My husband had left for a "weekend with the guys" before I made it home from work on Friday. I dress casually for work on Fridays and this day I was wearing a low cut blouse and mini-skirt. To make myself more comfortable, I kicked off my high heels and removed my garter belt and hose. I poured myself a glass of pop and flipped through my mail. All junk. I went into the kitchen and tackled the dirty dishes. If I didn't do anything else productive this weekend, at least the dishes were done. Just as I drained and rinsed the sink, I heard the back doorbell ring. Probably my mother or my mother-in-law. I wasn't expecting anyone and salespeople don't come to the back door. I went to the back and opened the door. I couldn't believe who was standing at the door smiling at me. It was Rod.
Rod's mother was an old friend of the family but the whole family had always been on the "wrong side of the tracks" and Rod was worse than most. We had known each other as kids but hadn't seen each other in years when we bumped into one another while I was in high school. He had dropped out by that time. He was _very_ intelligent but hung out with the wrong crowd, made trouble and I assume did drugs. He was about three years older than I so he probably would've been out of school anyway. We saw each other for a few days in a friendly way. (His mother and mine made sure it was no more than that! Besides, I was a goody-two shoes so he wasn't my type.) I didn't hear from Rod again until I was out of college. I got a letter from him. I thought letter writing was an unusual form of communication from someone like him until I looked at the return address. He was writing from jail. He sounded like he really wanted to create a better life for himself so I corresponded with him frequently for a long time and even sent him some books. I wrote motivational and educational things that would help him (mentally) survive while in jail and improve himself when he got out. He wrote back letters of appreciation and fondness. I was engaged so I downplayed his interest in me and attributed it to the lack of positive attention in his life. At some point, I lost touch with Rod. I vaguely heard he was in trouble again but this time not jail, but prison. I guess my inspiration wasn't so inspiring. That was the last I knew until now. Here he was, standing at my door.
"Hey, Michelle! How are you? Long time no see, eh? Can I come in?" Rod asked.
"Sure," I said, too startled to say anything else. We didn't hug or touch or anything. We didn't have that kind of friendship. I think I was always a little scared of him and after our letters I was always careful not to lead him on or make him think I was interested when I wasn't.
"So, what's up? How've you been doing? I haven't heard much about you in a long time. You're looking good." I said.
He told me about how he got out of prison awhile ago and had been staying with some friends in the area but they were moving out of state. He had a buddy up north who found him a job and was going to let him move in with him. Things were looking up.
"In fact, that's part of the reason I'm here. I need a place to stay, just for tonight." Rod said. His friends moved out of their house that day and his buddy from up north couldn't come and get him until Saturday. He had no money and there were no hotels in our small town even if he had money. His family no longer lived in the area. He had slept in a park once and got in trouble for it with the police. With his history, he didn't want to take any chances on meeting up with the cops. He really hated to inconvenience my husband and I but didn't know where else to go. I wasn't sure what to do. He didn't know it, but my husband wouldn't be home all night. I was sure Rod wasn't going to _do_ anything but it still left me somewhat vulnerable and it also meant having a man (ex-con) stay in my house with me while my husband was gone. Not a situation many people in my circle would approve of. But, he was an old family friend and needed help. If I turned him away, what would happen? Don't my own religious and moral values insist that I allow him to stay? What do I tell him about my husband Darrell?
"Of course you can stay," I told him. I teasingly told him he'd have to be a "good boy" since my husband was away but what's a friend for but to help a friend out, blah blah blah. I showed him upstairs to the spare bedroom. I asked if he was hungry and he was but he said he felt dirty too. I gave him clean towels and showed him the bathroom. (What I didn't know is that before he showered, he made a phone call.) While he was showering, I went downstairs and fixed a quick spaghetti, garlic bread and tossed salad dinner. If my husband were home, I probably would've served wine but didn't think that was a very good idea this time.
We ate dinner and talked about what little "old times" we shared. We talked about my job and about his new job. We talked about "doing time". He dropped some hints about his feelings for me, similar to his old letters, but I changed the subject. I asked about his family and he asked about mine. I cleared the table and suggested we watch TV or something. He asked if I had playing cards and said he'd like to show me a few things. He had learned some great card tricks while in prison which he entertained me with until it was dark outside. Seems like darkness came early. Perhaps we were going to get a storm. The front doorbell rang. Again, I wasn't expecting anyone and wasn't sure how I would explain Rod's visit. I opened the front door and there were two men standing on the steps. One was a big burly man with brown hair and a beard. The other was a nervous looking black guy of medium build.
"May I help you?" I asked. Salesmen or religious group? I was having trouble deciding. They didn't look like either one. They looked behind me and saw Rod and fairly pushed their way past me, into the house.
"Rod, man--hey, how ya doing?" "Good to see you!" "Hear you're leaving?"
They were saying these and other exclamations. Rod said, "Hey, guys, let me introduce you to my good friend Michelle. Michelle, this big guy here is Bruce and this one is Tom. You don't mind if they hang out with us tonight do you?"
What could I say? The next thing I knew, we were all sitting around my dining room table playing poker and drinking beer. I don't normally drink but they teased me until I gave in and decided to have "one". I also don't know much about playing poker but they needed a fourth and I was there.
No one had any money (except me but I wasn't saying anything) so I pulled out some poker chips that I had from a game. They were pretty easy on me and helped me figure out which was worth more - a flush or a full house and what each of those were. We played for awhile and things were pretty even.
I asked if anyone would like another beer. These good-hostess actions were natural on my part. I didn't want them drunk and it wasn't my beer but this is what I'm "supposed" to do so I didn't really think about it. Everyone needed beers all around. As I was getting up to get them, Tom commented that the game was kinda dull since we weren't playing for money. Rod agreed but reminded him that we didn't have any money or anything to play for.
Tom suggested we play for clothes - good old-fashioned strip poker. I was in the kitchen at this point with Bruce right behind me (to help with the beer?). I laughed and said, "I don't think so." The guys in the dining room laughed and teased and tried to cajole me into saying yes even though they knew it was a futile effort. I opened the 'fridge and bent down to pull beer off the bottom shelf. As I turned and stood with the beer in my hand, Bruce was facing me very close. Quietly he said, "C'mon Michelle. I think you should play." He was standing kind of stiff and my eyes instinctively lowered and came to rest on a gun. Ripples of fear ran up and down me! "Really, Michell. I think you should do whatever we want you to do.
I think you should be a good girl and tell them you want to play." He moved the cold metal barrel of the revolver against my bare thigh and slid it up my skirt. I laughed nervously with my eyes locked on Bruce's eyes. "Okay, guys. You talked me into it. But you guys gotta swear you won't tell anyone I did this." My knees felt weak and I felt almost like a cold seat of fear. I grabbed another beer, deciding I wanted to drink another to help me relax. Bruce looked at the beer and smiled. He pulled his gun away and hid it again. I looked at Bruce and hissed, "You can't -" but before I even got the words out he interrupted, "Oh yes, I can. Don't worry. If you cooperate, you won't get hurt. In fact, we just want to play and have fun. Let's go play."
Between the effects of the first beer (I don't drink much and I'm sort of small so one beer does effect me) and the fear, I wasn't able to think straight. Even if I wanted to play, I should've thought about the practicalities of fairness. I was wearing only my blouse, bra, mini-skirt and panties. They were each wearing two shoes, two socks, pants, undershorts, shirts and undershirts. They had 8 articles of clothing to my four! But, like I said, I didn't think about that.
Needless to say, the first hand went quick and I lost. I had a pair of two's but Bruce had a full house. I started to lose my nerve. I couldn't take off my clothes in front of these guys. Bruce stood up and pulled me up. He turned me so I my back was to Rod and Tom. He reached for the first button of my blouse.
"I can do it," I protested. Bad enough that I had to strip but I didn't have to have this guy touch me.
.... There is more of this story ...