Tell Me More. Janet Mullany

I do anything?” I asked and immediately regretted my question. What if she asked me to get busy with a dildo?

      Fortunately she took my offer at face value and set me to work arranging chips on a serving tray while she scooped various dips into bowls. Then we took the snacks down to the basement, and so far, other than the breast display and the dildos rattling around in the plastic bowl on Cathy’s tray, it was just any weekend afternoon in suburbia.

      “Oh, that’s gross, guys,” Cathy said.

      The game had ended and the guys sprawled on the couch, beer bottles in hand, while on the screen a blonde with breasts even bigger and more rigid than Cathy’s divided her time between sucking a huge torpedo of a penis and glancing flirtatiously at the camera. The owner of the penis was a large hairy guy with a slight potbelly.

      “That is so unreal,” Cathy said, grabbing the remote from Jake and switching the set off. “Jake, this is Jo. I showed her my boobs.”

      “Hi,” I said.

      Jake, a bulkier version of Willis—clean-cut, middle-class—lurched to his feet and leered. “Hey, little lady. Does my wife have great tits, or what?”

      I was so dumbfounded at being addressed as “little lady” I only managed to mutter something along the lines of “Yes, she sure does,” before gulping the remains of my wine.

      Willis ambled over and put his arm over my shoulders, letting his fingers fall onto my breast. “Jo’s are pretty nice, too. Small, though.”

      “Show us your tits, honey,” Jake said to me.

      “What’s the magic word?” I snapped at him and shook Willis’s hand and arm away.

      Jake stared at me.

      “Oh, honey, you are such a big, bad boy,” Cathy cooed and placed a hand on her husband’s arm. “Where are your manners?”

      Jake grinned in a way that might have been irresistibly boyish and mischievous and mumbled something apologetic in my direction. He then stuck his hand down his wife’s top.

      I marched over to the bar and poured myself another glass of wine. I was feeling very Puritan and uptight, instead of sexually liberated and daring, and I didn’t like it. And now I could see how this room was set up for what was about to happen: the bowl of condoms on the low table near the television, another on the bar along with the dildos, a pile of soft towels, tubes of lube, the sturdy sofa, a collection of ottomans for various positions.

      Willis followed me over to the bar. “You okay, Jo?”

      “Yeah. Fine.” I was not being the life and soul of the party, that was for sure. I glanced over at the sofa where Jake and Cathy sat, he now nuzzling between her breasts, her T-shirt up to her chin. She gave me an encouraging smile. I wondered if Jake was concerned that her breasts could snap back and injure his nose when he emerged.