Getting dinner ready.

Samantha was the most perfect woman any man could wish for to have as a wife -- a beautiful, tall, and intelligent redhead with a sense of humor as big as her breasts and who's amazing in both in the kitchen and in the bedroom. On top of that she climbed up the corporate ladder to become a vice-president, all without sleeping her way to the top. In five months she would add being a great mother to her list. That said, she manages to amaze me constantly on what she could accomplish.

The traffic wasn't that bad and I managed get home in about twenty minutes from parking garage to driveway. Being a VP has the perk of leaving a bit early to allow Sam to go grocery shopping to prepare a tonight's dinner. She would not settle for take-out, even though the entire point of inviting Bill and Emma over was for the wives to be fucked by the other's husband. She will be the eternal romantic.

"Honey, I'm home!" I announced loudly as soon as I opened the front door.

"I'm in the kitchen," Samantha yelled back.

I could not help but take out my cellphone to take a picture of my beautiful wife, wearing a Hello Kitty apron, barefoot and pregnant while cooking in the kitchen. "I love you," I greeted her with a kiss on the cheek.

"Don't you dare post that on Instagram!"

"I would never do that," I replied, feigning hurt. "I don't want men to jerk off to that photo!"

She stopped chopping the carrots to stare at me. "What kind of man would masturbate to a pregnant woman cooking?"

"I would," I joked, which got me deservingly punched on the shoulder.

"Do you mind helping me, honey?" she asked, turning back to the carrots.

"Of course, sweetie," I replied, putting down my satchel.

I was never a good cook despite my wife's eternal patience to try to teach me to make something other than French toast and scrambled eggs. I was the software and hardware guy -- I built our computers, installed our home security cameras, and even worked on our cars. The kitchen, and for that matter, the rest of the house other than my man cave in the basement, was her domain. I obeyed her orders, doing the simple tasks of slicing, peeling, and stirring to help my wife get dinner ready before the Youngs arrived.

"I'll get it," I exclaimed after the doorbell rang.