It had been a hard day at work. Between the boss demanding constant revisions on every proposal, and the secretaries sniping at each other over slights and insults imagined and real, I was definitely ready for a few hours alone with my wife Melissa. In fact, on my way to her office, I had carefully planned and arranged the perfect evening.

First, reservations at a nearby seafood restaurant. Followed by an after-dinner Margarita at the best Mexican restaurant in town. Margaritas always had a stimulating effect on both of us, lowering our inhibitions quite dramatically. And finally, a quick ride home for some down-and-dirty animalistic sex. And depending on how loopy the drinks made us, we might not make it out of the garage before we started.

That's how I imagined the evening.

As I pulled into the parking lot I noticed that Melissa's light was the only one on in the building. But that wasn't unusual. Most of the building was devoted to an architectural firm, whose employees cleared out religiously at five o'clock and who presumably did the rest of their work at home. If they were anything like me, all they took back to work in the morning was a lot of good intentions gone wrong. Anyway, at 8:30, it wasn't unusual to see there were only two cars in the parking lot.

Melissa didn't have the "freedom" to bring her work home with her. She worked the off-shift at a television production studio. Most of the time, she was busy producing videos and inexpensive TV commercials for small businesses in the area. But two nights a week, and during other off times, the owner made a few extra dollars teaching TV production to the good citizens of the city. The city cable company paid for it, in lieu of a "public access" studio, which they claimed was too expensive to offer. And as low person on the totem pole, Melissa spent a lot of time doing the teaching.

Walking into the building, I hoped that Melissa had worn decent clothes, as the seafood restaurant had a a bit of a dress code. I remebered seeing a nice outfit layed out on the chair in the morning; as her shift started later than mine, she often slept in while I showered and got ready for work. But production is a hot and dirty business, and I'd be willing to bet that she had on the usual: jeans and a tube top, covered by a fairly see-through open blouse, tied in a knot in the front.

Usually that outfit never fails to turn me on, because it accentuates her hourglass figure, especially with the top cradling her luscious breasts. Melissa could've been a little slimmer, but at 6-foot tall, I think she's pretty well proportioned. Her legs are fairly long, and her butt is nicely rounded and firm. But actually the most stunning part of her body are her dazzling green eyes. I call them mood eyes, because they subtly shift colors as her moods change. Her soft-red hair helps frame her face, and really draws attention to her eyes. Her face has a bit of an aristocratic look to it, but when she smiles you feel like the sun just came out. And when she kisses you, anywhere, she can do amazing things with her lips.

Today, however, I was hoping she wore something nice, because with her "production" outfit, because then we'd have to go straight to the Mexican restaurant. And, quite frankly, with too many Margaritas in us, our lovemaking usually was explosive, but short.

Upon entering the outer office, I immediately noticed three book bags dropped by the desk. That would mean the Three Waynes were in, as Melissa had dubbed them. A sixteen year old and two seventeen year olds, they thought that "Wayne's World" was typical of TV production, and wanted to start their own show.

Since the production door was closed, and the TV remote was nowhere to be found, I wandered into the control room through the office door. Though there's a window to the studio, it's usually blocked by a flat or light or something, as was the case today. Unlike the control rooms shown on TV or in the movies, this one had no other windows to the studio, except for a small window in the door, which was covered by a small door. The door kept light from the control room from entering the studio, or vice versa, depending upon the production needs. I opened the small door, and looked inside to the one of the Three Waynes hand Melissa a large, brown envelope, while the others looked on.

Needing to know how long this confab was going to take, I flipped on the audio switch for the studio.

"Where...where did you get these?" I heard Melissa say, with a break in her voice. Hearing her so distraught, I quickly moved over to the peekhole, where I saw Melissa looking at several pieces of paper on the desk of the set. The Waynes were crowded around the opposite side, occasionally pointing at a piece on the desk, and then looking at her. Their body language and eyes communicated one thing: predators.

"Well, that's a short but interesting story," the first guy said, who I immediately dubbed "Smoothy." He picked up one of the papers, and I could tell it was a photograph, though I couldn't make out what was on it. "A few weeks ago, we got here a little early, and went down to the caf for a few munchies. Just as we were about to turn the corner, we saw this guy come out, tuckin' his shirt in and zippin his pants. And not three or four steps after him, you come out, zippin' up your jeans. Well, it don't take a genius to figure out what you were doin'. But we figured he was your old man."

He paused in his story to push the picture in her face, and then continued. "The next week we tried to get here early, so we could, you know, observe and learn, as you like to say. But you guys had already started, so the three of us just took turns lookin' through the door. And I'll tell ya, you guys must really be into it, cuz we made all kinds of noise and you didn't hear us."

By this time, Melissa was slumped in a chair, her hair hanging down and hiding her face. As for me, I was either in shock or fascinated, I still haven't figured out which.