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More tears were running down her cheeks. I got up out of my chair, knelt next to her and hugged her. Her sobs increased. I could feel her tears on my shoulder. I waited.I felt her breathing even a bit and asked again, “Mom, tell me, please. What are you feeling about tonight?”“Oh, Michele, I’m making this such a mess.” A couple more sobs before she continued, “Michele, I just can’t do this. I’m sorry, honey, but I just can’t. I thought I could. But I can’t. I know these guys, Michele. We’re friends as couple with most of them. If I fucked them tonight like a slut, how could I ever look at them, again? What if their wives don’t know? How could I look at them, much less being friends?”“Mom, it’s okay. We can work through this.”“No, I really can’t.”“That’s what I mean. You don’t have to. We’ll work something out.”“Michele, I saw what you were doing, read the accounts, watched the video, and listened to you both and it all sounded so … so … exciting. I wanted some of that. The sex. "What can I do for you?"I jumped as his deep voice penetrated the silence. "Give me a draft beer," I said shakily.He looked at me critically. "How old are you, girl?" Twenty-one," I lied."Can I see some identification." I don't have any," I said truthfully. I had left my driver's license and anything else that might identify me back at the motel."Then I'm afraid you'll have to leave. I could lose my license."I felt an arm and a hand come around my shoulder. "Now, Pete, if the lady says she's twenty-one, she's twenty-one." I looked up to see who had spoken. It was one of the black men from the table in the back.I looked back to the bartender. "Whatever you say, Tom," he said pushing a glass of beer in front of me. There was sweat running down his face and he looked really scared. But that was okay because so was I.Tom picked up my beer with his left hand and twirled me around and off of the bar stool, his right hand still being around my shoulder. "Come on, I'll introduce you to.
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