“Yes, dear; I took the memory card with the picture you selected to the printer this morning. I showed them the catalog with the card you want circled, and gave them the slip of paper with the Christmas greeting you wrote.”
“Did you give them the mailing list too? When did they say they would be done?”
“They finished them this afternoon, and have already started mailing them out to the addresses on the list. It’s all taken care of, and it couldn’t have gone smoother.”
“Whew, that’s such a relief!” Linda exclaimed. Giving Bill a kiss on the cheek, she said “Thank you honey. You did wonderfully. How did they look?”
“Look? Oh… I didn’t think to look at them first.”
“Honestly, Bill!” she cried. “Didn’t they offer to let you see them first? What if the image is crooked or they messed up the greeting?”
“I’m sure it’s fine, Linda,” Bill answered, starting to feel a bit put upon. He’d done everything she’d asked, and the printers were professionals; what could possibly go wrong?
“Well,” sighed Linda, “you’re probably right. Did they give you a proof?”
“No. Wait, maybe they did!” Bill went out to the car and picked up the envelope the printers had given him. Realizing sheepishly that it was the size of a greeting card, he now understood that they might have expected him to look at it and approve it. Oh, well; what’s done is done. He strode into the living room and gave it to Linda, then went to fix himself a drink.
Linda opened the envelope and pulled out the card, happy to see that had gone correctly. She opened it just as Bill moved behind her chair and leaned it to see it with her.
“Oops!” she whispered, realizing she must have mixed up the memory cards. When would the cards hit, she wondered?
“Wrong picture, I presume?” Bill deadpanned. “You look lovely as always, dear, but I wasn’t aware that Phil had such an impressive member.”
350 words exactly. Head over to Advizor's site throughout the day to read the other outstanding entries.
Now to earn those extra points:
The first (of many) time that L left the boyfriend to get back with the ex, the wife and I drove down to spend the weekend with them. We rode down on our motorcycle that Saturday, and we all rode together (the two of them on B’s bike) to a winery in the nearby city. It was a fun day, and I stupidly thought all of the drama was past, and the two of them would work things out and be stronger than ever.
A week or two earlier, L had asked if I wanted a picture. I said yes, thinking she meant to send something innocent, like her with a new hairstyle or blouse or something. Imagine my pleasant surprise when it turned out to be a picture of her pussy, perfectly framed, with her fingers on each side spreading the lips. It was beautiful, and I was happier than I’d been in some time because (in my mind) this meant we were back on! Over the next few days we exchanged a few more pictures (I sent more than I got in return, but whatever.) Of course days later I was back to wondering just what the hell was going on, because suddenly L was acting distant again. (This has been a common, repeated pattern that I now know will probably continue forever.)
But no matter, I had some really nice pictures, and where there were some there may someday be more. Of course I couldn’t leave them in my main picture gallery in case the wife saw them, but I’m the technophile with a long history of being sneaky, so I moved the pictures to another folder and didn’t think twice about it.
Friday night, before the wife and I drove down to see L and B, we’d been fooling around and she let me take some pictures of her. She’d had a bit of wine, so had loosened up somewhat from her normal stodginess, and I wound up getting some good boob pictures, pussy shots, and even a few action photos of her giving me a blowjob and my cock in her pussy. Of course after the sex was over she insisted I delete the pictures, and though I wanted to hang on to them she watched me and made sure I deleted them all. (Please forgive this tangent, but it is important.)
Anyway, Saturday night we were all sitting around drinking some wine we’d bought, laughing about old times and generally having a good time. L excused herself to go to the bathroom, and the wife suggested I show them both a picture of some stupid thing or another. She picked up my phone (which didn’t bother me at all) and pulled up my gallery, then hit me on the arm and said “I told you to delete those!” I looked at the phone and saw the picture of L’s pussy! It was the representative picture of the folder I’d “hidden” all those pictures in!
I’ve said before that I generally don’t panic in emergency situations, and this is an example of that. Though my heart was pounding and I had no idea how that folder could possibly be in the gallery, I quickly realized that the wife only saw enough of it to think it was one of the one’s I’d taken of her the night before. I calmly took the phone and said “Oops, I thought I had; I’ll take care of it now.” The wife kept trying to watch, presumably to make sure I really deleted it, but I didn’t want her to look too closely or she’d notice the BIG ASS RING on the hand in the picture. Then she’d remember she hadn’t posed in that way for me, and… well, nothing good would come from any of that.
“Okay, I have to go to the bathroom, and I’ll delete it,” I said. I fully expected her to object, but she didn’t. I’d been drinking a good deal of beer and wine, so it was totally believable I was about to piss my pants. I was scared enough to anyway! Once in the bathroom I desperately tried to figure out why the pictures were showing, and how I could get them off the gallery without deleting them.
(I found out later that the Android operating system helpfully scans every fucking folder on your phone and shows all pictures it finds, and couldn’t give two shits if they are pictures you want to hide. The phone I had at the time didn’t have a built in way to mark a folder as hidden, but fortunately my current phone does.)
Alas, it was beyond my capabilities that night to figure it out, and I had only a few moments of “pissing” before the wife would get suspicious; I had to delete the pictures. Oh, they were such nice pictures, especially that first pussy shot. Though I have others similar to it, none are so artistically rendered as that one. I still mourn its loss.
I later told L about it, and she refuses to wear the ring she’d had on in the picture. The wife has a well-known eye for details, and L is afraid, even now some two years later, that she would recognize it and raise a stink. I’ve told her that after all this time even the wife won’t remember; she’d had some wine that night herself after all. However, it’s probably best if L waits another year or two before wearing it, just to be safe.
