The object of his lusty thoughts sits at her computer wearing my tank top and boxers. Apparently, bras are optional in quarantine which is fine by me.
After pouring a cup of coffee, I stand behind her, and kiss her lovely ear. With fingers on her shoulders and a thumb to her neck, I work away a tight knot while she curses at the screen.
“What’s all that about?” I point to a shitload of charts and numbers.
“Fucking Facebook Ads. If this one doesn’t receive their approval, I may call Frankie.” She hits enter and grumbles some more.
“A hit on Mark Zuckerberg? A bit extreme, don’t you think?” I gulp some bitter brew, place my mug on the table and massage her shoulders using more pressure.
“Go ahead. You try it, then let me know. Hold on, it’s Salon-Zoom time.” She clicks on a blue icon which opens an application. Now, I suppose it could be a virtual game of Hollywood Squares or perhaps it’s the start of a new Brady Bunch movie.
Sam’s mom pops up in one box while Marion, Rose, Mia, and a couple more women appear in others. While my fingers continue to knead, my wife closes her eyes, moans, and leans back.
With her head against my lower half, my cock jumps at the exact same moment she clicks on the camera.
Nonna squishes my mother-in-law out of a square and peers through the screen. “Sebastian? Sei tu?”
Face bright red, Sam turns off the laptop’s cam, presses mute, and glances down at my swollen interest. “Do you want to give them a heart attack?”
Chuckling, I sit out of view, my hand high on her thigh. “They didn’t notice nothing. Don’t mind me. Get a move on with your meetin’.”
All the women on screen squawk at once. Apparently, me being up and around is gossip-worthy.
“Oh my God, Suds, stop.” On mute, Sam tries to keep a straight face while I reach up the loose boxers where she isn’t wearing panties.
The bakery lady, Mrs. Murphy, goes on about some customer refusing to social distance.
I go off mute. “What y’all doing here?
They all answer at once so Sam hits mute. “When the hair parlor closed, the salon ladies needed connection, so I invited them all to this Zoom meeting.”
I let my index finger wander to her liquid heat. “Why not have everyone come all at once.”
She chuckles. “Stand in front of the camera and they will.”
“I’m being serious.” Maybe COVID caused some brain damage because I have no idea what the fuck she’s talking about.
My wife laughs harder. “How the hell can the bingo crew gossip about each other if they all attend at once? We also help some do their own cuts as long as they’re good with sharp objects.”
I picture some of the octogenarians with shears. “Damn. Best be careful. We don’t want anyone losing an eye.”
While we carry on our own conversation, Rose speaks from her square. “Mrs. Nardo? How is Mr. Nardo?”
A sixtyish woman smiles. “My husband has become very attentive, now he’s stuck at home with me. I told Frankie, he can hold off killing him until after quarantine.”
Sam’s cousin grins. “Good to hear. What else is new?”
The ladies gossip about who was seen leaving who’s apartment, then rank the UPS, Amazon, and Fed Ex delivery men on a score of one to ten.
When the conversation dies down, Sam asks, “Did you hear if anyone needs a private detective?”
A woman with bright pink lipstick, dark hair, and thick makeup lights up. “I heard Carol Muller wants to find her adoptive mother because she’s sure as hell not related to the woman she’s been cooped up with for the last few weeks.”
“Was she? Adopted?” Sam leans in.
“Good heavens no, but you could charge her to look into it. It might make her feel better.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.” My Bensonhurst babe shakes her head as the youngest of her cousins raises her hand.
