Fur Coat

Transcript

Speaker1: Good morning, good afternoon, good evening. Wherever you are, I hope you have blue skies, a breeze on your back, and sand between your toes. Welcome to The Other Lifestyle Podcast. I'm your host, Jason. Leave Vanilla behind as we continue the stories of Steve and Rebecca. It's another story week, and if you really like my stories, and if you want more stories, go check out the Patreon, patreon.com slash thatotherlifestyle. This show is for adults only. We will talk about sex, relationships, the lifestyle, and ethical non-monogamy in an honest way with lots of real talk. If you are under 18, this is your only warning to get the hell out. Around here on the beach is a sexual freedom, consent, education, and good times. Everyone is welcome, lifestyle, vanillas, or the curious. Whatever your gender, identity, expression, truth, flavor, you are welcome here. You do my best to use inclusive language, though you may hear words like husband or wife or man or woman, just to keep My email address is host at thatofthelifestyle.com. My website is thatofthelifestyle.com. If you really like what I do and you want more, you can join the afterparty at patreon.com slash thatofthelifestyle or maybe buy me a cup of coffee. Send me a tip to buymeacoffee.com slash thatofthelifestyle. You need an STI test, go to stdhero.com and use my promo code TOL15 for 15% off your order. Remember, testing takes the community to make a difference and this is your a reminder to go get tested for the best lifestyle parties and takeovers check out risqué lifestyle parties dot com a brief aside before i get started telling the story this week risqué lifestyle parties is throwing luminous which is a weekend-long glow party over in fort walton beach of florida april 30 uh 30th through the set through may 2nd i hope i have the dates right because i don't have them in front of me anyway go to risqué lifestyle parties dot com check it out You can get tickets there. Come party with us. On to the story. Suitcase wheels fight over the carpet mat at the entrance of the hotel lobby. Steve yanks and pulls the bag, trying not to draw attention to himself. Rebecca is three steps ahead of him, taking in the wonder of their first hotel takeover like a kid at a theme park. Clusters of people who are friends, former or future lovers, and those scoping out the crowd pack into the lobby, People unsure where to go and wanting to connect early before the party tonight. Temporary words of friendliness hoping to connect later tonight and horny passion. Rebecca strides straight to the front desk because that's what is done, though she does not actually talk to the clerk. It is on Steve to speak when he arrives a few steps behind her. It is on Steve to hand over his credit card and driver's license with his name on it to the woman behind the front desk who knows exactly what they are doing here tonight, exactly what they are doing in this moment. Steve fumbles with the luggage, his car keys, his wallet, while commencing the transaction with the clerk. All the while, Rebecca is elbowing him for attention. Look, that's the couple we met at that meetup. We need to talk to them again. Oh, look at her shoes! Gesturing wildly to different women, Rebecca is mumbling half to herself, making mental notes, making assumptions about others, creating her own landscape, while Steve tries to control his own. Remember what we talk about, Steve implores. I know, I remember, Rebecca answers. Repeat it back. What are the rules tonight? Steve asks her, now fumbling with a newly added hotel key card to his inventory, sliding out of the way away from the knowing hotel clerk in her imaginary judgment. Rebecca gives an exasperated sigh. The safe word is cucumber. I won't run off again. We stick together and we won't fuck anyone tonight. She answers him and then adds a maybe with a smile. Good. yanks on the suitcase closer to his body, sliding the keycard into his wallet, checking for his car keys again. Lost in his thoughts of organization, he is oblivious to the couple that approaches. It is a tall, dark-haired woman with bright red lips, her top barely containing artificially augmented breast. The man that stands next to her is, whiter than he is tall in a cowboy hat. How does someone so big move so quietly is the first thought that flashes through Steve's brain. The cowboy extends a large, fat hand towards Steve. Hi, I'm James. This is Mary. The first word out of Steve's mouth is what? Followed by a simple, oh, hi. Annoyed at these two intruding upon his attempt to regaining his composure, Steve instinctively grasps them, the hand that is offered. The man squeezes Steve's hand, painfully, collapsing Steve's fingers into a cone. Steve fights back the urge to show any pain in his face. Large, fat fingers curl around Steve's hand, tentacles of diabetes and high blood pressure gripping down to the bone. Steve, nice to meet you. James says as Steve pulls his hand away, back from the pain. He wants to soothe it by rubbing but does not want to show a sign of weakness to the cowboy who would honestly break the spine of any horse that he tried to ride. The tall woman Mary gives Rebecca a simple hug, no reaching all shoulder contact. Steve offers his now aching hand to Mary who thankfully does not try to break it with her grip. Haven't seen you two around, is this your first time? James' voice Booms at them with a thick southern accent. Lots of drawl at the end of his words. Rebecca smiles and answers, yes, this is our first takeover. Good. We like fresh meat around here, James laughs. Don't mind him, he tells everyone that. We love newbies. Mary speaks, a heavy northeastern accent diametrically opposed to James. Strange combination. James notices the keycard in Steve's hand and asks, so what room are you two in? We might want to stop by later. Steve blurts out 223 without thinking, then regrets immediately saying it. Vision of these two showing up at their room in the middle of the night, naked, drunk, and horny, demanding sex fly through his brain. 223. I will remember that. Hope to see you two later tonight. James winks and does finger guns at Rebecca. Steve is uncomfortable now and breaks the conversation. Well, we need to get to our room. He does not offer his hand again. Oh, yes, of course. It's nice meeting you too. Mary catches the hint. On the elevator ride up, Steve rubs his hand for comfort. Rebecca finally speaks. She laughs and says, we're not fucking them. Steve responds with a simple deal. Swingers are packed into a little box. More people dressed, more people to press together than should be legally allowed in the elevator, all in a hurry to get downstairs. Steve pulls Rebecca close, resting a hand around her waist. fingers flicking the sequins on her dress. Rebecca waited until the last minute to decide on her outfit tonight. Unsure what the theme of naughty sparkles meant, she opted for a silver sequin dress, unsure of what to wear under the dress, unsure if it would even fit tonight. The previous hour in the hotel room was very stressful. The group has vomited out into the lobby, each taking turns to exit, look around, then follow the arrow placards towards the ballroom around the corner from the lobby. Rebecca can hear the music through the walls, dancing and walking at the same time. Steve wonders how can anyone ever sleep at these events, imagining the whole hotel can hear that thumping bass. He thinks about the highway outside when they pass the glass front doors. Do these vanilla people on the highway know what is happening here tonight, he wonders. Steve feels the crowd around him, pressing, moving, breathing. Though his eyes can barely focus on any one person or couple, as Rebecca speeds towards the ballroom, towards sound, towards action. towards a line. The line to enter the ballroom, controlled by one person checking tickets, the ride attendant for the heathen express. Steve is actually thankful for the line right now because now he can catch his breath. The delay flusters Rebecca, who decides to burn off the annoyance by dancing in line to muffle music. She smiles at him, gives him a flirty nudge with her shoulder, more correction than implication. You have resting bitch face again, she scolds him. Steve answers, I know, I'm working on it, forcing a smile onto his face. There's a counterflow of people, one line waiting to get in and another flow of people heading back towards the lobby and their rooms in the bathrooms. The population split between those who have bright pink wristbands and those who don't. Steve nods ineffectually at the couples as they pass, making sure to give them a smile, taking notes on the outfits, their own interpretation of the theme tonight. Some couples match Steve and Rebecca's energy. Fancy. Dressed up. Others go to the extreme with rave clothes, sparkly and strappy for the ladies, and the men attempting to mirror them. A muscular man dressed in a striped fur coat. No shirt. Silver pants next to the crowd. Loudly talking to his wife in a bright red wig. Steve notes the look in his eyes. Annoyance, maybe? Determination, possibly. Steve averts his eyes because the man blurts out fuck that my dick doesn't work after midnight and his wife dressed as a fox following behind him responds that's why you can't get laid ass before they disappear around the corner and Steve is confused why a man would yell that out and admit it in front of a collection of swingers another couple walks by dressed as aliens another one in matching red outfits a woman with pasties and a thong on hungs a middle-sized redhead woman near Steve that causes him to sidestep out of the way. Steve is smiling, though, however forced. His smile stops a couple in their tracks. They feel the attention coming from Steve and Rebecca like a psychic beacon. An older man, gray hair, wearing a white suit and a gold chain, stops and smiles back at Steve, then flicks his attention to Rebecca, leathery chest skin showing through his shirt. His date follows his gaze and smiles at Rebecca, too. Well, who do we have here? Stopping mid-step, the man makes a grand gesture towards Rebecca, his words twinged with a vaguely southern accent, the kind that is hard to place. Oh, hi, I'm Rebecca, and this is Steve. Rebecca smiles at the attention, the first direct attention she has received since she put on this outfit. Well, aren't you beautiful? The gray-haired man steps closer to Rebecca, wraps his arm around her, his body heavy against hers. Ron then licks his lips. First the top, then the bottom. Wet tongue ready to lick a stamp. And then plants a kiss directly on Rebecca's mouth. There is no time to stop him. No time for Rebecca to decide if she even wants a kiss. Shocked at the action maybe like the shock on Steve's face. Ron detaches, takes Rebecca's hand, pulling her out of line a few steps away from Steve. Let me look at you. The man spins Rebecca around. is lovely on you, isn't it, honey? His wife chimes in a yes, then offers her name, Ashley. Ashley and Ron. Oh, I like this one, honey, I like her. Ron continues looking Rebecca up and down. Ron opens his arms and wraps them around Rebecca again, letting his weight destabilize her stance. She is so cute, isn't she? Ron asks his wife. I would love to take her out on the boat. Rebecca laughs through the affection, words not quite connecting in her mind under the onslaught. Ashley giggles at Ron's display of affection for Rebecca. Steve feels small in this moment and steps closer to his wife. Recognizing that he is being shut out and during the conversations he has had with Rebecca lately, decides to assert himself. Hi, I'm Steve. He sticks his hand out, forcing Ron and Rebecca apart. Ron smiles big, takes Steve's hand, and shakes it hard with both of his hands. The handshake of a televangelist shaking down a parishioner for money. Those hands are warm and too soft. The nails a little too long. Nice to meet you, Steve. Ashley looks Steve up and down. Gives a curt nod of acknowledgement. Little else. Steve, Ron says the name with a long S sound. Steve, you are a lucky man. I can tell she is a firecracker. Makes me wonder what you have on under this dress. Ron tugs a little at the sequined dress. Was that a question, though? Steve knows the answer. But he doesn't know what to say It's my secret, Rebecca answers for them Oh, I like secrets I would love to find out later Ron presses, smiles Teeth too white Turning to Steve, he asks How did a woman like this end up with you? Ron throws the words out and gives Steve a pop on the stomach For good measure Despite Steve seeing it coming Tensing his core to brace for it Ron's fingers still land in the squishiest part of his body All personality, Steve answers to finally a trained answer. Unsure of what to say to that question which has come up before. Must be. Steve, you need to come to the gym with me in the morning. This hotel has a wonderful gym. I bet I could teach you a few things. Ron gives Steve a hard slap on the shoulder, unexpectedly shifting Steve's center balance. Ron is a personal trainer. He always wants people to come work out with him, Ashley adds. You know, if you don't like the party downstairs, we always like company in our room. Steve notices Ashley wink at Rebecca. Oh, we could stop by later. Rebecca agrees. She is now unsure of what to say. Unsure if this is platitudes or a commitment on her part. Well, we know a couple, Dan and Maria, you two would love them. What's your dynamic? Ron asks, taking Rebecca's hands in his, touching her again. Oh, not really sure, still feeling everything out. Steve feels the conversation shifting and remembers their rules for the night. Is that disappointment in Rebecca's face? Resignation? Steve can't tell from this answer. Was she happy with this answer, though? Oh, well, if you change your mind tonight, find us, Ron replies. Rebecca pulls her hands away from Ron. We should hang out sometime. Ron presses for more connection with Rebecca, now raising his hand up to stroke the in front of her body, feeling the sequins, feeling her. Wanting more from Rebecca, wanting this minute of conversation to mean more. Come on, dear. I need to change my shoes. Ashley says maybe she caught the vibes. Ashley continues, these bitches hurt. You two look lovely. We're going to find you later. Okay, bye, Rebecca. Ashley tries to pull Ron away from Rebecca. Yes, definitely. Ron goes for it again, leans in for another kiss. and Rebecca turns her head this time, his lips planting on her cheek instead. She lets Braun just step away as Ashley pulls him away. Steve looks at Rebecca. What the fuck was that? You let that guy kiss you? He asks through clenched teeth, hoping no one could hear him. He just went for it. I don't know. Rebecca stammers, then laughs it off. Telling me I need to work out, asshole. Steve puffs. The room will burst soon from the ionic swingings assembled here in the pulsing nucleus of the takeover. An upscaled high school prom decorations haphatically taped and stapled on the walls, a DJ that can barely carry a beat in a bucket, pumping up the protons in the room while the neutrons stand in the darkness beyond the dance floor, too cool to dance or socialize, hoping to be magnetic enough to attract attention. Through this human haze, Rebecca scans the room, locates the bar on the far side of the room. I need a drink, babe, Rebecca tells Steve, pointing across the gulf, past the dance floor to the corner of the room. Steve nods. He needs one, too. He follows her, holding her hand as she weaves through the people. They pass the old, still charged up, the young looking for bonds, and the middle-aged bending to the gravity of the night. The responsible adults who assemble here, under flashing disco lights, dancing on a temporary dance floor, being unresponsible. In this room are teachers and doctors and lawyers and whatever the fuck project managers do, upstanding members of the community that could be sitting next to anyone, on the train or in church, silently vibrating to a different polarization of life. Steve loves that idea about all this, the mixing of people, the vibes, the shadow side of regular life. They approach the bar and are met with another line. Steve laughs under his breath realizing what the bar actually is. A folding table packed with bottles while a man behind it frantically tries to keep the drinks coming in, all set up here in the corner of a dark ballroom. The man has a name tag on, though it's too dark to read it. Rebecca, never one to miss the chance, starts to dance in the line doing a mostly hip-centric shuffle to keep her own energy up. Steve stands still, silent, watching and taking in the crowd. To entertain himself, he creates narratives around the couples that pass by. Bet that one right there, bet that's a stag vixen he thinks based on the obvious age difference. That other couple, that woman is very much a librarian and I bet she's going to be airtight tonight. A short brunette with a pretty smile walks past dressed like a neon fairy, her husband not dressed up at all. Both of them oblivious to Steve. Hey, RBF Rebecca scolds him. Yes, sorry. Steve replies again, a smile onto his face. Good, Rebecca tells him. On the drive over, Rebecca implored Steve to have fun, or at least at a minimum, pretend for her sake. He agreed, and part of the agreement was to control his resting bitch face for the night. His slack expression is not the lack of fun souring his facial muscles. He just allows himself to be hypnotized by the pulsing sound and lights, his mind becoming ionized to the environment. Rebecca's voice snaps Steve back to reality. Oh, I love that, Rebecca yells out. Steve blinks, trying to get his bearings and figure out who Rebecca is talking to, who her attention is centered on now. Three steps away, a woman in a white angel outfit with a cape for wings stops and smiles at Rebecca's compliment. Thank you, she replies, doing a cute curtsy for added effect. The angel steps closer, conversation igniting between Steve can barely make out the fucking words. Something about where the outfit came from, why she wore it, how it ties back to the theme. The words don't matter to Steve. Joy fills the vacuum inside of him at the prospect that maybe Rebecca made a friend. She needs friends in the lifestyle. He wants her to have friends in this. It's a secret desire he keeps even more hidden than his own desire to try hot wifing. Cutting through the static of pineapple fun, a man approaches. He has an air of contempt, a sour look on his face framed by an artificially black beard wearing a backwards baseball cap. Steve can't make out the true color of it, can't identify the association with a team or a sport due to the distorted colors of the room. The looming figure in blue jeans and a plain t-shirt seems oddly out of place here. Like a dad who wandered into this space after getting lost on his way to the hardware store. A nondescript man that you could see anywhere walking through a parking lot carrying lumber. The man does not acknowledge Rebecca or Steve at first, his eyes scanning the room above and beyond Steve like he is looking for his missing lumber. Baseball cap man places a hand on his wife's back to let her know that he is there. She looks over her shoulder, smiles, acknowledges his then returns to the conversation with Rebecca. Steve, though. Steve feels uncomfortable under the man's gaze. Judgment and disdain, possibly? The room smells heavy of perfume and bodies, though Steve's nose is subliminally filled with a phantom scent of gasoline and grass. Steve is unsure what to do next, though Rebecca's attempt to make a new friend gives him courage. Courage enough to stick out his hand and offer high. I'm Steve to Baseball Cat Man. The man shakes Steve's hand. Rough hands, no squeeze. A limp, rough, cold stick slapping against Steve's hand. The man nods once and yells out Garrett over the music, standing two paces away from Steve, no attempts made to close the gap on Garrett's part. Steve, though. Steve takes a step forward, a measured step, halfway. So is this your first time here? This is our first time here. Steve finds the Overture lands flat. No, we come here all the time. Garrett answers back. His tone is clipped at the end, letting the words feel expensive and a waste of time. A weed eater slicing errant grass, then moving on. No time to linger. Steve nods, unsure how to proceed. So I didn't catch your wife's name. Steve tries again to launch a conversation, trying to yank this lawnmower engine to life. Tiffany. Again, and Garrett makes the words sound like they are costing him for each syllable. Okay, cool. That's Rebecca. Steve points at his wife. Garrett nods and continues to scan the room for something or someone. Steve isn't sure. Who is this man looking for? Do you want to cut in line? Steve offers to Garrett. Since the line for the bar is now considerable, the poor bartender is swamped. Garrett raises his hand to say no or maybe just to end the words. Steve nods. So where are you guys from? Steve asks a fourth question, at this point desperate to match the conversational energy of the wives. Garrett perks up. Not at the question, Steve asked, but at the something or someone he was scanning for the whole time. Hey, come on. Garrett tells his wife, punctuated by tugging gently on her angel wings. She takes a half step backwards, not turning but also not looking at Steve either. The angelic wife smiles as she is being pulled away from Rebecca Oh, okay. Nice to meet you Tiffany waves as she is drug away somewhere else some other conversation some other thing That is more important to Garrett than Steve will ever be She was so nice. I didn't get her number Rebecca turns to Steve as they finally reached the bar That guy was a dick Steve tells her then asks the bartender for two margaritas What? No, she was so nice Rebecca replies He didn't talk to me and then he straight up walked the fuck away when I tried to talk to him Steve takes the drinks from the bartender and hands one to Rebecca I thought they were nice Rebecca replies again then sips her drink Steve sighs hard in the bathroom this oddly quiet space the music is dim here the cold tile walls drink in the heat of the night locking it away giving him a little sterile peace He stands in front of the urinal, his nerves too high to allow himself to actually relax and pee. Uncomfortable thoughts cross his mind. Will Rebecca wonder why it's taking him so long? Is she timing him? Is she done already and waiting for him? What if she starts talking to someone she doesn't want to? How much longer do they have to do this? What if someone walks in and knows he can't pee? They're going to judge him. Steve sighs, tries hard to relax. door opening again. A very loud man comes in. The man in the fur coat that he saw earlier. Hulking and looming out the corner of Steve's vision. Shirtless in silver shorts. You can't miss him. The man has muscles solid. Steve assumes much about this man. The muscles denote vanity, of course, the air of arrogance and annoyance radiating off of him. Bet he's an asshole, Steve thinks. No one who looks like that is ever nice. The fur-coated man pushes into a stall and groans loudly. The man proclaims from the stall, making Steve wonder if he's doing it for an audience or if he's just the kind of man who yells in bathrooms. But Steve kicks himself. He should have taken the stall and said, Damn it! Unsure what to do, since normally men don't talk in the bathroom like this, Steve yells out, Yeah, I know what you mean, man. Steve begins to pee, though, his words causing his body to relax enough. Why can't we start these fucking parties at night? The other man yells out, then joins in a chorus of liquid splashing. Yeah, yeah, man, I know. It's getting late, Steve replies, unsure what to say, shaking himself and then buttoning his pants. Late is when all the weird shit happens. We just have to stay awake for it. The man yells back through the stall door. The men converge at the sink. The man in the fur coat pumps out nine clumps of soap and washes his hands with the attention of a surgeon. Feeling. Feeling the societal pressure, Steve decides to wash his hands. Pumps out one dollop of soap. Fucking germs everywhere, the man throws out to Steve when he notices that Steve notices the way he is washing his hands. That swinger flow is real, man. Steve gnaws and chuckles. What's the swinger flu? The swinger flu. An unclassified virus unknown to science, everybody gets sick after these things because they make out with strangers and no one washes their hands. is drying his hands now with mini paper towels. Not me, though. I fucking hate getting sick. He adds, throwing the wad into a trash can. Alright, back to some dumb shit. Oh, okay. Steve replies, opening the door. The men exit the bathroom to find their respective wives waiting for them in conversation. Rebecca is talking to a short brunette in a bright red wig dressed like a fox, ears and a fluffy tail. Miranda! The man exclaims, did you make a new friend? He asks his wife, giving her a peck on the cheek. Thank you for waiting. No problem. Yes, this is... Miranda trails off because she forgot Rebecca's name so quickly. Unfazed, she stops mid-sentent and asks, Oh shit, what the fuck was your name? Sorry, I have been drinking. That's okay, Rebecca and this is Steve. She points at her husband now standing next to her. Steve! The man in the fur coat yells, throwing his arms up and hugging. him, new friend Steve, I am Roman. Releasing his hug, he looks at Rebecca, opens his arms, and offers a hug. Rebecca smiles, leans in, and accepts. Roman throws his arms around her and says, new friend Rebecca. Leaning back, he admits, I won't fucking remember any of your names, so y'all had better find us later and tell us again. Okay, Steve and Rebecca. Steve points at himself, and then Rebecca. Steve and Rebecca. Roman mimics the act. Check. Please remember that for me. Roman loudly whispers to his wife Miranda. I will try very hard to remember that for you. No promises. Miranda answers. All right. I'm fucking tired. My feet hurt. I've been wearing a fur coat all night so I'm pretty sure I smell bad. Checkout is in eight hours. I'm getting my money's worth out of this night. Roman declares to the trio. Rebecca smiles. I think he's smiling. Which then causes Roman to smile. Thank you. Will you two come dance with us? Roman places a hand over his chest, waiting for an answer. Do you want to? Rebecca asks Steve, unsure how much energy he has left. Steve is on board. Dancing! Steve raises his arms, triumphantly summoning what little bit of energy he has left. Dancing! Come on, fuckers! Roman cheers, raising his hands with Steve. The quartet heads back to the ballroom. Rebecca joins Miranda on the dance floor close to the stage. They want to feel the music pound through their bodies. Steve dances behind his wife while Roman scans the room every few minutes and returns to dancing, mostly with his arms. Not very good. Steve is not sure what Roman is looking for, but is comforted by Roman's resting bitch face, happy that he is not the only one to default to a slack expression. Roman does eventually shed the fur coat, showing off his muscles to the crowd, drawing women into him like moths. Steve watches Roman smile at the attention, then him returning to mostly arm dancing next to his wife. They lose track of time, unable to judge minutes within the fractured beats of the ever-changing songs. Rebecca leans in and kisses Steve with passion, fueled by the whole night. He smiles at her and squeezes her butt. Roman grabs Miranda by the shoulders, squares up to her face and tells her, all right, I need a drink. Okay, get me one too, Miranda respond. Steve, Rebecca, drinks. Roman makes the universal sign of drinking, then points at them. I can go with you, Steve offers. Okay. Roman responds, then looks at Rebecca. All right, this is important. Watch my wife, pointing at Miranda. Rebecca nods. You, watch his wife. Roman then orders Miranda. It's fine. Go get me a drink, margarita. Miranda laughs off the command. Let's go. Roman waves Steve to join him. They approach the bar. The crowd has thinned down considerably this time of night. There's no line this time. Those who found new friends are happily fucking upstairs. Those who gave up are trying to go to sleep. Roman orders two margaritas while Steve orders the same. Woohoo tequila! Roman cheers when they receive their drinks. The men turn and head back to the dance floor. Roman notices the issue first and mumbles, fucking wife poachers. The two women have stopped dancing and are now conversing with Ashley and Ron from earlier. The tall, dark-haired woman, easy to spot in the crowd, a full head taller than Miranda and Rebecca. Motherfuckers! Roman picks up his pace and Steve follows. The men move oddly in unison, both standing behind their wives. Roman interrupts whatever words Ron was saying to Rebecca. Miranda, here is your drink. He hands Miranda the drink and then locks eyes with Ron, The gold chain around his chest twinkling in the light How the hell are you, Ron? Haven't seen you all night Roman tells the man Oh, hi, Roman I was just asking Miranda where you were Ron replies Oh, I'm here, right here Roman's eyes glitter in the flashing lights with a new intensity Steve hasn't seen all night Roman, good to see you Do you know Rebecca and... Ashley trails off, realizing Mint's sentence that she doesn't remember Rebecca's husband's name. Steve catches the slight, though. Steve. I'm Steve, he tells her. Yes, Steve and Rebecca. I didn't know that y'all were all friends. Ashley responds. And Ron says, yep, met him in the bathroom, met her outside the bathroom. Oh, okay. Ashley is not sure how to respond. The words come out of her mouth slowly to buy her time. She turns to Rebecca only and says, well, we're heading upstairs. I wanted to ask if you had plans tonight. Would you be interested in coming up to our room? We can introduce you to our friends we told you about. Ron thinks you are very cute. Perceptible. Only to a man who has been married to his wife for over a decade. Steve feels Rebecca tense up. Not in a good way at the offer. No, we're good. Steve answers for Rebecca. Going to keep dancing now. Ashley and Ron share a look between them. They said they want to keep dancing. Y'all can go fuck around now. Miranda decides it is time to use her work voice, powered by habitually breaking executives and thought leaders at her job. Have a good night. Ron tries to kiss Rebecca again, telegraphed by his lip licking. Rebecca takes a step back from him, turns her head, and gives a broad, fake smile, followed by a simple good night. Ron and Ashley leave. Assholes, Miranda shares. Steve detects history in that word. Motherfuckers! Ron exclaims once they're out of hearing range. Always trying to wife poach at these things. Nobody wants to fuck his wrinkly ass. Good job, Steve. Roman passed the man on the shoulder. Thanks. Steve finally releases the tension in his body and looks at his wife, who smiles back at him. Thank you for listening and tuning in every week. Make sure you tell a friend about the show. Thank you to the love of my life, my wife, who is on this wonderful journey with me. If you want to reach out, ask a question, suggest a topic. Send me an email to host at thatotherlifestyle.com. My website is thatotherlifestyle.com. The Patreon. I actually have more source stories up on the Patreon and you could read them instead of having to listen to my very bad voice acting. The Patreon is patreon.com slash thatotherlifestyle. Send me a tip if you want at buymeacoffee.com slash thatotherlifestyle. My personal disclaimer, I am not a medical professional nor a trained and certified educator of any kind in any way. I am a guy with a microphone, sharing my personal experiences with you. This podcast is for entertainment purposes only. Please join us for the next episode. Go to stdhero.com. Use my promo code TOL15 for 15% off your order and get tested. Whatever you may do today or tonight, I hope you do it with enthusiasm, consent, curiosity, and a whole lot of spice. You're appreciated, loved, and I will see you for the next episode.