“My pie is delicious, but does it have to come out of my oven?”

“I don't get it.”

I stopped myself from rolling my eyes and explained my proposition for the third time. “We don't have to bake the pies ourselves. We could buy them at a store and resell them at the fundraiser for more than they cost.”

“But it's a Bake Sale,” Harper's mom replied from the stage in the school’s auditorium during the last minutes of the endless PTA meeting. “We’re selling brownies and cakes and cookies and pies.” She nodded at Liam’s dad, one of the few men in the room, who was standing next to her. 

“Our customers are buying them because they are homemade,” he said, looking down at me from his elevated position.

“What if I order a bunch of petit fours from the patisserie next door, have them sent to my house, toss some rainbow sprinkles on top, and bring them here?” I crossed my arms in the plastic theater seat. “Would that count?”

As Liam's dad exchanged confused whispers and frantic gestures with Harper's mom, I heard a snicker from the back of the room, followed by a, “Jeez Louise.”

Thankfully, Chasen's mom, the head of the PTA, adjourned the meeting, and the rest of us parents swiftly dispersed.

“If we ordered a baker’s dozen of them, wouldn’t the patisserie's petit fours cost a dollar each?”

My work bag in hand, I turned around to see who was talking to me. 

“We could list them at two for five dollars,” the tall woman continued, “and the kids would eat them up. Aren't you Riley's mom?”

“Outside of this educational institution, I go by Jax.” I shook her hand.

“Good reminder.” She shook back. “I'm Amber.”

“Cory's mom?” I teased.

“See, it's not so easy to maintain an independent identity.”

*I suggested name tags at first meeting of the semester, but Harper's mom insisted that 'we're like family here, and you don't give your family tags.’ First of all, I would love to label my family, so I stop calling my daughter by my son's name. Second, it's been two months, and I still call her Harper's mom to her face.”

Amber pushed back her wavy brown hair and scanned the room. “Which one's Harper's mom? Is it that guy?”

“That's Zoey’s dad,” I laughed. “He is a man.”

“All these parents look alike to me. It's my first year at this school,” Amber said, “and everyone has been pleasant but not super welcoming.”

“Same here. I've heard it gets better. Once you have been here for a while, they can trust you.”

“Sounds like prison.”

“Public school, Attica, potato, potato.” I started walking toward the exit, hoping Amber would follow.

She did. “You think that patisserie is still open?”

“Are you craving portable French desserts?”

“Considering it's dinner time, and they don't serve ample refreshments at these meetings--”

“Another item I brought up,” I held the auditorium door open, “promptly dismissed by Liam's dad.”

“I'm in the mood for something savory and something sweet.”

“Like a slice of apple pie topped with cheddar cheese?”

Amber looked disgusted. “Who would eat that?”

“Other Americans who are not me.” I checked my phone. “The restaurant closes in two hours.”

“Want to tag along? The first petit four is on me.”

…

“I dreamed of working as a backup dancer for a girl band or a boy band, but you actually did both.” I swallowed my cake, basking in Amber’s accomplishments.

“What was stopping you?” Amber sat across from me in the Parisian themed café, alternating between bites of cheesy gougères and fruit tart. 

“Talent. I was good, but I didn’t have enough passion to take me to the next level. I figured I could find another way to travel the world.”

“Going on international tours with platinum-selling musicians was fun while it lasted. Now I’m a Mom with a capital M,” she sighed.

“You’re a successful businesswoman,” I corrected, stuffing my face with more frosting. “And I’m right here with you, except my life doesn’t revolve around working out every day, like yours does.”

“I’m a personal trainer, it’s my job.”

“It’s a cool job.”

“Less glamorous than you’d think.” Amber stirred her tea. “This is nice.”

“I agree,” I replied, sipping my water. “I might have to purchase my own box of petit fours for personal use.”

“Yes, and,” she pointed to each of us, “having a conversation with another adult. One I like.”

“I like you, too!” I held up my hand for a high-five.

She slapped my palm. “Sweet.”

“I would think a nifty lady like you has tons of friends.”

“Nope, I’m a terrible person,” she said with a straight face. “Honestly, I am really nice, but I’ve found that doesn’t always translate into other women wanting to hang out with me. Sometimes men, though.”

“I could see that,” I said, regarding her cover girl face and action heroine physique. “Male admirers throwing themselves at you.”

She chuckled. “Throwing is a bit far, but luckily, the occasional fellow checking me out amuses my husband, instead of making him jealous.”

“Ditto for me, but vice versa.”

“Your spouse attracts a lot of male attention?” Amber asked.

“Not a lot. Sporadically. Though, the women are bolder with their examination, poking his muscles.”

“Gross. Now I’m hesitant to ask if you wanted the four of us to meet up for dinner. I wouldn't want you think... I’m not planning to seduce your husband.”

My eyebrows raised involuntarily. “Dinner without our kids?”

“We could bring them if you--”

“No!” I exclaimed. “Children at home. Yes to a meal for adults only.” 

“How about next Wednesday?”

…

“And then I ate more cake, and then we hugged, and now I’m here. You’re free next Wednesday, right?” I shook my husband’s bare shoulders.

Leaning into me from his side of the bed, Kevin gave my nose a kiss. “I am, but if I wasn’t, I would make it so. I haven’t seen you this elated in months.”

“I’m not great at making friends.”

“Yes, you are.”

I pouted. “I’m not.”

“We’re friends.”

“We’re married.”

“Not synonymous.”

Wearing my cotton pajama shirt and panties, I burrowed under the covers and lay my head on his sturdy brown chest. “I’ve made acquaintances with some of the other parents at school, but talking with Amber helped me feel more connected. Like I have power.”

Kevin slipped his arms underneath my shirt. “You are powerful.”

“Yeah, I know, but--”

“No buts.” His hand found its way beneath my underwear. “Except for this one.” He gave my cheek a pinch.

“I have a lobster in my pants!” I wriggled away from his pincers and climbed on top of his stomach. 

He looked up at me. “I am glad you are filled with glee.”

Straddling his torso, I positioned my crotch at the waistband of his boxers. “I’m also kinda horny.”

His thumbs slinked towards my camel toe, which was squished against the soft happy trail below his navel. “Absolute power corrupts absolutely.” He rubbed my clit through my damp panties.

“I’m a terrible influence.”

Kevin tore his underwear down his legs. “My cock agrees.” It sprung up and practically slapped my pussy.

I stripped off my shirt and flung it to the floor, exposing my heavy breasts, my dark nippIes growing stiff in the cool air. I attempted to remove my panties, but my husband stopped me. “Pull them to the side,” he growled.

I complied, dragging the fabric across my moist lips.

He slid his finger back and forth between my folds, my cream coating his knuckles. Then he aimed his bulbous head at my opening and eased inside, exploring my familiar cavern, filling me up as I lowered on his rod.

From this angle, his dick was rubbing me the right way, hitting my spot while he kept his thumb on my throbbing clit. Kevin licked his lips with pride, observing how his motions affected me, his combination of friction between my drenched thighs stoking my fire.

I rocked back and forth, both of us groaning, both of us with a hand on my tits, my fingers rolling my right nipple while his fingers tantalized my left one.

As Kevin bucked his hips upward, making my curvy body bounce, his bottom lip quivered. I could tell he was getting close.

I took my hand off my nipple and placed it on my husband’s ball sack, caressing the warm skin.

He closed his eyes, grunts emanating from his mouth. “I’m gonna--”

I ceased my movements. I sat still. Then I clenched my walls around his shaft.

Kevin couldn’t hold back. His cum erupted inside me. He grabbed my hips, grinding his cock deeper into my pussy, urging me to climax along with him.

His orgasm shuddered throughout his body, but he didn't stop thrusting his pelvis, drilling my honeypot, moving his thumbs to manipulate my aching clit. “With great power,” he panted, sweat pouring from his forehead, “comes great responsibility.”

I gyrated on top of him, my breasts bobbling. “Yes, Peter Parker.”

“And it's my responsibility,” he heaved, “to make you--”

“I'm cumming!” I shouted. My pussy squeezed the remaining ounces of seed from his balls up through his staff and into my sopping slit.

Tremors traveled through his legs as the waves of pleasure overtook us. 

Once our quaking ended, I drooped onto my husband, my chest flattened onto his. Our breathing settled into a comfortable rhythm, our heartbeats communicating with each other in our sticky afterglow.

We shared a searching kiss, grinning as our tongues danced, his cock remaining at half mast clamped inside my folds.

“You’re such a dork,” I said between soft pecks. “Who quotes a blockbuster movie during marital relations?”

He nibbled my bottom lip. “It made you cum, didn't it?”

I beamed. “You know me well.”

Kevin pressed his fingertips against his temples. “I am receiving another psychic vision, directly from your love canal. My wife is ready for Round Two.”

I spun us over so that I was on the bottom. “This time, you can be the King of the World.” 

He hovered his slick body over mine, balancing on his hands. “And you shall be Queen.”

“Oh, love of my life.” I lifted my legs in the air and spread my thighs, our blended liquids leaking down my crack onto our messy sheets. “Let’s rock.”