The tall black man sat in an arm chair, with his laptop in his lap, Latte on the glass coffee table in front of him and stared into the screen. He wasn't that interested in what was on it. He came into the Decadent Delight Coffee Shop a couple of times a week just to see who might come in. It was the high end of town. The converted 150-year old Garment District oozed on high end design. Pizza in the next shop was $18.00 for a medium size. The restaurant next to that had several indoor Bocce courts, just for the people waiting to get in. Across the street, the aquarium shop had a variety of glass fish tanks in the range of $ 24,000.00 and up.
The coffee shop he was sitting in was pleasant; from the chair rail, or wainscot down, the walls were a dark chocolate. Above that, the walls were a cream gray. The tables or chairs seemed to have a number of pin lights focused on their tables. You could get a peanut butter cookie for $5.00. The small standard coffee was $3.00. Obviously the prices for Crème Brule and everything else was astronomical. The only ceiling was the bar joists and metal deck about 16'-0" above, and was painted black so it seemed to go on up forever.
Never the less, this dark skinned behemoth seemed to fit right in. Sitting down in the soft leather chair, it was hard to tell that he might be in the range of 6'-8" or so. No fat on him. His crossed legs revealed enough of his shoes beneath his boot cut Levi's to tell that they were the belly leather of Egyptian Crocodile; no longer legally made in the U.S. His starched, button-down collar, oxford blue dress shirt was tucked in and pretty much hidden under the Oleg Cassini, western cut sports coat.
The Café was almost empty, except for two young Chinese men and a beautiful Chinese woman; all about 24 years old. It was hard to tell what they were talking about, or whether they spoke English. They looked like Bananas; a derogatory terms used by Asians (yellow on the outside and white on the inside). The black man ignored them.
He tried not to look up as the door chimed open. He tried, but couldn't help but notice the couple who came in. there was something not quite right; something that didn't make too much sense. The couple didn't seem to match.
The woman was about forty, but very regal. Very regal, but to a degree out of her realm. He tried not to stare. Was she a tall for a woman, or was it just her very slender build, very short dress and high heeled boots that skewed her appearance? Her grey suede boots zipped up the sides and stopped just below her knees. Her legs were covered in a ribbed leggings or hose. Her dress was a button-front with a hem that stopped just above her thumbs. She was elegant, but clearly uncomfortable with something. The dress fit like a glove; tailored to fit. Her breasts were not huge, liked most men idolized. They were "perky" and bobbed when she walked. He would have sworn she had no bra. It was hard to tell. Maybe the kind made out of the clear hose fabric? He swore he could see the outlines of her nipples pressing against the thin fabric. "What kind of work did she do?" he wondered. He had seen many women like her when he was in college. Blanka Vlasic was the first that came to mind; the Olympic high jumper; tall, lean, athletic and regal. She seemed clearly uncomfortable about something.
Her husband seemed to be no match for her. He must have been a good fifteen years older than her. He had graying hair, thinning at the top and was dressed; almost shabbily? What was their relationship?
Jennifer Marie Stephensen did not look around as her husband opened the door for her. She was terrified. "Would this be the day?" she wondered. They had been on several dry runs over the last few months. She was terrified, but did not seem to be able to dissuade her husband.
She had caught him using the internet. She had inadvertently found the computer in a sleep mode after he thought he had turned it off. She had bumped into his "favorites" list and found all the porno. She had been devastated.
Terrified that she had not been enough woman for him, she had tried to talk to him to see why he had seemed to have lost interest in her sexually. Her husband, Jon, had tried to convince her he had not lost interest in her. But he saw his chance.
"I have had fantasies over the years. Have you ever had the urge to be with other men?" he had asked. "Not this again," her mind screamed. Jennifer tried to mask her horror over the perpetual question. "Absolutely not!" she had replied for the thousandth time. "I would never consider doing anything outside of our marriage. I never even had sex with anybody else before we were married." She had said.
Jon felt maybe he had an opening. Her outrage had seemed to be wavering after this latest issue. Gradually over the months, he began to plant subtle suggestions that perhaps a change in their interests could spice up their marriage. Jenny refused to consider the idea. However, she noticed that every time they had this conversation, her husband lit up. His interest in sex seemed to skyrocket for a day or so.
Curious, she began to explore the subject with him; just to see how it would change his behavior. Every time she asked him for details, his libido went through the roof.
"J ... j ... just w ... w ... what would, would you want me to ... to do? Do you actually want me to have sex with another man?" she stammered. It was the same question and answer. This time, Jon seemed to sense more desperation in her voice; less conviction on her part.
"Look, hon, you don't need to do anything you're uncomfortable with. But can't you just loosen up a little bit? Look at how you dress. It's like you're ready to teach Sunday school every day; everywhere we go. Why don't we just take some baby steps? Let's go out. Let's go somewhere we haven't gone before. Let's go do something we haven't done before."
Jenn felt like she was having her teeth pulled; without Novocain.
"Where ... where ... where do ... do you want to go? What ... what do you want me to wear?" she stammered; wondering whether she was actually considering it.
"Let's go out somewhere tomorrow; Friday night. You dress up and we'll try something new. We can go where nobody knows us."
Jennifer's head dropped. It was a triumph of sorts. She had not protested. She had not given that indignant look. She had not bagged on him being a pervert. He had to be careful; "Don't overdo it." He told himself.
The next evening when Jennifer got home, she walked in and threw her keys on the end table. She was surprised to see her husband dressed and ready to go. She went up to the bedroom to check her makeup. There on the bed was a bunch of clothes laid out on the edge. Jenn looked through them curiously. They were her daughter's. Who had laid them out; her husband or her daughter? Then she remembered the conversation from the evening before.
She had tried to blot it out of her mind; hoping he had too. No luck.
Dakota had teased her on occasion about her matronly choice of clothes. "Lighten up; Mom. You're pretty. Let it show." She had told her on so many occasions. Still, she could not imagine her daughter would have laid these clothes out for her. She had even forbid her daughter to wear this dress once before. Now, here it was; on her bed.
"I guess I'll do it just this once; just so Jon can't say I never do anything." She muttered to herself. Jenn sat down in front of her mirror and combed out her reddish brown hair so it cascaded down her back. She took the hair at her temples and braided it all the way and tied them together with a green butterfly at the back of her head. It kept her hair off of her face.
She put a faint red lipstick on; just enough to say she had used makeup. Her skin was soft and tanned, with the faint fine down of a baby; hardly noticeable on her face and arms. Her complexion was a contradiction for a redhead. Most redheads don't tan. Her hours of daily jogging gave her just the suggestion of freckles below her soft medium tan. Although she never wore makeup, nobody would have ever noticed. Her green eyes were intoxicating.
She was a little shocked at the panties and bra that were laid out. "Where had they come from?" she wondered. Dakota didn't dress that way and neither did she. The bra was a quarter-cup contraption like hose that stopped just below her nipples. She was outraged. "Just get the fuck over it." She tried to tell herself. "Nobody but Jon or I are ever going to know." She told herself. The thong was just as outrageous. It was not a real thong; the kind that gets stuck in your ass, like dental floss. The outrageous part was it was the same transparent, hose fabric. The front was skimpy, but the back was a full panel that went to her hip bone. "Nobody will ever fucking know." She told herself.
She put the dark, ribbed hose/leggings on and then the high boots. She looked at herself in the mirror as she slipped the dress over her shoulders. She watched herself as she buttoned the front. The square-cut front was pretty low in the front, but didn't really look slutty. "Can they see my nipples?" she wondered. Probably. Jenn looked around. She went to her closet and pulled out a cashmere sweater. It had long sleeves. She decided that she could leave it unbuttoned, but the sides would give her enough modesty as long as she didn't twist around or bend over too much; she told herself.
Jenny looked at herself nervously in the full length mirror. She looked nervously at the hemline. Outrageous. Never-the-less, it isn't any shorter than any of the other women seem to be wearing them now, she told herself. Maybe her husband was right; maybe she just needed to let go a little. Maybe they would go where nobody else knew them.
Jon clicked the television off, nervously, as he heard his wife clip-clop down the stairs. He looked up. "Okay, mister. We're going out on one condition. We are not going to go where anybody we know is going to be. I don't want anybody I work with see me dressed like this." She said with her arms crossed in front of her.
Jon looked at her and whistled. "You are fucking magnificent, hon. Can't you see I was right? You will stop traffic anywhere." Jon tossed the remote on the coffee table as he stood. Jennifer seemed to lose herself momentarily; flattered at the attention he was showing.
Jon put his arm around her as he led her out the door and opened the car door for her. She was a little embarrassed as he watched her get into the car. The very short dress rode up obscenely as she pivoted herself into the passenger seat. Try as she might, there was no way to pull the short dress down in the leather seat. "This is going to take a little getting used to." She said to herself as she tried to make herself presentable while Jon started the car.
"Let it go." He said as he backed the car out of the drive and put his hand on her bare thigh. Jenn didn't know whether to be embarrassed or flattered at this new attention. Deep down, it was probably what she wanted.
"Where are we going?" she asked as casually as she could.
"I don't know. Let's try something downtown." He said, trying to sound casual. Actually he knew exactly where he wanted to go. It took about twenty minutes for them to get from their suburb to downtown. It was Friday night. In fact it was First Friday. All the Art Galleries were open. Everything was busy in midtown.
The Garment District was an area they had seldom been to over the years. At one time, the old limestone and granite buildings had been the center of the city; bustling with trucks and people. For a while, it had been vacant and full of derelicts' and homeless. Recently the city had cleaned it up. Many high end coffee shops, restaurants and art galleries had opened up. On the first Friday of the month, all proprietors' stayed open until midnight and many of the younger people came out. Trying to get a parking space was outrageous. Jon knew where to go.
Jennifer didn't really suspect anything. She had no way of knowing. Guinevere's looked like an elegant restaurant; probably expensive. After all, they had their own parking lot. Jon parked and went around to let her out.
The building was elegant. It had been an old warehouse in it's day. Now the old limestone had been sandblasted. The limestone floors had been honed. New wall sconces gave it an elegant feel. The sixteen feet tall ceilings, the heavy timber beams and joists had been cleaned and the old oak exposed.
What a nice restaurant, Jennifer thought. Maybe the concessions of her dress wouldn't be so bad after all ... The Maître D' showed them in. Jennifer had not been into a restaurant like this. "It must be a dinner theater." She thought to herself. It has amphitheater seating. There is a small stage of some sort.
The food was fairly elegant. Not too expensive, but well prepared and graciously served. "Why did her husband seem somewhat nervous?" she wondered. He had made small talk during the dinner, but didn't really seem to have his mind on it. "What's going on, Jon. Why are you so detached?"
Jon grinned nervously. "I don't know. I'm just curious about the entertainment." He said; avoiding her eyes a little.
Finally the Maître D' came back out. "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, boys and squirrels. We are about to open the entertainment portion of the evening." The crowd clapped. Some whistled.
Please look at your guest check. In the top right hand corner of your check, one couple will have a red square on it. That couple will have a free evening; no payment for the meal, wine, tip or desert. Jon looked at his check. Jennifer heard somebody squeal. A woman raised her hand. Her husband raised his hand. He waived. The crowd clapped. The Maître D' walked over to verify the check.
He whispered to the man. "Congratulations, to Mister and Mrs. Whiteside. You have won the free evening on us."
More applause. "There's only one thing. Should you choose to have the free meal, wine, and dessert, you of course are the entertainment of the evening."
Jennifer still didn't quite understand. She felt the woman looked a little startled. She felt the woman had blushed a little. Evidently the woman felt that she could not back out at this point. Her expression seemed to change a little. From a child's excitement, her expression seemed to reflect nervousness, anxiety and reluctance. She steeled herself to accept the condition.
"What's your name, young lady?"
"S ... S ... Susan. My name's Susan. Susan Whiteside." She said a little nervously.
"Mrs. Whiteside; Susan, hon, do you accept the conditions for the evening?" the Maître D' said into the microphone. The woman gritted her teeth. She grimaced a little. "Oh, ... okay. I guess I should have known when we came that this might happen. Let me ... let me get used to it a little." She said, trying to look the good sport."
The Maître D' wrapped his arm around her waist and guided her up to the small stage. The audience clapped. The stage was a theater-in-the-round; in the sense that three sides projected into the audience. The back was against the back wall. The screen opened. There in the center of the stage was a recliner chair.
"Now we will have some modest form of audience participation." The Maître D' said. Whoever thinks they have the largest check, come forward. A number of men stood and waived their tickets. The Maître D' waived them forward. A small line of about eight men stood in the aisle as the Emcee looked at their tickets. He realigned them and sent a few back to their seats.
"These men have volunteered to help this precious lady tonight." The audience clapped and cheered.
Mister Waters, Jim Waters, here has the biggest check. He should. He has a whole table of guests with him. He will start off the honors with Mrs. Whiteside. The crowd cheered. Mrs. Whiteside stood nervously.
Jim Waters was a man of about fifty. He was tall, thin and gray haired. He looked at the middle aged woman and beamed. Anna Whiteside tried to smile. She was about fifty also. She had graying hair. It was very short. She had small earrings and a few jade bracelets on both wrists. She crossed her arms in front of her as Jim got near. The Maître D' whispered something to her as he held the microphone away. She dropped her arms to her sides.
Jim went around behind her. He bent his head down and against her. He reached around and started to unbutton her blouse.
Jennifer gasped. "What is going on?" her mind screamed as she stared first at the stage and over to her husband. Jon tried not to look at his wife. This was the test. Would she watch or would she bolt?
Jenn was too outraged to react. She sat there, not quite believing what was going on.
Jenn watched as the gray haired man finished unbuttoning her blouse. He pulled it out of her waistband; then back off of her shoulders. The crowd cheered. "More; more; more; We want more."
The woman was stoic. She tried not to react. She tried not to panic. Jennifer could not read her. "Why the fuck doesn't she run?" she wondered.
Jenn couldn't help but notice the woman's looks. Even though older than herself, there was something elegant; something regal about this woman. As the man removed her bra, Jenn was surprised at the lack of indignance shown by the woman. Even at her age, her medium sized breasts had no sag to them. They seemed to stand straight out. Her nipples were magnificent. Jenn had to admit. "If I were that old and looked that good, maybe I could stand to have somebody look at me." She told herself. It was a thought that flashed through her mind for perhaps a millisecond; not something she was consciously aware of. She was only aware of her outrage of the scene in front of her.
Jenn watched, riveted to the outrage as the man slowly removed all of her clothes. When she was bare, she stood there, trying feebly to cross her arms for cover. It was futile. Two hands cannot cover a crotch and both breasts. The Maître D' led her to the recliner and let her sit.
The Maître D' waived his hand and the remaining men standing in line seemed to know what to do. Silently they lined up around her. She had two on each side of her. The old man who had started the show now began to kneel in front of her. He was grinning.
Jenn watched in horror as one of the men on each side of her began to loosen their belts and lower their zippers. The woman seemed to understand. She was not enthusiastic, but offered no resistance. She focused her gaze on the Maître D', knowing he was giving the orders. When the men on each side of her had opened their zipper, Susan looked over; first to the man to her right. She reached into his pants and pulled out his penis. She looked up at him for approval, then over at the Maître D' to be sure this was what he wanted. When the penis came out, the crowd cheered.
With a look of resignation, she turned to the man to her left and did the same. Now she had an organ in each hand. Jenn thought she could see the woman blush. She looked apprehensive. The men moved closer. They were within millimeters of her face.
Jennifer watched in disbelief as she saw Susan slowly increase her grip on the men. She did not move her hand up or down their shafts, she just squeezed and released, possibly reluctant to show any initiative.
Susan raised her head back as far as it would go as she felt the next two men take an ankle in each hand and raise her ankles slowly up and towards her shoulders. It was hard to tell if she was in pain or just embarrassed. Jennifer could see the woman turn her head slowly back and forth as the man in front of her lowered his mouth onto her.
"Was she moaning?" Jenn wondered. "Was she in ecstasy or was she embarrassed?" It was not easy to tell.
Jenn looked over at her husband; stood and pushed her chair back with the back of her knees. She had seen enough. "Please take me home." She mouthed to her husband. She did not wait for a reply. She turned and headed for the door. Somewhat embarrassed, Jon followed her out. He stopped long enough to pay the tab.
He didn't need to ask his wife why she left. He didn't know if he had to apologize. "Jenn, hon, I think you need to lighten up. You looked so good tonight. So what if the entertainment is a little different. You didn't have to do anything, did you?"
When they got in the car, Jenn starred at him. "What if that had been our check that had the red block on it? What would have happened? Would you have expected me to do that? What would you have thought if that had been me up there?" she whispered indignantly.
"Jenn, honey, I love you. I would never make you do something you objected to. Wasn't it at least a little fun to see something different? He asked.
That night and just about every night for a week after, Jon seemed wound up like a drum. He performed every sex act he could think of on Jennifer that he could think of. This was the most Jenn had seen her husband turned on since their wedding night.
From then on, Jon had pestered his wife to dress provocatively at least once a week. Sometimes they would go to a bar that they had never been to before. He would drop her off and tell her to go in while he parked the car. Each time he let her go in alone, he would wait longer and longer before he went in after her.
Jennifer felt aghast at this charade, but knew her husband was showing a lot of interest in her whenever she made some kind of effort like this. He encouraged her to sit at the bar by herself. He said if somebody tries to buy you a drink, please consider accepting it. I won't tell you you need to come on to everybody with a dick. Take a chance. Live a little. It is exciting to me to know that other men are attracted to you. Aren't you flattered if they come on to you? Jenn endured his games because she didn't know what else to do.
She had married him at a young age. He had been a very distinguished professor at the college she had attended. She had been very successful as an athlete, but didn't really know what she wanted to do beyond that. She was comfortable as a runner. That was something she could do on her own. In the class, she didn't feel comfortable in debate, speech, or a number of other classes that involved group activities.
"I will learn to love him in time." She told herself after a few years of proposals. Jenn had been as good a wife as anybody could ever want. She was always punctual, courteous, and thorough in everything she did. She never was very convinced of her ability to survive by herself. She felt she needed him and was terrified by the thought of him losing interest in her. "At the age of 40, it was too late to start over." She had told herself.
Jennifer sat down on the couch in the Decadent Desserts Café. She tried, somewhat nervously, to pull her short dress down a little bit. She sat there, trying to be oblivious of the dark behemoth sitting in front of her. She picked up her cell phone and pretended to study it. She checked for messages. She checked for unanswered calls. She checked her internet messages.
She felt her husband's shadow pass over her as he approached. She looked up. He handed her the coffee he had picked for her. She watched with a certain relief as the black man got up without looking at her. He had put down his computer, so obviously he was not leaving. She watched him go out the door.
She watched as he pulled his keys out and clicked the car door to open it. Jennifer was intrigued with his car. She did not know it was a Mitsubishi 3000GT VR4. She could see but may not have understood that the paint was an eggplant purple pearl on the top and sides. The rocker panels below the door started out with a deep black and faded into the purple. The hood had realistic flames painted on them. She could not have known that the engine was not the normal three-liter stock engine. She wouldn't have cared that it was a 3,500cc engine from a Montero that had been bored out. If he had started it, she may have been able to hear that the mufflers were not stock.
She couldn't have possibly known that he had won it in his rookie year in the NFL Dunk Contest, but if you had told her, she would have thought it was obvious because of his size. She didn't know why he had left, but tried to look oblivious as he returned.
Jon swatted her on the thigh to get her attention. He gave her that look. She caught it. She knew what he meant. She knew what he wanted. She fought the urge to glare back at him; in defiance; in outrage at what she knew he wanted. They had gone around about it so many times. "Maybe he doesn't really mean it." She told herself.
"Surely he doesn't intend for me to flirt with this man. Surely he doesn't want me to talk to him." She told herself. "What do I say?" she wondered. Do I say: "My husband wants to see me fuck somebody? Are you game?"
Jennifer continued to stare at the icons on her phone; stupefied at her situation. She heard the door close. She was aware of a shadow next to her. She knew who it was when she looked up.
"Did you see the change the waitress gave me for my coffee?" he said as he held out his hand. Surely she knew this was bullshit, but this was an introduction; an icebreaker she had not heard before.
He opened his hand and showed her a silver dollar. It was a Morgan dollar.
"Are you serious?" she asked as she looked up at him; somewhat amused.
He moved and handed the dollar to her husband. He looked at it, turned it over, examined the date and couldn't size up the situation. The man held his hand out, palm up. Jon handed the coin back to him.
"Young lady, I would like to show you something very puzzling to me. Check the date on the coin." Puzzled, Jenn looked at it. It was an 1855 silver Morgan Dollar. He closed her hand over it.
"Would you be impressed if I could get that silver dollar out of your hand without touching you, burning your hand, or anything like that?" he asked. He smiled as he looked first at Jenn and then over at her husband.
Jenn forgot why Jon had brought her here. She was starting to feel comfortable with this monster.
"I am going to use my magical powers to remove the coin from your hand, now. Did you feel it? You no longer have the silver coin. Did you feel it go?" he looked at Jenn and smiled. She looked up at him and then at her husband, smiling. She could feel the coin still in her hand.
"No, I didn't feel a thing." She said as she smiled up at him.
"Do we have a bet?" he asked. "If the silver coin is still there, you can have that Mitsubishi 3000GT out there. If it's not in your hand, I get a kiss. Do we have a bet?" he asked.
Jenn had forgotten why she was there. She wouldn't say anything. "There's got to be a catch." She said to herself, knowing she could still feel the coin. She smiled and looked up at him. Even though she said nothing, her eyes indicated an agreement.
She could not have known. Neither of them saw it. The black man had done one of the switches that is in J.B. Bobo's "Encyclopedia of Coin Magic." It is described as the pumpkin squirt although J.B. could not do it himself and had never actually seen anybody do it. A copper coin is palmed in his hand while he shows the silver dollar. As he takes the dollar back, he snaps his fingers like somebody snaps them to music. It is impossible to see, but it shoots the dollar up his sleeve as he sets the copper coin down in the other person's palm. When the spectator closes his hand, nobody sees the different coin.
The black man held both of his hands, palm up beside hers, indicating she should open her hand. When she did, she was holding a copper coin she had never seen before. Everybody laughed. Jenn smiled at him. The joke was over; or was it.
"Nice trick" Jon said, forgetting himself, why they were there.
"Well, I'm glad you liked that, but don't forget; a bet's a bet." He said as he beamed at Jennifer. "I'm hoping you will pay up." Jenn looked at her husband, and then up at the giant in front of her. Slowly, it dawned on her that he was expecting a kiss.
Jenn had mixed feelings. She had never kissed a black man. On one hand, her husband had brought her her to find somebody to fuck. On the other hand, he had treated her like a little child and she felt she was going to kiss somebody in the wedding line or at a reception. What did this kiss mean?
Jenn wasn't sure. She turned her head up towards him. She was sitting down; he was standing up. The black man looked first at her, then at her husband. Somehow, he began to feel this was something more than an innocent kiss over a joke. He saw something in the husband's eyes.
The black man got down on his knees. Now he was almost eye level with Jennifer. She felt his hands on her face. They were warm. They were fucking huge. They were rough. But they seemed to have a tenderness about them. He tilted her head so their noses missed. He held her face so she was pointed up. He licked his lips and touched them against hers. She flinched, not really knowing how to take it.
A "fatherly," kiss would have been with dry lips; perhaps on the cheek? She didn't open her eyes, but her smile disappeared. This was a serious kiss. She did not resist. A bet's a bet. She held her position. He kissed her again. It wasn't just a "peck." He didn't pull back. She could feel his tongue flickering against her. She blushed, knowing her husband was inches away.
Jenn didn't know what to do. This was almost as serious as an outright fucking. It isn't the actual act, it is the intent. She knew that if she did not resist, her husband would take it as a sign that she would fuck him. She shivered, not knowing what message to present.
She would not open her mouth. On the other hand she knew what her husband wanted. His lips were wet. He smeared his intentions all over her. Her husband was watching. She had to breathe; eventually. It sounded faintly, like a moan. Was it? It sounded that way to her husband.
Finally, the black man pulled back, letting Jenn come up for air.
"That was the best kiss I have ever had." He said looking over at Jon.
He extended his right hand towards Jon. "My name's Luc; Luc Santana."
"Jon Stephensen." Jenn's husband replied as he extended his hand for a solid handshake. Now he knew. He thought the man seemed familiar, but Jon couldn't place him. He remembered now, that Luc had played for the local Pro team. Only his name wasn't really Luc. It was really Lucifer Santana. It was cut short to a nick name of Luc. The names of Lucifer implied the devil. Santana was too close to Satan. He remembered the headlines making a lot of hay over the play on names; Satan's Slam, and so many other descriptions of his basketball skills.
"This is my wife; Jennifer; Jennifer Stephensen. We are pleased to meet you, Mr. Santana.
The conversation seemed innocent, but Luc had caught something. It was something that was hard to explain. He watched the expressions between the man and wife. What was it? He detected a tension between them. He sensed a feeling of reluctance on her part to talk to him; to look at him. She seemed to shiver a little as he had his arm around her. They had not completely separated themselves after the kiss. She was not able to completely shed herself from him. What was it?
They talked a little; all small talk. Luc was trying to size up the couple. He still had his left hand and arm around Jennifer's right side. As he talked to the husband, he let his right hand drop. Casually he let it rest on her left thigh. Her dress had risen outrageously when she sat down. Jenn looked over at her husband. What was happening?
More talk. Luc had some ideas; some feelings, but he couldn't be sure. When men get excited, their hormones tend to race beyond reality. Most men think a girl wants to fuck if she just looks at him. He had to be careful not to get carried away. On the other hand, he was suspicious of why these two were here.
Jenn looked at her husband. Did he understand? Was he going to allow this? Finally, Luc gazed down to her short dress, then up into her eyes and then over to her husband, questioning whether anybody was on board with what his mind was thinking.
"You, Miss Jennifer, are one of the most spectacular women I have ever seen." He said as he looked down at her hem. He let his hand slide up her thigh against the edge of her hem. He looked at her, then over at Jon as he pushed it up a little. No reaction. No objection means approval in his mind.
Joe watched, fascinated with Luc's hand on her thigh. She placed her hand over his; mostly to stop him. On the other hand, to her husband, it looked like an act of intimacy. She had grasped his hand. Was she getting into it? Was she ready to go along with what he wanted to see her do? His mind was racing.
Luc moved his right hand from under, to above hers. He moved hers over to the lowest button; just above her hem. He moved her fingers against the button. He was forcing her to push the button through the eyelet.
Jenn looked over at her husband as he stared at her. She had no doubt that her husband was watching this black man slide their fingers up her dress. It wasn't that much. It was the gesture that meant so much. Luc turned a little trying to guage how much of an audience they might have. Were the Chinese kids watching? Where were the store managers and waitresses? Nobody seemed to be watching.
Jenn looked back and forth; first at Luc, then over at her husband as the two of them unbuttoned the first button. "Is this what you want?" she whispered. Jon just smiled. Luc was watching. He looked once more around the room as he moved both of their fingers to the next button. Jenn tried not to fight him. But also, she was not going to cooperate. "Nnnnoooooooo..." she whispered as she looked around the room.
Her same assessment of the room was that everybody was watching; that they were all snickering and commenting about her. She could almost hear it. The Chinese were talking in Mandarin. "Look! Look! The black guy has his finger up her cunt!" They were snickering. Not that she spoke Mandarin; or that she could distinguish between Mandarin and Cantonese.
Jennifer was ready to heave. Why wasn't she screaming for him to get the fuck away? Why wasn't her husband throwing the hot coffee at this stranger? What the fuck were they all doing?
It seemed like an emotional struggle. Jon and Luc were willing to see what the shivering woman would do. Jon watched as the couple in front of them slowly unbuttoned the next button. With the dress riding up, both of them had their fingers almost against her crotch.
Luc had guessed correctly. The husband wanted to watch his terrified wife. For whatever reason, she was unwillingly, reluctantly unresisting. What did he have on her?
Just to be sure, Luc leaned in again. He had his mouth a little more open. Jenn looked over at her husband before closing her eyes. She did not want to see his leering. She did not want to see that he was not objecting. She wanted to blot out everything in this scene. She did not open her mouth, but she did not protest. His wet mouth enveloped her. This was intellectually almost indistinguishable from rape. She shuddered over her inability to take action on her own; to run; to fight. In a futile sign of resistance, Jenn seemed to be using her tongue to meekly thwart the advancement of the curious invasion into her mouth. If she had been sixteen or eighteen. If it had been dark at night; if they had been home alone, perhaps the actual act was not so objectionable. But now, in front of the man she had lived with for twenty years; with other people in the Café, Jennifer was mortified with what was going on. What the fuck was going on? Jenn groaned. Was she fighting for air? Luc pulled away long enough for her to get her breath.
"I've got a little condo around the corner. Why don't we go there for drinks? These prices are a little steep." Luc said as he pulled away.
Jon was too excited to say anything. For him this was almost too good to be true. It was all he had fantasized. How should he play it? What would it take to get his wife up there? He had to be careful; careful enough not to panic her. Bold enough to assure her that nothing bad would happen. Decisive enough to keep her from backing out. He nodded as he watched Luc raise his right hand while he talked. He brushed the back of his right hand up his wife's front; essentially fondling her nipples as he did so.
Jenn was so overcome by the consequences and implications of the conversation; she was almost unaware of his hand sliding up over her breast. He stood; took each of her hands in his and raised her up off of the couch. He had both of her hands. She was unable to straighten her skirt. It looked almost like a tunic; the hem being just inches below her crotch. It wasn't until then that she was aware of what had just happened. Now she remembered his hand; sliding up her dress, caressing her left nipple.
She starred at her husband, unbelieving that he had let this happen without a fight or an objection. Her eyes bore into him: "Is this what you want? Is this what you want me to do?" she seemed to be saying. His lack of a response made it clear. He had no objections.
Out on the sidewalk, Luc walked; leading the way. He had Jenny's hand in his. Jon tagged along behind. The couples walking towards them, both on their side of the street and across couldn't help but be puzzled at what they were watching. Nobody could catch the connection. Here a handsome, rugged black man was walking hand in hand with this outrageously beautiful and serene looking middle aged woman. Behind them seemed to be an older disheveled and somewhat shabbily dressed man. What was their connection? The questions were short. The questions were lost on the appearance of the woman.
She seemed to be staring straight ahead most of the time. Sometimes she looked down and tried to cross her free hand either across her breasts or keep the sides of her dress together. When the wind blew, it looked like Dian Lane in the opening scene of "Unfaithful," where she is carrying two shopping bags and unable to keep her dress down in the high New York wind.
"It's right up here." Luc said as he opened the vestibule door of the condo building. "The elevator is just around the corner." Jennifer was numb. The events had overwhelmed her. She had gone out with her husband dressed like this before. She had even danced with several men while her husband watched discretely from the other end of the bar. At some point, he had sensed her panic and despair. He approached her for the next dance and they had escaped from the bar. Gradually, he had become more and more insistent with various kinky new ideas.