Corps à corps
Okay, well, this is a little awkward. I was fencing with the hot Slovenian girl, who some of the other girls don’t like because of her propensity to get topless. (She’s pretty well-endowed too.) Her husband, who just started coming out to the club, was watching. (This is an awkward thing in itself. She’d always referred to her boyfriend, until one evening everyone was out at a local restaurant, when she mentioned to someone that they actually got married last summer. This prompted me to practically shout, “Your husband?! You’ve been calling him your boyfriend!” which almost certainly caused the entire table to wonder exactly why I should care so much. But seriously, who does that? Who calls her husband her boyfriend? I don’t know — maybe it’s just an alliance of convenience to keep her in the country or something. Still, I wouldn’t like being called her boyfriend if I were her husband.)
Anyway, I flèched, which is a running attack, and I landed the point, but in so doing, I kind of stumbled into her. Body to body contact — or corps à corps — is illegal and punishable with a yellow card, so it’s not a good habit. But even worse, when I tried to steady myself to make sure neither of us fell over, I accidentally grabbed a whopping handful of breast. Now, it was totally an accident and she was wearing a plastic chest protector anyway, so she was completely unfazed. But right then, I saw her husband just walk away.
First he’s watching us fence, then I full-on cup his wife’s boob, then he stalks off. He can’t possibly have liked this. This can’t possibly be good.
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