Awesome Threesome By Charles E.J. Moulton

A bouncy laugh here, a suggestive low-note there, a surprised wail, a husky lilt. Their chatter sounded like a jazz bar tune on a Steinway, a smooth classic, maybe, played at King Cole’s Bar in Manhattan.

These elegant vocal waves had me turning around. I couldn’t see the terrace from here, just the bugs, not the jugs, the lake and the sunset, but at least I had a nice view of mosquitoes dancing across the water in the light of the setting sun, waltzing dots lit by the blues, the yellows, the reds and the purples, mixing together with the darker indigo of the oncoming night. The insects not quite hitting the water, they seemed to tease the water just like the girls on the terrace teased me with the sound of their giggles.

I looked back at the screen and the blinking cursor, blinking like Danielle had blinked at me just six minutes ago.

My wife, who nearly threw a frying pan on my head after catching me wanking my nine inch penis to a photo of Kirsten Imrie, that had me nicknaming her “Killer Kimmie”, by the way, would she be willing to join me in seducing her girlfriend if I sported an erection?

I looked out across the water again. Above the hillside forest, the sky’s light of evening waves entailed a mystery. An invitation for a solitary gang-bang, to be sure. There were three other houses by the lakeside, but the owners were all gone away. The Hamptons to Malaysia, I think, the Indian author and his kids and wife back in New Dehli for the summer and that gay rock star and his lover on tour to somewhere rather. Our son had flown with grandpa to Toronto. So, yes, we were alone.

I flipped the document pages from front to back and back to front again, correcting a mistake here and there, shifting in my seat, looking at my written notes, leaning forward, scratching my chin.

It would have been great had I been sitting with pictures of Danielle, getting hot and bothered, but I sat working on an article about the island of Phuket. But the more I endeavored to concentrate on Phuket, the more did my wife’s girlfriend come into my mind.

Danielle’s dark eyes, that long black hair, that fantastic tush, my eyes watching her buttcheeks wooble as my helmet entered her arsehole, D-cup knockers dancing helplessly in the breeze. No, no, no.

“Damn it,” I whispered to myself, “You can’t fuck your wife’s best friend with your wife in the house.”

Or could I?

In secret?

Hold on!

What was that suggestive chatter about?

It sounded… inquisitive.

Danielle had been working on her second bottle of Champagne that evening when I left the table, the Tzatziki rolling down her chin like cum on ice. It had me wishing for being reincarnated as Greek bread.

Giggle and get drunk, just like back in college? It seemed like a promising enterprise if it hadn’t been for my constantly growing erection in her presence. I might enjoy the idea of joining the ladies for the spectacular Jennifer Aniston marathon they had planned with a predominant fuck as an aperitif. The guest room daintily arranged, the bed made, enough pizza to last us for three days, all of it reeked of girls weekend with me along for the ride. I wondered what would happen if I sported the most prominent erection of the galaxy looking at her best friend while she sat there herself.

I lift my Count Basie-decorated cup of coffee to my lips, recontemplating the birthday party. Kimberley had conversed with Danielle’s husband Jorge all of that evening, their conversation circling around Spanish politics. That seemed just as innocent as as Danielle’s accounts about comparing airplane models. We shared the hobby of model making, frequent flyers both of us, hobby builders of Boeing miniatures.

I ended up fucking the crap out of Kimberley in our water bed afterwards, squirting my one gallon of cum into her mouth for a very clean swallow, indeed.

Phuket all.

I poured more coffee into my cup, slurping it loud to drench Danielle’s fuckable voice, swallowing the Scottish butter cookies like I dreamed she would chew on my dick.

“I wanna fuck Danielle’s butt,” I whispered to myself, looking at the dry butter cookies left over from yesterday.

Danielle’s super sexy alto laugh finally made me switch on my Google Chrome. I soon stood there with my Uncle Reamus pointing toward the screen, wanking at babes being face-showered with sticky sperm.

It was in the middle of that delicious wank that I heard the sound of my wife, sweeter than usual, almost ethereal in character.

“Bob,” she sang, so magically and huskily that my heart almost melted, “you coming back, Sweetie?”

My right hand stopped its wild activity, fingers clutching my personal joystick, my heart beating like nuts, blood reaching my throat and clogging up my brain.

I froze.

Strip shows, facial fests, ass fucks, ball chews, foot jobs, tit shags, foot jobs, cum swallows, handcuffs, nurse role play, they all came to mind. Was this a bitter heart, a refusal to offer me bitter-flavored camembert-tasting pussy suppers?

“We wanna talk to you,” Kimberley crooned.

“Pretty please,” Danielle pleaded.

I desperately shoved my hard cock into my Wranglers, trying to think of Mikhail Gorbachev, Nikola Tesla, Saddam Hussein, farm tools or anything unsexy enough to make sure I did not enter the terrace with a massive jeans throb.

I stood up, looking down at my crotch, slapping it hard with a strict demand, shaking my head.

“Sure,” I sang, finally summoning enough smut to walk toward the terrace.
There they were, two gorgeous women, dressed in casual shorts and loose T-shirts, four D-cups waving at me, nipples waving hello.

“Sit down,” my wife whispered, raising her Dom Perignon at me,
Kimberley and Danielle exchanging ambivalent gazes.

I did, gazing at my wife and then at Danielle, sensing female conspiracy lurking in the shadows.

“You were chatting with Danielle at her birthday party last month,” my wife began.

“Leaning over,” Danielle smirked. “Like this.”

Danielle leaned over, giving me a glimpse of her cleavage.

The edge of my mouth twitched.

“You were all red in the face,” my wife added.

I shook my head.

Danielle shrugged, her titties wobbling. “We thought you needed help.”

I smiled.

“I was fine.”

“You hardly looked me in my face,” Danielle chuckled, a hint of disappointment in her voice.

I sat back in my chair.

My wife chuckled, looking at her best friend, shaking her head and eyeing heavenward. She whispered: “You spent the entire evening looking at her titties, you wicked perv.”

I cleared my throat.

My penis began to swell.

“Hey,” my wife growled, “listen…”

Now my heart was really pounding.

I had films playing in my brain of moving trucks and divorce lawyers.

“Who’s gonna start?” my wife mused, gazing at Danielle.

I shivered.

“You came up with the plan,” Danielle sing-songed.

Kimberley sighed.

“My tit crazy husband jerking off just to avoid having to deal with two randy women.”

I swallowed hard. “What?”

“Bob,” Danielle began, having woken me up enough to have me gaze at her boobies again.

“We have been comparing how you guys perform…”

“I haven’t played the saxophone in years,” I joked.

The girls broke into fits of giggles.

I raised my eyebrows, happy to hear this, feeling my fear settle and sink.
Danielle grinned at me. “My husband’s dick is six inches long. Kimberley said you… uuh… are… nine inches long.”

There was a long pause after that while I looked at my wife.

Kimberley smiled.

I laughed in relief.

“I knew you wanted to fuck Danielle when I saw you two at the birthday party,” she whispered. “I figured turning a meeting into a gang bang would be better than having you go behind my back and fuck her in some back room.”

Kimberley shrugged.

“Show her your dick.”

I hesitated.

“You threw a frying pan on me when you discovered me masturbating over Kirsten Imrie,” I said.

Kimberley gave me long sensuous tongue kiss.

“Show her your cock,” she mused.

I nodded.

I stood up, strolled up to that big jugged woman, biting my lip.
The horny whore unbuckled me, unbuttoned and unzipped me, letting my jeans flip open. As she reached into my undies, my dick plopped out like a jack-in-the-box into her face.

Danielle gazed up at me, at Kimberley, and back at my cock.

“It’s enormous. You are such a lucky lady, Kimberley. I bet you suck it a lot.”
Kimberley laughed.

Danielle lift my tan banana, put it on her forehead, gazing at Kimberley.
“Look, Kimmie, I’m a unicorn.”

They both giggled, which made me gaze at my wife, who, to my surprise, now had lift her skirt and was fondling her cunt.

“Can I suck your husband’s cock?”

“Be my guest,” Kimberley answered.

“Thanks, girlfriend,” Danielle said, ever so sweetly. “I’ll start licking his balls, okay?”

“Okay.”

Danielle now started licking my hairy testicles. No, not licking. Eating. She left me senseless, putting them both completely in her mouth and playing with them with her tongue. Kimmie never ate my balls like that. I hadn’t shaved my pubic hair, but Danielle, that horny slut, seemed to like that. She plopped my balls off her tongue and lowered my long dong, kissing and fondling my cock hair with her entire face, eating my dick wig.

Kimmie was now totally naked, having thrown off all her clothes onto the terrace floor, sticking two fingers into her furry furburger and whining like a fucking hyena.

Danielle sucked my one eyed willie so well and with so much saliva it looked like a sailor protecting the mast of a resting sailing ship with a wet, oily cap cloth.

“You blow his dickie so well, Danny,” my wife told her. “Do you like sucking my husband’s cock?”

Danielle now nodded, my schlong half way into her mouth like a regular prostitute. “It’sh the tashtiest womb brrhoom I’ve ever shucked. Shhoooo damn loooohnng.”

I really was in heaven. The woman I had longed to slap bellies with for so long now was short circuiting my banana boat like a space port docking in a rocket. And my nuptial three vulva on legs was watching us, masturbating her clit and loving it.

Kimberley took in about a third of my cock in her mouth. Danielle managed to stick in over half of it, stretching her tongue forward and licking my balls. It made me smile. The best sight in the world was still a beautiful woman with a cock in her mouth.

Now Danielle began stripping while sucking. I don’t know how she managed to do it, but she kept sucking all the while giving the best whore blowjob of my life.

It didn’t take long for my wife to join her girlfriend. Soon enough, Kimberley and Danielle were both on their knees, taking turns in giving my nine inch mouth pleaser the tongue ride of its life.

“What a fantastic sight,” I groaned.

My wife, who right now sucked on my right testicle while Danielle sucked on the tip of my lollipop, added, smiling, male hairy ball still inside her right cheek: “Did I promish you too much abouth hish penish? It’sh tashty, ishn’t it?”

“Uhmh-hmmm,” Danielle moaned.

I think it was then that I disappeared into a dream land, closing my eyes while the bimbos took turns who got to play with my marbles and who got to swallow my XXL chili dog.

In my mind, the wind caressing my bottom, my long dong in a two girl heaven, I reviewed my sexual experience, initially remembering how much I had jerked off as a teen. Sex objects like Suki from Men Only, the Eurasian crumpet with the short pussy hair, big boobed and black haired Natalie from Oxfordshire from Club International, her combed vulva had the pages sticking together every day, 60 inch knockered Jo from Mayfair, British Julie Hart with the fuckable mouth and yummy hairy cunt, dark pussied Sophie Fernandez, all those babes paved the way for my first blowjob. Conny knew how to suck in that high school back room. Not quite as fair juggied as Charlotte, whose milky-ways I squeezed after the disco one night. My first fuck, blondie babe Marie, was nice, because the bimbo had a cute butt that wobbled while I banged her from behind. She was my girlfriend for a while. Simona, a Polish babe, after a long marathon shag, said my cock fit perfectly in her pussy. Lena was a charming woman from Montreal, whose 36C tits I squirted on, who, when seeing my nine inches, exclaimed: “I don’t like you, I love you!” Tatanya from Moscow was afraid my dick wouldn’t fit in her pussy, but it did. Olinka from Madrid was my favourite pussy for a while. She was a cute and small little chick with a very sweet tasting clit that I adored shagging. We met just to fuck and drink champagne for about a year. Olga from Mexico was a big breasted thing who laughed while being shabanged. Then there was Kerstin from Hannover who asked me what we should do next, so I suggested she go down on her knees and suck my dick, so she did. Monica with the 60 inch balloons, Viola, whose ass I kissed, MILF Bertha where my condom broke, Bionda from Florence whom I fucked six times in one night (her moans, vibrating titties and happy complaints of sore cunt were gorgeous), fifty-something rock-groupie Kim sucked on my balls for ten minutes, Suzanne, who refused to go down on her knees for me, Dora, who grunted during sex, Zoe, who deep throated me, Chloé, who begged me to fuck her asshole, Mila with the longest tongue I have seen and Amanda, who exclaimed: “What a great idea!” when I suggested she take my nine inch penis in her mouth. Oh, sex. Oh, women. Oh, sperm.

Now, all that dreaming had me forgetting reality. When I returned, the bitches were still at it, sucking and licking, slurping and deepthroating. My two little whores really knew their business, it made me understand that a woman is at her best when she has a prick in her donut shoot. I had fucked Kimberley repeatedly by the stove while she cooked, slapping her butt, telling her what a good little obedient housewife she was, cooking me a meal while I stuck my Boeing in her damp little girlie snatch.

Oh, man.

I couldn’t stand it anymore, so I took out my humongous clarinet out of their Wurlitzers and threw them across the terrace table.

There they were, two buxom bitches, their rear ends waiting to be slapped and penetrated like horses at an auction.

I took turns fucking one and then fucking the other, back to Danielle and then Kimberley, then Danielle’s asshole and Kimberley’s pussy and vice versa. Oh how their asses wobbled. Dickpleasers. The sight of their bottoms wobbling, their moans high, the sun powered terrace lights now filling up the night, the stars shining, the bright full moon glittering in the lake, me leaning over to reach for the bottle and drink the rest of the champagne.

Finally, the chickies let me hump them one by one as the lay spread on the table, me squirting my sperm on their faces. We fell asleep in one bed that night, me waking up in the morning with the girls giving me a blowjob.

I can only say we had a magical weekend, my long cock getting more attention than ever before.

Jorge joined us that next day, but that is a totally different story. I can only say that it was a joy to see my wife being fucked by another guy while I shagged her big boobed girlfriend under the stars.

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Not For The Birds By Andrew Miller

Janice sprinted into the living room, shot past Larry, grabbed a pair of binoculars from the book case. “Unbelievable,” she said, “unbelievable.” She raced toward the back porch.

“Something interesting out there?” Larry had the latest issue of Natural History Magazine in his lap and didn’t look up. “Fall migration’s about to start. Should be some warblers out there.”

The door banged shut behind her. “I’ll let you know.”

She and Larry had arranged the furniture on their porch, an old couch and three wicker chairs, so they could watch birds in their back yard. The had installed floor to ceiling screens on all three sides, which kept out mosquitoes and flies and provided a wind break during chilly weather. Janice adjusted the focus, sighted past three birdfeeders, a row of azaleas, a wooden trellis crawling with morning glories. Holy, holy shit, she thought, I wasn’t dreaming.

She held the binoculars steady, licked her lips, wiggled her butt. “Larry,” she called, “Come quick. Ya gotta see this.”

“Need the bird book?” He tossed the magazine on the table, got to his feet.

“Forget the book, come here.”

“Check that out.” She pointed toward the back yard, handed him the binoculars.

He began a sweep of the hedge. She shook her head. “Not there. The porch on the gray house.”

He let out a low whistle. “My God, look at that. Penis erecti.”

“Yep, subspecies: elongatus.”

“They are really going at it.” He held the binoculars steady. “A rare sight, this time of year, a pair of mattress thrashers. In full breeding plumage.”

“I knew you’d like the double breasted one. Gimme the binocs.”

“Not so fast. Now they’re doing it standing up.” He dropped one hand to his crotch for a quick adjustment. “She’s got her legs wrapped around his waist… clawing his back, sucking on his neck. Passion… passion… whew… he’s got his fingers up her ass…” He leaned forward, tugged at his pants again.

Janice squeezed the bulge in his trousers. “Come on, let me see.”

“Damn, wish I’d bought that tripod. It would be nice to have both hands free.” He passed the binoculars to her.

She zeroed in on their neighbors. “I don’t know what I like better, watching them or listening to you describe the action.” She adjusted the focus. “They’ll make an evening of it. See that bottle of wine on the table?”

“Sure.” Larry leaned forward, squinted through the screen. “Now what’s happening?”

“She’s strapping on a dildo.” Janice shifted left to improve the view. “And,” she glanced at Larry, “hers is longer than his.”

Larry pressed his forehead against the screen. “Longer than mine?”

“Oh, hell no. He looks like a Georgia peanut next to you.”

Larry nodded, stood a little straighter.

“Hang on, he’s down on his knees—great set of buns—ready for his pegging.” Janice moved closer to the screen. “I’d love to sink my teeth into one of his cheeks. Hard, firm, like they were chiseled out of oak.” She glanced at Larry’s pants. “Her fake schlong is ready for action… now she’s on her knees… she’s got both hands on his shoulder… pump-pump-pump… and rubbing his big dick…”

“We’ve got a live sex show. Didn’t have to pay a cent.”

Janice eyed Larry’s trousers. “Whatdaya think, big fella?” She kicked off her shoes, squirmed out of her shorts, black panties, slipped off her light blue polo shirt, unhooked her bra. She hopped on the couch, landed knees first, twisted her butt toward him. “We’ll do it while we watch.”

“I hear you. Damn, we need another set of binocs.”

Larry pulled down his pants, being careful not to damage Mr. Ready-For-Action. He jumped up behind her, scooted close, began to massage her breasts. He pressed in close, poked his rod between her cheeks.

“Slow down. Take off your shirt. Give me some chest-to-cheek grinding with your pecs.”

“Okay if I leave my socks on?”

“What do I care about your socks—get on with it.”

He tossed his shirt on the floor, bent at the waist, squeezed his pecs against her smooth, round buns. While he stroked her breasts with both hands he moved side to side, massaging her cheeks with his chest. She arched her back, raised her butt. He stroked her boobs, continued chest-rubbing. She said in a low voice, “Keep at it, big boy, I’m getting into the mood. A couple of times she felt his penis poke up her crack. She held out the binoculars. “Here, take them.” A few minutes later she turned her head., “Okay…”

He slid inside. In real slow; he knew how she liked it. He gripped the binoculars with one hand, fondled her breasts with the other, started to rev up. “I’ve—never—done–this—before,” he said between strokes. “Never—never—nev—er.”

She reached between her legs, gave his nuts a twitch. Uh-oh, she thought, getting to the hard-ball stage. Won’t be long now. “Slow down, I’m not ready for Mr. P to go limp, lose his umph.”

“Ok.” He eased out, watched the couple for a while, then continued, “She stopped pegging.” He pressed in close to Janice. “Their porch is like ours. Got a couch, table, and bunch of chairs. Except, they’ve got a hot tub. Maybe they’ll jump in later.” Larry slipped inside, moved slower than before. With his free hand, he touched her breasts, felt her nipples firm up.

Janice moved her butt in a circular motion, matching his rhythm. A warm feeling spread down her legs, up to her breasts. “Tell me some more.”

“She yanked off the dildo. Now they’re having a glass of wine.” Larry stopped thrusting, continued to fondle her nipples. “It’s kind of odd…every once and a while…one of them disappears behind some sort of partition…”

“Too get more wine?”

“Maybe, hard to say… okay… they’re getting at it.” He watched for a while, then, “Now she’s got one leg on this little table, and he’s about to go down on her.” Janice closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of him inside, made all the richer by his description of love-making from afar. “He’s got his head between her legs—tongue’s a flying—she’s gripping his neck, scratching his back, moaning and writhing…”

“Let me see.”

She took the binoculars. “Ooooo, very good, his butt’s writhing and twisting all over the place… look at that cheek separation.”

Larry slid out, then pressed his chest up close, wrapped his arms around her. Do you know those folks?” His voice was low, husky. She could tell he was close.

“Sure, its Ann and Henry Scott. Don’t know him, but I see her at the gym. Sometimes we go for coffee.”

“Does she walk around naked in the locker room?”

“All the time. And plays with herself in front of the full-length mirror.”

“Oh, come on.”

“You wish.”

Janice flipped over, positioned herself on the arm of the couch so she could see the neighbors. “Do me like Henry is doing Ann.” She squinted through the binoculars. “Gotta make sure they are in view before licking begins.” She shifted position, then motioned him closer. “Come on.” She slipped her legs apart, pulled Larry’s head toward her crotch. “Put that tongue in gear. Our neighbors are ahead of us.”

She slipped her palms behind his neck, locked her fingers. She felt his tongue dance up and down her thighs, tiptoe over her pubics, then zoom straight to her hot spot. Janice sighed, swiveled her hips, sucked in air. His fingers began to tease and tickle, wander about, probe here, probe there. She closed her eyes, stretched her legs, flexed her toes, dug her fingers into the cushions, raised her butt, began to moan.

#   #   #

Larry felt her chest heave, her body tense. She’s getting close, he thought, I gotta go slow, steady, not spoil it by making unexpected moves. He knew she was at a critical stage. Any unexpected motion, distraction from anywhere, would wreck everything. She’d lose her footing, slide off the mountain without ever reaching the summit. He felt her fingers on his scalp, gentle, soft, now on his shoulders, slight pressure. Closer, closer, her fingers said, go a little deeper, but stay gentle. He shifted his position. He knew that the contractions were about to start.

The liquid, rich, whistling notes of the Baltimore oriole are the most beautiful of any American songbird. A series of chirps and trills up and down the scale, part warble, part bubbly gurgle, unlike any musical instrument. Larry had found the ring tone for her on a bird-watching website. She was enchanted by the song, happy to use it instead of any of the preprogrammed ones from the manufacturer. Whenever someone called, she delayed answering for as long as possible, just to hear the oriole’s melodious call.

That wonderful song came from Janice’s phone, which lay on the table in the living room.

Larry’s eyes snapped open. “What the fff…. Let the damn thing ring!”

She sat up, pushed his head aside. “I better get that. Might be Mom.”

Janice bounded into the living room, grabbed the phone, hustled back to the porch. She flopped down on a chair opposite Larry. He clenched his teeth. God oh God, he thought. How did this happen? What class double A jerkoff is calling? If they had only waited five more minutes.

She pressed the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

“Hi, this is your neighbor, Ann Scott. We see each other at Love Your Body Health Club. Remember?”

“Oh yeah. Hi—how’s it going?” She mouthed to Larry, who was slumped on his side, “This will be quick.” She winked, spread her legs, gave a couple hip thrusts.

Ann had more to say: “Henry and I were wondering— are you guys bird watchers?”

“Yes, yes we are.” Janice slid her legs together.

Larry groaned when he heard, ‘Yes we are.’ Oh no, he thought, we’re going somewhere. He looked at his penis, beginning to shrink and shrivel. Soon it would look like a button mushroom that had been abandoned for weeks behind the potato salad on the bottom shelf of the refrigerator. Larry took a deep breath, let it out slowly. His sex plans had taken an unexpected nose dive. The phone rang when Janice was seconds from an earth-trembling climax. What was supposed to happen—if the phone hadn’t rung—was to bring her to a screaming climax, let her recover, then slip inside, stroke slow and steady, slow and steady, for as long as possible—she’d be climaxing all the time of course—then throttle up for one gigundamunduss, super long, off-the-Richter-Scale organism that would blast their heart rates off the charts, leave them both panting, near death. To miss all that, just because of her Mother on the phone?

Janice took a deep breath when she heard: “We saw that you were watching us.”

“Oh yeah?”

Larry didn’t notice the anxious look wash over her face; he was still agonizing over his shattered plans. They’d open that bottle of Merlot, break out the special cheeses and crackers, the red grapes. Legs tangled up, they’d eat cheese, drink wine, watch their neighbors go at it while he repressurized down below for the next tumble. Grape juices would meander down her chin, drizzle onto her boobs. She would get up every so often, pour them more wine. He could watch her bustle about with no clothes on—luscious, bouncy.

“We’re bird watchers, too. And, we have a 40-mm spotting scope. Great for detail.”

“Uh-huh.” Janice continued to hold her breath.

“Yeah, it’s hidden behind this partition. Don’t want to spook the birds.”

“Yeah…”

“And, we noticed that Larry has a weird line of freckles across his chest.”

“Uh-oh.” Janice frowned, rubbed the back of her neck. She squinted through the screen at their neighbor’s porch. Laughter on the other end of the line.

Larry closed his eyes, continued to dream about the lost sexscapade. After hors d’oeuvres they’d order pizza from Gino’s, slice up some heirloom tomatoes and cucumbers from the garden. Stay naked all evening. Eat on the porch. Light candles, rev up the CD player. It could be a two, maybe three-orgasm night. Finish up by watching an old Sopranos episode. Then a mutual shower. Maybe she’d even suck a little, do a bonus soap-off to tide him over ‘till morning.

“And we’ve been watching you watching us.”

“Oh wow.” Janice sat up straight.

Larry saw her snap to attention. Oh no, he thought. New plans for the evening—but what could be more fun than sex? It might be her good-for-nothing brother Alfie, wanting to go bowling at Bubba la Flubba’s Magic Lanes, five hundred feet from the end of Runway Five Zero at the international airport. If I drive, Alfie will spring for the shoes, plus a round of heart-burn hotdogs and all the diet soda we can drink.

Janice began to exhale as Ann continued, “That’s okay, don’t worry about it. Anyway, it got us thinking. How would you and Larry like to come over, sit in the hot tub with us?

Janice smiled and nodded. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

“And we can…do whatever. Henry and I are fine with this. Okay with you two?”

“I’ll ask Larry, but pretty sure the answer will be yes.”

“Your man Larry has a scrumptious ass, by the way.”

Janice nodded, smiled, flexed her toes.

Ann continued: “How about staying for dinner? We’ve got a couple of rotisserie chickens on the spit.”

Janice leaned forward in the chair. “Sure. Can we bring anything?”

Larry heard ‘bring anything?’ and groaned. This is worse, he thought, no one brings food to a bowling alley. Not even la Flubba’s. Sounds like dinner at her Mom’s. Tuna-noodle casserole buried in soggy potato chips, a basket of rock-hard biscuits. No beer or wine, only lukewarm tea with no ice. For desert, a mushy apple pie made from some cheap canned filling. Her father waving his arms and yelling about fantastic life was when he was a kid. How he doesn’t give a flip about computers, email, smart phones, Facebook, or texting. Janice’s brother griping because can’t find a job, doesn’t have a girlfriend, can’t drive more than 100 miles without putting two quarts of oil in his old Chevy.

His penis, shriveled and limp, lay like a jellyfish, stranded on the beach at low tide. How can I get out of this family dinner? Janice already said ‘yes.’ Isn’t it time for my prostate exam? Maybe I’ve got a couple more wisdom teeth that need extracting. Aren’t I supposed to be making ‘Bag Your Dog Turds’ posters for the Bird Club?

Janice nodded as she listened to Ann: “Bring some cucumbers and fancy tomatoes from your garden. I’ve got rice pilaf in the crock pot.” Janice saw the pained look on Larry’s face. “And bring towels, anything else needed for a fun evening—know what I mean? It’ll be the four of us.”

Janice nodded. “Sounds fabulous, more than fabulous.”

Larry stared at the ceiling. His charger, once stiff and hard like a hickory stick, had shriveled to nothing, lay hidden under its pubic hair blanket. How did this happen?

Janice smiled. “Okay, we’ll be there in thirty minutes or less. Bye.” She dropped the phone on the table, jumped to her feet, winked at Larry.

“You’ll never guess what’s cooking for the rest of the day, maybe the rest of the night.”