Storiesonline.net ------- The Party Favor by Lubrican Copyright© 2012 by Lubrican ------- Description: Can cheating be a good thing? Are there situations and circumstances under which society's ban on extramarital sex should be broken? If your answer was "No!" then I want you to read this story. On the other hand, if your answer was "Yes!" then you might be a cheater. and you should probably read this story too. It will be interesting to see who feels better about it all at the end. Codes: MF reluc het cheat interr WF OM oral pett slow ------- ------- Foreword Cheating is, by definition, a bad thing. Society's rules prohibit cheating, and in the vast majority of situations, cheating creates negativity. I think it's fair to say that that's generally because of the feelings of guilt cheating creates. It's one of those hedonistic things that feels good while you're doing it, but almost always makes you feel awful when it's over. At least if you have the same moral code that most people have. Now, the above paragraph contains words such as "vast majority," "it's fair," "generally," and "almost always." Those are conditional kinds of words. And what that means is that ... well ... sometimes cheating might not be a negative thing. And so, being a philosopher, I decided to try to imagine a situation in which cheating might end up being a good thing. I'm not talking about the cheater feeling justified, though that is usually what most cheaters try to do. Rather, I was thinking more along the lines of someone doing what was in their control to do, to live the best life they could, while understanding - eventually - that sometimes reality trumps morality. And that sometimes "the moral thing" isn't always as "good" as we want to claim it is. That said, all I ask you to do is read without preconcieved biases ... if you can. Morality is always complicated - always. Black and white is easy, but nothing in life is actually black and white. Self defense is an excellent example. Everybody would say that killing a human being is wrong. That's from the black and white perspective. But most people would also say that killing the person who is threatening your life, or that of your loved ones, is acceptable ... maybe even laudable. That's how black and white gets complicated. Bob ------- Chapter 1 Jennifer Windham was the picture of success and happiness. But as anyone who is familiar with Photoshop is aware, pictures should almost never be taken at face value. Such was the situation when it came to Jennifer. She was thirty-five, in fabulous condition, thanks to having plenty of time to exercise. Said workouts involved Jazzercise, Pilates and other "fad" workouts, initially, until she figured out that running four miles a day took care of everything and was a lot cheaper. Not that money was a problem. Her husband, Roger, made plenty of that. Of course he spent half of every month out of town, and when he was home, he worked twelve hours a day, six days a week to make all that money. And, with a schedule like that, if he wasn't at work he was sleeping, or if it was Sunday, playing golf or networking in some other manner. Roger was an attorney, and his specialty was real estate. It hadn't been that frenetic when they were younger, which was probably why he was able to get her pregnant once. Her little bundle of joy turned out to be a girl, who was the light of her life until she turned thirteen. Tiffany was her name, and it was prophetic, because she liked the kinds of things Tiffany and Company made. Of course Tiffany was aware that daddy was filthy rich, so she assumed she could have anything her heart desired. When Jennifer tried to correct that misunderstanding, Daddy came to Tiffany's rescue, actually telling her she could have anything she wanted. It wasn't long before daughter and father had teamed up against mother enough times that mother threw up the white flag and had to watch her daughter turn into a train wreck, waiting to happen. Of course the public was never privy to that problem. Tiffany had lots of friends, most of whom also got pretty much whatever they wanted. As they say, birds of a feather flock together. Jennifer was, therefore, left without a daughter to raise through her teenaged years. She compensated by volunteering. She volunteered at the Library, at the civic theater, and even at a homeless shelter, in the soup kitchen, which turned out to be her most favorite volunteer job of all. Until Roger put his foot down and said it was too sordid and dangerous to "traffic with those bums and vagrants." She would have gone to church, but Roger only went on the obligatory days, Easter and Christmas, and he said it would look bad if she went alone. Eventually she put her college degree in accounting to good use by volunteering to do the books of various charities in town. There were parties, of course, most of them related to Roger's job at the firm. She had her network of women she called "friends" who she caught up with at such parties. She kept herself busy enough during the week that she didn't hobnob with the other wealthy wives, except at parties, or awards dinners or something like that. It wasn't that she didn't like the other women. She would have liked to know some of them a lot better. But to be honest, she felt slightly out of her element when she was with these expensively dressed and elaborately coifed women. She herself was one of the lucky women who had flawless skin that looked great without a speck of makeup on it. Her eyebrows rose to graceful tips that made her look slightly inquisitive. Her nose was strong, but looked like it came from noble blood, somehow. Green eyes always mesmerized someone she was talking to, if she looked at them long enough for those eyes to register. She rarely did, though. She didn't understand why people stared into her eyes with such intensity, and she felt like they could see into the place she kept her secrets. Of course if it was a man she was talking to, he wasn't looking into her eyes, most likely. Her figure was lush, well toned and shapely. Her high, firm breasts had never fed her daughter. Roger was disgusted by women nursing, and was of the opinion it should be against the law to be seen doing it. She had wanted her baby to have the best milk, but of course the idea of using a breast pump on her breasts wouldn't fly with her husband, and she couldn't do it without him finding out about it. In the end, formula had been so much easier. When she'd had Tiffany, her hips had spread, and then stayed that way. She literally had an hourglass figure which, unknown to her, a lot of the other wives were insanely jealous of. All in all, her simple, natural beauty was a magnet to the men, and the women's attitude toward her was reflected in that. She was closer to a few women than the others, though, among them a woman named Brandi Templeton. Brandi was a few years older than Jennifer, and came from old money. Why she had taken Jennifer under her wing was a surprise to both women, but she had. It wasn't a close friendship, exactly, but it was a warm one whenever they got together. That was usually for back yard cookouts, at which the men touted their knowledge of how to cook meat to perfection, tried to drink more beer than each other, and extolled on their immense worth to the world in general. The women usually sat around gossiping, watching the children swim in the back yard pool, and drank vibrantly colored mixed drinks with exotic names. It was, in fact, at one such barbeque, that Jennifer Windham overheard something that would change her life forever, not to mention that of a number of other people, both present and absent from the gathering. What she overheard was when Judy Denton leaned towards Kathy Nelson and said "Have you gotten your invitation yet?" "No," pouted Kathy. "But Brandi promised it would be arriving soon." "I got mine." Judy preened. "I'm going to try to lose five pounds. I'd just die of embarrassment if I had to show up at her birthday party like this." Kathy waved a hand. "Don't be silly. It's not a contest, you know." "It will be if I get fat," said Judy. "I don't think you have anything to worry about. We've been to how many of her birthday parties? Three? Did you ever fail to have a fabulous time?" "Of course not," said Judy. She seemed to blush for some reason. "Well you won't this time either. I'm so excited myself I can hardly wait!" A minor disruption between children broke out, and the two women went to deal with that, leaving Jennifer to reflect on the fact that she had never been invited to even one of Brandi's birthday parties, while the two women she had just overheard talking had been to three. She felt both disillusioned and left out. Her mood was ruined, but not enough that she was willing to confront Brandi about it. Then things escalated when Tiffany waltzed up to her and said, "This is lame. Denise and I are going to the Mall." "How are you getting there?" asked Jennifer automatically. "Todd is going to take us," she said. "I don't think so," said Jen. Todd was a twenty-one year old college boy with a reputation for being out of control. He had even propositioned her one time, saying he had something in his pants that would ruin her for all other men for the rest of her life. "Daddy said we could go," said Tiffany in that singsong voice she so often used when she was trumping her mother's decision. "You didn't tell your father how you were getting there, did you?" said Jen. "He said we can go!" The girl actually stamped one foot. "You're fifteen!" said Jen, her voice tight. "That boy is twenty-one." "Are you calling him a rapist?" Tiffany's voice had risen to the point that people were beginning to look their way. Jen felt anger that her daughter was so selfish ... and stupid! Brandi wandered over. "Hi Jen. Hi, Tiffany," she said. Just her tone of voice suggested rebuke. "I'm going to the mall!" yelled Tiffany, and, with her nose in the air, she marched off. It was the utter frustration of trying to deal with her teenaged daughter that made Jennifer lash out at her friend. "And why haven't you invited me to your birthday party?" she almost yelled. A deep voice said, "Birthday party? I didn't know you were having a birthday party, dear." Both women turned to see that they had been joined by Brad, Brandi's husband. "It's just a little gathering of friends," said Brandi, her face smooth. "We're going to get together for drinks, that's all." "Shall I send a gift?" asked the man. Jennifer stared at him. He was the woman's husband and he was asking if he should send her a birthday present to a party he wasn't going to be at. It was incredible. Jennifer looked around, and the world she lived in seemed to sparkle, as if it weren't a real place, but was instead a dream of some kind. Her reverie was broken by Brandi's hand squeezing her elbow painfully as she was dragged to a place where no one could hear them. "He doesn't know about the birthday parties!" hissed Brandi. "And you're not supposed to know either! How did you find out?" Her face was angry, something Jennifer had never seen before. Brandi was always smiling, always happy and carefree. "I just heard Kathy mention it to Judy." "Those bitches!" said Brandi vehemently. "Talking about it in public? I should take them off the list!" "What's going on?" asked Jennifer, frowning. She had never seen Brandi act like this. Never! The woman's face smoothed over, and suddenly she was the same old Brandi, smiling and happy. "It's nothing. It's just been a little secret, that's all. We get so few secrets in life, and if people ... if the men found out ... well it would be ruined, that's all. It's boring, really, come to think of it. That's why I never invited you. I knew you'd be bored to tears." The whole speech rang false in Jennifer's ears. Now that she knew there was this other side to Brandi, the side that sounded almost vicious and vengeful, she listened with more than just her ears. She was astonished to find that it gave her a kind of power she'd never had. Emboldened, she spoke. "Don't try to con me. What's going on, Brandi? If you're worried I'll go squeal to Brad, then don't. You know I wouldn't betray our friendship." Brandi turned her eyes from the little groups of people she had been casually watching, and faced Jennifer. Her eyes were clear and there was no mirth on her face. "You don't want to know," she said simply. "It's not your kind of thing, Jen. Trust me. I know you. You're a good girl, and these parties are where we let our bad girls out for a little while." "I can be bad too," said Jennifer automatically. She was reminded of a time in grade school when she got into an argument with Ruth Ann Higgs over who could eat the most candy. Each one kept upping the quantities until it was ridiculous. Brandi snorted. "You're a nice woman, Jen. Keep it that way. You don't want to come to my birthday party." "Yes I do!" said Jennifer angrily. "Why does everybody always think they can tell me what I can and can't do? My own daughter won't listen to me! I want to come to your fucking party!" The last was said so loud that Brandi's hand came up, almost touching Jennifer's lips. "Okay!" she hissed. "Okay," she said again, her voice lower. "But hear me now. You have to swear that you'll never mention what you see to anyone. Anyone! Not even me! Do you understand?" "What do you mean?" asked Jennifer, confused. "You'll be there!" Brandi put her face just inches from Jennifer's. "You must promise never to say a word to anyone. That's the deal. If you can't promise that, then you can't come, and I don't care who you complain to about it. If you talk about this to anyone, I'll just cancel the party. That's the deal, Jen." "Okay," said Jennifer slowly. "I don't get it ... but okay." "Oh, you'll get it," sighed Brandi. "But you may wish you hadn't browbeat me into letting you come." Jennifer, with visions of truth or dare in her mind, suppressed a giggle. "When and where?" she asked. "Brad and I have a hunting cabin up on at Silver Lake," she said. "The festivities start at seven, the Friday after this one. I'll send you directions in the mail. It's a sleepover. No cameras allowed, including your cell phone. If you bring a phone, it gets locked up until the party's over." "What do I tell Roger?" asked Jen. "That's your problem," said Brandi. "Just make sure it's good enough that he doesn't get suspicious and follow you or something." "Why would he do that? I'm only going to a party." "This isn't like any party you've ever been to, Jennifer. Trust me on that. Just remember you made me invite you." "What should I wear?" Brandi looked out at the crowd, and then back at Jen. "It doesn't matter. Come as you are." ------- For the next two weeks Jennifer was uncharacteristically excited. The directions Brandi had spoken of came tucked into a friendship card. Roger never even gave the lavender envelope a glance. Friday, while Tiffany was in school and Roger was at work, she packed a small overnight bag and put it in the trunk of her Mercedes. Then she tried to paint, setting up her easel on the patio and putting a pot full of pansies on the table to render on the canvas. But her heart wasn't in it. She was even glad when Tiffany came home, because it gave her something to do. "What would you like for dinner tonight?" she asked. Tiffany waved a hand. "Nothing. I'm going over to Brenda's. It's a sleepover, so I'll eat there." "Brenda's mother didn't call me," said Jennifer. "You are so forties, Mom," sighed her daughter. "You don't have to have a formal invitation to sleepover these days." "Still, it's only polite to let me know it's going to happen." "Well I just did, Okay? Can't you ever let me do anything without coming down on me? Jeeze, you act like I'm ten!" The phone rang then. It was Roger, telling her he had to work late, and that he'd order in. She told him she'd be gone overnight and he simply said "Okay. I'll see you when you get back." She fumed, alone in the house, for hours. Slowly, the thought that she was going to go do something fun ... something sneaky ... something secret ... maybe even something mildly naughty ... lifted her spirits. Suddenly she couldn't wait to get there. She was lucky she didn't get a speeding ticket on the way to the party. ------- "Hunting cabin" seemed a little insufficient to describe what she saw when she rounded the last curve of the mile long driveway. She had had to punch in a security code to get the big iron gates open. They stood between massive stone pillars that anchored a nine foot fence that went out of sight in both directions. Two hundred yards past the gate, however, there was no evidence of civilization other than the road, and it stressed the suspension of her Mercedes so much she had to keep it under twenty. But when she finally saw the house, she didn't think of hunting at all. It was big, two stories, and looked like something entire families had been raised in over at least a hundred years. The lower level was made of stone, with logs forming the walls above that. A huge circular driveway serviced broad front steps that led up to a covered veranda. Oaken double doors, nine feet tall, gave entry into the "cabin." The place blazed with light, and there were cars everywhere, parked willy nilly, with no attempt at any organization. Some of them looked like they had simply been abandoned by someone in such a hurry that to find a proper parking spot was too much to bear. She pulled up beside Janice Hawkins' BMW and turned off her engine. She saw a young man approach the driver's door of one car. It was hanging open, and she could hear the insistent chiming that signalled the keys had been left in that car. As she watched, he casually closed the door, as if that was actually his job. He looked over at her as and walked towards her. She thought briefly of valet parking, but disregarded that immediately. The cars hadn't really been parked, per se. "Just leave the keys in it," said the young man as he approached. "If it needs to be moved, one of us will take care of it. Go have fun." One of "us" turned out to be a group of ten or twelve more young men. She noticed all were athletic and handsome, without really thinking about that much. What consumed her curiosity more than anything was who they were and why so many were needed for ... whatever it was they were there for. All of them were sitting in Adirondack chairs, or leaning against the railing on the veranda. A couple were smoking. Most of them were talking to each other. As she stepped up onto the porch, though, all of them turned to look at her. It was as if they expected her to say something. Suddenly one of them came toward her. He had Asian features, though they were blurred, suggesting he was of mixed heritage. He was a couple of inches taller than her five foot-eight, with medium length brown hair and broad shoulders. He was wearing a T shirt that displayed his firm young body to its best advantage. "Are you, by chance, Jennifer?" he asked, his voice soft and mellow. "Yes," she said, startled that someone she knew she had never seen in her life might recognize her. "How did you know that?" "Brandi described you. Killer legs, dark red hair, all woman..." His eyes slowly slid down her body as he said this, making it obvious he was examining her as a male examines a female on a biological level. He leaned closer and stared into her eyes. "And green eyes a man could fall into. She said you were the kind of beautiful woman that other beautiful women hate, because you put them to shame. There can't be two women in this part of the world who fit that description, and you fit it to a tee. Ergo, I decided you must be Jennifer." "Who are you?" she asked, feeling light-headed. He took her hand, lifted it to his lips and brushed them across the back. "I'm Josh. And if I'm acceptable ... I'm your party favor." ------- Jennifer suddenly had a fleeting sense that, when she left the highway, she had entered some kind of strange, possibly alternative universe. "My what?" Jennifer blinked. "Did you say party favor? I don't understand!" "I'm sorry," he said immediately. "Brandi picked me because she said it's your first time at one of these parties. It's my first time too. A number of my ... um ... associates are regulars, and I guess she asked them for a special kind of guy. They tell me I'm him, but I don't know why." "What are you talking about?" moaned Jennifer. He was still holding her hand, and she felt hot. She remembered her mother complaining about hot flashes, and wondered if that's what was happening to her. But she was much too young for that kind of thing. "I'm not doing this very well at all," said Josh. "Let's step over here for a minute. You can catch your breath and I'll try to do a better job of explaining." He tugged on her hand. She tugged back, uncertainty in her eyes now. She wasn't used to gorgeous, hunky young men paying her outrageous compliments, or kissing her hand ... or even holding her hand for that matter! "Calm down," he said, his voice soothing. "I won't hurt you. Nobody here will hurt you. I know this is confusing, but I'll answer all your questions. And if I can't, I'll find somebody who can, okay? Nothing is going to happen without your express permission." "You kissed my hand," she said, her voice breathy. "It's just a continental greeting," he said. "You're not continental. You're Oriental." "Is that a problem? Would you rather have a white man ... black man ... Hispanic? I think Raul is Cuban. Jack is Australian. What kind of man did you have in mind?" "I didn't have any man in mind. I don't need a man!" she gasped. "I'm married!" He blinked. Then he held up one finger in the universal sign that meant "One moment please." He didn't take the entire moment though, before he spoke. "Let me guess. Brandi didn't tell you anything at all about this party ... did she." It was a statement, rather than a question. "She said the girls get a little wild," said Jennifer, not wanting to sound completely clueless. "And do naughty things," she added. "A little wild," he said, his voice flat. "Naughty? She just said naughty?" "Yes," Jennifer said, her voice high and young. "She said I shouldn't come, but I insisted." "I see," he said. "Okay. Let's try this. You don't know me from Adam." He blinked. "There's actually a guy here named Adam, come to think of it." He grinned. "You don't know me, but you can trust me. You are under my protection, as of this moment, and will remain under my protection until you tell me you don't want it any longer. Is that acceptable?" "Why would I need protection?" she asked. "This is all very strange. This is just a birthday party ... isn't it?" "Yes, it's a birthday party, but it obviously isn't like any birthday party you've ever been to. And the reason you need protection is because you are the most beautiful woman on the premises, bar none. Trust me on that. I saw all the others go in. And the guys get a little worked up. The way I understand it, Brandi only does this once a year, on her birthday. When she looked me over she said something about this being her birthday present to herself. And the men who are here only do this once a year too. We're not in that kind of business, normally. Close, once in a while, but nothing like this. I only came because after hearing all the stories, and them saying I was this special guy for this special woman ... Well, I just had to see it just once, and ... um ... see this special woman." The feeling of being in that alternative universe persisted as Jennifer's mind tried to concentrate on several things at once. One part reflected on what she'd heard and seen thus far, evaluating that. The other part saw his eyes flick down and up her body again, after which he licked his lips in a way that seemed unconscious. She realized he had just looked her over again, but not so blatantly this time. And based on his most recent behavior, that lightning quick 'once over' didn't offend her. If anything, she felt the flush of meeting a handsome man's approval. Then she quashed that flush with a mental shake of her head. She wasn't there to be flattered! "Maybe you need to tell me about these stories you've heard," said Jennifer. She was still confused, but it was clear now that things went a lot farther than naughty truth or dare. To be honest, it sounded like Brandi had given her this young man as a ... toy of some sort. She had no plans to engage in anything with him, of course, but at least he was calm and willing to talk to her. She didn't believe she needed any protection, and his lines about how beautiful she was were just laughable, but he seemed like a nice guy. And she did have questions. "I think the easiest thing to do would be to simply take you for a little walk," said Josh. "Not alone," she said. He smiled. "Oh, we won't be alone. Trust me on that." He offered her his arm, and she took it. She was aware of her breast touching his bicep ... his amazingly muscular bicep. She suddenly felt hot again. "What you need to know before we go inside," said Josh as they walked slowly back toward the veranda, "is that this is, for all intents and purposes, a sex party." She stopped. He did too. "You mean like a swap meet?" she asked. "No, more like what I've heard called a hen party, except this one is on steroids." "But nobody's getting married. Isn't that what a hen party is all about?" "I guess so. We dance at a lot of them, but this one goes way beyond that." "Dance?" "All the men you see here tonight are employees at Christy's Puppet Palace. We're exotic dancers. Most of us are working our way through college. Normally, sex with the customers is a big no-no, but Brandi has some kind of special relationship with the owner and she rents us once a year for her birthday party." "You're telling me that the women she invites to her birthday parties have sex with strangers? Dancers?" "Some of them are strangers. Some of the women choose the same party favor each year, until he graduates, or stops dancing because he got married or whatever. Dancing is actually a very tough job. If you get out of shape, you're a gonner." "You said you were my party favor," said Jennifer. "That's what Brandi calls us. She says she got us for them to play with. Each woman gets to choose one when she arrives. If there are leftovers, and from what I hear there always are, then they can choose another." "To have sex with," said Jennifer, her voice flat. "To do whatever she wants to with," said Josh. "The way I understand it, sometimes it's conventional sex, sometimes it's something else. Brandi has some kinky friends, based on the stories I hear. The only rule is that if anyone objects to something, then it's off limits. That goes for both the women and us guys. Other than that, the woman gets to call the shots. If that includes sex ... it does. If it doesn't ... it doesn't." Jennifer stared into his eyes. Then she looked around. "Where's the camera? I'm being punk'd, aren't I?" She grinned, and her face flushed. "Come on out, Brandi! I know you're watching this! I'm not falling for it. You'll have to try it on somebody else!" But no one came from behind a bush, or out of the building. Instead, she heard a high-pitched squeal from within the structure. She felt, rather than heard the thump of the bass track of some music being played. Josh held lifted his arm again. Hers was still tucked through his. "Remember, you're perfectly safe with me," he said. "Shall we?" Then he led her to the front door. ------- Chapter 2 When the door opened, sound hit Jennifer in the face like a hot, damp towel. There was at once the noise of voices, yells, music and even the occasional scream. Smells were also in that noise-heavy air, the smell of food and other odors she couldn't identify right away. They hadn't gotten ten feet before Susan Abernathy ran right in front of them laughing and screaming, topless, her breasts bouncing up and down as she was chased by a man with dark skin and blond hair. He had on only the male equivalent of a thong. The term "cock sock" burst in Jennifer's mind. Just as it registered in her brain that the cock in that sock had been ragingly erect, they were gone. The entryway opened up on what looked like a formal dining room, with a long table piled high with food. Beyond that, and down three steps, was a huge living room that contained four couches and half a dozen love seats. There was a huge flat screen TV on one wall, that was playing what was obviously a pornographic movie. But what captured Jennifer's attention were the women in the room ... women she knew ... women she saw at school functions, and awards dinners ... women she chatted with at the hair salon, or gym. There, across the room, was Blanch Howard, who was her own age and who had a daughter who was Tiffany's age. She was naked ... bare ass naked! And what was worse there were two men nursing her breasts like they were twin babies. One of them had his hand between her legs. Her head was thrown back, her mouth open in rapture. And off to the left was Janet Wharton, who was topless, like Susan had been, sitting on a naked man's lap, straddling him. Her skirt covered her lower half, but the way she was rising and falling made it clear she was having sex with the man. Her eyes ranged across the room. Linda Abernathy was pressed against a wall by a big, black man, whose hands were up inside her shirt as he kissed her. Across the room she caught just a glimpse of LeAnne Jackson, stark naked, pulling an equally naked young man toward a hallway that had several doors along it. Bedrooms? There were more, many more, and she knew almost all of them. Some were just sitting and talking to the men with them. Two were lying beside their "party favors" on the deep carpet, feeding each other tidbits from the spread on the table. Some of the women were still dressed, though most were in various stages of undress. None of the men had on more than shorts. A lot of them favored cock socks. At least half a dozen were stark naked. All of them she could see were erect. She realized she was leaning against Josh, and his arm was around her. Her knees felt weak. How could they do this? How could all these women cheat on their husbands? It was insane! And how on earth had they kept it a secret all these years? The answer to that came quickly. She realized that all of them were equally guilty. Josh had said some women didn't have sex, but to even be here, like she was, put the brand of slut on her. And if any of it came out, it would all come out, and every woman here would suffer for it. Nobody would tell, because everybody had the same exposure to harm if it ever got out. And she'd been hanging around these women long enough to know that if she just left, she'd be suspect ... especially if their little secret got out. Which left her with the decision of what to do about it. She wasn't interested in documenting the foibles of the women who, twenty-four hours ago she would have called her friends. But now she was quite sure she didn't know them well enough to classify them that way. That included Brandi, who Jennifer saw pouring drinks, her dress down around her waist while a hot young man who looked vaguely Latin stood behind her, cupping her breasts and playing with them. He was obviously grinding his cock into her butt. Jennifer looked away so that no eye contact could accidentally be made. In fact, she came to the conclusion she didn't want to meet anyone's eyes right now. With the possible exception of Josh, whose hand lay negligently on her hip. She looked up at him, to find him looking at her, instead of the debauchery going on all around him. "It's a lot to take in," he said, with a wan smile. "You can say that again," she said. "I feel like I've entered a parallel universe." "I'm used to it, I guess," he said. "Well ... not the orgiastic sort of thing going on here, but the atmosphere of estrogen and testosterone is familiar to me. I like dancing. I guess I like to tease, maybe. But this seems a bit much." "Can I leave?" she asked. "I wish you wouldn't." he said. Suddenly, his arm around her felt hot ... possessive ... foreign. She pulled away from him. "I won't have sex with you," she said. "That's fine," he said. "That's not why I want you to stay." "Why do you want me to stay?" she asked. "Well, it's kind of hard to explain," he said. "You're an astonishingly beautiful woman. But you undoubtedly already know that. So I'll admit that's part of why I'd like to spend some time with you. But it's more than that. I'm used to women looking at me with a certain kind of look. I assume you've experienced men undressing you with their eyes?" She nodded. "You did it when I got here," she said. He grinned. "Guilty, as charged. You may punish me for that later, if you like. But my point is that women can do that to a man too. I'm used to that. I cultivate a look that invites women to look at me and lust after me. I try to fan those flames. And women react to me." He grinned again. "Except for a few ... like you." "Me?" She looked at him askance. "Since you admitted to ogling me, I'll admit I looked you over too." "Maybe, but you were circumspect about it ... polite, if you will. That's not the kind of woman I'm used to being around. I find you fascinating, and I'd love to spend some time with you, even if it's only chatting about things." He looked around. "Besides ... I think it would be politically advisable if you were seen going into some private place with me. These women need to see you as having the same ... weaknesses, shall we say ... as they have." Jennifer was fully aware of the role of social politics in her world, and he was right about that. Since she was here, she needed to engineer it so that the others thought she was like-minded. If not, she'd have to watch her back like a hawk. "I thought you came here for sex," said Jennifer. "Mark is our unofficial leader, at least when it comes to these birthday parties. I guess he and Brandi go way back. That's him standing behind her over there at the table. Anyway, I gather she told him there was going to be a first-timer here tonight, and she was afraid this woman might freak out, or panic or something. She asked if any of the guys would be willing to baby-sit her if that happened. I guess none of them were, so he talked to me. He's asked me if I wanted to come in the past, but it didn't seem like the kind of thing I'd be interested in. While I like to tease, I'm sort of a one woman man when it comes to relationships. On the other hand, I like a challenge, so I said I'd give it a whirl." "So you're my keeper," she said. "We are all our brother's and sister's keeper," he replied. "I don't think any of those people out there are thinking of each other as brothers or sisters," said Jennifer. "Oh," he sighed. "You have much to learn about your friends. You just wouldn't believe some of the scenarios I've heard about being acted out at these parties." "You're right," she said. "I don't even want to hear them." She looked him up and down again before she realized she was doing it, followed by both chagrin and guilt that she had done so. To distract herself, she seized on something he'd said. "So how does your girlfriend manage to live with the fact that you show off to other women?" "She doesn't," he said calmly. "I haven't found one yet who was willing to share me like that. At least not one I was really interested in myself." "So you're not cheating on anybody to be here ... with me," she said. "And you're not cheating on anybody with me." His smile was wide and beautiful. He held up a finger. "We don't want anybody else to know that, though, now do we? Might I suggest that you allow me to kiss you, quite publicly? And then you should drag me to one of those rooms down that hallway. I think there are also some upstairs. We can lock ourselves in a room for a while and talk, and then you can make a graceful exit, kissing me goodbye ardently on the stairs, or at the door, or by your car, or all three, and drive back to your normal life, guilty only of a little subterfuge and a few meaningless kisses." "You have me kissing you an awful lot," she said. He smiled. "I said I didn't come here for the sex, and that's true. On the other hand, a man would have to be insane not to try to get some token of a broader fantasy from a woman like you. You're hot, Jennifer. What can I say?" Again she felt a flush of heat in her face and, surprisingly, in her belly as well. His compliments were so smoothly delivered that it would have been easy to think them glib, but the look in his eyes told her there was nothing thoughtless about his comments. He meant them. What surprised her was that she enjoyed them as well. She felt a twinge of guilt. "I bet you make good tips," she said. "I do okay," he replied, shrugging his shoulders. "I suppose you want to kiss me now." "Well, we're not exactly in the center of things," he said. "Not that I'm turning you down, if you just want to try one to see if you can stand it or something. Otherwise, I think we should go get something to eat, and take it with us upstairs. Who knows how long we'll be up there, and food and drink might make things a lot more pleasant." "Good point," said Jennifer. "And while we're doing that, we'll be more visible." "Exactly," he said. "I don't know if I can pull this off," she said softly. "Hang with me, kid. You'll be fine. And don't freak out if I touch you a little bit while we're pulling this off." "Touch me?" "Nothing too personal," he said. "I'll just make it look like we're having a good time." "I know where your balls are," she said, darkly. "I don't think you should touch them yet," he said, his face showing no hint that he was joking. "Maybe you could give them a little caress as you get in your car. Don't want to overdo it." "Ha - ha," she said. "What say we not joke about my balls. Let's get something to eat. I can't wait to kiss you." ------- They were halfway to the table, threading between two dancing couples, when his hand slid from the small of her back down to cup her right buttock. He gave it a little squeeze. She controlled her instinctive jerk, and realized that no man had done that to her since she was in college. She almost laughed, and slid her hand to squeeze his ass too, just because it felt good to be taking some kind of action. They heaped food on plates. The spread looked delicious. At the end of the table, Brandi was still serving drinks. Her dress was gone now, and all she had on were thong panties. Her party favor's hand was inside the front of the panties and he was kissing her neck. "You stayed!" said Brandi, her eyes bright. "I wasn't sure you would." "How does one admit to being fascinated by something like this, without sounding..." Jennifer paused. "Like a slut?" Brandi finished for her. "Honey, I got over that feeling years ago. It's only once a year. I get more attention from an attentive man here in twelve hours than I get from my husband the rest of the year. If he paid me a quarter of the attention Mark does, I'd stop having these parties. It's the same with the rest of them. That's why I never invited you before. I thought you and Roger were doing better than the rest of us. I see now that's not the case, and I'm delighted to be able to offer you this brief, but needed interlude in your marriage." "Thank you," said Jennifer. She jumped a little as Josh's hand came to touch her breast. He wasn't overt about it. He didn't cup it, but his thumb caressed the side in a way that was very familiar and intimate. She saw Brandi's eyes go there, and saw something like relief in the woman's eyes. Picking up on his cue, she added to the act. "We're going to go ... um ... explore the possibilities ... upstairs." "Be sure to lock the door if you don't want tourists," said Brandi. She shuddered as Mark's hands found and twisted her nipples. "Tourists?" Jennifer wondered what fingers on her own nipples like that might feel like. Roger was a wham, bam, not-even-thank-you-ma'am kind of lover. He seemed to ascribe to the fundamentalist view of sex as a necessary evil in married life. "Open or unlocked doors are an invitation to watch," panted Brandi. "Oh my," said Jennifer. "I need to go," said Brandi. "I'll catch up to you later, maybe. I'm glad you decided to stay." With that she turned around and jumped, wrapping her legs around Mark, who caught her buttocks with his hands and, while kissing her, headed for a nearby love seat. The hand disappeared from her breast, and she glanced at Josh, who gave her a smile. For the first time in her life, she understood the phrase "inscrutable Oriental face." "Are you sure I'm safe with you?" she asked, remembering the feel of his hand on both her ass and breast. "You're as safe as you want to be," he said firmly. She stood for a few seconds, pondering that. He was making it obvious he was interested. That made that heat come back to her belly, but she recognized it for what it was. It was just the pleasure of being paid an honest compliment, naughty as it might be. "Who should lead?" she asked, as she balanced her plate of food on one hand, and her full glass in the other. "Definitely you," he said. "Oh? Why?" she asked, curiously. "So I can watch that fabulous ass climb the stairs," he said, quite honestly. She found that honesty refreshing, and laughed. "That's the girl," he said. "If you have to be here, you might as well try to have a little fun." "I know what kind of fun you want me to have," she said. "Guilty, as charged," he said, grinning again. ------- She didn't know whether it was the general atmosphere, or the fact that she'd gulped her champagne when Brandi had poured it, and then gotten a refill, but she felt a little giddy as she climbed the stairs. Part of that was knowing where Josh's eyes were. She was absolutely certain he was watching her ass cheeks rise and fall as she mounted the stairs. Then, feeling foolish, her self confidence fled. She looked over her shoulder and almost sobbed with relief as his eyes bounced from her bottom up to her face and he grinned. A surge of naughtiness overcame her, and she stopped, bending forward so that her butt was sticking out. She watched as his eyes widened, but he was smooth as he leaned forward and kissed her skirt-clad cheek. She continued, exaggerating the swing of her hips. "You're good at this," he said softly. "I'm being foolish," she shot back. "I wouldn't call it foolish," he said. She didn't answer. She was too busy trying to figure out why she had done that. She had definitely not been thinking of it as part of their 'subterfuge' to fool the other women present. That indicated she'd done it for ... other reasons. The problem was there were no legitimate other reasons to do it for! There was a delicate, slim, accent table on the second floor landing, where the banister met the wall. She set her plate and glass on it and turned to take his from him, adding them to hers. She turned to find him right there, eager to engage in this next step, which allegedly was part of the make-believe that was supposed to remove her as a perceived threat in the minds of the women. He scooped her into his arms, his lips coming to crush hers as his hands found her bottom again and lifted her a few inches off the floor. She felt his erection plainly, pressing against her abdomen, and was shocked by it. When had that happened? Why had that happened? She had already told him she would not participate in this orgiastic behavior. One hand left her ass and swept up her back to her hair. His fingers slid into her long locks and his hand pressed her lips to his. She realized her arms were around his neck, and that she was pulling him toward her just as much as he was pulling her. His tongue teased her teeth through barely open lips, and instinct caused her mouth to open. The kiss became a whirlwind of emotional response. She hadn't been kissed like this in years, maybe a decade or more! The memory of such kisses flooded her mind, and she writhed against his hard body. He had said "a few meaningless kisses," but this kiss felt anything but meaningless! Then it was over, and he was standing back, gazing at her. "That was very believable," he said, that quizzical smile on his face again. "I'll take the food. You say something that suggests you're in a hurry, and head that way." He tossed his head toward the hallway. "Come on!" she yipped, her fingers reaching for the buttons on her blouse. She turned and ran into the hallway. Josh picked up the plates, arranged them on one arm, recovered the two wine glasses, and sauntered down the hall after her... ------- Jennifer pushed down on the first door lever she came to, pushed the door open and rushed into the room. She stopped, frozen as she saw Debby Ralston, who was lying on top of one man, apparently impaled on him, while another man lunged into her buttocks from behind her, not quite doggy style. His penis could be seen sliding in and out of her rectum. Her flushed face turned toward Jennifer, and she cried out in obvious shame. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" she moaned, her eyes seeking Jennifer's forgiveness. The man behind her halted, question in his eyes. "Don't stop, you idiot!" she screeched. "I was almost there!" Josh cleared his throat behind Jennifer. "Come on, baby," he whined. "You can watch later." The man taking her anally was going again, and Debby was again caught in the moment. "I'm so sorry," she wailed. Jennifer stumbled backwards, into the hallway and reached for the door. "Leave it open," said Josh. "Shake it off. Let's try farther down the hall." Working on the theory that exited and impatient women would stop at the first vacant room they came to, Josh directed her to a room at the end of the hallway. Jennifer winced as she opened the door and carefully peeked inside. The lights were off, so she turned them on, expecting someone to complain at any second. No one did, though, so she went in. It was an empty room. She turned, suddenly scared, and watched Josh come in and bump the door closed with his hip. They were in a bedroom, nicely appointed, and there was a makeup table against one wall. He set the food and drink down there, and then went back to the door and locked it. Jennifer stood, staring at him as if she were afraid he might suddenly take of his outer skin and prove to be an alien. "You must have acted in plays or musicals or something," he said, casually. "That was a realistic kiss." He pulled the chair away from the makeup table and straddled it, leaning his front against the backrest. His attitude was so normal, so non-threatening, that Jennifer relaxed, feeling foolish. He wasn't going to jump her ... rape her. He was a nice guy. He had done everything he said he'd do, and nothing he said he wouldn't. "This is so strange," she said softly. He was sitting on the only chair in the room, and she perched on the edge of the bed. As she felt the mattress give, she realized he had chosen the chair intentionally, so that it wouldn't look like he wanted to use the bed. "It's pretty clear you're not the kind of woman I'm used to being around," he said. His smile robbed the comment of any insult. "I've never met a male dancer," she said. She frowned. "I've never met a female dancer either, for that matter." "If you went to college, you did," he said. "You'd be surprised how many girls supplement their income in college by dancing." "Maybe," said Jennifer. She looked around the room. She didn't know what to do, now that they were sequestered. "I'm sorry I made you kiss my ... um ... ass." She felt a little thrill as she used the word. It wasn't the kind of word she used in every day conversation. It was the kind of word Tiffany used in every day conversation, but that was something Jennifer didn't approve of. "Oh, trust me," he said. "I didn't mind. And it was the perfect thing to do. I think stable, proper Jennifer has a teensy bit of vamp in her." "I used to," she said, automatically. "I used to tease Roger relentlessly." "Roger. He must be my competition," said Josh. "He's my husband," she said, darting him a dark look. "And let me guess. You had a child two or three years ago, and a bit of the shine has worn off of having a family." "I had a child fifteen years ago," she snorted. "And the shine got ripped off when my daughter hit puberty." "You can't possibly be that old. Oh, I get it," he said. "Your husband robbed the cradle and knocked you up when you were fourteen. Then he had to marry you, and somewhere along the line after that he struck it rich somehow." She stared at him. "I'm almost thirty-five, thank you very much." "You'll have to prove that to me," he said, negligently. "You got any ID?" "You're playing with me," she said. "Why?" "I'm not playing with you. I don't believe you have a fifteen-year-old daughter. You're obviously educated far beyond high school. Women like you don't have children until they think the time is right, which usually means when they are in their middle twenties. I figure you're maybe twenty-eight. Hence, this daughter you're talking about is less than five years old." He smiled, as if he expected her to gasp and ask him how he knew all that. Her purse was in her car, locked in the trunk. There was a keypad on the door to let her in, so she didn't need to take anything inside when she went to ... parties. The only thing she had was the locket around her throat. The picture was three years old, but it would have to do. She reached for the pendant, manipulated the catch and opened it. "Here," she said. "This was taken in the Catskills, three years ago. As you can clearly see, Tiffany is not a five year old." He got up and came over. She saw his eyes flick to the locket and examine the picture, but then they slid off and went to her breasts. She looked down to see that, in leaning forward to show him the locket, her blouse had fallen away from her chest. The lavender bra she had on, lacy and thin, because it made her feel feminine, was plainly visible. Her hand automatically went to push the fabric against her chest. She felt her cheeks warm up. "I'm shocked," he said, standing up. "Why?" she asked. "Are you sure that's your daughter?" She stared at him. "I was there when she was born," she said, sarcasm heavy in her voice. "She just doesn't have your looks," he said. "That's all. She'll never turn men's heads like you do." "You are so full of it," she said. Immediately she thought it odd she'd have turned that phrase. She couldn't remember the last time she'd used it. He ignored her. "So Tiffany is fifteen. That still makes you nineteen when you had her. Don't tell me you're one of those whiz kids who started college at sixteen and finished with a masters three years later." "Of course not," she said. "We weren't planning on Tiffany. It made it hard, but we got married. We both finished school." "So why didn't you have more kids?" he asked. "If you were my wife I'd have kept you barefoot and pregnant until..." He shrugged. "I guess you'd still be barefoot and pregnant." "You sound so much like an American," she said, marvel in her voice. "But your looks don't go with it." He put his hands together and bowed. "So solly, missy. I tly to sound mo like a chinaman. I tly leally hahd." "I'm so sorry," she said, horrified. "I didn't mean it that way. I'm not racist." "Of course you are," he said. "You just made reference to my ethnicity, which means you noticed my race. If you notice my race, you are by definition, racist." "Hogwash!" she said vehemently. "Simply recognizing someone's race doesn't equate to racism. I don't think I'm any better than you, or that you're inferior. Both of those traits are inherent in real racism." "Then why did you apologize?" he asked, smiling. "I stereotyped you," she said. "That's not the same as being racist." "You apologized for sounding racist." "I apologized because I said something thoughtless!" she insisted. "What do you want me to do?" "Kiss me again," he said. "It will prove you're not a racist." She blinked. She couldn't tell if he was teasing her or not. "I already kissed you ... out there," she said. "In front of all those people," she added. "That was under duress. It meant nothing," he said, waving a hand at her. "That was merely your effort to pull the wool over your friends' eyes." Jennifer remembered that kiss. It hadn't felt like it was under duress. And it certainly hadn't felt like it meant nothing. There was a twinge of conscience as she realized she'd enjoyed that kiss. Then she felt distinctly guilty that the idea of kissing him again wasn't in the least way repugnant. Suddenly she realized he had suggested it, even though she had insulted him. "I know what you're trying to do," she said, slowly. "What am I trying to do?" he asked. "You're trying to seduce me." "Oh good grief," he said. "That's not it at all." "Then what?" she asked. He snorted, as it to say a blind person could see his point. "I'm trying to get you to seduce me, of course," He rolled his eyes and said "Is that deep red your real hair color?" She was still trying to make sense of his first statement, about her seducing him, but she got the "joke." "I'm not blond," she said. "Oh, believe me, I know that." "What? How do you know?" She felt like she was losing control of the situation. "Because a blond would have kissed me by now." He grinned. He was impossible not to like. That's what it boiled down to. He was killer cute, intelligent, funny and a real gentleman, for the most part. It was no wonder she'd liked kissing him. She remembered the feel of him lifting her, and of his bulk against her abdomen. "Do you have an erection right now?" she asked, impulsively. He blinked. She took that as a sign that she'd surprised him and felt peculiarly proud of herself. "Not exactly," he said, carefully. "How can you not exactly have an erection?" "I didn't have one, but as soon as you asked me if I did, it started perking up." "Oh. Sorry." "I'm not. I love having erections." "What an odd thing to say." "Not at all. Remember, I'm an exotic dancer. I have erections for a living." "That just sounds so ... I don't know," She shrugged. "I can't believe I'm sitting here having a conversation with an exotic dancer about his erections. It's just bizarre!" "Are you having a good time?" he asked. "What?" She looked confused. "Do you desperately wish you were somewhere else?" His face was calm. "Well ... no. I guess I don't." She blinked. "How odd is that?" "Thank you," he said. "I'm having fun hanging out with you, too." ------- Chapter 3 They stopped talking to eat. Jennifer hadn't realized how famished she was until she took her first bite. Then she felt like she was being a slob as she stuffed her mouth full. The champagne was gone within minutes. She held out the glass and said, her mouth full of food: "We should haff bwought mow to dwink!" He jumped up, practically exploding into motion. To her astonishment, he pulled his shirt off, exposing his muscular chest. He kicked his tennis shoes off and pushed his pants down. He had on bright red briefs, which he also pushed down. She almost choked as, within the space of twenty seconds he was stark naked. Before she could react to that, he grabbed a strawberry, crushed it between his thumb and first two fingers, and smeared it on his lips, chest, and abdomen. He popped the crushed fruit into his mouth and grinned. "Be right back!" He said and dashed to the door. Unlocking it, he opened it and took off down the hall. He was gone for a long time, long enough for Jennifer to sate her sudden hunger, and reflect on what she'd seen. She decided he was very clever. He had shown her his body, while achieving a look that would be expected, or at least unremarkable as he ran around the house. People would see him and know he was with her, and draw the obvious conclusions. That he was used to being naked in front of people was obvious. It had been a long time ... a very long time ... since she'd seen a body like that, in that condition. She was still looking at that fleeting image in her mind when, suddenly, he was back. He had a bottle of champagne in one hand, and a bottle of wine in the other. While her eyes registered those facts, she found herself looking at his manhood, instead of his face, as he spoke. "I didn't know which you'd want, so I brought both. They have soda too, but it was cold, and I'd have had to cradle it against my chest. If you really want some, I'll go get it." "No!" she said, entirely more vociferously than she had planned. In a much more moderate voice she said, "The wine is fine." Then she giggled. "What?" he asked. He looked down at his naked body, as if he expected to see something hanging off of him that had made her laugh. "I was just imagining you ... running." He started prancing in place. "Like this?" he asked. His penis flopped all over the place. It smacked his belly and then his testicles. She winced as it hit his balls, but it didn't seem to hurt him, because he kept capering. The ridiculousness of it all finally let her expel the tension she'd been under ever since arriving. She expelled it as laughter. It wasn't a giggle, or even an outburst. It was a series of deep belly laughs, the kind that use up all the oxygen in one's lungs, and barely allow for a quick inrush of breath. He grinned, watching her eyes watch his flopping cock, and changed to stiff legged hops, with his feet close together, so that his cock just went up and down. She rolled off the bed, unable to stop laughing, pointing at his groin with one hand while covering her eyes with the other. Except she kept peeking, and every time she did, she laughed harder. He switched to standing more or less at attention, and then whipping his upper body to the right, and then back to the left. It made his penis fly straight out away from his body and slap his hip when he reversed direction. Jennifer managed a honking "Stop!" and then gasped for air as she continued to laugh. Finally he stopped, and squatted. Reaching through his legs from behind him, he grasped the foreskin of his penis and pulled it back into the crack of his ass. Then he stood, while closing his legs tightly, making it look as if his genitals had disappeared by magic. "If you're going to laugh at him, he'll just go hide," simpered Josh. Jennifer rolled around on the floor, and was afraid she might actually lose consciousness. She waved her hands at him, and managed a gasping "Please stop!" before landing on her back and covering both eyes with her hands. It was fully two or three minutes before she was able to get control over her laughter, her eyes still covered, and another minute before she took stock of her situation and realized that, in falling to the floor and rolling around, her skirt had come up, exposing her panties, which matched the bra. She let her hands fall out to her sides, and looked up at a blurry figure. Wiping her eyes, she was able to focus on him finally. He was no longer capering, or acting the fool. Now he was just standing, naked, his eyes devouring her exposed legs, hips, and panties. She saw those eyes dart to her still-heaving breasts, and then back to her panties. That brought his penis back into view again. It was no longer missing. She would have giggled at the thought ... except for the fact that the state of his erection was no longer in any doubt whatsoever. ------- She stared at it, the first erect male she'd seen in what seemed like forever. Roger had never postured or posed for her. He almost seemed embarrassed by his male equipment. Not so Josh. It wasn't that he seemed to be displaying himself to her. It was more like this was just part of him ... his nakedness was a part of his life, and he sometimes had erections, and all of that was perfectly normal ... perfectly fine. He bent and offered her his hand. She took it, and let herself be pulled up to stand in front of him. She could feel his body heat. They stared into each other's eyes for a long moment. She realized that, for the first time in her adult life, something was happening that was very adult. These were no teenagers, ducking and bobbing, or dancing around the ring. These were two fully functioning adults, able to do whatever they wished. She felt that ball of heat explode in her gut, and closed her eyes. "It's all right," he whispered. "You want me to get dressed?" She opened her eyes again. Her mind seemed to meander around the question. Part of it yelled at her. She knew the proper answer. But the proper answer seemed so stupid. This was who this man was, at least at this moment. It seemed normal ... right... fitting. He was beautiful, and that beauty should be exposed to the world. "No," she said. ------- He didn't make her confirm it. He simply turned away and decanted the wine. When he returned to hand her the glass, his cock was sagging. She didn't know whether to feel relieved, or insulted. There was a long period of silence, which was very uncomfortable for her. It seemed like they had been on the verge of something, and that it had suddenly been lost. "Are you sorry you got stuck with me?" she asked. "In no way, shape or form," he answered. "I haven't had this much fun in years." "Really?" "Yup." He held out his glass. "To us." She raised her hand, but then stopped before clinking them together. "There isn't any us, Josh," she said, though with no heat in her voice. "Of course there is," he said. "We're here together. We're sharing some time. I like you. You like me. It's nothing to write home about, but there's definitely an us." She hit his glass with hers. "Then here's to us." She drank and then watched as his penis stiffened again. "I didn't think a toast would do that," she giggled. "Then you've never been in a room full of naked men who were toasting you." She laughed. She was amazed to see it get even harder. "I was wrong earlier," he said. "What about?" She took a sip. "You don't know how beautiful you are." "Why do you say that?" "Because you keep being surprised that I could want you as much as I want you." That ball of heat was back in her stomach now. It almost felt like when she sneaked a swallow of Roger's prize Scotch, the stuff he only shared with men he thought would make him even richer. But Josh's sudden seriousness made her nervous. She didn't want to examine her feelings for him, because she was pretty sure they would not pass muster for being ladylike if she did. Instead, her mind went off on a tangent as his words reminded her of the lyrics to the song she used to sing in front of her mirror. "I want you to want me ... I neeeed you to need me." She closed her mouth suddenly, realizing she had sung it out loud. The wine was getting to her, even with the way she had gorged on the food. Her eyes darted to his, but he allowed her to turn that into a joke. "Don't you feel weird, sitting here with a woman you hardly know ... naked? "No." "But you're not dancing." "I'd offer to dance for you, but I don't think we're quite there, yet," he said. "Where are we?" "I'm still trying to get another freakin' kiss!" he said in mock frustration. "That's where I am. Meanwhile, you're trying out for American Idol." She laughed. "If I give you another kiss, you'll just want another one after that." "No I won't. I promise." She looked at him askance. "Promise!" he said, dragging a finger across his left chest, vertically and horizontally. "I can't kiss you. You're naked!" "Close your eyes. You won't be able to tell." She took another sip of wine. She felt relaxed. She was actually contemplating kissing this man, and she felt just fine. Of course that was because she trusted him. She giggled. She trusted a naked man. How would one explain that to a friend? Well ... to a friend who wasn't at this party, anyway? "I think I'm a little tipsy," she said. "If I stand up, I'll probably stagger around." He took the glass from her hand and set it gently on the nightstand next to the bed. Then, so swiftly she could hardly tell what he was doing, he pushed, lifted and arranged her so she was on her side, lying on the bed. Her confusion was blown away like the fluff on a dandelion stem when he leapt gracefully over her to land, lying down, facing her. His face was only inches from hers, his not-quite-full epicanthic fold looking odd around such deep eyes. "Just one," he said softly. "To prove you're not a racist?" She closed her eyes. She realized she wanted to kiss him. "Oh, this is not good," she sighed. Then she leaned forward, her lips pursed. ------- She was lost in the kiss, her tongue delicately teasing his, when she realized her right hand was on his naked ass. His was in the middle of her back, pulling her breasts against him. She wished her skin could touch his. The kiss broke, but only for a moment, and then he leaned in again. She closed her eyes and surrendered to the luscious feel of just making out. That was what they were doing. His hands were being very polite, which allowed her to give him her lips. She didn't actively remember what this had been like in heady youth, but her libido remembered. Everything tingled, and it was just perfect. She pulled away from his lips. He still held her tightly. Her hand was still on the hot skin of his ass. "You said just one," she whispered. "I lied," he said. "You're irresistible ... even if you don't know it." She leaned forward to feast on his lips again. She didn't try to keep track of time. She didn't care about time. All she wanted was one more kiss. At some point she felt his erection against her thigh and realized her skirt was up around her waist again. But he hadn't pulled it there. If anything she had writhed against him while she tried to suck his tongue into her body. He was infinitely patient, that throbbing hot tube of maleness pressing against the skin of her thigh, but all he did was kiss her, and let her kiss him. At one point she ran her hand all the way up his back, and then back down to his ass again. The next time they broke to breath, she whispered "This isn't supposed to be happening, Josh." "Are you unhappy?" he asked, his lips brushing hers. "No. I love it. It's wrong ... but I love it!" He just kissed her again. Finally she pushed him away as her passion made her feel like she was going to explode. "I can't let you fuck me." The word was harsh in her own ears. It was a word she couldn't remember having used in the last decade. "I know," he said. "I need..." Her voice almost broke. The sound of a sob was there, waiting to spill out. The fire in her loins forced her to say the word. "I need to cum!" She hadn't used that word since her teens. "Let me help you," he offered. "I can't let you fuck me!" she gasped. "I promise not to." She lurched toward him for another long, passionate kiss. When it broke, she said "Last time you lied." "I'm not lying this time," he said. "I'll never make love to you ... fuck you ... unless you ask me to." "I can never ask you." Now tears leaked out of her eyes. "Don't be sad. I want you to remember tonight with happiness." "I need to cum." Then she did sob, the small, shaking, jerking moans of one who feels helpless. She went limp as his fingers hurried to pull, flick and unbutton. He left on only her panties. When he bared her breasts, she cried out, a wracking moan of shame that she loved his eyes on them. Then he was kissing her again, holding her against him gently, whispering that she would be fine, that everything would be all right. His lips kissed away her tears until her passion flared again and she returned his kisses. Only when she was frantic did he kiss his way down her throat to her chest, which she arched in welcome. "Yes," she moaned. "Oh please yes." His lips brushed up one swell, across the nipple and then down the other side. She cried out again, frustration in her voice. Like a cobra he struck, his lips sealing around the nipple before he sucked and prodded with the tip of his tongue at the same time. The orgasm she had been seeking, but had no idea was so close, crashed down upon her and she screamed, a full-bodied vent of emotion that had been pent up for literally years. He didn't let up, though. He moved to the other nipple and squeezed the original one, rolling the now-fat and turgid flesh in half circles. "Oh yes," she gasped. "Oh yes." It became a mantra as she allowed the sensations to flood her body. She jerked as his hand slid onto her mons, and then between her legs. But it was on top of her panties, and when he pressed, and his fingers seemed to vibrate on her cloth-covered clit, the bottom fell out from beneath her. She floated in a star-filled void as electricity pulverized her body, breaking it into starry motes of dust that swelled, and then slowly collapsed back in to reform her body. She realized she'd been off somewhere else in her mind, and felt his lips kissing the corners of her mouth. His hand lay on her stomach now, limp, just placed there. A sudden surge of energy seemed to roll her over, pushing him back, until she was the aggressor. Her lips claimed his for a long kiss that clearly said "Thank you" to him, and "You're welcome" to her. It only lasted half a minute, though, before she moved her mouth away from his. "You must be in agony," she said softly. "It's not so bad," he smiled. "Knowing you made a woman that happy is kind of a payoff all by itself." "I can't have sex with you," she said again, this time with conviction. "But a sitting president of the United States said what I'm going to do for you isn't sex ... okay?" "Oh hell yes," he sighed. ------- Now he was flat on his back, lying relaxed, his hands under his head, which was also propped on a pillow so he could watch while she repaid him. She had had several boyfriends before Roger. Most of them had been physical relationships, for the most part, and because she was raised Catholic, she had opted for the sort of oral birth control that didn't involve any pills. Instead, what she swallowed was the semen that could have made her pregnant, had it gotten where the Creator intended it to go. For that reason, she had become an accomplished and enthusiastic cock-sucker. But that had been in her teen years. When she met Roger, they were both struggling to be adults. Roger was hung up about sex anyway, and his reaction to her first - and only - attempt to fellate him had ended her oral hobby. She found, to her delight, that it was like riding a bicycle. She found that to his delight, too. No woman had ever brought him off with only her mouth. It always required the added stimulation of a hand, stroking him. She did that, but the expertise with which she teased and stimulated his manhood with her mouth had him ready to pop much sooner than he had either anticipated, or wanted. "Slow down," he panted. She stopped only long enough to say "No way, sailor. This ship has docked, and her seamen are ordered out of the hold." He laughed, but only until he knew she was going to make him cum, whether he was ready to or not. "Damn, woman," he groaned. "Permission to come ashore!" She didn't say "Permission granted." Instead she said "Mmmmmmm," and then swallowed happily as his cock belched. She remembered how one boy had loved to see himself spurt, and opened her mouth, sticking her tongue out so Josh's spend landed on the surface. His eyes widened and he whimpered. Then she closed her mouth over the tip and swallowed, sucking, using her lips to push his foreskin back as she nursed him. "Oh stop!" he gasped, his glans sensitive. She did, but licked all over the head as his cock lost it's stiffness. "Fuck me to tears," he groaned. She wiggled up to kiss his chin. "Can't. I told you. That's something we can't do." "You're waiting to kiss me until you can figure out whether or not my sperm in your mouth is a turnoff," he said. "Some guys are wimps," she said calmly. "Are you going to stay all night?" he asked. "Do you still promise not to fuck me?" "I do," he said formally. "My family isn't expecting me until tomorrow some time," she said. Then he kissed her. ------- Chapter 4 They lay, face to face, her breasts touching his chest, and talked. Occasionally they kissed. Twice he rolled away from her, just so he could look at her breasts. The first time he said "Beautiful." The second he said "So beautiful." She found herself telling him, somehow, of how lifeless her marriage was, of the disappointment she felt for herself for raising her daughter to be a selfish little bitch. He argued with her, and said she hadn't set that example. She had to agree with him about that, but she had blamed herself for Tiffany's flaws for a long time. "I don't know why Roger isn't interested in sex," she said. "He was at first, but then it just faded away as he began to work more and more." "Hmmmm." "What does that mean?" "I'm not sure you want to know," he said. "Of course I want to know," she said. "I see a lot of women who are like you, in the sense that their sexual urges are still fully functional, but their supply of sex is limited. That's why they come and watch us. They get to fantasize, and then go home and masturbate." "Why wouldn't I want to hear that? At least I know there are other frustrated women too." "What you don't want to hear is that men's sex drive doesn't fade away at all. I don't know a single man who has ever gotten tired of sex." "But that means..." She frowned. What did that mean? "That means they only get tired of sex with a particular woman," he said. "You're saying he's cheating on me." "I'm saying he hasn't gotten tired of sex." "You're saying he's having sex with some other woman." "I'm saying he hasn't gotten tired of sex." "He's not gay." "I didn't say he was gay." "He's not cheating on me." "How do you know that?" I'm quite sure that wherever he is right now, and whatever he's doing, he'd be quite happy to swear on a stack of Bibles that you're not lying naked with an exotic dancer, talking about why you're frustrated." "I'm cheating on him," she whispered. "Would you stop that?" His voice was loud. "Okay. You're cheating a little bit. You've had an orgasm. You're going to have at least three more before you go home. He could be giving you those orgasms, but he's not. Why not? That is the question. Why is it he's lost interest? It's not because you're ugly. No man on earth would call you ugly. It's not because you're a bitch. It's not because you're too wild and crazy for him. The vast majority of men stop having sex with their wives only because they feel so guilty when they do have sex with their wives." "Because they're cheating on the wife," she whispered. "I told you you didn't want to know." She was quiet for a while, just thinking. He let her. She thought about those times she smelled strange perfume on him. She thought about the one time she'd gone to the firm, late at night, to surprise him with Chinese takeout, and found the place locked up. She'd chalked it up to his meeting being a dinner meeting. And Lord knew there were all kinds of up and coming, hard charging women going into law these days. Hard charging women. Like Lucinda, the perky little blond who had been working with Roger for months on a real estate deal. They had had to go to Florida twice, to inspect property, trips that took days and required them to stay there several nights. Jennifer hadn't thought a thing about it. The blond had tiny little tits. She looked more like his daughter than his assistant. Or had. Now, doubts assailed her. Josh's fingers moving on her side reminded her of what he had said about her also not being what her husband would expect. "You're really lousy at seducing a woman," she said. "You know that?" "I usually seduce a woman by dancing for her," he said, smiling. Suddenly she needed kisses, and to be held, and as that happened, her passion flared again. Here was a man who wanted to be with her. He could have let her leave the party. He could have joined the orgy downstairs. But he wanted to be with her. Her hand strayed to his penis, which was again erect. Erect because of her. Erect for her. "I can't let you fuck me," she moaned into his lips. And yet, when she began gibbering with her need, which his kisses and strokes only inflamed, and he moved to his knees at her hips, and his fingers tugged at the waistband of her panties ... her hips lifted, to let him remove the garment. The cloth of the gusset stuck to her pussy lips, glued there by her arousal. And when his fingers touched the inside of her knees ... only touched them ... they flew apart, exposing her treasure to him, offering it to him. Instead of ravishing her, though, he merely lowered his face to her sex and gave her half a dozen orgasms in a row with his lips and tongue. Again she screamed, but under the circumstances noise wasn't an issue, and she could let the raw emotions leach out of her body through the vibrations of her vocal cords. The intimacy of what he was doing, though ... something Roger had never done - would never do - changed her forever. She wasn't aware of it in the moment, but Josh's willingness to join her more closely than her own husband would, was like an earthquake that shifts massive things with ease, moving them to where they can never be put back. Finally he rose from her, to his knees, between her thighs, leaving her glistening pussy lips gaping, flushed, and ready for his entry. His strong, youthful penis strained toward her, also ready to complete the ancient dance of mating. Again, though, he somehow knew what she needed ... and didn't need. Instead of skewering her with his lance, he stroked it, his eyes raking up and down her body. "You're so beautiful," he whispered. And then his semen leapt from the tip of his prong to land on her belly, making multiple, criss-crossing stripes on her, as if she had been whipped by some toy flail that left wet, white, harmless scars. At the very last moment, though, as his hand milked the final drips of his essence from his balls, he fell forward onto his other hand and brought the tip of his penis to stroke between her sexual lips, smearing the last little bit of his offering on those lips. She raised her head, stared, and her hands came to his head to pull him down for more long, sultry kisses. ------- They talked all night, never sleeping, not even napping. She learned of his great-great-grandmother, who had been a sex slave in the railroad camps of the developing west, until an itinerant cowboy had seen her, and how she was treated. He was incensed, and thought to remove her from such servitude. There were objections, and gunplay. But he rode away with her, and they made a life together. His great grandmother had married a Chinese man, but their daughter had again diluted their race with a white man. He learned of her own background and upraising, her volunteer work, and her unfulfilled wish to nurse her daughter. At that point he had teased a nipple to erection, telling her she could nurse him, and then sucked gently until it was time to give her another orgasm. Again she made love to his penis with her mouth, telling him she needed to keep it as far away from her pussy as she could, because her resolve not to cheat that much was failing. In the morning, when he opened her car door for her, and leaned over to give her one last kiss, she knew he could have fucked her if he'd tried. In that moment, as his lips brushed across hers in a startlingly casual goodbye kiss, her gratitude toward him made her want to get back out of the car, take him back to bed and let him love her completely. But she didn't. Instead, she closed the door and, blinking away her tears, started to drive away. She slammed on the brakes and punched at the window button again. He was there immediately, question and maybe hope plain on his face. "I don't even know your last name!" she said, rubbing at tears. "Hamilton," he said. "Josh Hamilton." She was lucky she didn't get a ticket for inattentive driving on the way home. If she had, she would have probably told the patrolman her name was Josh Hamilton. ------- The next week was pure torture for Jennifer. Roger, when he saw her, gave her a peck on the cheek. He didn't ask her where she'd been, or what she'd done. He didn't ask her if she'd had fun, or been successful at whatever she was doing. And as far as she could tell, Tiffany didn't even know she'd been gone. The memory of Josh's touch drove her to masturbate three times a day. She knew now why no cameras were allowed. There would be pictures of male exotic dancers all over town, to be found by inquisitive maids, or family members, who would ask "Who's this?" But she would have given a thousand dollars for a picture of Josh nude, that little half smile on his face ... his penis hard ... for her. It was the next Friday night before she came to the realization that all she had to do was go to Christy's Puppet Palace. She would take her camera. And when he danced ... she'd get her picture. ------- It was dark, though there were lots of colored lights scattered around the room, on the walls, ceiling and tables. She'd expected it to be smoky, but it wasn't. She remembered the recent city ordinance passed that banned smoking in businesses. There was a long bar along one wall, with sections of mirrors on the wall behind it. Bottles of all kinds, holding different colors of liquids lined glass shelves in front of the mirrors. A man, his upper torso naked except for what looked a little like a cleric's collar and a black bow tie stood behind the bar, talking to a woman perched on a bar stool. He was flirting with her as she played with the little umbrella in her drink. The thump of bass rhythms came from speakers flanking a small stage. In front of the stage were scattered ten or so tables that would seat four, if everybody was really friendly. Four or five of the tables had women sitting at them. One had a couple, male and female, their chairs turned toward the stage. Nobody was dancing at the moment. Jennifer sat down at the table farthest from the stage, where she hoped the relative darkness would cloak her from casual view. She felt like she was sneaking around and might get caught any second. She wondered if any of the other women ever came here to see their party favors plying their normal trade. She hoped not. How would she ever explain to any of her friends why she was there? She almost laughed out loud as she realized how stupid that train of thought was. They'd know exactly why she was there ... and probably approve. The music changed, and a man dressed like a Toreador came out on stage. It wasn't flamenco music, but he danced flamenco style, swirling his cape and stomping his feet, doing kicks that had nothing to do with bull fighting. A waitress approached and wanted to know what to get her. She ordered a Manhattan, on the rocks, in a lowball glass. Two hours and four Manhattans later, he finally came on stage. She was tipsy by then, and the thrill of seeing him made her do something she hadn't done in twenty years or more. Putting her two index fingers in her mouth, she produced a piercing whistle. She followed that with a "Yeah!" as he started his routine. She saw him look her way, but only for a second. He was dressed in a tuxedo, with a cane and top hat. His routine involved dancing like Fred Astaire, while he shed pieces of the costume until he was down to the hat, cane, and a black pouch that cradled his cock and balls, and which had a tiny white bow tie on the front. A group of women at a table close to the stage were cheering, calling out to him, and waving money. He danced over to them and they tucked bills into the string that kept his pouch on. Women at another table called out to him too, and he went there next. Then he danced toward Jennifer. She looked at him owlishly, and dug in her purse, coming out with a crumpled twenty. His pouch was suddenly right in her face, gyrating, and she grabbed it, to put her money with the rest. "Ahh, ahh, ahh!" he warned, dancing out of range. "Can't touch the merchandise, honey." Then he swayed his hips back and forth, in time with the music, bringing his left hip closer and closer to her, until he stopped it right by her hand. She fumbled with the string and it snapped like a rubber band onto the money. Then he was whirling away, and she was slamming the last of her drink, panting and grinning. A group of women started clapping their hands in time with the music, until the whole house was clapping. Jennifer joined them, stopping only to whistle again. Then it was over, and a recorded musical interlude took the place of live dancers. She felt hollow ... stupid for having come. She had gotten drunk and acted like a co-ed trying to get laid. The waitress approached again and picked up the empty glass. Jennifer waved her off and got up. She didn't lurch, or weave, but she knew she wasn't as firm on her feet as she should be, and that she had no business driving home. The problem was, she had nowhere else to go. She was standing beside her car, just leaning against it, trying to get deep lungfuls of air to clear her mind, when he suddenly appeared beside her. "Hi," he said, leaning against the car beside her. "Hi," she said, her voice empty. "Janice said you probably shouldn't be allowed to drive home." "Janice?" "Your waitress. When I came out from back stage, and you were gone, I talked to her." "I shouldn't have come." "You won't get any argument from me," he said. "Why?" she asked. All she could think of was that he didn't want to see her. "I have an idea," he said. "I've never driven a Mercedes before. Looks like a nice car. How about I take you somewhere, and we get some coffee in you, so when you get home tonight you don't look and smell like you've been in some dive watching male strippers." "It wouldn't matter," she said, feeling thoroughly sorry for herself. "Nobody would notice." "Your choice," he said, pushing off of the car with his butt. "I hope you get home okay." He started walking away. "Wait!" she complained. "You can't go." "Why not? I wanted to take a pretty woman to get coffee, not listen to her pout about how hard her life is while she leans against her fifty-thousand dollar car." "Don't be a prick!" she gasped. "I'm not. I have a prick, but it's only a small part of me. In fact, most of me is not prick." She tried to glare at him, but it just wasn't in her. She knew he was right. She was acting like she felt, which was awful. "Okay. I'm sorry. Coffee would be good." Again, he didn't make her beg. He simply nodded, took the keys from her after she dug them out of her purse, opened the door for her and then got in himself. They didn't speak as he drove the car to a brightly lit all night diner that was either a refurbished one from the fifties, or had been built and equipped in that retro fashion. He held her elbow as she eased into one side of a two-person booth and then sat opposite her, with his elbows on the table. They didn't speak until the waitress had filled two coffee cups, taken Josh's order for french fries with cream gravy, and left. "I know I acted like a fool, but it's all your fault," said Jennifer, her voice low. "My fault." He smiled. "The way you treated me," she said. "The way I treated you turned you into a whining little girl?" His eyebrows rose. "The way you treated me reminded me of how wonderful it can be!" she said harshly. She leaned back. "Can you blame me for wanting more?" "I don't do affairs, Jen," he said softly. "That's not what I'm asking for," she replied. "Well ... what are you asking for?" "I didn't intend to ask for anything," she moaned. "I just wanted to see you again ... to know you were real." "Of course I'm real." He smiled again. "Look at it from my perspective," she said. "To everybody I know, it looks like I live in a perfect family. Roger is fit and makes a ton of money. I'm beautiful and my daughter is smart and pretty too. We live in a nice house. We live the American Dream. But it's not real. My husband vowed to love me until we die. I don't know what happened, but somewhere along the line the love leached out of him. And my daughter hates me because I treat her like the teenager she is, instead of the twenty-five-year-old she wants to be. To outsiders, we're the perfect family, but it isn't real. It isn't the American Dream. It's the American Nightmare. Don't say anything yet." She took a sip of coffee, and looked up at him. "And then at an insane party, where I literally questioned my sanity, I also met you. You were exotic, handsome, interesting and, of all things, polite! Somehow you convinced me to stay there, even though I had no interest whatsoever in what was going on there. I did not intend to kiss you, or anybody else. I certainly did not intend to do anything more intimate than that. And yet, somehow, I found myself floating in what seemed like a pool of liquid ecstasy. And I'm not talking about the drug." His lips communicated a smile without actually forming one. "And then, somehow, there I was back home, remembering your touch ... your scent ... the sensations you created in me ... and it was like I'd had some magic interlude ... had lived an odd version of the Cinderella story for a few hours. That dream I had of happiness and completion when I was getting married was suddenly back." She frowned. "Except it was with a different man." Josh sipped his coffee. "Okay, so you kind of developed a crush on me." Jennifer's gaze was level and unflinching. "You're starting to look like a penis again." He laughed. "I'm sorry. I won't trivialize it, even though it seems a bit goofy to me." "Why would you say that?" she complained. "I'm a dancer," he said. "Women fawn over me all the time. It's just estrogen ... biology flipping switches in them. As you so eloquently put it ... it isn't real. It's just a temporary imbalance of hormones and libidos trying to get them laid." "You didn't dance for me," she said. He blinked several times, staring into her eyes. Then he moved and reached in his back pocket for his wallet. He extracted a twenty and slid it across the table to her. "That reminds me. I don't take tips from friends," he said. She didn't pick up the money. "I don't know whether to be flattered or insulted." He leaned back. "Look. I like you, okay? You're different than most other women I've met. You have a depth that I haven't found in many other women. And I won't lie. When I saw you sitting there, I got..." He frowned. "I'll just say it, okay? I got hard. I don't mean that like all I think about when I think about you is sex. I mean it like it was exciting to see you again ... to know you had sought me out. But I'm not Prince Charming, Jennifer, and you're not Snow White." I know that," she said. "I was thinking more along the lines of Sleeping Beauty," she said. "You kissed me and I woke up from the dream I was living." "You weren't living a dream. You just believed the show people were putting on for you. It's the same thing that happens when women watch me dance. They see what I want them to see, and they think it's real instead of a fantasy." "But life isn't supposed to be a fantasy," she said. "What are wedding vows?" he asked. "They're the fantasy of believing that love will triumph over all." "Love isn't a fantasy!" she insisted. "Then that means that a lot of people only think they're in love when they make those vows when, in fact, they are not." "That's possible," she said. "I was absolutely positive I was in love with Bobby Richards, and couldn't possibly live without him. I still remember how strong that feeling was ... how sure I was ... But I was wrong." "And so you married Ralph instead of him?" "It's Roger, not Ralph" she said. And I was madly in love with Bobby Richards when I was eight." Josh laughed. She didn't. Instead, she gazed at him with those disturbing, green eyes. "How much of what happened that night was acting?" she asked. "Why go into that?" he asked, instead of answering her question. "I'm a big girl," she said. "I can take it. I just want to know what's real and what's not. Like I know Brandi didn't describe me to you like you said. That's no big deal. But you said a lot more things that night, and I'd just like to know what was real, and what wasn't." "Actually, Brandi described you exactly as I said." He frowned. "Except for the eyes. That was extemporaneous." "She said beautiful women hate me." Jennifer looked at him askance. "She did," he said. "She said one of the reasons you had never been invited was because all the women were afraid none of the guys would pay any attention to them if you were in the room. I thought she was just building you up so that I'd take the job, you know, using hyperbole and all that." "She was," said Jennifer. "No she wasn't," he said without delay. "Maybe she thought she was, but she was right on the money." "Is that part real?" she asked. "You are the most beautiful woman I have ever touched," he said. "And that beauty goes much deeper than the skin." "Why are you saying that?" she asked. "Because you asked?" "Wait!" She put up a hand. She looked flustered. "I want to ask one question, and I need an honest answer." "Okay." "Are you trying to seduce me?" "Absolutely not," he said immediately. "Then why do you say such beautiful things to me?" she moaned. "You said you wanted to ask one question," he said. "In the interests of full disclosure and honesty, I have to point out that you just asked me question number two." "Okay. It turns out I want to ask a hundred questions," she said. "And I have to answer them all honestly?" He feigned shock and horror. ------- Chapter 5 It was almost one in the morning when he stopped the car back at Christy's Puppet Palace. She didn't wait for him to come open her door. In fact, she was already rounding the back of the car as he got out of the driver's seat. As she approached, he stood there, and she invaded his personal space, not even aware that she was comfortable doing that. He put a hand on the roof of the car, above the open door and then put his other hand further back, trapping her between him and the car. She looked up at his face and, for the first time that night, noticed his Oriental features. All night long he had just been 'Josh' and she wondered why now, all of a sudden, she had become aware of his ethnicity. Then she couldn't think of much of anything as he leaned against her, crushing her breasts to his chest as he lowered his lips to cover hers. She felt the hard spike of his penis pressing her hips against the cold metal of the car. Then he pulled his chest back far enough to allow his hands to slip between them and maul her breasts as he continued to grind his cock against her mons. It was as sexual a kiss as she'd ever engaged in, and it left her both breathless and energized. It went on until she was afraid she might actually have an orgasm if he rubbed against her much longer. Then he released her. "I thought you weren't trying to seduce me," she panted. "I'm not," he said. She noticed he was also breathing faster than normal, and his eyes were bright. "Then what the hell was that?" "It's what I've wanted to do ever since I saw you sitting there in the club," he said. "Do you want to do it again?" He laughed, but then sobered. "Desperately," he said. "Do you think that's a good idea?" "No," she said, without pausing to think. "Then, in the words of the famous George W. Bush, forty-third president of these United States of America ... I think we are in agreeance." He backed up, letting her get into her car. Once she did, she closed the door, started the motor and rolled the window down. "Can I come watch you dance again?" "Only if you promise to only drink coffee," he said. "If I do that, what will we go out for a drink afterwards?" "We'll think of something," he said. "Okay." And with that, she rolled up the window and drove away. She had to masturbate that night, when she got home. Roger had fallen asleep in his recliner, so she didn't wake him when she got into bed. She had to masturbate, but once she'd cum, she fell into a deep sleep. ------- Somehow, that brief interlude lasted her almost a month. Oddly, the urge to masturbate while thinking about him didn't hit her as often as it had. The desire to see him again, though, was suddenly strong one day, so she left a note for Roger that she was painting sets for the theater league's upcoming production and wouldn't be home until late. Then she went to Christy's. She didn't dress up this time, wearing jeans and a silk blouse. She did remove her bra before she went, and she felt deliciously naughty at the sensation of her nipples scraping across the silk as her breasts bounced while she walked. She was disappointed to see he was on stage when she walked in the club. Based on her previous trip, she didn't think anybody danced more than once, which meant she'd missed seeing him. But she was there, so she sat down. He came off the stage and danced up to a table of women who were hooting and hollering. They stuffed bills in his g-string and stroked his flanks until they were reminded no touching was allowed. Then he danced over to Jennifer. "Move back from the table," he said in a loud whisper. She did and he straddled her knees, which were pressed tightly together. He did a bump and grind that made his pouch bounce right in front of her face and the women he'd just left began screaming for him to come back. "Give me ten minutes," he said, "and then come back stage. Tell them I invited you." He went back to the other table, where all the women were lined up, leaning back, knees together, money in hand, waiting for their lap dance. ------- She felt a little foolish walking towards the curtain, beside which a buff young man stood. She was pretty sure she'd seen him dance in a police uniform the last time, but right now he was wearing slacks and a T shirt that showed off all his muscles. He looked her up and down. "Jennifer?" She nodded. "I'm supposed to say I was invited, I think." He smiled. "He told me you were coming. Go to the end of the hall. Knock on the black door. Remember ... no touching." "No touching," she said, confused. "Thanks for your cooperation," said the young man, who then held open the curtain for her. There was an open space right inside the curtain, where a man was waiting, dressed as a construction worker, ready to go on stage. He was practicing a particular movement with his chest and waist, and ignored her. Beyond that was a door which led to what was clearly a dressing room. There were two men in there, one naked, and the other half dressed in swaths of black. There was a Darth Vader helmet on a chair beside him. Further on were doors, all painted a different color. She went past them to the black door and knocked. Josh opened it, still wearing only his g-string pouch. "Hi!" he said, grinning. "I was afraid you'd changed your mind and decided it was too dangerous to come see me again." "It is too dangerous to come see you again," she said, looking him up and down. "That's one of the things I love about you," he said. "You're so honest and direct." He waved her into the room, which had several different chairs in it, in a circle of sorts, around what looked for all the world like a fine, Persian rug. "I told Austin you asked for a private dance," he said. "Oh." "I can get dressed, if that would make you feel better." "That would not make me feel better." "Oh? What would make you feel better?" "I can't have what would make me feel better," she sighed. He laughed. "Well I can. Is there any chance I could talk you into giving me one of those fabulous blow jobs you do so flawlessly?" She blinked. "Really? "I'm hot as a pistol right now, Jennifer," he said. "I don't think you really appreciate how you affect me. Every time I see you, it gets me going, and I need to do something about it." "Austin reminded me that there's no touching." "What Austin doesn't know won't hurt him," said Josh, still grinning. "Can you possibly wait a little bit?" she asked, carefully. "I can, but can I ask why?" "Because if I suck that thing here, in private, I'm going to want to get naked too, and then I'm going to start thinking I can have what I want ... which I can't, as I recall." "Ahhhh," he said. "In exchange for delayed gratification, I am more than willing to help you control your libido." ------- He said they needed to stay in the room long enough for Austin and others he didn't name, to think he had danced for her. He didn't tell her he'd have to fork over fifty dollars as the club's cut, but if she'd have found out somehow, he'd have said it was worth it to be able to spend time with her. So he sat there, almost naked and asked her mundane questions about what she'd been doing since he last saw her. She sat and looked hungrily at his body, firmly aware that this man could fuck her if he wanted to ... and that he knew that. The fact that he didn't was like a huge block of some unknown mineral that she could only circle around, wondering where it had come from, and what it could be used for. She was used to men's eyes slithering all over her, and she knew what they were thinking. But the reason they didn't do anything was because they were afraid of the fallout if things went badly. That wasn't the case with Josh. She knew she'd feel guilty as hell if she let him have her, but she also knew she'd love it while it happened, and that she wouldn't hold it against him. And she was pretty sure he knew that too. Then he said they could go, and that he'd meet her at The Wagon Wheel, which was the same place they'd gone before. It was in a semi-industrial part of town that catered more to truck drivers than rich housewives, but that was fine with her, because it meant she wasn't likely to run into any of her friends there. When she got there, she stood by the car, waiting. Two men had asked if they could help her before he drove up. She was amazed to see he drove an old, but beautifully restored pickup, of all things. She noted with interest the distinctive shape of the grill, and recognized it as the same truck her grandfather had driven when she was a little girl. She had loved riding in that truck, back when there were no seatbelts, and she could lean out the window and let the wind whip her hair around. When he got out, he came to her and, as he had done the last time they met, trapped her against the car while he kissed her. His hands slid up into the blouse and she arched her chest at him as he fondled her naked breasts. His fingers found and teased her nipples as his tongue teased her tongue. When he stopped kissing her, he left his hands there. "You have the finest breasts," he whispered. "We're in public," she panted. She didn't make him stop. "Yeah, we are," he said, giving her tender nipples one last squeeze. "If you unbutton that beautiful blouse I'll suck them for you. As I recall, you enjoy that a lot." "You are not a nice man," she said. "Not when I'm around you," he agreed. Ten minutes later they were drinking coffee and she was telling him about the people at the soup kitchen she volunteered at. He wanted to know all about it and asked lots of questions. Then she asked him about his truck. "It's been my hobby," he said. My apartment has a garage, and I've always loved the old trucks, so I got one and started fixing it up. I only got it finished about six months ago. It took me three years to get done. "It's a '48, right?" "How'd you know that?" he asked, looking surprised. "My grandfather drove one just like it. I loved riding in that truck." "You want to go for a ride now?" "It probably wouldn't be smart to leave my car here," she said. "True," he said. "Rain check?" he suggested. "Deal," she said. "I have a mattress I can throw in the back." He leered. She smiled, but ignored him as she would have ignored a randy teenager who blurted something inappropriate at her. As he ate the last of his french-fries and cream gravy, she leaned back. "I'd like to suck your dick now." He choked on the french fry and coughed, reaching for a napkin. She sat and watched as he kept coughing until whatever he'd inhaled was free. "Give a man some warning," he gasped. "I just did." He stood, dug money from his pocket - way too much money, she noticed - and held out his hand to her. She let him help her from the booth and walked ahead of him to the door. Once outside, she went to his truck and worked the catch on the tailgate, letting it down. She patted the tailgate and stood back. "Here?" He was incredulous. "Why not?" she asked. "I thought doing things in public wasn't your thing," he said. "It's not." She looked around, but it was very casual, as if she really didn't care if anyone was there or not. "Things are different with you. I thought I had explained that." "You did," he said. "Believe me, I don't normally just walk up to a woman and kiss her and grope her breasts." "And I don't normally offer to suck a man's dick ... any man ... anywhere." There was unspoken hint in her voice that suggested the offer might be withdrawn any second. "This is crazy," he said, reaching for his zipper. " You're crazy," he said as he undid his belt and unbuttoned his pants. "Maybe that's why I like you so much," he said as he shoved them down, sat on the tailgate and lay back, with his lower legs hanging, but spread open. His prick was rock hard and lay on his abdomen. She looked around again, this time to see if anyone was watching. Then she got between his legs, bent over his groin, and sucked him like she meant it. ------- She sat in her car, trembling. She couldn't believe she'd done that. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, though it wasn't really necessary. He was leaning on the bottom edge of the open window, staring at her, his face only inches away from hers. "You okay?" he asked. "No," she said. "I'm sorry," he said. "It's not your fault," she said. "I'm a grown woman. I should be able to control my impulses." "So it used to be my fault ... but it isn't any more," he said. She stared straight ahead. Her fingers were white where they gripped the steering wheel. "I have a request," he said. She glanced at him. "You mean that wasn't enough?" "Don't go catty on me, Jen," he said softly. "I'm sorry. I'm horny out of my mind right now. I need to go home and masturbate for an hour or two." "Well that goes with my request. How about I come home with you and meet Randy, and challenge him to a duel for you." She turned to face him and her nose barely brushed his. "You know his name is Roger. A duel?" "Or something along those lines. Winner take all. And if I win, you won't have to masturbate for an hour or two. I promise you that." "You are not a nice man," she said, for the second time that night. He stood up. "I'm sorry. Honest. I am not trying to make your life harder than it already is. I wish I could make it easier, but I'm not suggesting anything, or asking you to do anything. That wouldn't be fair. I'm very happy that I got to see you tonight, and I don't mean the blow job." He grinned. "Though that was fantastic. You're a wizard at that, bar none. If there was a contest and the winner got a million dollars, I'd hound you to enter it right pronto." "With you as my trainer," she said, smiling. "Of course," he said. "You told me I was the one who brought you out of retirement in the blow job arena. And you have made me a proud man, let me assure you." It was silent for a long half minute before she finally spoke. "I don't know if I'll see you again." "I understand," he said. "It's getting to me too." "I don't want to stop," she said. "I don't either." "You're not making this any easier," she moaned. "Sorry. I'm a dancer. And when I got this make-it-easier-on-Jennifer gig, they didn't give me any training. I've been doing on-the-job training, but I don't think I've quiet gotten the hang of things yet. Perhaps if we got together half a dozen more times, I'd figure it out. She groaned. "If we got together half a dozen more times I'd end up pregnant and out on the street, the laughing stock of Briarcliffe and all those women who hate me because I'm so beautiful. "You're not on the pill?" He looked horrified. "I'm sorry. That's none of my business. I shouldn't have asked you something intimate like that." She squeezed the steering wheel harder, and then relaxed. She'd given this man oral sex ... more than once. And he'd returned the favor in spades, though not tonight. He couldn't possibly ask her something too intimate. But the only response she had was one that made her feel shame. "Why take the pill and expose yourself to the potential side effects, when you're not at risk of becoming pregnant?" she said. " She looked straight ahead. "And I haven't been at risk of becoming pregnant for more than a year." He leaned down and into the car. His kiss was warm, but brief. "I have enjoyed knowing you more than you'll ever know," he said. "If by some crazy set of circumstances you go to Brandi's birthday party next year, please have her invite me too." It was meant to lighten the mood, but it had the opposite effect. "I have to go," she said, clearly about to lose it. She didn't want to sob in front of him. He got back just in time as she turned the key, slammed the car into gear and spun the tires, leaving. ------- Tiffany was waiting for her when she got home. "Hi, Mom," said her daughter, brightly. "Dad's up in bed, but I need to talk to you before you go up there." Jennifer waited. "Christine Stavely and some of her friends are going to see the Black Eyed Peas in Denver this weekend. They invited me to go with them." Jennifer almost groaned. Denver was six hours away by car. Obviously that meant the girls were going to stay in a motel somewhere. "You're only fifteen," she said. "And Christine is sixteen and can drive, so it's no big deal." "It is a big deal if you're going to stay in a motel over night," said Jennifer. "A bunch of girls out like that in a motel could run into trouble." "Christine's boyfriend, Dennis is going with us," Tiffany said, somewhat smugly. "Several of the guys are going. They'll protect us from any perverts." "And who will protect you from them?" asked Jennifer. "You can't seriously expect me to allow this." "Yes I can." The wheedling note was gone from the teen's voice now, and had been replaced by something hard and sharp-edged. "Christine's mother got drunk the other night and let slip that you went to Mrs. Templeton's birthday party. I think Daddy might be very interested in knowing that. I haven't discussed it with him yet, but he's up there reading a book right now in your bedroom. Maybe we should both go tell him all about it!" Jen felt the chill freeze her whole body into a state of paralysis. Obviously the kids ... some of them, at least ... were aware of Brandi's parties and what they were about. She had known she should just leave. But curiosity and politics had gotten the best of her. Now she was going to pay for it. And, knowing Tiffany, she would pay for it for the rest of her life. Tiffany stuck a paper in front of her mother's face. "This is a waiver of liability. Christine's father insisted that we all sign one if we're going to ride in their van." Jennifer wanted to ask her daughter why she thought a man might do something like that ... a man who had insurance already, because the law required it. But she knew the girl wouldn't listen to her. Her muscles loosened suddenly. It was over. Nothing would ever be the same again. "You can tell your father whatever you like," she said. "As long as I am your mother, you do not have permission to go on this trip. Go ask your father for his permission, and have him sign that. He's a lawyer. I'm sure he'll find that fascinating." "I'll tell him!" warned Tiffany. "I swear I will!" Her voice was shrill now. "Are you deaf as well as stupid?" asked Jennifer calmly. "I just told you to tell him whatever you like. Just remember this. This is the one piece of advice I'll give you before I leave. There are consequences to every decision. And in trying to make me pay the consequences for my decisions, you may have to face consequences caused by your own." "Leaving? Where are you going? You can't go anywhere!" "You have a lot to learn, Tiffany," said her mother. "My leaving is only the first consequence of you trying to blackmail me." "You won't leave," sneered her daughter. "You're bluffing. You won't give up all this just because you want to keep me from having fun. I'm going to go talk to him now. If you're not there in ten minutes, I'm telling him about the party. I mean it, Mother. You'd better show up or I'll make your life miserable!" The girl turned and went up the stairs toward the master bedroom. Jennifer turned and walked quietly out of the house. She got in her car, started it up again, and drove away. ------- Chapter 6 Her cell phone rang half an hour later, while she was parked at a convenience store, trying to figure out where to go. It was Roger. "What the hell is going on?" he yelled into the phone. "Tiffany is in tears and says you screamed at her and said you were leaving!" "She did the screaming," said Jennifer. "But yes, I left." "Why? I don't understand! What's going on?" "Apparently she hasn't told you everything she said she was going to. She wanted me to approve letting her do something no sane mother would allow her fifteen-year-old daughter to do. I refused and she tried to blackmail me, Roger. I'm not going to live under the threat of blackmail. Maybe the two of you can discuss that. I'll call you in a few days." She hung up, and then turned her phone off for good measure. She decided to go to the shelter, where she had volunteered dozens of times, working in the soup kitchen, until Roger had made her stop. She didn't think of herself as homeless, but she might be soon. Claudette was on duty. It was late enough that the doors were already locked, so she had to speak through a speaker system. Claudette unlocked the door, looking worried. "What's wrong?" she asked. "I can't go home right now," said Jennifer, holding it all inside. "No problem," said Claudette, hiding her surprise. She knew people came to the shelter from all walks of life. "Can you log me onto the internet?" asked Jennifer. "Why?" "I need to make a donation to the shelter ... while I still can," she said. "Don't do something stupid," said Claudette. "Sometimes these things blow over." "This one isn't going to blow over, Claudette." "That bad, huh." "That bad." Claudette took her to the office and put in the password for access to the internet. Jennifer tapped keys and asked Claudette for the information needed to do an electronic transfer to the shelter's account. She kept it to ten thousand dollars, because she was pretty sure Roger wouldn't notice a small amount like that until their CPA asked him about it. "Good Lord, girl!" whispered Claudette, looking over her shoulder. "Are you insane?" "You need the money, don't you? "Well sure ... but ... Jennifer, honey ... that's burning a hell of a bridge." "I don't know about community property laws in this state," said Jennifer. "I never needed to until now. But I figure I'll have a lot more than ten thousand dollars coming to me when it all shakes down. And I'm going to need a place to stay." "Stay here as long as you want, honey!" said Claudette. "You pick any bed you want and it's yours for as long as you need. In fact, you want one of the private rooms?" "Those are for families," said Jennifer. "Well yes, but..." "Those are for families, Claudette!" "Yes, Ma'am. Do we need to call the cops?" She started looking Jennifer over. "No. He didn't hit me. He doesn't even know he's going to divorce me," she said. She looked at her watch. "Well ... maybe he does by now." ------- Claudette had been called away, so Jennifer had made one other transfer of funds, another ten thousand, into a bank account she'd had when she got married, and had never closed. She expected Roger to cut her off, and she'd need something to survive on until the courts worked everything out. She made one trip back to the house the next day, going at ten in the morning and hoping that without her there Tiffany had still gone to school. She took only clothing, enough to last her a couple of weeks. It had been a long time since she'd had to wash her clothes in a Laundromat, but she made sure to take things that would stand up to that kind of treatment. He found her in five days by the simple expedient of reporting her as missing to the police. She suspected he knew detectives, and had called in favors. The patrolmen who located her car, and traced her to the shelter, though, wanted nothing to do with a domestic dispute, in which the wife denied physical abuse, and just said she was an adult and didn't have to go home if she didn't feel like it. Roger arrived an hour later and demanded to see her. Rather than make a scene, she walked outside and leaned against the building. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" he asked, his voice harsh. "You can't live here. It's making me look like a fool!" "You are a fool, Roger," she said. "While you've been hiding here, the shit has hit the fan," he hissed. "I personally know of at least ten men who are filing for divorce." "That's nice. I won't contest it when you file." "Tiffany has gotten death threats, you stupid cow!" "I told her there would be consequences if she decided to expose all this. She's never listened to me. She always ran to you and got whatever she wanted. You're a lawyer. File complaints against the wives who are threatening her." "It isn't the fucking wives!" he yelled. "It's her friends at school!" He hit the wall with his hand, and winced. "She had to close down her Facebook page. I couldn't even let her go to school today!" "And all this because she wanted to go see a concert and shack up with her friends on the way back," said Jennifer. "She just couldn't stand it that I told her no, and to spite me, she went to you. And you went to the rest of the husbands." "Of course I went to the rest of the husbands!" he exploded. "Their wives were attending fucking orgies!" "Well, just for the record," she said, "you're the only man who's ever had intercourse with me since we got married. I knew she wouldn't believe it, and I doubt you will either, but it's true. I was there at the party, but I didn't let any man fuck me." He started to yell but she put her finger on his lips. "And before you go all high and mighty on me, just remember this. The children in this community have known about what was going on up there for who knows how long. It was one of them who told your daughter I was there. They've been keeping it a secret too. Why? Why are they threatening Tiffany? You can bet it's because they were doing the same thing Tiffany tried to do... blackmail!" She saw the look on his face, which was red now, and stepped away from him. "You need some help, Miss Jenny?" asked a hulking black man named Clarence, who appeared as if by magic. Jennifer knew Clarence wouldn't hurt a fly ... but Roger didn't. "No, thank you, Clarence," said Jennifer. "This is my husband, and he just got some bad news, that's all." "I won't be your husband for long," growled Roger, his voice low. "You bitch!" "Hey, dude," said Clarence, his voice casual. "You might want to move on out of here. This is a bad part of town. People wearin' suits like that been known to get roughed up around here. People have accidents, you know, man? And I don't know if that's your Beamer around the corner or not, but if you want anything left of it to drive home, you prolly ought to get back to it. I mean if it's still there and all." What had top priority in Roger's life at that point in time was made quite clear in the next few seconds. And it wasn't Jennifer. ------- It was a sometimes resident of the shelter who handed Jennifer the paper as she stood, ladling out food. The old woman, known only as Bessy, grinned a toothless smile and said "I seen your name in there and figgered you'd want ter see it." It turned out to be the society pages of the Sunday Times. One page listed all the divorces that had been filed for, and there was story after story on the other pages, where women or men had been interviewed about what had been dubbed "The Silver Lake Scandal." She was surprised to see that Roger had agreed to an interview, since he spent so much of his time telling his own clients to shut up. She understood, when she read how devastated he'd been, and that he'd had to enter therapy, and that their daughter was also in therapy. All he was doing was setting things up so he could leave with her nothing, if at all possible. When she read the part where he said he tried to get her to come back home and save the marriage, only to be chased away from the soup kitchen she was eating at, she tossed the paper and went back to serving food to people who needed it. Two days later Barney Fisk, general manager of the Goodwill store in town, came by with his weekly truckload of clothing, which people in the shelter could go through and take things from. While that was going on, he wandered over to where Jennifer was supervising six small children's use of paper and crayons. "You might want to come by the store," he said, giving her a hug. "I have a whole bunch of stuff that might fit you." "Oh?" "Yeah. Came in the other day. Big donation from a single source. Angry man. Said his wife had taken off, and obviously didn't want the stuff any more. Suggested we give it to people who frequent this shelter." Her eyes widened. "My clothes?" He smiled. "I'll hold onto them for a while, at least until you can come by and take a look." She nodded. "Thanks, Barney," she said. "I'll come by and pick out some things. The rest can go to whoever needs it." She went the next day, and got some of her favorite things. It was good she did, because she ended up filling up the back seat of the car, and she had just unloaded it all when a man showed up with the title of the car, which Roger had signed over to him. The sale price was listed as one hundred dollars. The man was very nervous, his eyes darting this way and that. He kept saying he didn't want any trouble, but a deal was a deal, and that he'd go get a cop if he had to. Jennifer told him to cool his jets, cleaned her stuff out of the car and then tossed him the keys. It was two days later when a nervous looking woman, dressed much too well to be in the shelter, came through the line. There were two children with her, but none of them had a tray. "Are you Jennifer Windham?" she asked. Jennifer blinked, and was suddenly wary. Very few people at the shelter knew her last name. "Yes," she said, carefully. The woman just looked at her for a few seconds. "I'm Susan," she said. "Roger said he was divorced when we met. So I didn't know he was married to you when I accepted his proposal. We've been married ten years." She blinked and then turned to the boy and girl with her. "This is Timothy and Deborah. They're his children." She turned back to Jennifer. "Now he says there was never a marriage license ... that he made it all up. We got married in a park, and now he says he just hired a man to play the part of a preacher. He swears he wanted to marry me for real ... except he was already married to you." ------- Jennifer had thought that Susan's reason for coming to the shelter with Roger's ... other ... children, was to rub it in her nose. That would have been horrifying enough. But there was more. When Roger confessed his lies to Susan, he also told her that Jennifer had betrayed her friends and started the whole scandal, which was why he was finally divorcing her. The problem was, as he said it, that he could no longer afford to support two households, because Jennifer was fighting the divorce and costing him tens of thousands of dollars in attorney fees. The house was in Susan's name. She was going to lose it. And Roger had stopped taking her calls. She asked Jennifer to stop fighting the divorce and let him go, so he could be happy ... so she could be happy. She told Jennifer it was "the right thing to do." And that was what drove Jennifer Windham back to Christy's Puppet Palace. ------- The first thing she noticed when she got there was the extra security. And it wasn't dancers who were doubling as bouncers. These were hard-faced men who blocked the door and wanted to see a photo ID. "Surely you aren't saying I look like I'm under twenty-one," she laughed. "I haven't been carded in decades!" "You got an ID or not, ma'am?" asked the one wearing sunglasses. "No. I brought money, but not my purse. It's only a bother when I come here." "What's your name?" asked the other one, lifting a clipboard that had what looked like a list of names on it. It never occurred to her that her name might be on that list. "Jennifer Windham," she said. His finger ran down the list and then the clipboard dropped. "You got to leave," he said. "You can't come in here." "What? Why not?" She was upset, both because she wanted to see Josh, and because she didn't like anyone telling her what she could and could not do. This was America, after all. "You're one of them dames whose husbands are suing the Puppet Palace," he said. "Tryin' to close it down. You're trouble, lady, and we don't need no more trouble around here. Now beat it." There wasn't anything she could do. She gave a very brief thought to trying to sneak in the back or something, but gave that up immediately. They would have all entries covered. In the end, she caught a cab, and went back to the shelter, where she had a very rough night. ------- The next day was a roller coaster for Jennifer. In the morning, her blue mood was brightened when she got a phone call from a man who wanted to hire her in her capacity as a CPA. He had gotten her name from Barney, at the Good Will, who knew the quality of her work by virtue of her having done their books for the previous three years. It was a half time job, and the company provided an office to do the work in. It wasn't enough for both an apartment and a car, but everyone she worked with at the shelter told her to get the car first. They said mobility was more important, since she had someplace to sleep. What they didn't tell her was that her presence at the shelter was worth a lot to them, and they didn't want to lose her. Her presence on the food line brought smiles and laughter to the place, and those were scarce things in a shelter. Around two thirty, she was served with two legal documents, one the petition for divorce, and the other a court order denying her both custody of and visitation with her daughter, on grounds that she was an "unsavory influence on the impressionable minor." At five thirty, while she was handing out grilled cheese sandwiches, Tanya Phillips, the volunteer coordinator for the shelter, stepped up beside her and said "I have a new volunteer, Jen. I want you to show him the ropes, okay?" "Sure," said Jennifer. "I think I'm capable of teaching him how to put a sandwich on somebody's plate." "Don't count on it," said Tanya. "He's kind of cute. I know I'd get distracted." She stepped back and made the introduction. "Jennifer, this is Josh. Josh, Jennifer will keep you busy tonight." "I sure hope so," said the voice she knew so well. "I'm looking forward to it." ------- With her heart thundering in her chest, she turned to see his Oriental features, and that maddening inscrutable smile. "Hi!" he said. "I'm Josh. But I guess you already know that. Pleased to meet you. Did she say Jennifer? Is it Jen? Or Jenny? Or do you prefer the more formal Jennifer?" "Stop!" she said, her voice breathless. He glanced over his shoulder. No one was paying attention to them. "I heard you came by the club," he said softly, touching her shoulder with his. "They chased me away!" she said. "They had to. It's been a zoo ever since the word broke. After two of the husbands showed up waving guns around, they hired real security. The lawyers made them ban all the women who were ever at any of Brandi's parties." "I guess I understand that." "So ... are you okay?" "I've been better," she said, but it was an automatic response. She recognized it as such, and thought about that. In the space of only a few seconds, she identified the most recent time she was "better" as when he was lying in the back of his truck, moaning while she sucked his juice out of his penis. She realized he'd said something that she'd missed. "What? I'm sorry. I was distracted." "I said this nice man has been standing here waiting for a sandwich for quite a while." She saw Fred, a regular, standing there, shuffling from foot to foot, like he always did, his surprisingly good teeth shining through a scruffy beard and mustache. She knew he loved to look at her, but felt guilty when he did. She served him a sandwich and said "Wait right there!" She went to the back and got out a Hershey's with almonds bar. They weren't on the menu tonight, but she didn't care. She returned to the serving table, where Josh was chatting with Fred and put the chocolate bar on his tray. "That's for having to wait," she said. He bobbed his head and trundled off to eat his meal. "What are you doing here?" she asked Josh as she handed him plastic gloves to put on. "Well duh ... I'm volunteering," he said. "Is that the only reason you're here?" This time all he said was "Well duh." "What do you want?" she asked. He looked at her. "You know what I want." "I do?" He handed a sandwich to a woman and told her she had a beautiful smile. She hadn't smiled until he said that. "See?" he said, as her face lit up. "I heard your husband filed for divorce." "He did that almost a month ago," she said. "And I was hoping you'd come see me," he went on. "Except you didn't, and I thought that meant you weren't interested." "Don't be insane," she said softly. "You're the only other man who's touched me in sixteen years. Surely you don't think I did that without thinking about it first, or that you were the lucky guy who just happened to be there when the slut in me came out." "First, I don't think of you as a slut." He served another customer. "Second, you were under a lot of stress, and everybody knows that stress sometimes makes one do things that one wouldn't otherwise do. And sometimes, when one has time to think about that, one decides those were foolish things to do, and maybe vows never to do them again, or something foolish like that." "Foolish?" "My humble opinion," he said, in a self-deprecating tone. "I've gotten kind of attached to you, and I'd rather you didn't decide I was a foolish thing to do, and decide not to do me any more." "You're doing him?" asked a girl, about sixteen or so, who had walked down the line while they were talking. "No!" said Jennifer. "He's speaking in analogous terms, about an alternate reality." "You mean like in science fiction," said the girl. "Exactly!" said Jennifer. "Enjoy your dinner." As soon as the girl was gone Jennifer hissed "Stop that!" "Stop what?" asked a man who looked to be in his early forties. His wife and two kids were in line behind him." "Nothing!" said Jennifer. "I mean I wasn't talking to you. I'm sorry." "This guy bothering you?" asked the man, looking at Josh. "Constantly," said Josh. "I'm her boyfriend." "Really?" The man looked interested. "Quit flirting with her, Harold!" said his wife from behind him. "I'm not flirting!" he complained. "How could I be flirting? That's her boyfriend standing right beside her!" "He's your boyfriend already?" asked Tanya, who had returned to see how Josh was doing. "Good Lord, woman, you sure work fast." She held up a hand as Jennifer started to object. "None of my business, baby. And everybody around here knows you deserve some happiness. More power to you." She grinned and shook her head. Then, looking at Josh, she said "Careful, Tiger. She's a handful. Trust me on that." She turned away to move down the line. "Now people think I'm your girlfriend!" hissed Jennifer. "Then you must be," he said, handing out two more sandwiches. ------- She was a wreck by the time their shift was over. He had been cool as a cucumber. As a performer, he had developed the skills needed to interact with customers, and he used them to his advantage with the clients at the shelter. They all loved him. Meanwhile, being so close to him and not being able to touch him ... or be touched by him ... drove her crazy. Five minutes before it was time to go she undid her apron and threw it in the pile to be washed. He knew by then that she'd been staying at the shelter ... that she was homeless, and that her beautiful car was gone. She knew that the club had been hopping, ever since women found out that the men who danced there had attended overnight orgies. The women's fantasies were supercharged after that, and the tables were all full every night. The guys loved it, other than the fact that there had been a drive by shooting. The gun involved had been a shotgun, though, with bird shot, at that, and it had caused only minor damage to one exterior wall. When he said "Coffee?" she hacked out a ragged laugh. She pulled him into the alley, where the employee entrance was, and pushed him up against the wall for a long, passionate kiss. When it was over she finally spoke. "I need a lot more than coffee tonight." She didn't get the smile she expected. He was quite serious as he said "Come home with me tonight." The fact that she was saying "Okay" before he was even finished made her feel like a slut. An hour later she was convinced she was one. She hadn't even stopped to look around his apartment. Once they got inside the door she was tearing at her clothes, asking where the bedroom was. Then, knowing she smelled like grease and food, she barked "Shower!" only to have him pick her up over his shoulder, growling "No way. I've had to wait way too long for this. I'm not waiting for you to take a shower. We'll both take one in a little bit." She had kicked and squealed, but with his shoulder in her diaphragm, it was hard to breathe. Then he threw her on the bed, and she bounced, feeling weightless, until suddenly he was on her like an animal, covering her, pressing her into the bed, his fingers feeling between her legs, where she knew she was soaked. She'd been soaked for over an hour, just being next to him. Then she felt pressure and she was suddenly filled, not ruthlessly, but quickly. Not having felt that for over a year, she wasn't ready for it and when his pubic bone hit hers, and crushed her clit, she grunted and then felt exhilarating fear as an orgasm stabbed into her groin. She hardly had time to gasp, and he was thrusting, slowly, but deeply, as that surprise orgasm tried to figure out if it could end, or needed to be extended. Each time he crushed her clit she thrust her hips upward, trying to extend the exquisite feelings she hadn't felt in so long. Then he pushed in and rotated his loins against her. "I love you, Jennifer Windham," he grunted. "I've loved you since the night I met you. You own my heart. I can't live without you, and trying to these past months has been torture. Don't ever leave me like that again. Got it?" All she could do, though was bite her lower lip and nod frantically, because his continued rubbing had opened up something in her she hadn't been aware was even there. It was a whole different kind of orgasm, one that was deeply rooted in her bones, almost, and which set fire to her whole body. That cleansing fire, though, only lifted her, like smoke, to a place where she felt like she could just stay forever. If life could feel like this, even only for a few days, then she'd never ask for anything again. He stroked her again, and she gurgled. "Stay with me, baby," he whispered into the hair covering her ear. "I have something for you." Within half a minute she knew what he had in mind. He was going to stay in her. She could feel it in her bones. He knew she was helpless ... available to be fertilized ... ripe. And as a male, he was about to claim her as his female. His gradual increase in speed, matched by the huffing and puffing of his breath on her shoulder, told her he was close. He was going to mate with her. Then his face was hovering over hers, his eyes wide, his face tight. "Let me?" he whimpered. "Pleeeease?" Her hands came to his face and pulled him down for a kiss. She'd never wanted a man's sperm like she wanted this man's sperm, right now, right here. He gasped into her kiss, and slammed hard, twisting his body, mushing his lips over hers, groaning and then, as his lips slid off hers, crying out into her neck. She felt the swelling jerks of his penis inside her, and the wet warmth of his offering. She wrapped her legs around him and strained upwards against him. welding their loins together as best she could. In that instant, not only did she not care if he impregnated her ... she hoped he did. Later, she would shake her head at her foolishness, at the idiocy passion and hormones demanded of her. She would think of Tiffany, and judge herself unfit to be a mother again. But in that instant, she wanted what he wanted ... a child ... Josh Hamilton's child. ------- Chapter 7 She nuzzled his shoulder, just outside his armpit. "Again!" she demanded. "I'm a dancer, woman, not a satyr!" he groaned. "Again!" She repeated her demand as if he hadn't spoken. "Third time is not a charm when it comes to making love," he said. "I haven't done this in a long time. I'm out of practice ... rusty." "You're not rusty. You drove me almost crazy," she said, licking his shoulder. "You're easy to drive almost crazy," he said. "You've been neglected for a long time. But like a man dying of thirst can kill himself when he finds water, you need to pace yourself." "I am such a slut," she moaned. "You're anything but a slut," he said, squeezing her. "I'm a slut for you," she moaned again. "That's just extremely good taste. That's all that is," he said. "Again!" The last time she'd started that up, after their first frantic coupling, he'd ordered her to suck him, thinking she'd object to her own fluids on him, and decide it was time for that shower. She hadn't. She'd eagerly sucked him hard and then flopped, eager to have him impale her again. Her mantra of "Hurry ... hurry ... hurry" had made him too excited, and he'd only lasted half an hour before he groaned and flushed her full again. The second time, she'd put her lips next to his ear and hissed "Yesssssss," as he ejaculated. It had almost driven him mad. In those seconds, he knew he had to have this woman forever. He was ready to quit dancing, if that's what she wanted. Anything short of murder or some equally egregious felonious behavior, he would do gladly, if she would only choose him over all other men. Now he was rethinking that. She might actually kill him with her demands. "Make you a deal," he said. "The only kind of deal I want is you in me," she pouted. "Let's take a shower ... get something to eat ... rest just a little while ... and I promise I can go for an hour after that." "In whose dream?" she scoffed. "Men don't go for an hour." "I can." He waited, and then thought to add something to that. "If I'm given time to prepare first." "You're going to put on a condom," she said. "Never in a million years would I put something between you and me," he said. "Unless you demand it be done some other way, I'll always love you bareback, and I'll always cum inside you." "What about after I have your sixth ... or seventh ... or eighth child?" she asked gleefully. "Then I'll get a second job," he said. ------- The shower didn't help. It only inflamed her more, because they took it together. His hands sliding over her body made her writhe, and his muscles under her soapy hands made her sob with need. He took pity on her by carrying her back to the bedroom still soaking wet, and sucking her clit through four orgasms in a row. Then he alternated kissing her lips, and sucking her nipples while he searched for her G-spot with his hooked finger, while she shuddered through three more. Finally she was too weak to actively seek more, and he left her to rest while he prepared something for them to eat. She stayed all night and, since he didn't have to go to work until seven the next evening, she stayed all day the next day too. She stayed naked and teased him so much that he finally began to ignore her. She pouted, but it didn't do any good. When he was capable of making love to her, he did. At other times he read a book, or played a computer game. Once, he spanked her, but found out to both his and her surprise, that she actually liked that. All day long she simply watched him, drinking him in, breathing deeply and imaging his essence flooding her lungs. She knew she was hopelessly in love with him, and that it could be a terrible mistake if he wasn't as sincere about his affections as he said he was. But she needed this almost more than life itself, and so she wallowed in it. As she watched him get dressed to go to work, she finally asked the question she had been dreading all day. "When will I see you again?" "Well, I have to go to work. And then tomorrow I have an appointment with my doctor, for him to evaluate whether I'm healthy enough to have this relationship with you, and then..." He stopped, as if he was trying to remember, but she knew he was waiting for her to react to the joke. "I love you," she whispered, scared out of her mind that he'd reject her. "That's good," he said. "It would be exceedingly awkward if I kept chasing you around town and you didn't." "So you're going to keep chasing me?" "Only until you catch me," he said. "People will think I'm a cougar," she sighed. "I'm thirty-one, Jen," he said. "We Orientals age well." "You are not!" she said, heat in her voice. He picked up his wallet from the dresser and tossed it to her. "I carded you. It's only fair that you card me too." She did dig through his wallet, looking for his driver's license, but only because her hands were shaking so hard she had to do something with them. He was only three years younger? Could it possibly be? She felt something leap in her chest as she saw the plastic card, with his image on it. He was telling the truth! "If anything, people will think I'm a gold digger," he said, buttoning his shirt. "That's ridiculous," she said. "I don't have any money." "You will if you want to," he said. "We have this high powered lawyer who is representing the club and all us guys against the suits. He has friends who are representing some of the women. The reason Brandi started having parties, and the reason most of those women started going in the first place, was because they found out about their husbands' affairs. Some of those women have been collecting data on their cheating spouses for years, and when those guys get into court, they're in for a very rude awakening." Jennifer nodded, her eyebrows rising. "I found out Roger had a whole other family on the side. He married this woman ... or at least he pretended to get married. He even got her pregnant twice! At least that's what she claims. He told her I was fighting the divorce, and she actually asked me to move on with my life so she can be with him!" "Paternity test and wham! Half of everything he has is yours." "I don't know if I want to go through that," she said. "I'd almost rather be poor." "That's fine with me," he said. "I'm not after you for your money." "Oh? And how do I know you're telling the truth?" "Because if you can't tell by now, that means I have to go two hours, and no woman has been able to stand it for two hours. You'd go stark raving mad, and have an unending, permanent orgasm." She remembered feeling like she wanted what was happening to her to last for days, and smiled. "So where do we go from here?" she asked. "I want to spend as much time with you as you'll let me spend with you," he said. "Are you asking me to live with you?" "If you want that, I'd be delighted," he said. "I still want to volunteer at the center. That was fun, and it made me feel better about myself." "Why did you feel bad about yourself?" she asked. "Because I went there to seduce you ... for selfish purposes." She went to him and brushed her lips across his, very briefly. "Again!" she whispered. She backed up. "Now do you feel selfish?" He grinned. "I do not," he said. "I feel lucky." ------- When Jennifer used her key to enter the employee entrance, one of the sometimes night volunteers, a college student named Roy, was washing pots and pans. "There's a girl who came here hours ago asking for you," he said. "She's been crying and screaming ever since. Nobody can console her. She keeps asking for you." "Who is she?" asked Jennifer. "She says she's your daughter." Tiffany was sitting in a corner, huddled and sniffling. Two homeless people were trying to talk to her, but she wouldn't answer them. When she saw Jennifer she burst into tears and crawled toward her mother. It took five minutes, but finally she calmed down enough to tell her mother she was pregnant. ------- Another half an hour established that Tiffany was two months pregnant, and that the only boy she'd had sex with, to her knowledge, was Todd, the college student her mother had refused to let take her to the mall that night. By circumventing her mother, she had put herself in a position where Todd got her drunk and fucked her. Not that she was a virgin at the time. She'd been having sex since she was thirteen. It had been her sexual adventures, in fact that started her fights with her mother. Once she was an "experienced woman" in her own mind, she felt like her mother treated her like a baby, and resented it. But she had always made the boys use a condom. Todd, once he'd had her, took her whenever he wanted, calling her his girlfriend, knowing that the impressionable fifteen-year-old would be too excited to think about anything. And Todd never used a condom. Condoms were for babies, he said. Of course, when she told him she was pregnant, he called her a slut and told her never to talk to him again, and that if she claimed it was his, he'd sue her. Had she talked to her father, things might have worked out differently. As a lawyer, he would have been able to inform her that she had all the aces in this game. But she knew he'd be furious with her. He'd been calling her "My pure, sweet baby girl" and "My sweet, innocent virgin" for two years. She didn't think that was odd. Had she talked to her mother, things might have worked out differently. As an adult woman, her mother would have been alert to the fact that Daddy was much too interested - in inappropriate ways - in the sexual status of his nubile daughter. But she only talked to her mother when it was absolutely required. So she had done what thousands of teenagers do. She waited, hoping that it would just all go away. But now, her body was changing in ways that made it clear there was a little human growing inside her, and it terrified her. So she had sought out her mother to get money for an abortion. It was at this point, the point where the word "abortion" came from her daughter's lips, that Jennifer sobered up. "I don't have any money," she said. "Your father has all the money. You're going to have to talk to him about that." "I can't!" wailed Tiffany. "He'll kill me! He keeps talking about how someday he's going to walk his virgin daughter down the aisle!" "Non the less, he's the one who gave you permission to let that boy take you places. He's the one with the money. There's nothing I can do for you." Tiffany's face turned ugly. "You won't help me!" she screamed. "All you can think about is that I went around you to Daddy when I wanted something. You never gave me anything! You always treated me like a baby! I hate you!" Jennifer stood up. "Then I guess we're finished here." She felt empty. It was clear that Tiffany was still consumed with her own wants and desires. In that moment Jennifer wished she did have the money for an abortion, because no child should be exposed to having a mother like Tiffany. And, as the girl stormed out of the shelter, still screaming and cursing, Jennifer knew she had one more unsavory thing to do. She'd have to call Roger and tell him about the baby. She was quite sure Tiffany wouldn't tell him until she couldn't keep it a secret any longer, and that might be for another two months. She knew Roger would never go for an abortion. And that meant that baby needed prenatal care, because it was going to be carried to term. ------- It went much worse than she imagined. First, Roger said he didn't believe her, and that she was trying to drive a wedge between him and his daughter. His daughter ... not their daughter. Then he asked her details of exactly when and where she talked to Tiffany, even asking if there were any witnesses. It was his use of the word "witness" that made her realize he intended to claim she had violated the no contact order, even though Tiffany had sought her out. Finally she said "Find someone to adopt the child, Roger, because I will have nothing to do with either you or her from this day forward." Then she hung up. Her refuge was Josh. There was a mixture of sadness and joy when she announced she was moving out of the shelter. She had overstayed her welcome, at least officially. Nobody was supposed to stay in the shelter for more than a week at a time. True, there were those who were in such dire straits that they stayed a week, spent one night on the street and then came back for another week. A blind eye was turned to that kind of thing, but only when it was clear that the need was both real and urgent. So now she worked half a day as a CPA, and then spent some hours working at the shelter, and then went home to wait for Josh, who was always worked up when he came home. They would make love, sleep late, make love again, and then start the pattern all over again. Both of them were content. Sometimes she went to the club to watch him dance and wait for him. She met Baldwin Guthrie, of Barnesworth, Guthrie and Middleton, the law firm that was handing the lion's share of the divorces for the women associated with the Silver Lake Scandal. When he found out the particulars of her situation, he begged her to let him represent her. She said she hadn't planned on contesting the divorce. "You don't have to ask for money," he said. "But certain things need to be established by the court for your protection in the future. Take, for example, the fact that you did violate the no contact order. We can argue that it wasn't your fault, and that you sent the girl away as soon as you could. But unless we get that on the record, he can claim ten years from now that she needs therapy because of your blatant disregard for the law, and attach your house, your savings, or your income. You need to settle things now. Let me do that for you." "I can't pay you," she argued. "Your husband will pay me," he said with a smile. "That will be part of the suit. You may not be interested in asking for money," he said, "but I don't mind doing that one bit. I know of your husband. I know his reputation. I've never gone up against him, but I know people who have. And knowing now what he's been doing on the side? Trust me. You need to get that on the record too, and make him pay. Otherwise he'll keep trying to make you pay as long as he lives." So she signed some documents, and gave him the leash to go where he wanted. ------- They say that when one wants to break a habit successfully, it calls for a change in lifestyle. Most people think "change in lifestyle" means small change. An example is a smoker, who loves to smoke after a meal, but wants to stop smoking. The lifestyle change most people would think of there is to do something else after the meal, like go for a walk, or bounce a basketball for five minutes ... anything that will "alter the lifestyle of the smoker." But as any smoker who has actually kicked the habit will tell you, it calls for a heck of a lot more than changing ten minutes of your day. You have to think about literally everything in a new way, a way that reminds you over and over again that you are no longer a smoker, until you just don't think about smoking any more. Habits remind you they need to be engaged in. And the only way to leave one behind, is to be able to no longer think about it unless you try to. It's very stressful, because everything has to change until there is no hint of smoking (the habit) left in your life. It's one reason why people who have successfully conquered the smoking habit are the most rabid anti-second-hand-smoke people in the world. They want nothing to do with smoke again. Nothing. In many ways, relationships are like habits. You expect to see and interact with the same people on a more or less routine basis. You expect to have to do certain things that the relationship calls for. Your day is structured around the needs and requirements of the other people in the relationship. Employment is an example. Your job structures most of five days a week for the average person. Marriage is another example. And breaking the marriage habit is just as stressful as stopping smoking. The comfortable, familiar routine of day by day interaction with a chosen mate is no longer there. You have to find other things to do, and other people to interact with. In essence, you have to create an entirely new life that doesn't have the old components of marriage in it. For Jennifer, breaking the marriage habit also involved breaking the parent habit, because it was clear that Tiffany was not in a place where she was willing to accept Jennifer as her mother. She might get there some day, but for the present, in losing her husband, Jennifer was also losing her daughter. Such a thing is often devastating, a thing that crushes the soul and renders one impotent in terms of merely going on with a life that has any meaning in it. Except that there was Josh. In her marriage, she felt ignored and neglected by her husband. Josh didn't ignore or neglect her. In her marriage she languished, without the physical comfort and stimulation a husband can give his wife. Josh literally couldn't keep his hands off her, making it virtually impossible for her to feel unattractive, or unappreciated. In her marriage, she was expected to perform certain tasks. Josh asked her to do things. In marriage, Roger had introduced her as "my wife." When she met Josh's friends, he characterized her as "the woman who makes my life worth living." And in her marriage, there had been an atmosphere in which creating new life was not anticipated, planned for, or welcome. When she and Josh made love, it was always done in the same natural way that millions of men and women had made love before birth control was even a concept. It wasn't that they were intentionally trying to get her pregnant. But the thought didn't bother, or worry either of them. In many ways, they didn't even think about pregnancy. All they thought about was watching for another orgasm in the other partner ... and exulting in knowing they had created that orgasm. To be sure, in many ways, her relationship with Josh was stressful too. There was no contract for either longevity or fidelity in the relationship. She still felt like she was a decade older than him, even though she knew otherwise. When she looked at him she saw youthful, smooth skin, an athletic body, and the carefree, hopeful demeanor of the young. When she looked in a mirror she saw a wrinkle here and there, tired eyes, and a woman with a slightly desperate look about her, who had failed at keeping a man's love. Only in terms of the sex did she feel fully capable. She knew she could wear him out, and still be ready for more. But slowly, his actions spoke volumes to her. Over the next few months, she learned that what Roger had offered her had never really amounted to love at all, but she had been too young to realize it. What Josh bathed her in daily was the knowledge that she mattered to him, that he needed her, to be happy and satisfied. He knew her loss was great, and he let her grieve. He gave her time to be alone, to think, but was always ready to sweep in and occupy her thoughts with other things. He still danced, but somehow she knew with rock solid certainty that the flirting he did with the patrons at the club was just an act, a performance intended to generate tips, and that what he was really thinking about up there on that stage was getting home to her naked body. And then there was the sex. The barren desert that had been her sex life vanished like smoke in a hurricane. It wasn't that the only thing they did was have sex. But if they went on a bike ride, she wasn't surprised if the route he chose included a private, remote little spot where a blanket could be spread, and where the two of them could lie, naked, watching the clouds drifting in the sky, until he drove her crazy with his hands, lips, and finally his stiff prick. He knew places where a couple could use the same sauna. Sometimes there were other couples there, also naked. She learned that nudity didn't always mean sex, though those situations always inflamed him, and made his efforts in bed, later, even more urgent than usual. They went lots of places to see things. Museums, scenery, musicals, whatever seemed interesting, and he always had a hand on her, not possessively, but stroking her, touching her, letting her know that he couldn't wait to touch her in other ways. Many was the time he stood behind her and cupped her breasts, not doing anything more, just holding her intimately until she turned to kiss him and rub her loins against his. More than once he came home from the club and, without saying a word, kissed her, unbuttoned a button, kissed her again, unzipped something, and continued to kiss and slowly remove her clothing, never in a hurry, and yet communicating that he just couldn't wait to see her ready for him. And she always was. There was nothing she loved more than his arms around her, his naked body pressed to hers, as he probed, lunged and rubbed until she sobbed with relief. And then flooded her with his love. Three months of that led her slowly to a place where stress was only a temporary bump in an otherwise smooth road, a road that looked like it might lead to a beautiful place that, once she got there, she'd never want to leave. He taught her what love felt like in his arms, and looked like in his eyes. And he taught her that she had never really been loved before Brandi Templeton got him for her as a party favor. ------- Epilogue Jennifer leaned back, relaxing, and ran her hands over her swollen belly. She did this as often as possible, both because she was sure the baby could feel it, and perceive it as love, and because they had decided this one should probably be their last. She would be forty in two weeks, which was one week, to the day, after her due date. Josh had, as he loved to tell people, "knocked the old broad up" two times previously, and, if they stopped with three, then they wouldn't have to move into a bigger house. True, it would be "cozy" for them, in the three bedroom ranch they'd moved into after the divorce was final. But the boys already lived together, and that left one bedroom for the daughter who caused the bulge she was currently running her hands over. She was sure, in her own mind, that one reason Tiffany had gone so wrong was because she was an only child, and that if she'd have had to muscle past a sibling or two to get possession of the bathroom once in a while, her social skills might have been better developed. Not to mention actually having two, caring, present parents. She realized she was tense. She got that way every time she thought of Tiffany. Tiffany, who had believed that, if you got drunk enough, it would abort a pregnancy. She'd been right, in one sense. While Tiffany had survived the alcohol poisoning, the baby had not. The only bright spot in that whole episode was that Todd, who told her about the sure-fire-get-rid-of-the-baby plan, had also supplied the alcohol, and got prison time for doing so. During the divorce, Tiffany had claimed her mother tried to pimp her out to "her dancer friends." When investigators could find no shred of evidence to support her claim, she had simply said "She ruined my life. I wouldn't live with that bitch if she was the last woman on earth." She'd ended up in foster care because of it. She had run away three times. The last time she'd been found with heroin tracks on her arms, and wasn't even aware she had been pimped out for real. She had turned eighteen in the middle of rehab and when the state kicked her to the curb and stopped paying, the rehab center kicked her to the curb too. Jennifer had no idea where her daughter was now. There had been no word for more than two years. Visualizing an imaginary finger, she located each tight muscle with her mind and intentionally relaxed it. It was something Josh had taught her how to do. She hadn't had to take an aspirin in years. It took five minutes, but finally she was relaxed again. Bradley, her five year old, came into the room. He saw his mother rubbing her belly. "Can I read her a story?" he piped. "Of course. You know she loves it when you read to her." "How do you know?" "She moves around. I think she's trying to clap her hands," said Jennifer. He got a book from the coffee table. There were books strewn everywhere. She and Josh picked them up and put them away two or three times a day, but Brad and his little brother, David pulled them all out again. The boys loved books. He brought the book to the couch, where Jennifer was leaning back. As if he had every right to do so, the little boy pulled his mother's T shirt up, bunching it just below her breasts, and baring the tightly stretched skin of her belly. An elbow, or maybe a heel, made a protruding bump that slid from her side to the middle of her stomach, right where her navel was. "See there?" she said. "She knows you're about to read, and she's all excited." "Goody!" he said. "Hi, Jasmine," he said, reaching out to touch the bump, which promptly disappeared from under his hand. He was just finishing the book when Josh came in. David was in his arms, having been removed from the BOB jogging stroller he loved to ride in as his daddy pushed him along at breakneck speeds. When Josh bent down and the boy's feet hit the floor, he immediately ran to rub his mother's belly while his brother finished the book. "Ja'min," he cooed. "How is jammin Jasmine?" asked Josh, leaning down to give Jennifer a kiss. "Impatient," said Jennifer. "Like her mother." Josh smacked his lips. "I'm impatient too. Yummmmmm." Jennifer smiled. He was referring to the fact that, with Brad, she'd gotten to fulfill one of her dreams, to nurse her baby. When Josh saw how eager his son was to latch onto a fat nipple, and wanted to know what the big fuss was about, she said he was insane, but let him sample her milk. They were astonished at the pleasure involved ... for both of them. The months long delight had been repeated with David, and Josh was obviously looking forward to having a lactating wife again. "When we put the boys to bed, perhaps you can toughen up my nipples," she said, her voice coy. She was alluding to their first Lamaze classes, when one of the nurses who was teaching the class said, with a completely straight face : "It might be necessary for you fathers to bite the bullet and toughen up mom's nipples by sucking on them gently for ten or fifteen minutes, four or five times a day." After the laughter had died down, she said "And I know it's a lot to ask, but please remember... both nipples need to be toughened up." Jennifer smiled as she remembered that session. There had been a disturbance at that point. A woman had yelled "Stop that!" The members of the class had looked to see one young woman's face bright red, her hand slapping at the man with her. It turned out her coach was her brother, rather than the actual father of the child. He, of course, was grinning from ear to ear. Jennifer remembered thinking of the line in Hamlet: "The lady doth protest too much, methinks," at the way the girl was reacting. Josh sighed. "A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do, I guess." He struck a pose. "I will be brave! I will sacrifice for the sake of my unborn daughter! Perhaps I should see the targets even now, so I will know what to look for when the time comes." "Not in front of your sons," said Jennifer, who scooped David up onto the couch so she could give him a kiss. "They have their father's genes, which means in ten or fifteen years virgins will have to be locked up all over the country, for their own protection." "Ahhhh, but you weren't a virgin," he said, beaming. "What's a virgin?" asked Bradley. "Never mind," said Jennifer. "You were a MILF," said Josh, beaming. "What's a MILF?" asked Bradley. "Would you stop that?" said Jennifer, frowning at Josh. "What? And stop being the man who got you to walk down the aisle after you left the courtroom and yelled, "Hear me, world. I will never get married again!" "I walked down the aisle because I didn't want the baby you knocked up the old broad with to have a last name I couldn't be proud of." "So you're proud of me!" He beamed. "I was proud of you ... back then... years ago ... when you were a buff, hot dancer, who swept a poor lonely woman off her feet in one of her weak moments." "Hey! I'm still buff," he said, striking another pose and flexing his muscles. "I can't tell," she said, tickling David until he squirmed. "Hey, me too!" objected Brad at being left out. "You'll have to take off all those clothes before I can see if you're the saggy, baggy old man I suspect you to be," she said. He grinned, said, "Gladly!" and began to strip. "Not in front of the boys, you boob!" she laughed. "The boys have the same equipment I have," he said. "Which reminds me!" she said. "David, do you need to go potty?" "No," said the little boy, and then promptly grabbed his penis through his pants and squeezed. "I thought so," said Jennifer. "Tell daddy to take you potty." The little boy bounced off the couch and held his hand up toward his father. "Mommy says you have to take me potty." "Wait!" said Jennifer. "Daddy needs to help Mommy get off the couch first." She held her hands up and Josh pulled her to a standing position, giving her a quick kiss before taking David toward the bathroom. Jennifer pulled her shirt back down and waddled toward the kitchen to start supper. She glanced at her desk, which was festooned with papers she needed to organize. Her CPA business had grown. It would actually support them if Josh wasn't going to college. When he graduated, with a Masters in petroleum engineering, they wouldn't need to take money from their savings, and it could be left alone for the children to go to college on themselves some day. Until then, though, the money awarded to her by the court had to supplement her income. As she entered her well equipped kitchen, she thought about that money. She had been wise, as it turned out, to let Baldwin represent her in the divorce proceedings. He was the one who had found the documents that proved Roger was a full fledged bigamist. His marriage to Susan would have been completely legitimate, never mind what he told her, if he hadn't already been married. Baldwin's private investigators had also found the receipt for the ten thousand dollar engagement ring Roger had given to Lucinda, after he filed for divorce. She ended up testifying against him, saying the only reason she had let him impregnate her was because they were engaged to be married as soon as the divorce was final. So, in the end, Roger was shown to be a bigamist who had four children to support, and a wife who could legally and legitimately claim half of the community property. By the time sufficient assets were placed in trust for child support, and the claims for damages made by Susan and Lucinda were paid, he had nothing left. But then he didn't need anything, really, since the bigamy conviction got him two years in jail. She had no idea what he was doing now. He'd been disbarred while he was in jail. Jennifer banked her half of the assets, except for Roger's Jaguar. She was thinking about selling it now. It was just too small. Josh drove it to classes, but it was of no use as a family vehicle. The baby moved again, rolling in her womb as she entered the kitchen. The delicious scent of the Jasmine flowers in the window-box green house they'd installed filled her lungs as she thought about what to prepare for their meal. As if the odor of the flowers penetrated inside to their namesake, the child rolled again. There was a flood of wet, and Jennifer looked down to see fluid dripping down her legs. She squatted as the first contraction rolled across her belly. "Honey?" she called out. "I need you." "He's not finished yet," Josh called back. "Yeah, well I am," she yelled. "You need to call Mrs. Abernathy and tell her to come watch the boys." "Shit! Really?" "Really!" ------- Doctor Robert Vanderburg swept into the labor room as if he were making a grand entrance. His eyes flicked to various screens before they ended up on the woman in the bed. He had delivered her other two children, and knew her well. "How are my girls?" he asked. Jennifer hee hee'd her way through a contraction and pushed sweaty hair off her face. "I want this baby out of me," she groaned. Doctor Bob, as his patients were known to call him, approached the bed and slid his gloved hand under the sheet. He let his fingers slide up her inner leg and she pulled her knees up, opening for him. He lifted the sheet to see what the vulva looked like, and prodded them with his fingers, before sliding his middle finger in to feel the cervix. "Don't tease me, Doctor," panted Jennifer. She said that every time he checked her effacement. He smiled. "I think it's time to move to the delivery room. Let's get this party started, what do you say?" "I'm all for it," she groaned. "But Josh went to get something to drink." "I'll send somebody to find him. We need to get you to where you can push with those lovely abdominal muscles of yours." "You're such a flirt," she said, and then concentrated on breathing as another contraction wrenched at her. They had just gotten her on the table, with her feet up, when Josh hurried into the room. He had the camera ready. "Okay," said the doctor, settling on a stool between his patient's wide-spread thighs. "Now can we get this party started?" Jennifer held out her hand to Josh. "I can, now that I have my party favor." ------- The End ------- Posted: 2012-04-09 Last Modified: 2013-02-26 / 09:26:49 am ------- http://storiesonline.net/ -------