bit into one of the mushrooms. "This is fantastic," he said.

"Yes, they're quite good," said Elaine.

"Uh," I said.

"Sit down, Johnny," said Monica. "I'm just fine in here."

"You, uh, need any help?" asked Brodie.

She wiggled her nose at him. "Tush, tush, Brodie. Stay out of my kitchen."

"Yes, ma'am." He swung back around to me and mouthed "OH MY GOD" as best he could while his wife checked her cellphone.

"Terribly sorry to put you at this inconvenience," said Melvin. "Mr. Thompson had quite a night planned but Brodie was insistent that we-"

Brodie had just about drained his glass of wine already when he pulled it from his lips. "Aw, put a sock in it, Mel. I wanted to see my old buddy here. He doesn't mind, do ya, John?"

"Uh," I said.

Brodie swung his glass towards me, nearly spilling the rest of his wine over the table. "See that? A real friend right there."

The rest of the night was a blur. Monica brought forth more appetizers, which Melvin and Brodie wolfed down and Elaine took small, polite bites out of. All three of them were equally eager to drink, though I think for very different reasons. Elaine seemed perpetually mortified, Melvin sounded like he was on the verge of losing his job, and Brodie, well, Brodie just liked to drink.

I had two glasses of wine that night, drawn out over many, many hours. The others drained three or four bottles between them (and kudos to Monica for even thinking to buy that many). There was some talk of business, but mostly it was Brodie bullshitting and me doing my best to appease him.

And Monica. Even in an outfit like that, Monica was the height of class, joking with Brodie, putting Melvin at ease, commiserating with Elaine. And every now and then she'd look up from the stove and give me a warm, knowing smirk. She put everything together. She was absolutely incredible. I was so hard I could barely stand it. Indeed, if asked, I would not have been able to stand.

This must have been clear to Monica, and I would have been surprised if this was not part of her plan too, because in addition to refilling everyone's glasses like clockwork, I noticed she had somehow, either before or after the guests' arrival, hidden away any extra chairs in the apartment. This meant that, between carrying the food from the kitchen to the table, or pouring the wine, she spent her time sitting in my lap. I'm sure this would have seemed more peculiar to Brodie or Elaine or Melvin, but by the time she mentioned that there weren't any chairs left, both the men were red in the face and liable to laugh at any remark - no matter how comedic it actually was. When she said, "You boys took all the chairs," they laughed, and when she said, "I guess I'll just have to make myself a seat," they laughed, and when she rolled her eyes and plopped herself down in my lap, they laughed.

And while they laughed, she rolled herself right up against my erection.

By that point she'd gotten me so hard that I almost moaned aloud when her fingers surreptitiously reached down to undo my fly.

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