I didn’t see the cruiser parked amidst the weeds in the median until we were practically on top of it. Given the circumstances, though, who could blame me? My wife, Lacey, and I had enjoyed a wonderful night out with another couple, friends of ours, getting dinner at a new Thai place in Springfield and then enjoying some live music at a bar down the street. I’d had a couple of drinks at the bar, but Lacey and her girlfriend had several, chatting over the insistent bass of the band and catching up on work gossip. She was feeling horny as soon as we’d got in the car for the thirty-minute drive home, her hand finding my crotch before I even buckled my seatbelt.
As soon as I made the highway outside the city, my fingers started searching for her sex as well. I trailed my fingers from her knee up to her hip and then back down, slipping my hand up under the white peasant skirt she’d chosen for the evening, squeezing her thick thigh. I kept moving upward in a series of squeezes until I found a pair of lacy panties already damp with want. She let out a low satisfied groan as I started to stroke her through the thin fabric.