Chapter 24

Like heroin where you become over sensitized in its aftermath, Cheryl and Joe awoke a bit brain dead. Partial zombies. Even so, Cheryl went to her typewriter. Joe went down for a late breakfast. Martha reheated some frittata. That and the coffee and fresh squeezed orange juice helped to revive him. He brought up a platter for Cheryl, left it for her, and made his ablutions in the bathroom adjoining the big guest room. Nigella, who had been sleeping in the large bed, joined him in the shower.

“How was it?” he asked.

“Pretty cool,” she said. “I don’t know what we got, but we brought that boom box down and recorded. I know we thought it was genius while doing it,” she chuckled.

“The tiny bit I heard sounded interesting,” Joe said, “except maybe the brothers’ parts.”

“You know I don’t even remember them playing. It was really all about Eddie and me.”

“You think you’re going to start collaborating?”

“We’ll see what we got first,” she laughed. “But I know I’d rather have Eddie do the lyrics. Words don’t come so easily to me. I mean as being expressive of me. It’s always been music.”

“Even then having your input can only be a good thing. It’s pretty much only been Eddie. And whatever he can glean from the past.”

“It’s always about gleaning from the past, isn’t it? Otherwise it would be like speaking a foreign language no one knows.”

“You sure you’re not still tripping?” he chuckled. “That’s pretty fucking profound.”

“It’s actually pretty obvious.”

“But isn’t profundity speaking the obvious that no one else has quite put together?”

“How profound,” she chuckled.

They had been playing while they talked. Cleaning each other and caressing each other, with the latter winning out. Becoming everything. Kissing escalated it. Nigella was especially horny.

To the point that she pretty much dragged him to bed still wet. And she spread out in front of him, pulling his cock inside her. And they fucked hard almost immediately, with him sucking her nipples and twisting them and rubbing her clit vigorously.

When she came the first time, he eased up the clit rub. But soon got back to it. Rising towards a second cum, she decided to change things. Pulling away from him. Turning on her front. Lifting that incredible ass. And it became a lot about that ass as he plunged back in and resumed the furious fucking. He gazed at it. He squeezed it. He rammed a finger betwixt those firm round dusky globes. All those other things he had been doing she did. Nipples. Clit. Until she rose once more to climax. And he quickly joined her. The throbs of ejaculation seemed especially intense, nearing painful, as if drawing desperately from a bank of sperm or semen supply close to empty.

They chuckled when they separated and headed back to the shower.

Then it hit him. “No rubbers?”

“I know,” she said, pulling on his penis and cleaning it. “I just wanted to feel you.”

“Wouldn’t it be more about me feeling you?”

“Your hot semen burning into my depths.”

“Doesn’t sound all that pleasurable.”

“But it was Joe,” she smiled and kissed him. “Very,” she kissed him again. “And my period should be starting. If not today, by tomorrow.”

“It’s ... consistent?”

“Like clockwork.”

“Okay.”

“Why wouldn’t it be? You mean the dope? I ... controlled it Joe. It never controlled me. I liked it Joe. But I managed it. Never really built resistance like Jim. It did start becoming a real urge. But I got out of it didn’t I?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m not in New York, am I?”

He chuckled. “Pretty obviously.”

“You even blocked my access to it, didn’t you?”

“I guess I did. Mine too.”

“There you go.”

As they finished up, she murmured, “And if by chance I get pregnant, I’ll take care of it.”

“Of course,” he sighed.

“What?”

“I bet we’d make a pretty hot babe.”

“Or a stud,” she chuckled.

They dried and dressed and packed. They would be leaving this castle amidst Minnesota farmland. Heading back to the city. He needed to get back to work. For Joanne. As assistant and babysitter.

They dragged their bags down the hall. He stopped in front of Constance’s office to check on Cheryl. “I’ll meet you downstairs,” he told Nigella.

“Okay.”

But before he opened the office door, Constance’s bedroom door opened. She remained dressed in her night clothes. An old cotton chemise. She looked drawn and tired. “Joe?” she murmured.

He left his bags in the hallway and entered her bedroom. As soon as the door closed, she embraced him. Kissed him. Her head rested at his shoulder. “Joe, tell me what to do.”

“You okay?” he asked stupidly. A bit brain dead.

“I hardly slept at all. A million thoughts in my head.”

“What thoughts?”

“About Jonathon. About you. About what I’d do without him. Without you.”

“Did I make a mistake?” he asked her.

“No Joe. I’ve never felt so alive. So ... at peace.”

“Not now though.”

“No.”

“Am I your drug? What I did to you?”

“No! I don’t know. Maybe. Is this withdrawal? Is that what you’re saying? It’s not. I just feel ... alone. With you leaving. With Jonathon...”

“But Jonathon isn’t here during the week. How do you cope with that?”

“I have Tom and Martha. I have the kids. I make plans.”

“Plans?”

“Choreography. Sets and lights and costumes. In my little sanctum.”

“Your office?”

“Yeah. Let me show you.”

She took his hand and led him to her office. Cheryl smiled at them and kept typing. Constance faced a large silk screened fabric. Some sort of outdoor Kabuki performance with mountains behind the stage, as if the artist sat at the back of the audience. Cheryl and Joe had admired it, and forgotten it. It had a barely noticeable seam at the middle which Constance pulled on and opened a hidden door. The two sides folded like a fan, and pink sashes held them. He tied one side. Three sashes. She tied the other.

It revealed a bookcase. Albums. A really nice component stereo system. Expensive. Reel to reel. Turntable. Tall black speakers beside the bookcase. She pulled out a sketchbook amongst many and brought it to the desk. He quickly made room, setting the Royal typewriter aside. She opened the book. The first page. Demons. A set like hell. At the center a fragile woman. Lean and blonde. Constance. The real Constance knelt in front of the albums. Found the one she wanted. Put it on. Avant-garde. Menacing. Beautiful.

“A friend composed this when I asked her to,” Constance explained. “She used to compose for me. For my little band of angels. She ended up doing well. Well as well as an avant-garde woman composer can,” she chuckled. “This is my nightmare. I think she might have been the first person I talked to when I recovered. Or at least felt less scared. I just had her listen. Of course it never became a ballet. But it did become her most known piece.”

Joe paged through the pad. Different scenes. Movements sketched out. At the end, an entire plan had been sketched. Diagramed. Lighting. Costumes. Set.

Constance continued with another chuckle. “I guess she was thankful. She composes things for me. For dances never done. Although sometimes I just pull something out arbitrarily from my collection and let it inspire me.”

He looked at the section of shelf full of sketch books. “How many?” he asked her.

“Twenty? Thirty? I don’t know.”

“What would it mean to you to have these done?” he asked.

“I ... couldn’t.”

“I understand. What’s the one thing that keeps it from happening? That if it were pushed aside, taken care of, your work might happen?”

“I don’t know. I can’t imagine. Or I can and it scares me.”

“What scares you?”

“Everything.”

“What if it isn’t everything? What if it’s just you choreographing? No business. The tech stuff taken care of, with your final approval. The sets. The costumes. Even the company itself.”

“I had partners. Tech people. Costume constructors. Set designers. Jonathon made sure people were paid. Had people for logistics. For bookings and such. I did just do choreography. At least mostly.”

“With you at the center.”

“What do you mean?”

He turned back to the first page. “That’s you isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“What if it wasn’t? What if you weren’t the prima ballerina or whatever? You just let go of it. And the other stuff. Not involved in every detail. Not in the middle of it all.”

“But it’s my pieces being done. My vision.”

“What did all this control get you? These,” he said, pointing to the demons.

“Yeah.”

“What if it isn’t perfect? What if it’s not your exact vision?”

“It never was,” she chuckled.

“Did you accept that imperfection?”

“I ... guess I had to.”

“But you didn’t.”

“It ... was disappointing.”

“Like everything else.”

“I suppose.”

“You need to let it go. Like you let yourself go with me. Let me take over.”

“Would you?”

“Constance.”

“Please?”

“What about Jonathon?”

“I only saw it after. He really hates me. I wanted him to hurt me. When he did ... it became too much. For him. It wasn’t about play. About sex. He’s held back, Joe. Held back his abuse.”

“Has he? Or has he just kept it hidden? Him fucking around. Seducing your pupils. Having his secret little family with Joanne. You just made it real. Made it direct. Let me show you something.”

“What?”

“Trust me. If you can. I kind of fucked up your life.”

“It’s already fucked up,” she laughed. But at least not hysterically. “Show me.”

“Who’s getting bossy?”

“Sorry,” she tightened.

“Just kidding,” he kissed her forehead. “Come on.”

“Yes Joe.”

He took her hand. Cheryl followed them. The help so to speak saw them. His hand in hers. He didn’t care.

He took her to the dining room. “Freddy’s painting,” he pointed out. “Who did she paint?”

“Me?”

“And the Kokoschka?”

“Me? I never felt comfortable in this room.”

“Of course not. He’s taunting you.”

“Fuck him. Martha!”

Martha quickly entered the dining room. “Yes Constance.” She glanced at Joe with scorn.

“Take these down, please. All of them. Put them in Jonathon’s office.”

“About time,” Martha muttered, looking at Joe with new eyes.

Jesse came in a minute later with her mother. Looked at him with a smirk that made him chuckle. Martha told her what to do. The two began taking the paintings off the wall. He glanced at Jesse’s ass more than once. She caught him more than once.

“The table,” said Joanne. “Something much less ponderous.”

“Can you do what you want?” he asked her.

“Of course. He gave me this giant gilded cage. Probably having to do with taxes.”

“But the stuff on the wall,” Joe said. “It’s all his.”

“Of course. The jailor constructs the jail. Or the asylum. Not the inmate.”

“He ever ask you?”

“I ... trusted him. I just wanted my sanctum. He’s got an eye. For art. For interior design. At least I thought he did.”

“And exterior?” he said.

“You mean the Pink Lady?” she chuckled. “It’s what I call it. It’s actually called ‘An Emergent Dancer.’ Jonathon commissioned it after my recovery. In celebration. It embarrassed me. Still does. But I thought it sweet.”

“The hands? The ones lifting you out?”

“Yeah,” she muttered. “His.”

“Did he save you?”

“He was there for me, Joe.”

“No one else?”

“No. Well Martha and Tom of course.”

“Why just him?”

“What do you mean?”

“You must have had friends.”

“I thought I did.”

“Martha?”

“We’d get calls,” Martha admitted. “Jonathon told Tom not to disturb you. And ... this place...”

“It’s in the middle of fucking nowhere,” said Jesse.

“Jesse!”

“Well it is.”

“It is,” Constance murmured. “Too far to go if you’re not invited.”

“Sorry,” said Martha.

“Jonathon’s your boss.”

“And you’re my friend.”

“Am I?”

“Always. You actually intimidated me when Jonathon brought this beautiful, proud, graceful bride home. But the next morning when you came down here for breakfast alone...”

“I remember,” Constance smiled.

“You said you didn’t know how to treat me. This regal beauty. Looking so vulnerable and...”

“Scared?”

“Yeah. So I sat with you. Had breakfast with you.”

“Like a friend would. Breakfast became my favorite meal,” Constance grinned. “Just you and me.”

“And Tom.”

“And Tom. He’d always come in later, Joe. Like we had a second breakfast.”

Martha chuckled. “Just toast and coffee, Constance. He’d already had breakfast. You don’t think I’d starve my husband?”

“I didn’t even think about that. So that first day...”

“He wanted to meet you. My kitchen has always been without pretensions. Pretentiousness is for this fucking room.”

“Mom!” Jesse exclaimed.

They laughed.

“I should get ready,” said Cheryl, leaving them.

“Can I come?” Constance asked. “Please? I need to meet with Jonathon anyway.”

“You don’t want to drive?”

“No. Not really.”

“Can I drive your car?”

She laughed. “Of course.”

“Deal.”

In the kitchen they encountered several people. “It’s why I made frittatas,” Martha chuckled, heating up oil in a frying pan and quickly making a new batch of coffee. “Sit everyone,” she ordered.

He left her to it, heading upstairs. With Constance. They split upstairs. In Constance’s sanctum he gathered his writing. Cheryl’s typewriter had already disappeared.

He sat on his luggage waiting for her, looking through his one act. He planned to polish it at Joanne’s, since, except for whatever Joanne needed, he would have a day for himself.

Brit came out of one of the rooms with dirty sheets smiling shyly at him.

“Did you have fun?” he asked her.

“Yeah,” she grinned. “Randy was fun.”

“Not me?”

“No. I mean ... Uhm ... kind of more?”

“Cosmic.”

“Yeah, but ... nice. I felt ... sexy.”

“You are sexy.”

“See,” she giggled and scampered away.

“Hey,” said Cheryl, shaking her head. “Definitely an ass man.”

“Ready?”

“Yep.”

“Uhm, change of plans.”

“What?”

“Constance’s coming.”

“No surprise.”

“I’m driving her car.”

“Your idea?”

“Yeah.”

“You want me to drive yours?”

“Yeah.”

“No. Let Nigella drive it.”

“Nigella drives?”

“She’s a Minnesota girl.”

“So?” He saw her disappointment. “I’ll ask.”

“Thanks.”

Turned out Nigella hadn’t driven since first getting her license. She had been with her mother then, but that relationship soured, and she stayed mostly with her dad, in St Paul, and took buses pretty much everywhere, even lugging a double bass when her father couldn’t give her a ride to lessons. Didn’t need to drive in Manhattan, and the license she had had expired on her 21^st birthday.

Cheryl looked disappointed only momentarily. She and Joe had been together most of the weekend, and she wanted it to continue. Joe did too. Knowing her bad luck with sexual partners, she probably never had spent days and nights with a man. Joe had, for over a week in Grinnell with Moira. And he’d been with Joanne for a while. But this felt different. Almost a partnership the way they could work together but separately, and then come together and cum together most delightfully.

“It’s okay,” she smiled. She had a way of getting on top of things, including disappointment that he found completely disarming. “I’ll see you at Joanne’s. We have work to do!”

“Sounds like a plan,” he chuckled, and gave her a quick hug and kiss.

Joanne’s garage attached to the house by what looked like a short path that had been enclosed at a later time, with a door to the garage and a door to a hallway that led to the elevator, and on one side, the playroom, and on the other side, Jonathon’s office,. The garage had room for several cars, and had a vintage Mustang and an even more vintage Corvette and an old Indian motorcycle in it. He wanted to drive all of them. The sporty and luxurious white 380 SLC two seater (Cheryl wouldn’t have fit, no matter how petite she was) would do just fine.

There had been many more cars out front that weekend, but by the time he drove Joanne’s sweet ride out of the garage, only his car, Rachel’s little Mazda RX7 and Randy’s old hand-me-down Ford truck, used by the Monsters to haul their gear, remained on the front lawn/parking lot. He got out to help stash luggage and equipment in the various vehicles, including Nigella’s stuff in his car, and settled the kids into the child seats in the back, and after one last kiss for Cheryl, Constance and he drove off.

“She your girlfriend?” Constance asked him almost right away.

“Cheryl? As much as anyone could be with me being with Joanne and...”

“Me?”

He glanced at her, though the windy road, tarred but definitely not fresh, kept it short. She looked unusually cute and especially pretty somehow with her teeth worrying her lower lip. Despite that expression of concern, she actually looked a lot less tense and even happy. Fatigue of a restless night seemed to have disappeared, or it could have been carefully applied make-up.

“What am I going to do with you?” he said with a chuckle.

“You seemed to know before,” she giggled.

“Yeah, well...” he glanced again. She wore a scoop neck blouse in pastel pink and blue. Low enough to show cleavage. Even with small breasts, their inner flesh exposed teased him. He saw no bra supporting them. And another glance lower revealed white Bermuda shorts that held her slim legs tightly. And he could see her mound, though no camel toe. He looked away. Just in time to stop and turn onto a better paved road. The roads straightened out as they entered the world of squared off farmland.

Another glance and her smile detected his gaze. He somehow got back on track with what he wanted to say. “I don’t know what to expect at Joanne’s,” he told her. “If you plan on staying there.”

“I don’t have to...”

“Let me finish,” he interrupted her. “Cheryl is staying with me, and probably Nigella, though she’ll probably be with Joanne. If Eddie decides to stay in town instead of having to trek from the boonies, it’s going to be a rather full house. It’s been mentioned before, the way things are going, that Joanne’s going to need a bigger bed. And it’s already a king size as it once was your husband’s and he seems to prefer them.”

“I could... , “ she started again.

“Not finished. I know today’s a day off from rehearsal, and tomorrow we’ll start up at the Southern, but I need to work on my one act and hopefully get it close to in shape so I can submit it in the next day or so. One of the things I like about Cheryl, in fact it might be my favorite thing except maybe watching her cum, is having her work beside me. By and large a writer’s work, when he’s doing it, is a solitary thing. And unless I’m completely absorbed it in, like it’s writing itself, I can get restless to the point of seeking out distractions to get away from it, but it’s like when she’s there working beside me, I don’t know whether its inspiring how focused she gets or it just makes me feel ... not so much comfortable ... maybe more settled. Restlessness goes away completely. I guess looking at her when I’m wrestling with something or just contemplating things makes me stay put, because the view, especially when she smiles at me, is definitely enough.”

“So what you’re saying is you’re busy, there might not be a place for me, and you’d rather be with Cheryl.”

“I guess it is.”

“Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe I should have stayed at home.”

“It’s too late for that.”

“We could just stop and flag them down.”

“I suppose we could. They’re not all that far behind us. But is that what you want?”

“What do you mean? You just said...”

“Is that what you want, Constance!” Joe growled.

“No,” she said quietly.

“No, it’s not. For one, you need to confront Jonathon. What you realized. Can you be friends? Have you ever been friends? Why the hate and deception?”

“Yes,” she sighed.

“For another, you want to be with me. You like being with me. You feel good being with me.”

“Yes. But Cheryl...”

“You’re right Constance. She’s my girlfriend. Probably the only girlfriend I can have at this point in my life, and maybe for the times that come. Because we both allow each other to be who we are. Accept how we are. No matter how screwy it gets, literally,” he chuckled. “It’s anything but conventional, the way a boyfriend and girlfriend are supposed to be. Exclusive. I think neither of us want that even though both of us prefer when we’re together, when it’s just us. But we both have so much to explore, to experience, even if it’s on our own. I think we both feel that it makes coming together all the sweeter. You know she proposed to me.”

“Really? And did you accept?”

“Yes. But we were both pretty fucked up. Tripping and stoned. But we both meant it.”

“You want to marry her?”

“I do. We’re pretty tight, Constance. I think we understand each other and have understood each other from the beginning. It’s what made her fall in love with me. Even though she didn’t want to. But we kind of resolved that. And I got my head out of my ass and lost the distraction of what I thought was a soulmate when it wasn’t to be. Long distance made it difficult, but it ended up being more than that. It ended up being about her expectations, and me not able to live up to them, and her not able trust me. Trust is everything. Cheryl and I trust each other because we feel like there’s no point not to. No point in lying about anything to each other. Even if, God forbid, she found someone else and wanted to settle down with him instead of continuing what we have...”

“You could too,” Constance suggested.

“Yes. And maybe that might be more likely, because of how foolish I can be regarding women. Although I think that’s changed. I fall in love easily. With Freddy. With Moira. And with Joanne. And you.”

“You love me?”

“I do.”

“Really?”

“It’s how I am I think. It’s how I know ... how to be with you. It’s that connection I can feel with women. Understanding them. Listening. Seeing. Finding out what they want and need. And trying to give that to them. If I care about a woman. If I respect her. If I like her.”

“Joanne. How... ?”

“The way she responded to me when I pushed a little. This brilliant woman. This strong woman. And she wanted this kid to be stronger than her. She needed it. So vulnerable.”

“It sounds like ... I mean with me...”

“I know. I could take advantage. Males do tend to think with their balls. Especially males my age.”

“I think males any age.”

“Probably,” he chuckled.

“And it’s worse when they’re older. At the same time they may have learned some restraint, though I’m uncertain they do as much as they think they do, they also learn the game of seduction. How to play to their strengths and the woman’s weaknesses. Like...”

“Jonathon. Except he didn’t did he? Understand his women’s weaknesses. I think both you and Joanne were attracted to him because he’s a strong man. Attractive as well. And virile. The guy likes to fuck. And I imagine he’s pretty good at it. Relentless. Like a machine.”

“Yes,” Constance chuckled. “Exactly.”

“But he was too careful. Maybe because he was fucking around. Didn’t want to risk losing his hot ladies. To the point he didn’t understand you two at all. Wanted to give you what you wanted, but had no clue what that was. Selfish fucker. It’s about him and his cock. Probably the same with his boys. Or maybe he prefers men over women. The way he treated you when things weren’t so easy. When you had your breakdown.”

“I thought ... I thought he cared. But ... I was an embarrassment, wasn’t I? A fucked up woman. Stuck because he married me. Or he hoped I’d get over it so he could go back to fucking me and having me suck him for more fucking. You know he barely batted an eye when Joanne kicked him out of her house.”

“I did notice that. Probably too interested in my gay friend.”

“Bruce?”

“Yeah.”

“He is pretty.”

They laughed. Which was weird. They were talking about some heavy shit. Basically a lifetime of lies. Maybe the catharsis happened with a restless night and her anger in the dining room. Or maybe she felt comfortable with him. Like most of the women he loved. Except when he was being a dick with Moira.

“So my asshole husband spent years with two women without figuring out what would actually make them purr,” said Constance, “but it took you, what, an instant to figure it out?”

“Not exactly an instant. I mean I’ve known you for months. And, well, Joanne for only a couple days, but...”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah. It wasn’t hard. Just paying attention. Just ... noticing. And caring. Because that’s the point I think. You and Joanne being vulnerable. I mean I guess you could say I took advantage, but...”

“We took advantage, Joe. We got what we wanted, what we didn’t even know we wanted until ... Wow!”

“It’s not like I didn’t enjoy it.”

“But that’s so much better, Joe. A couple of old farts exciting a tall cute boy?”

“Old farts? No. Matured like a fine wine.”

“Fuck you,” she giggled. “God to have tight young bodies like Cheryl and Nigel. I bet Moira was a sexy young thing.”

“She was. She is. But I really do love your bodies. And you’re both beautiful. And brilliant.”

“Vive la difference, right Joe?”

“Yeah,” Joe admitted without going into detail. He did like the softness that age brought. Even the loss of elasticity. Because it was different. And especially with Constance and her lean strong muscles beneath the skin. She really did have an interesting and definitely sexy body. Which happened to be on display, the hints making it all the more seductive.

He didn’t know if she saw the physical reaction to her sexiness, but she reached over and started stroking his crotch, which also happened to reveal more of one her breasts. Or maybe that was on purpose as well.

“That’s why I like you Joe,” she said, demonstrating it. “Your honesty.”

“I know.”

She giggled. “And your confidence.”

“You mean my cockiness,” he said.

She gave my cock a squeeze.

“Definitely your cockiness,” she giggled.

“Busy when I get home,” he thought. “Long ride. Easy driving for now.”

“Take it out and suck it,” he told her.

She made quick work of it. Eager. Pulled his man meat, not quite fully erect so easier, out through the opening of his tighty whiteys, her hand rubbing it and steadying it for her lips and tongue. His hand reached around her twisted torso and found its way under her blouse. Something silky. Some sort of half bra. Her hand found the catch between her breasts and undid it. He found a nipple and pulled. It made her suck harder. When he reached for the higher tit, she pulled the blouse down. Out of the way.

“Undo your shorts,” he told her. “And fuck yourself with your fingers.”

Glances, when he could concentrate beyond keeping her car in the right lane, told him she would pause her masturbation when she sent his cock into her throat. Then went deep and rubbed hard when her mouth withdrew.

“Can you get yourself off?” he asked her.

She nodded, sending his cock in and out between her lips.

“Do it. I don’t want my cock in your throat until after.”

Again she nodded to pleasurable effect. Her sucking continued while she fingered herself. Her other hand worked the nipple he wasn’t pulling. By the time he took the highway ramp, merging onto 35, maybe ten minutes since his order, her concentration waned. Her mouth had his glans in it when she groaned her pleasure. He felt the buzz, bringing him closer. Her tongue, where his glans lay, became an unsteady bed. Tightening, shifting. Bringing him more thrills. But she announced her recovery from her orgasm by sending him into her tight throat, which became an active place. Like the buzz of an orgasmic pussy. Swallowing. Humming. By the time she removed it from there, he let her know he would be filling her mouth. Her hand made sure of that, fisting him at the base of my cock and up towards the head, where lips did similar things to the edges. A moment later he came, his head swimming in intense pleasure, fighting his need to concentrate. What awareness he had revealed cars passing swiftly on his left. If he had been in New York, there’d have been honking. Minnesotans seemed to have no clue what a car horn is for. He sped up. She swallowed what little he had left with his final pumping out of seminal fluid.

Her head lifted. All smiles. Blushing. Her breasts bare. She let him glance at them while she swallowed whatever remained in her mouth before she covered them up. Neither she nor Joe seemed to care whoever might have been lucky to see her naked tits. Even if she did cover them. That moment definitely would have been shorter if she did care. She wanted him to see them. He saw them. Only then did she cover up.