Indian Party

"Do you like it, sweetie?" Becky asked Lucy as the teenage girl licked a stray droplet from her lip."Yeah," came the reply. "It takes like berries. And vanilla?" We've got a naturally refined palate here," I joked to Becky, and Lucy quirked a curious eyebrow at me. "I just mean you've got a very developed sense of taste, honey," I said."Drink up, sweetie," Becky encouraged. "Wine is one of the best things about being an adult." Lucy obliging took a larger mouthful. "Good. So, truth or dare. Who goes first?"The first few rounds of the game passed peacefully enough. Becky eschewed questions and asked for dares without hesitation, including dancing around the room wiggling her butt "like J-Lo", as Lucy demanded, then did a very sexy rendition of Marilyn Monroe's "Happy Birthday Mr. President" routine; Lucy favoured us with an off-key rendition of a pop song I didn't recognise, and admitted she would rather kiss Brad Pitt than Orlando Bloom; and I allowed Lucy to apply a wax strip to my. . what did you do?” “You woke the village.” And several other requests delving into the in’s and out’s of last night during the storm.“Umh, ask the girls.”“We can’t do that. So we’re asking you.”The door flapped back and two Very Happy girls emerged, elbowed their way through us lowly males and waddled over to the fire where the women were group cooking breakfast.The waddle was a dead give-away.Pretty soon, all the women at the cookout turned and looked in our direction. Except ... the married women weren’t looking at their husbands ... they were looking at me. My wives began talking again and were the center of attention. They said something and then nodded. I got the group look again. Eye contact, even.There was a little puff of smoke and the smell of burnt meat drew their attention. One by one the women left the cooking fire and made some shy or blatant move which had the result of our group of men decreasing by one with each signal.The wife made sure her husband noticed and then.
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