“I just don’t know, ” Macy loaded up her fork with watercress, “there just isn’t any panache anymore.”

“God, tell me about it,” Grace agreed. “It’s been years since William got it up.”

Both women were aging foot-soldiers– stragglers from the sexual revolution. Both had married well– habitually. Macy was on number four and her friend Grace tallied five. Each divorce had been carefully calculated and neither woman would ever have to work again.

“The waiter looks nice. Maybe he could prime your pump.”

Macy humped a shoulder. “I’ve had my share of younger men, but could never shake the feeling that mommy was about to come crashing through the bedroom door with an attorney close behind, waving a friggin’ subpoena. It’s, I dunno, distracting...”

Grace cast a wistful look in the young waiter’s direction. “I know what you mean,” she said without conviction.

Both women were well past their prime, but on the whole, they had aged well. Exercise, weekly massage and a membership at the tennis club had helped. And then there had been the prerequisite tucks and lifts when each had turned forty.

“I just wish he’d come home one night and bang the hell outta me, yuh know?”

Grace skewered the olive from her martini and, placing it between her lips, sucked out the pimento. “I’ll tell you what worked with husband number three,” she said thoughtfully, still eyeing the waiter’s ass. “I told him I wanted to try it the-other-way-around.”

The center of Macy’s eyebrows came up to meet her bangs. “The other way around?”

“Yeah. You know, in the bum-hole. I had to wear a butt-plug for a week.” Grace shrugged.

“A butt-plug? What on earth ... You did that? For number three?”

“Yeah. A friend told me how and I figured I’d give it a try. It wasn’t so bad...”

“A friend?”

“It was Reggie, yuh know? At the hairdresser’s...”

“Reggie? He’s queer.”

“You’re not listening to me. Think about it, sweets.”

“Oh shit.”

“Exactly. Who better to ask?”

Macy thought for a moment. “Wasn’t husband number three the one you caught screwing the housekeeper?”

“Naw. It was the babysitter.”

“Wait a minute. You don’t have children.”

“And that’s exactly what I told the judge. It was the largest settlement I ever got.”

Macy dug through her salad, looking for the proffered chunks of smoked salmon. She didn’t find much. “I don’t know. Anal seems so, barnyard somehow.”

“Well it worked for me, for a while, anyway. It was either that or give the old bugger a blow-job. Hey– how about some sexy underwear?”

“I got a drawer full of overpriced frilly crap.”

“No. I mean some real sexy stuff. You know: Raunchy! Like a peek-a-boo bra, or perhaps a pair of crotchless panties.”

“Sheesh. I wouldn’t be caught dead in one of those shops.”

“No silly. I’ll lend you my catalog. You can shop online.”

“Really.” Macy brightened. “Well I guess it wouldn’t hurt to take a look.”

The bra was actually delivered in a plain brown wrapper. What a hoot! And the guy from UPS came to the door and didn’t have a clue as to what he held in his hands. The fun had already begun.

That night, at bedtime, Macy sneaked into the bathroom to try it on. Harry was already tucked-in with the Wall Street Journal.

At first, Macy thought the bra was too small. It felt like her tits were parked up on a shelf. And the cups seemed to squeeze her nipples, plus a good deal of puffiness, out through the holes in front. It wasn’t peek-a-boo– more like check out the bazookas! The look was crass and tasteless. But, she shrugged– maybe crass and tasteless was what it took. She pulled on narrow, red panties and a lacy cover-up and turned to walk into the bedroom. Her tits led the way.

Harry wore striped pajamas and had his nose buried in the paper. He wore his black half-rimmed reading glasses. Macy came around the foot of the bed and waited to be noticed. No such luck. She waited some more.

Harry turned a page. The price of fuel had spiked again and he had lost a bundle when the stock he held in American Air took a nose dive. Abruptly, Macy’s lacy cover-up struck him in the face. “What the hell!!?” The corner of his paper flopped down and a surprised Harry was struck speechless by the sight of his wife’s protracted boobs.

Macy parked hands on hips and thrust out her chest, though it wasn’t particularly necessary. Harry’s jaw dropped and then he smiled. “Oh my dear...” he said. And then he did the unthinkable. He couldn’t help himself. He gagged.

He knew he shouldn’t, but once he had convulsed, there was no going back. “Cupcakes, you look lovely...” and that was it. To his own dismay, he crumpled the paper and leaned forward, his body trembling. He tried to resist, screwed up his lips, held his breath, but it felt like his insides had expanded to the point they were about to explode. He tried, he really did, but his eyes had already watered-up and he couldn’t hold it. God! He burst out laughing.