Going freelance was the best thing I ever did.
Granted, it wasn't a big bold choice on my part. My company _downsized_, and my entire department got _outsourced_. Once I was told these very words, I was glad to go. Who wanted to work for a company that used stupid made-up words like that! What happened when a company expanded? Could they be said to have _upsized_? What did _upsized_ really mean? Nothing! Or some sort of mild gastro-intestinal distress- -I myself rarely suffered from an upsized stomach.
Of course there was the gratification of having a clever VP decide to toss the entire account my way. As well, since the stump left of the Marketing Department no longer had a creative arm, they had no need for all the high-tech heart of the Art Department. I basically signed over my severance check and got the lot for a laughable steal. And then I got to begin billing them at an hourly rate about twice my former salary.
That was the meat and potatoes. After a few months, I'd gone around town and scooped up more accounts for gravy. I worked hard for several years and built up such a clientele load that doing my old job became-- to move the metaphor from the main course to dessert--the icing on the cake.
Then I was on a comfortable plateau. The city could really afford me no more than what I already had. To increase my base I either had to start getting hyper-aggressive and become known as a regular back-stabbing bastard-about-town, stealing jobs, slipping in and destroying long- standing client relationships. That or start doing newspaper supplement shit.
Or--the lightbulb above my head flared--expand and go regional. There were half a dozen full-sized cities within a 200 hundred mile radius of me, the center of my universe. It was certainly worth the effort to try to pull jobs in from all of them. Maybe I'd have to hire an assistant, et cetera.
Using my connections and making cold calls to offer a presentation, everything started settling in one town. I scheduled Pressburg with seven or eight meetings over the course of a week, then sat with a travel agent in the hopes I might find a flight cheap enough I could thankfully abandon the prospect of driving.
Turned out that there was a little regional airline that serviced all seven of our cities, and at a price that was like just chipping in for gas.
Pressburg happened to be where my sister and her husband lived, so I sat down that evening with my schedule to give them a call, let them know I was coming, and maybe set something up to get together one evening.
Harold answered the phone. "Hey Bruce, you big stud! How's it hanging?"
"Thick and heavy as always. How about you Harold?"
"Heh heh, I'll spare you the details--doubt you want to hear me talking about your sister like that. So what've you been up to? Christ man, haven't seen you since when, Christmas?"
"Actually, that's why I'm calling, Harold. I'm going to be in town for a week early next month--thought I'd let you guys know, see if we could get together for dinner one night or something. So is Janice around? I know you don't book the social calendar."
"Damn straight! So your visit--is it business or pleasure."
"Harold, haven't you gotten that right yet? Business _is_ pleasure."
He guffawed. "Well, I've always made pleasure _my_ business."
I faked a laugh. "So... then... is Janice around? Can she talk right now?"
"Hold on, let me check. See if she can bear to quit giving me head long enough for a few words."
Gawd! As if blood relations weren't bad enough, having to know people fairly intimately simply because you share some genetic material. But then having to deal with morons who happen to marry into the family.
"Brucie! What's this about your coming for a visit?"
"Hey Janice! It's a business trip, actually. Trying to rustle up some action in your town. So I thought I'd check in ahead of time, see if we could get together for dinner one night."
"_One_ night? Try every night."
"Well... whatever. I'll be coming the 2nd and leaving the 9th. A Monday/Monday so I can get the cheap fare."
"What are you flying in on."
"_Mudflaps Airline_ flight 2 or 3--depending on whether they can get a grounded plane back up in the air--arriving out on the tarmac at precisely 4:37 in the afternoon."
"_Mudflaps Airline_? I've never heard of _that_."
"Neither had I. But they serve the whole valley region with regular flights. Probably it's some sort of 'linked flight', you know, where you occasionally have to wing-walk from one cropduster to the next in your field flight home. But it's great, a direct flight, only forty- five minutes up in the air--providing they can keep the plane up in the air that long."
"Ugh. I think I'd rather book national. Pay twice the ticket and have an hour layover to change planes way over in St. Louis, and wind up spending more time to fly than if you just drove the damn distance. God, what do they do, Bruce? Put wings on lawnmowers and let you fly your own plane?"
"I don't expect you have to become your own pilot. I think the unions have very explicit language in their contracts about that. At any rate, I'll give you a call once I'm settled at the hotel."
"I don't think so, Brucie. Why do you think we have a guestroom? Screw that whole hotel idea. So... I'll be there to pick you up."
"No," I turned, "just give me directions. I have to pick up a car at the U-Rent lot."
"Bruce you doofus. Harold and I live in a quaint but cozy 2-bedroom 1- bath house... with a 4-car garage we keep packed. Pick your set of keys, okay?"
There was that weird incongruity in their lives. Harold was a true corporate honcho, while Janice made a killing selling overpriced real estate. Yet they lived in the tiny type of _quaint but cozy_ bungalow that Janice would sneer at listing. To which they'd added a 4-car garage. That had more square footage than the damn house itself.
I had asked before, and almost wished I hadn't.
"That's because we're True Believers in the Church of Conspicuous Consumption, my man," Harold had answered. "The house is unimportant. It's just a place to pack in your trophies, and park your ass for the moments when you're not out running the race."
"Besides," Janice had chimed in, "this size we can keep up with the housework ourselves. I hate having help. I don't want some strange woman in my house not bothering to move the chairs to vacuum, and stealing all my best things."
"But still," I'd persisted, "isn't it part and parcel of the American Dream? The desire to have a separate bathroom for every resident?"
"Well," Harold had boomed in reply, "we _enjoy_ the intimate scale." Then he leaned in with a leer, "Besides, nothing your sister likes better than when I barge in and jump her right after she's taken a dump."
Jesus! I didn't want to know about these things, and I was sure as hell hoping Janice hadn't heard that I suddenly did know about them. She just smiled and rattled on, "Anyway, this summer, off the master bedroom, we are going to break ground on what's left of the lot and install, well, not so much a second bathroom as an aquatics center."
What could I do on the phone but shrug? That was that. The business deductions for the hotel and car would have been great on the taxes, but I was better off getting accommodations and transportation for free. Even if I was greatly hesitant about sharing their house. I'd just have to be wary of getting cornholed by a sleepy Harold if I went for a pee in the middle of the night.
It was one of those amazing coincidences that should be written up for the records. Not only did the weary traveler's flight arrive on time, but his ride was neither early nor late. And then I had the vicarious thrill of the looks of envy I garnered from my greeting. Those poor guys, still uncertain how it was that a big diamond and a gold band had transformed their hot girlfriends into prematurely matronly wives. Offering up a cheek for a quick peck. While Janice, in a clingy cotton spring dress, came running shrieking down the ramp to jump into my arms.
Being her brother hadn't blinded me to that period of months at thirteen when Janice had suddenly transformed from a dyed-in-the-wool tomboy to a voluptuous young woman. Although at the time I'd been oblivious to almost everything but the nearly constant surging in my pants.
So I knew what was being observed--a pretty face with a cute upturned nose, shoulder length dark blonde hair flying like a mane as she ran, breasts that bounced along screaming _look at these great tits!_ And then in passing an ass like somebody had taped a sign reading _Squeeze me_ to her behind.
Even though she was my sister, Janice was still a very squirmy girl. My arms could barely contain her in our hug. Her breasts were practically mashed flat against my chest, and she was bathing my face with the kisses of a tongue-happy dog. Finally I had to just step away from her embrace to avoid a rather doggy reaction myself. I nearly blushed at the burgeoning sensation, even though everyone knows the penis knows no distinctions.
"God, Brucie," she gushed, "just look at you! It's so-o great to see you!" She took a few steps back and just _beamed_ at me, taking me all in. I felt nearly naked. Then she reached and grabbed one of my bags. "Come on, let's get out of here. Got everything waiting for you. Pillows fluffed, bed turned down, chocolate on the bedside table."
I'd brought just the one carry-on, and a portfolio, so we were able to avoid the circus down at the luggage carousel.
Just to rub it in, I slunk an arm around Janice's waist, my hand resting dangerously at the first gentle slope of her hip. She responded by sidling up even closer, the curve of her ass brushing against me with every step.
Harold was already home when we arrived. After the greetings and getting me settled, Janice turned around and went back out to bring home some dinner, leaving Harold and me to sit around and grunt guy stuff at each other.
Dinner was the definition of decadence, eating amazingly good Thai food directly out of the carry-out containers, a roll of paper towels on the coffee table as a totem against making a mess on the livingroom furniture. The t.v. told us it's versions of the day's events. We spent the rest of the evening idly yacking back and forth, then, when their attentions turned more firmly towards the shows on the huge screen, I got out my papers and began going over some of the paperwork for the pair of presentations I had planned for the following day. After a few hours of that, Janice was suddenly standing in front of me, giving me a kiss goodnight. Harold hauled himself to his feet and followed her down the hall to their bedroom. It was still early by my standards, so I stayed up another hour or so, able to concentrate more fully on my papers without the annoyance of all the stupidly scripted dialogue and canned laughter.
Finally I packed things up for the night, circled the house turning out lights, then went down the dark hallway to my room. There I changed for the night, into a t-shirt and a pair of boxers--which I wear only for sleep. I went back down the hall to the bathroom for my nightly ablutions.
Finished there, I clicked the switch and opened the door to head back to my room. Blind from the bathroom light, I moved hesitantly down the black tunnel of hall. In such a state, the sudden rustling I heard roared. I stopped completely and pricked up my ears. As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I came to see I was standing right outside the door to their bedroom. The door stood ajar.
Among the rustlings--like cloth scraping across something--I began to discern whimpers and sighs and muted cries, muffled moans and gasped- back groans. Finally I understood that Janice and Harold were in the privacy of their bed fucking each other crazy. With that thought I had the sudden image of Janice on her back, legs spread wide as can be and pointed crookedly towards the ceiling. While her pussy got a good pounding.
I didn't stick around, not wanting to know the noise of their orgasms, and hurried as much as I quietly could away down the hall to my room. I got myself ready, turned out the light, and crawled into bed. Then I lay there wide awake with an enormous erection. It was ridiculous. Sure, I guessed I'd never thought of my sister as a sexual being, but hell, she was married and all. She _had_ gone through puberty some years back. She was as human as anyone. So of course she liked to fuck. With her legs spread wide and crooked up towards the ceiling. With a big hard cock driving into her cunt, and her loving every second of it. I started thinking about sneaking back down the hall in the hopes of hearing Janice cry out the fulfillment of her passion. Her legs held high and wide. Welcoming the staff of a man. I tried to scold my hand off my cock, but it just stroked it all the faster. A cock glistening with her pussy juice as it stroked in and out of her. Her legs spread wide. Spread for me. Her cries as my cock plunged to her core. I scrambled to peel off my t-shirt, barely making it in time to avoid shooting a big load of semen all over the sheets.
Sure, I was human, I too had gone through puberty, and she'd met some of my girlfriends as sexual evidence over the years. But I really didn't want to leave Janice with the image of me jacking off like a monkey in the finery of their guestbed.
As I drifted there in post-orgasmic bliss, I made the firm resolution to keep my hands off my cock for the rest of the visit. I could hold it to pee, and soap it up in the shower--quickly! quickly!--but that was the extent of it.
I was slightly cold when I awoke, soon discovering that I was bare- chested. Somehow over the course of the night I'd managed to struggle out of my t-shirt. This was perplexing. I wasn't a somnambulist. I never did stuff like that. Undressing in my sleep--what would be next? Getting naked and going for a drive?
After searching through all the bedding, I finally found the shirt on the floor beside the bed. I picked it up to put it back on, puzzled for the moment by all the stiff spots on the cloth. Then my ears seared as memory swept over me. Jesus! I needed to burn that shirt.
I rooted through my bag and got a clean t-shirt, exchanged my night boxers for a pair of day briefs and some sweatpants. The hour was early enough there would be no morning rush. A shower could wait, I decided, coffee being of a much more urgent matter.
When I walked into the kitchen, the smell of coffee was almost staggering. Janice was sitting at the table sipping hers. She looked up at me with a cozy smile--the exact smile of a well-fucked woman, whereas the one I returned was the guilt-tinged one of a masturbating man. Her hair was still damp from the shower, and she was wearing a white terrycloth bathrobe.
"Good morning, sleepy-head. There's a fresh pot; mugs are over the sink."
I poured a cup of coffee, reached over to refill hers, then sat down next to her at the table.
"So what's on the agenda for you today?" I inquired.
"Busy busy busy," she shot me a stunning smile. "How about you?"
"A minor morning meeting, then a biggie this afternoon."
"Mmm," she took a sip, then made a sour face, "best of luck, then, particularly this afternoon." Her expression made no sense. She noted my confusion. "Oh, nothing," she waved it away, "just that I can never be too sweet."
Janice reached for the sugar bowl in the middle of the table. The front of her robe sagged and her tits just about tumbled out. And judging from the brief glance I got, they were tits I would have very much enjoyed watching tumbling out.
"Oh geez," she laughed, sitting back. She set to hiking and tightening the waist cord, but in doing so I could suddenly see enough curly hairs to know Janice wasn't wearing panties. "God!" she giggled, "I'm spilling out all over the place. I'm sorry--you must think I'm such a slut. I better go get dressed, and for future reference remember that this robe is too indecent for when company's around."
All I could hope was that my briefs and sweatpants hid any evidence of my swelling cock. Janice had given no indication she'd noticed. I stared in the black glass of the oven door watching the terry cloth swaying of her ass as she receded down the hallway.
I took my time with the coffee, swilling several cups in a row. Nothing like a good old shot of caffeine to help constrict the blood vessels. Thankfully my mind started wandering, considering the day ahead of me. The blood drained from my cock and went back up to my brain. Great pump, that heart. Soon I was completely flaccid, and brimming with a great idea. I'd been idly considering how best to kill the hour or two between appointments when suddenly it struck. Meet Janice and treat her to a really nice lunch, a minor remuneration for all her hospitality. But that was, I remembered, dependent on exactly how _busy busy busy_ she was and when. I finished my coffee and got up to go ask.
Starting down the hall, I called out, "Hey, Janice?"
"Yea?" came her muffled reply.
The door to the bedroom wasn't completely closed, but it was open only a crack. I gave it a slight rap--no hollow-core door here.
"What exactly is your schedule today?"
"I can't hear you very well; come on in."
"Well," I started pushing in, "I was thinking about lunch."
I stepped into the bedroom and immediately stopped. Janice stood there studying a pair of dresses, one charcoal blue, the other a delicate pink. Standing in just her bra and panties. Underwear that was racier than anything at Victoria's Secret.
I stood there transfixed, silent and staring.
She looked at me levelly; then she turned playful. "Thinking of lunch already? But you haven't even had breakfast yet."
Janice resumed examining the garments, her brow furrowing. Then she turned back to me. "You're a man--you decide. Which dress should I wear? I have this huge old mansion of a house I've been trying to unload for months. It's a lovely place, but run-down. Given the condition it's wildly overpriced. But it's to settle an estate, and the kids are greedy little shits who won't come down a cent. I have this gentleman of means who is interested but not quite convinced--and I need to be the visual clincher. I mean, pink stinks of sex, but the other one is actually more alluring. What do you think?"
She tossed the pink one to the bed, then slid the other one over her head. She had to tug at the hem to get it past her hips, but once she had I could imagine no finer showcase for her ass. After treating me to a twirl, Janice looked at me expectantly.
"Don't change," my voice went squeaky. "That's the one."
"It _is_ very nice, isn't it?"
Janice turned away from me. "It doesn't make my ass look too big, does it?"
"Nope," I swallowed. "It makes your ass look, um, extremely nice."
She gave it a little shake and giggled. "You guys and girls' asses--I still don't get it. Though I've learned what to do with it."
That she had.
"Better yet," she called brightly, peeling the straps off her shoulders, letting the fabric fall until it caught at her waist. She turned at the waist, presenting her torso nearly in profile, while her hands fumbled behind her at the clasp of her bra. "Thank god I don't have huge boobs or I'd never be able to get away with this." She tossed the bra aside and turned away completely again as she struggled to get the dress back over her shoulders. Her hands played around where the zipper started a bit below the top of her panties. "Damn!" she called out. "Brucie, could you please help me out here. The stupid thing seems to be snagged."
"Sure," I stepped forward, my voice so hoarse I was afraid to say another word. There was no way to fix it without touching her ass; then I had to press on her ass to get the two sides of the zipper lined up.
She turned and gave me a quick kiss. "Thanks."
Janice was partially correct. She didn't have huge boobs, but they weren't so small that they didn't make for a tidy bundle below her neck. They didn't need a bra for support, though without one they wobbled with her every movement.
She turned to the mirror and tweaked her nipples. I about died. They responded visibly through the cloth. "Perfect," she gave her reflection a glowing smile.
Janice smoothed the dress over her hips, cast herself one more appraising look, then turned brightly, "Shoes, then I'm ready to take on the world."
The word shoes made me look at her feet. Bare feet leading to bare legs. "No pantyhose?"
"Naw. I've got gorgeous legs and they're freshly waxed. Leave it to those piggies who stand on a pair of sausages to put their meat in taupe casings. Unless you feel like messing with garters, hose, you know, they do sort of imply a lack of easy access. Besides--you wouldn't know unless there's something about you I don't know--the damn things give you itchy-crotch. Plus they'd ruin the effect: very visible panty-line is the order of the day."
She went over to the closet, bent over and began searching for shoes. Her dress inched up and became very tight. I deliberately had to look elsewhere. "Ah ha," she peeled, "there you guys are. _Just_ the pair."
They weren't exactly come-fuck-me pumps, but their message was decidedly miles from don't-come-fuck-me. "Add a little wiggle to the walk," she winked.
Janice grabbed her purse from off the top of the dresser; she bit her lower lip and paused. "You were saying something about lunch, right?"
"Well," I recovered, "I thought it'd be nice to treat you, if you're available. I should be done with my first well before noon; the second isn't until two."
Her eyes turned upwards as though she was physically scanning the information in her brain. "Got a similar gap myself," Janice announced brightly. "You'll be downtown, right? I'll be coming back into town from that mansion right about then. I can push my one-thirty until two if need be. How about _Garcia's_ right down there on Market? That place we took you a couple of visits ago?"
In my mind I saw seating, and maybe a bar.
"Oh yea sure--that was such a great place! What's your best time?"
"Fine. Got it tattooed on my brain."
"It's a date then?" Janice swung my way.
"Certified and sanctified," I answered.
"How nice," she continued, "me having an actual date."
I was sort of thinking about that. To my recollection, I'd never invited a woman to lunch in my life! Maybe--at long last--it was my trial run. At any rate, my sister accepted.
"See ya then," she said. She paused as she passed past me, gracing my lips with a kiss like freshly washed fresh lettuce: crisp yet wet.
_Janice has left the building_ an imperious if distant and distorted voice tried to inform me. So what? I stood there, unmoving, rooted to her bedroom floor. I was thinking big thoughts I really didn't need to be thinking. There was fortunately enough room for the small voice reminding me I had to leave for a meeting within an hour.
After shaving and showering and dressing up, bolting a few slices of toast, I drove for fifteen minutes, then spent several hours talking to a couple of strangers. None of the discussions stayed in my brain; I left the office tower knowing only that I had another account under my belt.
Lord but I was glad to get outside. And there I stood, in the middle of the lunchtime bustle of downtown Pressburg. I didn't bother fetching the car out of the garage. Market Street was just a block over; a walk of a few blocks down that and I found _Garcia's_.
I'd arrived about a few minutes early and it was such a nice day I decided to just hang around outside waiting for Janice to show. I could remember nothing of the blur of the preceding hours. Just that I'd walked away with a small but chunky account. My chosen position really was the perfect antidote. Was there any better sport than people- watching? Not to my way of thinking.
Within five minutes a car sporting some company logo on its side pulled into a parking slot almost exactly across the street. Once the driver's door opened, all I saw was a long pair of bared legs, knees sweeping down to shapely calves. I didn't have a perfect view, but from my vantage this woman was wearing _the_ dress most fitted to her form. It was bluish sort of grey in color. Like charcoal when it's best grey to cook. The woman bent over to retrieve something from her car. Man, but she sported a mighty fine backside.
When the woman began crossing the street directly towards me, I wanted to melt into the sidewalk with shame. Fortunately there was no way for her to have seen that I'd been leering at her ass. That would have been awkward to explain to Janice. _Well, I was staring at this woman's ass and she caught me; she's lunching at_ Garcia's _and now I'm too embarrassed to go in there._
I pivoted and averted my gaze as she approached, pretending to find an extraordinarily interesting detail in an office building that had been built long after interesting details in commercial architecture was even a consideration. I thought I was safe.
Reaching me, the woman snarled, "You big bastard, you! I saw you staring at my ass!"
_It's a free country_--no, probably not the best response.
Especially since--my mind went racing--if I was a truly brilliant human being, I might be able to somehow turn this moment of my gross faux pas into the start of something beautiful, with a woman who regularly sat on a most admirable ass indeed.
But before I could respond--quick wit that I am--the woman was attacking me. She came at me with both arms swinging, but then they swung around my back, forcing me into a fierce hug as she gave me a sloppy kiss on the lips.
I blinked in amazement. "Janice?"
"I swear," I swore, "I never knew it was you. Something about you... I just didn't know... maybe your dress or something."
"This _dress_?" she gaped. "You saw me in it this morning. Hell, you picked it out. And from your appreciation then, I'd think you'd have no trouble picking out my shapely ass."
"Context!" I waved. "And I never saw your ass bending over to get something out of your car in your bedroom this morning."
Janice smiled, then lifted a hand and licked the tip of her index finger. She pressed the finger to my lips. "Bruce," she nodded, "you're the best."
Salvaging the moment, I put my hand on my hip, and offered her the formal link of my arm. "Shall we proceed?"
She slunk an arm through mine, but then her hand snuck on around my waist. Which left me with the only comfortable position of moving my hand well down on her hip. We entered _Garcia's_, and heads turned to see Janice. She rolled her eyes at me, then as we walked past the bar to the hostess stand, her hand dropped lower, egging mine on in imitation, lower again with a squeeze, until we were nearly hopping the last steps. "_Grab-assing_ in public," Janice gave a growl of appreciation, "we're being so _bad_."
It really was the optimum luncheon experience. _Garcia's_ was crowded, but we got a table right away, a cozy booth across from the bar. The waitress was prompt and pretty, leaving menus and returning with our drink orders right when we'd settled on our meal selections.
As she walked away, I was watching.
"She looks eminently fuckable," Janice completely discombobulated my thoughts.
Perhaps she saw a question on my face. Janice answered it in kind. "Isn't that how you guys phrase it when a gal looks well-worth the fuck? A certified ride and a half. I mean, you'd go for her if she gave you the chance, wouldn't you? I know I would if I were you."
"I have noticed she studiously avoids going by the guys up at the bar as much as possible, however feasibly." I paused. "Not that I blame her."
"Ye-e-epp," she spoke a sarcastic twang, "not her fault the way she looks draws the looks."
"And what are you going about?" I added. "One step in this place and your face and _et cetera_ launched about a thousand ships."
"Isn't that what you guys call Jiffy Pop Pussy--as much fun to make as it is to eat?"
I fell into a documentary sort of drawl. "Watch at them good ol' boys up at the bar. See them scarfing down the complimentary bowls of pretzels and popcunt... "
"Pop_cunt_?" she shrieked, "no, don't start!"
"That's right. Damn but that stuff is _so_ god_damn_ buttery. Finger- lickin' good."
"Oh stop it! stop it _Bruce!_ I'm about to pee in my panties!"
"I'm sure there'd be a market for that. Though--if it'd be any help--I seem to remember the restrooms are down a small hall in the far corner. Take a left at the barboys."
"My Brother, the Absolute Bastard," she dubbed me as she scrambled up to run for the john.
Janice managed to make it back barely thirty seconds before our lunches arrived. _Garcia's_ was indeed having a good day. I decided not to let Janice carry on the conversation. In case she'd come up with any new innuendoes while letting loose a stream.
"So, the day?" I shifted subjects, "yours specifically, with regard to financial _ya-hoo!_--how'd it go?"
"Well... " she pondered, "let's put it this way. I would have preferred to get a signed contract, but I fully expect he'll be calling to set up another showing. And," she stood and turned, fingers tracing nearly touching up her bottom, "I do believe a thong-line should clinch the deal."
I let that sink in. Then I hesitantly asked, "Janice? Do you ever, well, you know... "
She looked puzzled, then shocked as the realization of my implication set in. She dismissed my concerns that I'd stepped over a line by bursting into laughter. "Oh, you mean like offering myself up as an incentive program? No, no, no. Seems like I'd be giving it away for nothing a lot if I didn't wait until after closing. And after closing, what's the point? Unless he's extremely cute," she winked. "Just kidding, of course. I mean, why bother? I get everything I need without ever leaving home."
As we lingered over the last of our lunch, I took a lull in the conversation as a good point to go wend my own way to the restrooms. My morning meeting, I vaguely remembered, seemed to involve everyone having endless cups of coffee.
I returned to find some man standing next to the table, the two of them in animated conversation. Or so he seemed to imply. Janice seemed to be mostly listening.
When Janice saw me approaching, she called out, "You tell him, honey."
"Tell him what?"
"This gentleman was just inquiring about our phone number." She gesticulated with her left hand, emphasizing the rings on her fourth finger. "I told him to wait and ask my husband."
I fell immediately into role. The guy gave me a sheepish grin, but I stared him down. "The Men's Room is down the hall over in the corner. Why don't you go find an empty stall and jerk-off, you jerk-off!?!"
He started on, by way of apology, about how he knew all the hot babes in the world wore fake wedding rings, that was the issue of confusion, but I just stopped him cold. "If you don't want to use the facilities, then why don't we go outside so I can kick the shit out of you."
That sent him slinking back to his buddies at the bar.
"Oh my brave and noble knight in shining armor," Janice cooed up at me.
"Don't ever do that again, please, not to me," I insisted. "If that dumb bruiser had taken me up on my offer, I'd be pulp on the sidewalk by now."
"You saved my life, or at least my honor," she swooned.
"Then you can pay for lunch," I snarled.
"But lunch isn't over yet," Janice nodded her head in direction, indicating the guy and all his friends at the bar turned and gently staring at us. "Let's give them a show." With that she leaned across the table, her hands seizing the back of my head, drawing me into a rather open, tongue-filled kiss.
I could think of nothing else but to respond in kind.
While holding the kiss, Janice maneuvered herself from her side of the booth to mine. I mean, she wound up practically sitting in my lap. Quickly then she reached down and began, within full sight of the bar, to rub her hand up and down the front of my trousers. There was a thickening there that her touch quickly exacerbated
What else could I do but follow suit? My hand pushed up the hem of her dress so that all the guys could see as I rubbed her pussy through her panties. Was it my imagination, or did the fabric start to dampen?
Janice began squeezing the snake in my trousers more firmly. "Show it to them," she hissed.
_What?!!_ If she thought I was going to unzip and whip it out, she was fucking crazy.
"Show them what they're missing," she clarified, "show them what they're never going to get."
Oh, duh, _her_ stuff, not mine.
Her panties were pulled up pretty tight, but with a little digging my fingers managed to pull the crotch to one side. I tried to get enough slack so it'd stay that way without my help; in doing so my fingers slipped and several of them ended up, with a gasp from her, knuckle deep in Janice's cleft. No lingering doubt about her wetness then.
With or without the silky covering, it hardly mattered. I alone had held the tactile evidence of her excitement. It blew me away to be fingering my sister's sopping cunt while seated in one of the finest restaurants in town. At the same time she had me so worked up I was on the verge of blowing my wad right in my pants. Christ, my underwear was already feeling a little soggy.
I felt the buzz of a small orgasm sweep though her; after half a minute's panting, Janice stood up, dumped some money on the table and grabbed my hand, declaring loudly enough to benefit the whole place, "Take me home _now_ and _fuck_ me!"
She practically dragged me out the front door. Once out on the sidewalk, Janice stopped and stood and laughed. "Thank you, Brucie; that was brilliant." She grabbed up my hands and held them out of the way, eventually naturally sweeping herself up against me. The crush of her breasts against my chest as she continued to kiss me deeply.
At last she pulled away, mumbling something about how we each had other meetings to attend to.
I watched her, the swaying of her ass, as Janice crossed the street to her car. Midway there, she glanced back over her shoulder at me, waved and smiled; a sudden pronounced swing to her hips sent her butt positively bouncing.
I recalled her remarks from that morning. She was absolutely right--she had learned _exactly_ what to do with it.
Janice beat me home that day; Harold arrived hot on my tail. For dinner we went around the corner to an old tavern that served stuff like cheeseburgers and bowls of chili, in a way that made the whole term _Pub Grub_ seem as stupid and modern as it was.
We lightly discussed our days. I was a little confused, not that I knew what exactly I expected. But there wasn't a single under-the-table encounter the entire meal. Janice shot me not one smoldering glance. She made some comment in passing about how we'd lunched at _Garcia's_.
"Oh yea? How was it?" Harold asked politely.
"Oh, you know. The usual."
The _usual_? I began wondering if I had some sibling I didn't know about. _Oh, my brother took me to lunch at a fancy restaurant and finger-fucked me for dessert._ Per the usual.
My libido was still smoldering from lunch--since well before lunch, really--and I found myself getting distracted, my attention drawn towards a woman standing up by the bar with some girlfriends. But then I felt completely ashamed when it struck me that she was basically a brunette version of Janice. Unfortunately, by then it was too late-- Janice had started tracking my stray gazes. She gave Harold a nudge.
"Good eye, Brucie," hers danced at me. "She's a real cutie."
"Cute?" Harold interjected, "Hell, she's _hot!_"
I just wanted to turn into a puddle of spilt beer on the floor.
"She's got bigger tits than me--or dare I say without sounding _too_ catty--industrial-strength underwire. But her ass isn't near as nice as mine."
"Hell, babe, you've got the best ass in the Western Hemisphere. Isn't that right, Bruce?"
I would have had a hard time thinking of a more loaded question at the moment. "I don't know. How should I know?"
"Oh, come on, Brucie!" she gave me a playful swat. "You saw me in just my panties this morning, and admitted as much then."
I flinched, fully expecting Harold to come roaring around the table both fists swinging in my direction. Instead, he just sat there nodding at me with a little grin on his face.
Was I flustered? Yes, I was. Before that day, had I been asked, I would have answered that I fully expected to go to my grave without making a public pronouncement on the attractiveness of my sister's derriere.
I held up both my hands in supplication and surrender. "Okay, Janice. Yes, you have a great ass."
"Just _great_?" Harold boomed.
This was a no-win situation. "Magnificent," I began rattling off every superlative I could snatch off the top of my head, "extraordinary, incomparable, excellent, incredible, phenomenal, spectacular, marvelous, amazing, astonishing, sensational, fantastic, gorgeous, sumptuous," stopping only when I had them both laughing so loudly that heads began turning our way.
Back home we'd barely settled into the t.v. when Harold was up and faking yawns, faux stretching, announcing to Janice that it was time for them to go to bed. At maybe eight-thirty.
"Honestly, Harold, I'm not at all sleepy."
"Good," he drew her up, "neither am I."
They did things differently that night. I had to turn the t.v. back on, but to no avail. I tried to get some work done, but was too distracted by the rhythmic _thudding_ behind my head as their headboard banged against the other side of the adjoining wall. There was no need to sneak down the hall to hear Janice's cries of pleasure. The drywall telegraphed them like a tympanic membrane. All I could figure was she must have had a pillow stuffed in her mouth the previous night.
Eventually I went whimpering off to bed, leaving my stuff spread out all over the coffee table.