I know we don't know each other, but I can tell already who wears the pants in your house. Why, I just sidled up to your wife and made a clever remark and here she is talking to me like we've been best buds since college, and what are you doing? Nothing, just as I expected. Even the guy next to you sees what a little twerp you are. He's ignoring you just like your wife is.
How does that make you feel? I know if I were in your shoes, I wouldn't let my wife ignore me for a second. But you're clearly used to letting your wife have her way, so I can't even pretend that I could ever occupy the same shoes as you for even a moment.
And that's a shame---for you. Because I think your wife is quite fine. Not that I would go for her if there were anyone even remotely better than her here tonight, but given the slim pickings we have on this Wednesday night, your wife is just the thing for me to kill a few hours with while I'm away on my business trip. Because you see, I don't waste time like you do. You're sitting there letting time slip away while I, and your wife, are making things happen. I'm imagining right now what it's going to be like when I take her back to my room, right in front of your face. Because I've sized you up and you won't stop me, because you know I'm a superior being, a go-getter, a man who knows what he wants and takes the steps needed to get it. And right now, I've decided I want your wife, and here I am, taking the steps to get her, and you're so pussy-whipped, you're going to let me.
Yes, I can see why you would be pussy-whipped, because your wife is quite the willful one. She's like a wild horse that won't be tamed, unless she wants to be. And I can see she wants to be tamed by me. She won't settle for anyone, but in me she sees a kindred spirit. What I like about your wife is she doesn't pretend our conversation is anything but a prelude to hot sex between two strangers; she no more wants to have a relationship with me than I do with her. No, we're both here in this crummy bar in this third-rate city and are just trying to make the best of what would otherwise be a boring night watching crappy TV in an ugly room. But we're people who live every moment to the max, and so we're making things happen, unlike you-know-who. I wouldn't be the least bit surprised you'd be laying in your bed watching TV if your wife had given you the option to decide what to do tonight. But she very wisely took control and insisted on coming down here to the hotel bar to make something out of nothing, and let me tell you, she's going to be making a whole lot of something soon. The stars were in alignment tonight and she and I both knew it: it was fated that we be in the same town, in the same bar, on the same night. Who am I to stand in the way of the gods?
Look, I just put my hand on your wife's shoulder and massaged it---even pushed aside some of her blouse to expose her skin. And you, as I knew you wouldn't, did nothing. In fact, you acted like you didn't even see it, as if you didn't want to risk a confrontation. But I know you saw it as clear as day. What's even better, your wife clearly liked it when I touched her. She closed her eyes slightly, as if she were trying to take in the sensation to its fullest. Yes, when two winners like us get together, everyone else better take shelter, because we create fireworks.
Now I've stroked her knee. Not only did she not pull away, but she's happy to let her skirt ride up her thigh, because she wants me to see how nice her legs are---and they are nice, which is why I don't understand why she ever hooked up with a loser like you. I'm thinking it's because you both come from the same backwater and, as sad as it is to say, you two were the best ones for each other, which means there are even bigger losers than you in whatever armpit of a town you guys come from.
Well, I think your wife is about ready to blow this place with me. It's pretty clear natural selection is playing itself out and she's made her decision to go with the dominant male in this room, so in a few moments it'll be hasta la vista, baby. Right out from under your nose, I'm going to be taking your wife to my room and having my way with her, and you're going to do what about it? Tell me to take my hands off her, maybe? Somehow I don't think so. Especially since she so clearly wants to go with me. I mean, how can you defend her honor when she doesn't want it defended, and indeed, wants the superior being to have his way with her? She wants it, man. You're just going to have to live with it.
Look, she's getting up from her bar stool with me. What did I tell you? And you're not even doing anything about it, just as I predicted. I'm even walking away with my hand slipping down her backside to her butt, which is nicely shaped, I might add, and giving it a playful squeeze. Oo la la, it feels nice. I'm anticipating pulling up her skirt in my room and grabbing her two luscious cheeks with my strong hands, all the while you're here nursing a warm beer and striking out even at man-to-man conversation with the fellow next to you.
Mmm, here we are in my room, and I can tell your wife has a lot of experience at this sort of thing. In fact, she has more experience than I expected, but even I'm not 100 percent right about 100 percent everything. And I can honestly say I didn't expect your wife to be so expert at getting me to the point of ejaculation so soon.
Whup! There I go. I guess it's been a while for me, eh? Heh-heh. Oh, well---what's this? She's looking for some money from me? Well, I'm not the kind of guy who pays for it, and as far a I'm concerned, your wife should be paying me to save her for at least one night from having to go to bed with a shleprock like you. But I don't mind giving her a little something for our affair tonight, seeing how she otherwise would have to be wasting her considerable talents on you. So, there you go, honey. Go buy yourself a nice purse or something, my little way of saying I get why you would appreciate a real man like me once in a while.
What? How much do purses cost these days? Fine, you want another $30? Another $60? For a purse? Fine, here's a hundred bucks. Most expensive drink I've had in a while, but, hey, to make love to another man's wife? What's a little gift? Something to remember me by, that's what it is.
Given how forgettable you are, my friend, I'm happy to give your wife a little something to help her remember what money can't buy: a man who knows a thing or two about women.