Scott had made lists, revised them, ripped them up, started over. And over again. He had cleaned his apartment more thoroughly than ever before in the three years he had lived there. He had checked out events -- concerts, movies, plays, exhibits scheduled for that weekend.
Fred was coming to town, and he wanted it to be a memorable time for both of them.
Scott and Fred had been the closest of friends in college. Confidants, tutors, shrinks, partners in crime. They knew everything there was to know about each other, what they liked and did not like in food, clothing, art, literature, music, politics, religion, sex. (They both liked pretty much everything in sex.)
But they had graduated on the cusp of the Great Recession. And split up. Scott went east, Fred went west. They both struggled at first, finding and keeping jobs, making new friends, finding new lovers. They wrote long, deeply personal letters. Then fell back on shorter, more superficial emails, followed by less personal texts -- I saw a movie I think you'd like. I ran into an old college classmate last week; he's going bald. Got a promotion ... but not a raise.
They fared well in the recovery of the teens, survived the pandemic -- physically, emotionally and professionally. But they had not seen each other in fifteen years.
Fred had business in the city and would fly in early Saturday morning to spend time with Scott through Sunday. They should start by meeting for lunch on Saturday, Fred suggested, and plot strategy from there.
Scott had some ideas, loads of ideas, to present when they met. He picked out a restaurant and agreed to meet at noon. He was compulsively punctual, hadn't been late for anything since arriving kicking and screaming the morning after his due date.
Scott paced on the sidewalk outside the eatery. It was not a fancy place. It was the kind of restaurant he and Fred had favored while in school: good food, good service at reasonable prices. Up and down he walked, checking his watch every forty-five seconds or so. Finally, he convinced himself to stop, take a deep breath and meditate off into space for a few minutes.
He was brought back to earth by a tap on the shoulder and a voice from behind: "Excuse me, sir."
He turned. A woman his age gazed up at him, a solicitous look on her face. "Hi, uh, hello, sir," she stammered. "I wonder if I could ask you a question. Well, actually, I'd like to ask a favor."
Scott was the friendly sort, not one to turn away a person, especially a pretty woman, in need. "Well, I'm waiting for someone who should be here any minute, but, if I can do something for you, I'd be happy to oblige."
"Oh, goodie. I just knew you looked like the kind of man who would aid a damsel in distress."
Scott nodded, unsure about how much aid he was willing to give when approached on the street like this, but willing to listen. After a pause, "So, what can I do for you?"
"Ah, yes, the favor," she said. "It's just this: I wonder if you would fuck me."
He stared down at the woman for several beats. He'd had long-term lovers, had actually been married to one for almost five years. He'd had quickies to cap off a night out drinking, enjoyed a handful of orgies. But this was something new.
The woman pressed her case. "I'm an attractive woman, don't you think?"
He nodded agreement. She was indeed attractive. About five feet six inches. Long black hair, large dark eyes, smooth skin. From where he stood, looking down at her, she had a body with all the curves in the right places.
"So, I think you'd really enjoy fucking me," she said. She smiled sweetly, batted her eyelashes like a classic movie heroine.
"Uh, really now," Scott said, "this is rather unusual. Are we being watched, filmed? Are you a cop?"
She laughed. "No, none of that. Actually, I'm a housewife, mother of three little brats. My husband works all day, drinks with his buddies all night. I think he's fucking a secretary and a waitress or two, but he's not banging me anymore at all. That's my distress. I'm horny as hell."
Scott checked his watch, looked up and down the street. "Well, it's certainly an enticing offer. But, as I said, I'm waiting for a friend. Supposed to be here by now. And, also, I mean, here we are on a busy public street. What am I supposed to do, lean you over the hood off a parked car and nail you from behind?"
"That would be exciting," the woman said with an endearing giggle. "Maybe we could come back later, after dark, midnight or so, and we could do that then." She glanced around. "But for now, I see a dress shop across the street. We could go in there, pretend to be a couple looking for a new dress for me, for a party, say. I'll pick out two or three to try on. I'll have some trouble in the dressing room that only you can handle, call you in and we can fuck in there."
"You are a woman with all the answers," Scott said, laughing and shaking his head in admiration. "But my friend ..."
"Fuck your friend," the woman interrupted. Then she grinned lasciviously. "And that's an idea. Does your friend like threesomes? If he shows up in the next minute or so, we could take him with us and you both could fuck me."
Scott fought off thoughts of such an event transpiring in the shop's dressing room. "Listen, you're attractive, yes, hot even. But I promised my friend I'd be here waiting."
"Come," she said, grabbing his hand and pulling him out into the street. "You'll be just across the way. And tell you what: If you agree to fuck me, I'll suck your cock too."
They dodged a bicyclist, a taxi and a delivery van. As they approached the store, Scott yanked her to a stop. "We should know each other's names. I'm Scott. What should I call you?"
"What do you want to call me?" she teased.
He shook his head. The woman was a true piece of work. "Well, Jezebel seems appropriate, under the circumstances."
"Then Jezebel it is. You may call me Jez. I'll call you Honey and Dear." She stepped aside to let Honey and Dear open the door to the store.
They were greeted by a middle-age woman with a pasted-on smile. "Hello, folks, I'm Theresa. This is my little shop. How may I be of service to you today?"
"Oh, Theresa, it's so nice to meet you," Jezebel cooed. "We just loved the look of your establishment, and I told my husband here that we simply had to come in to check out your fine merchandise. You see, we've been invited to a party. It's nothing formal, so I don't need a gown or anything. But it's at my hubbie's boss's house. My man here is up for a big promotion, so I want to wear something nice to this affair." She winked at Theresa. "Maybe show a bit a cleavage and a spot of leg, too."
Theresa didn't break the plastic of her smile. "I'm sure we have just the thing for you. May I show you some ideas?"
Jezebel placed her hand lightly on Theresa's arm, drawing a wary look on the shopkeeper's face. "Oh, thank you, Tess. May I call you Tess? But we'll just look around. I presume you have a dressing room where I could try on some possibilities?"
"Indeed," Theresa said, pulling away from Jezebel's grasp to point to a door toward the rear of the store. "Right through there you'll find a well-appointed room. I'll be around, of course, so just call if you need me."
