Frankly the noise was a little too much for me. I'd only agreed to attend because it was Michael's son getting married and he'd asked me to be there. At my age, I'd long outgrown the naughty, rule-breaking fascination of bachelor parties. It was easy to look at the young men there, friends of the groom, see their unabashed antics and foolhardiness, and recall a younger version of myself acting as they were now. Drinking too much, shouting too much, music too loud, room too dark and bartender too slow. Odd that it hadn’t occurred to me at their age.

True, I was grumpy. I'd had a rough week at the firm. Several cases were coming due and one disgruntled client was insisting he'd been cheated. I was not in a party mood, by any means. Particularly not this party, where the only person my age was the father of the groom, and he was busy with guests and the caterer. We'd spoken earlier, and he'd been genuinely grateful that I'd come, but I hadn't seen him for over an hour. I was bored and irritable and wanted to be someplace else. My house, alone, decompressing before looking at the case work I'd brought home for the weekend. And with a decent scotch, not the swill they were serving here.

I'd made up my mind to finish my drink and sneak out when the best man turned the music down and announced that the entertainment was here. I allowed myself to be drawn to one end of the room with the rest of the cattle. Honestly, I’ve seen enough strippers pretending to be interested for money to last a lifetime. Still, I went, hoping against hope that the woman might be sexy enough to inspire me. Maybe I'd rub one out when I got home.

I was wrong. One was pretty, and the other two were smoking hot. Okay , I congratulated myself, good instincts on deciding to stay! I assumed the best man must have arranged the entertainment since I was pretty sure my friend Michael wouldn't know where to start to line up something like this. We had grown older differently, he and I, while remaining close. He was happily married, whereas I'd been divorced for over a decade. He'd become stuffy and proper, while I'd become jaded and angry and overworked. He remained close with his family while I was estranged from my son. There was no way he'd have hired three strippers for his own son's bachelor party. His wife would kill him. I wondered what he thought of this turn of events.

I angled for a better view over the heads of the howling, hooting drunks. The brunette, the simply pretty one, was already half naked, dancing with the super-hot blonde who was disrobing her partner as they danced. Off to the side was the dark-haired beauty, talking to the best man. There was a familiarity about her, like she reminded me of some actress or someone I couldn't name. My eyes flicked back and forth between the dancers and the third girl, catching peeks of both between heads of uncombed and unruly hair, fighting the headache that the blaring thumping stripper music was certain to give me.

I managed to wheedle my way into the crowd a little further, feigning distaste and disinterest yet unable to tear my eyes away, every so often shooting a glance at the third girl, off in the corner. I was bumped and crowded, and one drunken asshole made a comment about the old guy wanting a better look. I scowled at him and he didn't care. Fucking insolent shit. At work, the look I’d shot him would have frozen any one of my subordinates. I'd eat him for breakfast, that disrespectful fuck-all. But then bodies in front of me moved and my view was clear and I forgot about the imagined slight.

The brunette was naked but for her shoes, and while her face was merely pretty her body was incredible! The blonde was topless and standing behind her, her hands caressing and presenting the naked girl to the audience. They moved sensuously together in practiced rhythm, bodies shifting back and forth. The blonde’s hands cupped and lifted the brunette’s tits, to the delight of the crowd. Then the brunette twisted back and they began to kiss each other.

Okay, so I definitely would be rubbing one out later. Part of me, the grumpy practical part, knew that they were only performers playing a role for tips. But the shallow, needy, lonely man inside me stared at them, fascinated by the erotic display of what they projected as sincere girl-on-girl action. The shouts from the crowd intensified as the girls kissed and fondled each other. When the brunette broke the kiss to lean down and seductively made a show of sucking the blonde’s nipple, the cheers increased.

But when she dropped to her knees, lifted the blonde’s skirt and kissed her shaved cunt, the crowd hushed and paid close attention. The roar dropped to murmurs, except for the brash, too-drunk few who wanted others to believe things like this happened all the time for them. The blonde grabbed the brunette’s head and pulled her face hard into her crotch, making sounds to show she was enjoying it and convincing the crowd. The brunette kissed up her body slowly, more for show than pleasure, and they kissed again. Then it was the blonde’s turn to drop to her knees.

Dopey me, all I could think about was the dark-haired girl and wonder when she was going to join the action. I risked a glance to the corner, then turned my head to watch as she took the best man’s hand, motioned to the door behind them and led him out of the room. As they disappeared in the shadows, a muffled cheer brought my attention back to the center of the room. The two girls were on the floor in a sixty-nine, licking each other with legs spread much wider than they'd have been if they were alone and not performing. I could see the brunette’s tongue parting the blonde’s shaved lips, her hands on her ass, spreading her cheeks and showing her crinkled knot.

For show or not, it was pretty hot and I felt wood growing and shuffled my feet and stance to hide my arousal. And still, as much as this was something I had never before seen live and as much as I wanted to stare and not miss a single moment, I couldn't get my mind off that dark-haired girl. I attributed my fascination to her resemblance of someone, and a corner of my brain rifled the pop-culture Rolodex for a touchpoint of correlation as I watched the sweet young honeys on the floor, faking lesbian orgasms.

Their floor show ended and they rose and parted to applause, my own included. They circled the room, drawing guys from the crowd to give them lap dances on back to back chairs that had been drawn up, both of them naked but for shoes, and the blonde wore thigh-high stockings. As they pulled the first pair to the chairs and began rubbing their parts against the clothed men, I caught movement from the corner of my eye. It was the dark-haired girl and best man returning from the darkened hallway, her still sultry and beautiful, and him grinning. As I watched, she rose up on her toes, kissed him on the cheek and then released his hand with a coy smile before turning away, taking his friend by the hand and leading him away.

I lost all interest in the floor show. Without thinking, I drifted towards the corner of the room, guessing that while the other girls were tantalizing the men, this third girl was the one who took care of business. No lie, I could use a good blow job, and I had no qualms about paying a talented young lady to suck me off. The lawyer in me wondered what the repercussions would be if we were busted, while the businessman in me wondered what the rates were, and calculated a night’s take for the girls. And the man in me felt my chubbie begin to form at the idea of her full red lips wrapped around my cock.

I drifted closer, not wanting to appear obvious. A small, quiet crowd had separated from the larger group, huddled in the corner as they whispered to each other. I avoided their eyes. The best man remained there, talking with a rather large fellow who I assumed was the girl’s protection. The best man was introducing another of the party boys to the giant, who sized up the guy while still keeping one eye on the lap dances. I drifted closer, feeling a bit self-conscious about wanting my turn at the whore, but unable to deny my attraction. As I trolled closer, pretending to be trying to get a better look at the lap dance girls, the dark haired beauty emerged from the hallway with her last guest and repeated the same kiss and smile.

Closer now, I could see her dark eyes flame with portrayed attraction, see the false smile radiate with practiced heat. I didn't care. I wanted her to look at me that way. There was something about her. Her nose, straight and thin, her chin pointy and prominent. Her cheekbones high, her lips, red and glossy and wet as she kissed the young man and took the next one by the hand. I watched her ass as the turned and slipped into the shadow with her next customer.

"She's hot, right?" a voice said close to me. I turned to find the best man there, grinning with amusement. "Trust me, she's as hot as she looks." He flicked his head to both sides. "You interested, pops?" he asked quietly. "I can get you in next."

My brain said no . "Yeah, I think..." my libido said. "What does she..."

"Take it up with him," he motioned to the big guy in his too-tight tee shirt. "And her." I felt his hand on my arm, felt myself pulled, felt myself moving. Then I was face to face, or rather face to collar, with the big guy.

"You looking for a date with Lacey?" His voice was surprisingly higher and more polite than I had expected. I angled my head up to look at him.

"Uh, yeah? Is that the dark-haired girl?"

He scowled at me and rolled his eyes. "You a cop?" I shook my head. "Hundred for the date, up front."

"What do I get for that?" I asked, more bravely than I felt.

He leaned into me. "A date," he clarified, biting the words sharply. "A short date." My confusion must have been evident. "Talk to Lacey about everything else."

I reached for my wallet and pulled out the cash, handing it to him, my hands trembling worse than they ever did in court. He directed me to the door where I waited impatiently, torn between wanting to see her and running away in shame.

The dark door opened and she came out with the last guy, kissed him on the cheek and glanced at the big fellow. He indicated me and she stepped up, taking my hand, her face still in shadow. She stopped for a second and I felt her hand falter in mine. Then she hurriedly pulled me inside, without ceremony or the attentive display she'd shown the others. I was dismayed, thinking she was likely disappointed to have someone so much older than her, and then found myself wondering how old she was as I followed her down a short hall to another door.

It was just an empty storage room with a closet and a couple of chairs. As soon as we were inside she dropped my hand and whirled on me, stepping back. In the dim light she still had that hauntingly familiar appearance, only this time clouded with anger. There was something in her stance that tweaked my memory. She stood with one leg cocked to the side and a hand on her hip, defiant and proud. Was it a movie? It was so familiar... I wondered for a second if maybe I was supposed to know her from somewhere.

"Well, this is awkward," she spat. "What do you think you're doing? Is this some kind of joke?" I felt my attraction for her evaporating under her accusation.

"I don't know what you-"

"Don't even..." she began angrily, then her head cocked and her face softened, becoming quizzical. "You don't know, do you?" She snorted a derisive laugh. "Has it been so long that you don't recognize me?"

Recognize her? Sure. There was something familiar, but... I felt the sudden rush of embarrassment and indecision that you get, thinking She knows me and I can’t remember her! Who is she? But the niggling thought hung at the edge of my memory, like a word I couldn't recall. Did I date her once? Meet in a bar? Had I dumped her and that’s why she's angry? The questions ran through my brain in a blur. The familiarity was so striking, and I thought of just apologizing, confessing that I couldn't recall her name or where we'd met.

The thought was lost as she burrowed her fingers in her hair and worked it off. The dark-haired wig pulled away to reveal short-cropped blond hair.

"Karen! I..." Immobility strangled my words as I recognized my son’s wife. "I didn't..." I held my hands out, palms up, helpless for an explanation. "What are... I didn't mean to... " I stammered. "I had no idea!"

"Of course you didn't, Mr. Lassiter ," she snarled, "or can I call you Russ, since you want me to suck your cock?"

"Karen, no, I didn't mean..." I began, taking a step towards her, thinking only of my own discomfort and embarrassment and never considering her own.

She stepped back as though afraid. "Stay away from me," she spat. "That’s what you do best, isn't it?" Her hostility was plain and open. "Is this what you've been up to since the divorce, Russ? Blowjobs from hookers?" Her face twisted in disgust. "Jeff will be so proud..." She turned her face away and worked her wig back on. When it was back in place she faced me again. "Seventy five," she said disgustedly, "in the chair or standing, I don't care. Your choice." Her eyes narrowed with anger. "Extra twenty five for my face or mouth."

"Karen, please..."

"What's the matter, Russ ?" she barked angrily. "You don't want the sleazy hooker to suck your lonely old cock now?" She put her hands on her hips, challenging me to answer. As if there was something I could say to that question from my daughter-in-law.

True, I hadn't recognized her in her heavy makeup and wig, and my conscience goaded me for my misstep and poor judgment. My son Jeff and I hadn't spoken, hadn't seen each other since he dropped out of law school and told me he didn't want to follow in my footsteps, wanted nothing to do with the firm or with Law. I'd blamed Karen for turning his head. Harsh words had been exchanged. It had been years since I’d seen her. How was I to have recognized her tonight?

"No," I said plainly, defeated and conciliatory. "No, I don't want you to." I left out the invective she'd hurled.

"Aww, what's the matter, did I hurt your feelings?" she asked accusingly. "Is proud Mr. Lassiter embarrassed that his son’s wife sucks cock for money?" Her words cut me deeply and I recoiled, unsure sure how to answer.

"A little," I admitted, raising indignation to cover my discomfort. "No, a lot. Frankly, I'm shocked that-"

"Oh, but its okay for you to pay a whore to suck your stuffy old righteous cock, isn't it?" she threw back at me. I was abashed and unable to respond, and she didn't wait. "Well fuck you, Mister Lassiter. I'm good at it, and I enjoy my work, and if you don't want your dick sucked, then get the fuck out! I'm working here."

I stood, hesitating, embarrassed to walk back out alone, and afraid to have her escort me out, shouting at me. "Well, I, uhm..." I managed to mutter.

"Whatsamatter? Don't wanna walk out and risk being laughed at, Mr. Big Shot Lawyer?" She shook her head and coughed out a laugh. "You're something, you know that? Big shot uppity lawyer with no balls." She looked at me and her face seemed to soften a little as she considered the situation. "Well, never let it be said that I didn't do my part for family relations." She approached me and I was stricken with terror that she might try to, you know, do something, but she took my arm and led me to the closet. "I'd walk you out, but it would disrupt things, and I’ve got to work,” she directed in a rapid-fire staccato, “so stay here, and I'll sneak you out later, and you can buy me dinner," she added as she opened the door. I tried to protest. "Don't worry, I'll tell 'em you were too big and left out the back in a huff. Just stay there and be quiet."

There was a folding chair inside and I moved towards it as she let the door swing closed. I sat and dropped my face into my hands and, thinking only of myself still, wondered how the hell I'd allowed myself to get into this situation.

As I heard her exit, my mind flashed back to the last time I'd seen Karen, that day Jeff had deserted me and betrayed my plans for him, for the firm. I was muttering into my sweaty palms as I heard the outer door open, and voices. I quickly silenced myself and looked up, when I realized the closet door hadn't completely closed.

"Mmm, you look nice," I heard Karen say sweetly. "Usually I charge a hundred, but for you, sweetie, I'll make it seventy five," she lied coyly. I heard shuffling bills, and she added seductively, "but for the hundred, I'll swallow. Or," I heard fabric being rubbed, "for one-twenty-five, you can shoot on my face."

"Fuck, yeah!" The guy exclaimed.

There was a sliver of light coming in from the storage room and I shifted myself quietly out of the illumination only to find that changing my position put them in my view. I turned away, not looking as I heard the rattle of belt buckle and the rustle of clothes behind her seductive entreaties.

Staring into the dark corners the sounds silenced, but then returned as moans and grunts. I scrunched my eyes until spots appeared in my vision, trying to close my eyes enough to shut out the noises. Wet slurps assailed my ears, accompanied by intermittent bursts of male groans and encouragement.

I trained my eyes on the darkest corner of the room, trying not to imagine what was going on just past the door. I remembered her in her wedding gown, how happy she looked with Jeff as they bonded at the altar. I saw her face, in my mind, glowing as if that had been the happiest moment of her life. And now she's ... A whore? Blowing strangers for money? My God, if it ever got out I'd be...

I'd be what? A pompous overweight divorced lawyer who hadn't seen his son in...was it eight years? Who didn't recognize his own daughter-in-law? A weak, self-serving man who was too ashamed to face a crowd of strangers because they might know I didn't get a blowjob? Fuck. I was so wrapped up in my own bullshit that I wasn't even thinking of my son’s wife on the other side of the door, on her knees with a stranger’s cock in her mouth.

And there she was. In my musings my eye had been drawn to the light and motion, and I could see her, right there! Her long hair was waving back and forth as she pumped her head vigorously. I told myself to turn away, close my eyes but I watched anyway, feeling the knot of shame swell and tighten in my gut. I could see his shaft, wet with her saliva, her hand pumping the base as her mouth worked the tip. Stroking him, pumping him. I cursed my weakness and still I watched. And then she pulled her mouth off him, stroking with both hands as he groaned. She looked up at him and smiled. And I watched in horrified fascination as the first jet of cum streaked up her face. I bit my lip as she cooed and coaxed and stroked the rest of his load out onto her nose and cheeks and lips, smiling all the while, as if she was enjoying it as much as he did.

Her face, it had that look, the one I remembered from their wedding day. Was she acting? Was that a put-on for the customer? I looked again, and it didn't fade. As I watched her she laughed gaily and complimented him on his load and licked her lips. She was smiling and laughing and...beautiful. Happy. Then she pulled a towel from somewhere as he zipped up and joked with her, then helped her up.

It wasn't until they'd left the storage room that I realized I was hard. I'd considered making a break for it, trying to find a back exit out of there, and only succeeded in seeing myself stumbling back into the main room, pants tented, being accused of lurking and watching. I panicked and willed my erection to subside. I stood, went for the door and froze; thought again, froze again. I paced in the dark, careful not to make any noise. Finally I made up my mind and moved to the door again, but it was too late, she was back. I held my breath, waited for her to tell him the price and returned quietly to my seat.

I watched it all this time, ensnared by the awful display, the overtly sexual activity and the forbidden nature of my observation. I watched her as she lavished attention on his cock, licking it, sucking it and stroking it, all the while enticing him with sexual banter and complimentary seduction. Our years of alienation helped me dissociate myself from her and I saw her as a sexual woman instead of my son’s wife. The guy didn't last long and she finished him in a towel, as he hadn't sprung for the extras. Still, I was rock hard when they left, fascinated by the lurid and sexy display. I still felt ashamed at my arousal, but stopped trying to fight it.

While she was out of the room fetching her next customer I marveled not only at how good she was at sucking cock, but at her obvious pleasure in her work. I tried and failed to relate it to the parts of my job that I enjoyed. My objective brain reasoned that she found pleasure in giving people what they wanted and that she was personally rewarded by her financial gains. My emotional brain tried to shout that she was just a loose cocksucking slut who loved cock.

I stopped trying to makes sense of it all when she returned with another guy. I settled myself for a comfortable view and watched her service her...fifth?...cock of the night. My shaft remained rigid, almost painfully so, as she sucked him off, allowing him to cum in her mouth and swallowing his load with a smile.

On the next one I jerked off, cumming long before the guy sprayed her face with his semen. Disgusted and ashamed, I shot my load into my other hand, holding it as they finished and he sprayed his across her smiling face. Sitting in the chair, lazily gripping my spent member with my right hand I felt my semen cooling in my left and watched as she sat back on her knees and took a moment to enjoy the hot fresh cum on her face. I wanted to believe it was for his benefit, but her expression told me otherwise. When they exited I wiped my hand on the wall until it was as clean as I could get it.

There were two more after that. She swallowed both. Then the next time she returned to the room she came to the closet door and opened it, calling my name. I stood, attempting to regain my demeanor and gave up when she smiled at my reddened face.

"All done," she said cooly but without hostility. "You ready to go?"

I harrumphed and hemmed and hawed but she persisted. "Hey, you owe me dinner, and don't think you're getting out of it, I'm starving." It crossed my mind to ask about all the cum she had swallowed and discarded the thought immediately, admonishing myself for even considering it. "Everyone's gone, its okay."

We walked casually outside, alone. Several few drunken stragglers waiting for a cab outside ignored us. She told me to follow her in my car, and soon I was pulling in behind her into an all night diner.

"This place is pretty good," she announced as I climbed out of the car. After locking up she hooked her hand in the crook of my arm and walked me to the door. "So, did you enjoy the show?"

I was flabbergasted, and she laughed at my discomfort, but without malice. "I left it open a little on purpose. I didn’t know if you watched, but I'm guessing from your reaction that you did." I struggled to explain myself. "Easy, Russ," she said calmly. "It's no big deal. Same as if I went to court and watched you try a case," she explained. I held the door open and she went inside and I followed. In my mind I vehemently disagreed with her assessment, but kept it to myself.

We didn't talk much as we ordered, just some fluff about the last eight years. When we were waiting for the food I found the courage to ask something more personal.

"Does Jeff know that you...you know...?"

She cocked her head and squinted at me, as if she were trying to figure me out. "You think," she asked, astonished, "that I'd do this behind his back?" I felt my mouth open and close like a landed bass. "Yes, he knows, Mr. Lassiter," she finished pointedly, easing my tension with her hand softly covering mine. "He's not like you, my Jeff, you know." She said the words with the same admiration and love I'd heard that day she'd married him. The same level of emotion she'd shown when she'd defended his decision to me. " We're not like you. We do a lot of things that you might shake your head at." She smirked, but her tone felt heavy with meaning, and I wasn't sure I wanted to hear any more. She looked at me again with that quizzical expression, as if considering how much she should tell me. She changed tracks instead. "He's happy as an engineer, you know, happier than you've ever seen him. And he's good at it."

I screwed up my courage. "You're pretty good at what you do, too," I said in a low whisper.

She laughed gaily and patted my hand as the food arrived. "Jeff loves his work," she related. "You love yours." She shrugged and picked up her fork and lifted an eyebrow. "I love mine." She took a forkful of salad and chewed thoughtfully, eyeing me. She swallowed, too quickly, adding "And unlike some people," pointing her fork at me, "Jeff is not judgmental about my career path." She smirked with a self-satisfied grin at my admonished expression.

"You know," she continued, chewing as she spoke but without being ill-mannered, "it took a lot for him to stand up to you like he did." I watched her, listening as she attacked her plate and lectured me, her face making it clear she wasn't done talking. "He was afraid to hurt you. He knew how much you wanted him to take the firm one day."

"He didn't seem afraid that day," I interjected weakly.

She put her fork down without slamming it angrily, but firmly enough to have the same effect. I could see then, I thought, what Jeff saw in her; the individuality, the conviction, the spirit. "Russ, you big lunkhead," she said, leaning into me and blinking as if she couldn't believe her ears. "It took him months to screw up the courage to tell you. Months, while he was miserable in school, busting his ass to keep his grades up, for you." Her face softened and her eyes narrowed. "To make you happy. So you'd be proud of him."

I felt suddenly to be a foolish, selfish old man. I had never considered any possibility back then other than my own dream, my vision of his future. I'd just assumed he shared it, never questioned...

"I didn't know," I mumbled.

"Did you know he was taking engineering classes on top of his law classes? Oh, Russ," she added, and her voice and demeanor slipped into one of glowing admiration and love, filled with emotional connection. "You should have seen him, all tired and exhausted from his studies, when he’d come home from his engineering class," she related with unabashed glee, "he'd tell me all about the work, what they'd learned. God, he was like a little boy, filled with excitement and promise for the future..." Her words trailed off, and I thought I saw a flicker of moisture in her eye. "It crushed him when you cut him off," she added quietly, her expression flicking through shadows of sad memory that tugged my heart. I miss him, I realized, I've been so busy being angry...I never knew...

"I thought you turned his head," I confessed bluntly.

"You thought," she scoffed. I watched as she devoured another forkful of salad. Watching her mouth open, I shook away the memory of her earlier that evening, opening her mouth... "You thought wrong. All I did," she related through her food, "was let him see that it was okay to turn his own head, to follow his own path. To find his own happiness. Our happiness, together." She swallowed hurriedly, and I remembered her, earlier, swallowing, and felt ashamed again, for seeing her that way. "And oh, Russ, he's so happy; you should see him," she said, and her eyes twinkled again with that glow of admiration and love. "He's so alive, I nodded thoughtfully, seeing her again not as I'd seen her tonight, but as the loving woman who had married my son instead of the evil bitch who'd taken him from me. Part of me still recalled the woman on her knees, taking a stranger’s cum on her face and enjoying it. That will take a while to get used to, I thought. There's so much I don't understand about them, about who they are...

I felt suddenly lonely and isolated and resentful. Angry at the world for letting me deceive myself into chasing away my only son. Angry at myself for being so blind and selfish and righteous and stiff. Ashamed at my obstinate stubbornness. Oh, and don't forget to be ashamed of jerking off watching your daughter in law suck cock, a voice reminded me. We finished our meal in silence, me lost in thought, her watching, eating. Evaluating me, I felt. When it was over the silence had grown uncomfortable. I paid the bill and we made our way to the door.

Approaching the cars I was struck by the scope of my feelings, the changes life had thrust upon me in such a short time. I’d been grumpy and unsettled and irritable. I’d been resistant to the party and been drawn into something. I’d watched hot, dirty sex performed by a woman who embraced her wild nature, and met the woman who loved my son so much she nearly cried describing his happiness. I marveled at the circumstances even as I cursed the fates that had thrown this all at me so suddenly.

"He thinks about you all the time, you know," her voice called to me, pulling me from my musing recriminations. I turned to face her. "He'd love to see you..." For the first time that night she looked tentative.

I looked at her, disbelieving. "Really?" I asked, and her face brightened.

"Oh, please say you'll come see us, please, Jeff will go crazy when I tell him I saw you."

I was instantly embarrassed by the idea of my son knowing I had tried to pay for sex on top of the idea that I had I had met his wife under these circumstances. I was so far outside my comfort zone, cornered into a situation where I had no idea how to respond, how to act. It was disconcerting, to say the least. To top it off, Karen's excitement at the idea kept her from noticing and compensating the way she had all night and instead pressed on.

"Please Russ, I know there are some bad feelings still lingering, but it would mean so much to Jeff. And you'd feel better too, to put this all behind you, wouldn’t you? Please say you'll come." She stepped from foot to foot, barely able to contain herself as I struggled to come to grips with my...situation. To face Jeff, after all these years, after seeing Karen...that way ...

"Please, come on, I'm begging, here," she continued, oblivious to my concerns, seeing only the good for her husband. "Please, come for dinner, Jeff will be thrilled." It was the idea of Jeff, happy, that pushed me over the edge.

"Okay," I agreed stiffly. Stoic and still reserved and afraid, but conceding to her.

She let out a squeal of delight and impulsively threw her arms around my neck, squeezing me tightly. "Thank you, thank you, oh, Jeff's going to be thrilled!" I chuckled, arms pinned to my sides and holding myself rigid under her enthusiastic embrace. "I can't wait to tell him!"

Hazy images of that conversation rushed through me and I wriggled from her grasp. "Wh- what are you," I managed to sputter, but her joyful smile was disarming and I laughed despite myself. "What are you going to tell him?"

Her grin broadened in recognition at the reason for my question. "I'm gonna tell him," she teased coyly, poking me in the chest, "that I sucked his dad's cock and invited him for dinner!" Her face brightened from her entertainment at my expense. "Don't worry, I'll tell him you have a nice one!" Now I had to laugh, too, sheepishly, but with relief. "Just kidding," she consoled, "I'll tell him that I ran into you at the party I was working." She smiled again, so genuinely happy that it touched a place inside my chest where I suddenly knew my heart used to be. "Thank you, Russ. You're going to make Jeff very happy." She inhaled sharply. "And you'll be happy too! I know it!" She grabbed my upper arm firmly. "I can see it on your face!"

I guess it was true. I could sense unused muscles in my cheeks in addition to the swelling inside my chest. She pulled my arm and kissed my cheek and I felt a blush rise. It must have been obvious in the light from the diner windows.

"Oh, aren't you cute! You blush at a little kiss, but you had no problem paying for a blowjob!" My blush deepened.

"I...uh...may have been more uncomfortable than I let on," I confessed with embarrassment, but still felt the smile. I got into my car then, and lowered the window when I remembered I didn't know where they lived. She took my cell and told me she'd text the address and time. She turned to go, then stopped, and leaned her forearms on the car door and stretched her neck in to give me another peck on the cheek. "That's for saying you'll come to dinner," she said, then planted another lighter one. "And that's for before."

"For what?"

Now it was her turn to blush. Her lips pursed in a tight grin. "For not making me blow you." I felt my mouth drop open. "Well, it would have been awkward, no?" she laughed, and I laughed with her.

"Yeah, I guess."

She stood then, and turned to leave.

"Hey, Karen?" I called after her. She halted and turned halfway back, a questioning look on her face. "If I'd gone through with it, you know, said yes," I asked, thinking I have to know. "Would you have done it?"

She turned the rest of the way to me, her hip cantered at a jaunty angle and one hand on her waist. She put a finger to her chin and raised her eyes to the night sky as if pretending to think. "Let's see," she mused dramatically for my benefit, then pulled her finger away and gave me an isn't-it-obvious expression. "Duh! Of course I would! I love cock!" She winked, then made a happy face. "And it would’ve been kind of interesting to see where Jeff's came from!" She waved, and turned to her car.

The smile felt glued to my face, and was still there when I got home.