When you’re a James Beard winner — Vanessa Henderson, Best Chef in the Midwest — you’re in demand at conventions, conferences, exhibitions, galas, charity dinners, and the like.

Vanessa, my wife, my love, a former Miss Indiana, was especially popular on the culinary circuit. She was a successful restaurateur — Euforia in Kansas City — and she was, simply, gorgeous. Tall and stately — a visual knockout with piercing green eyes, Slavic cheekbones, a wide mouth that smiled often.

Next Thursday she was leaving for a long weekend at Jackson Hole, Wyoming. She would keynote the seminar portion of a conference honoring the best new chefs from around the country. Her speech would be live-streamed.

On Monday morning, sitting around the breakfast table in our top floor loft in the Wrigley Hotel in Kansas City, Vanessa smiled sweetly at me, “Why not make Walk’s dream come true? Take him down to Sausalito while I’m gone?”

Now, had a certain 16-year-old boy, Walker Jennings, put Vanessa up to it? Well, I didn’t bother to voice my suspicions because she would never dime him out.

‘Sausalito’ referred not to that Bay Area town, but to the one down on the Mississippi Gulf Coast. Just east of New Orleans, Sausalito was now world-famous as the site of that notorious film, “Sun Fuckers.” And, was home to several said women.

Walker, of course was borderline frantic to visit. He and Vanessa and I had watched the movie — like just about everyone else we knew. It was sexual — duh — but also so, so sweet. A love story between a mom and her son.

The mother, a stunner named Charity Devereaux, gradually became more and more infatuated with her son, Christian. The film was essentially a well-wrought love story. “People” magazine even did a cover story on her — ‘America’s (Improbable) Sweetheart’.

Even Walker, as riveted by the graphic sex scenes as he had been, was moved by the emotional journey Cherry and Christian had taken. Of course he insisted that he and I view it again and again.

Vanessa and I first took him to the theater for a variety of reasons. The film had exploded on social media — had gone more viral than any movie in history. Of course we were interested in the full-frontal sex scenes. But more than that — the mother/son dynamics spoke to the naughty, loving relationship that Walk and I have. An ever-evolving relationship.

In addition to all of that was the fact that Vanessa and I were suckers for a good love story. Not pulpy romance novels, but a movie, or a book, or a play, that earnestly tried to depict that magic something that could occur between two people.

Vanessa and I understood the irresistible Sausalito-tug that Walker felt. He was head-over-heels in love with me. In lust with me too. A while back, Walker had had me to himself for a week — just the two of us. He announced from the start that I was his girlfriend. Not, like we usually role-played, his older sister.

For the first time in his life he had assumed, comfortably so, an authoritative attitude. With Vanessa in Mexico, I had found myself in a unique psychological position. Somewhere between compliant and totally submissive.

For me, it was new, nervous-making in a way, and exciting as hell. My ‘boyfriend’ reveled in his newfound confidence. And in my acquiescence, in and out of his bed.

I masturbated for him. He fingered and licked me to countless orgasms. For the first time ever, I sucked him off. There were three separate times when he could have — and I desperately wanted him to — fucked me.

When Vanessa returned we told her all about it. I said, “I’m so glad now that he didn’t fuck me.”

Vanessa surprised me, “So am I.” What? She’d been lobbying me to fuck Walk for months.

I said, ‘Huh?”

She smiled sweetly, “I want to be here for your first time.”

“Oh.”

Walker was grinning like a fool.

After breakfast that Monday morning, Vanessa led Walk and me back to our bedroom. Stood me in front of our three-sided mirror, and took my robe off.

I admit it — I loved looking at myself, especially nude. And even more especially with an appreciative audience. I smiled at my reflected image. A tall, tanned blonde smiled back at me. Deeply tanned except for three small patches.

Terrific boobs if I do say so myself. And I do. Pink, upturned nipples. Tucked-in waist, shapely butt. I managed to tear my eyes away from my bod and checked out my wide smile, blue eyes, and that asymmetric blonde pageboy cut.

Vanessa winked at Walk, “Who is she gonna be down in Sausalito? Your sister or your girlfriend?”

I said, “Hey, I haven’t agreed to go.”

They ignored me. Walk was staring at the mirror, but I could tell he was thinking about Vanessa’s question. He blinked, then smiled back at her, “My mom — she’s my mom.”

I had to join Vanessa in laughing. She said, “Of course she is! Perfect — you’re taking her to Son-Fuckers Central.” She winked again, “Is she moist?”

God, she knows me so well.

Walker, no hesitation, reached down and gently slid his middle fingertip in. Nodded to Vanessa, and began caressing my clit, “Sopping.”

Vanessa gave his bulge a friendly squeeze, and said, “School.”

“Oh.” He adjusted his slacks and left to catch the Main Street Max to Pembroke Hill School.

I almost cried out, “Wait!” Instead I turned to Vanessa, “You are evil.”

She mused, “I wonder how long his boner will last?”

Vanessa’s manager at Euforia — Lina Paloma — effortlessly ran Euforia when Vanessa was out of town. Lina was something — she and her daughter, Pilar, had made a treacherous journey to America from Hondo, Colombia. Through the length of Mexico.

Pilar had been Walker’s girlfriend until she, stupidly, dumped him. Because she knew he would be leaving for college in a couple of years. She had over-worried about that to the point or hormonal craziness.

Then Lina, practical, Lina, stepped in. Offered herself to Walker. With permission from Vanessa and me. Grownup pussy — no surprise — did wonders for Walker. He’d been stunned by Pilar’s departure. And Lina was the perfect antidote.

So, Vanessa’s restaurant would be in good hands while she was away. And, that Monday evening, I told Walk, ‘Okay.” He was coming out of his shower, and I tossed him a towel. How the fuck did he grow so tall? Two inches and a fraction over six feet. The boy was blonde and slender just like me. Same blue eyes. Except that he had recently had his hair cut short — a buzz cut.

He hadn’t asked Vanessa nor me about it — another sign of his growing maturity. And confidence. Which was good. Except I preferred longer, wavy hair on him. And, his independence, while a good thing overall, reminded me that, yes, he would be leaving us for college in a couple of years.

A natural progression, but a tiny part of me dreaded it. Things would never be the same as they were now. Sigh.

I hid my smile as he toweled off. I was fully dressed, but just having me in the room excited him. His penis began that familiar pulsing. It throbbed to life — just under 9-inches, and pointing proudly at the ceiling.

He tried acting casual, “When would we leave?”

“Hmm — Thursday morning. Fly back on Sunday.”

He mentally calculated as he hung up his towel, “Three days, three nights — not bad.”

I heard Vanessa’s shower turn off in our bathroom, and she strolled in a minute later. A towel turbaned around her head, another one wrapped around her body.

Her face lit up at the sight of Walker. She used the tip of her middle finger to guide his boner down — then she let it go to thwap back up against his tummy. She smiled that glorious smile, “If I ever change religions, honey, you’re my go-to.”

After dinner that Monday night, Walker Jennings began his obsessive research on Sausalito, Mississippi. I now let him book airlines and hotels for us. Even choose restaurants.

During our week together, Walk had even ordered for me from the menus. That remarkable subservience surprised Vanessa even more than my ceding the bedroom activities to the lad. I do like my food.

Tuesday morning. Breakfast.

“We’re staying at the Royal Sonesta. Bourbon Street. The Quarter.”

Vanessa smiled sweetly, “Did you book separate rooms or a two-bedroom suite?”

Walker laughed. One bedroom, one bath, one bed. She patted him on the knee, “If you do decide to fuck her, film it for me.”

She was kidding. Mostly.

I said, “Did you book a rental car?”

So serious, “Nope — it’s only 20 minutes or so from New Orleans to Sausalito. I figured we’d do car service — you know how much you drink on vacation.”

Actually, that was a pretty good idea. Both New Orleans and Sausalito had a party-town rep.

Wednesday night, Vanessa and Walker packed for the two of us. Another surrender on my part? Not really — he knew almost as well as Vanessa what to select for me. Although, in the back of my mind, I realized that even that minor subservience on my part ... well, it would be interesting how he played into it.

I would definitely be his mother this time. But during our week together, he had been so confident, so very much in charge. I decided not to worry about it — it was Walker’s trip, and I’d play along with whatever he wanted. Within reason. Probably. Maybe. Oh, God.

Bourbon Street turned out to be everything I’d imagined — gaudy and crowded with revelers, corny, and noisy. Since Vanessa and I owned shares in a Kansas City titty bar, Walk was interested in the strip clubs and barkers, but hardly agog.

In the Royal Sonesta, he handled the sign-in, and tipped the bellboy a twenty for toting our single suitcase up to the room. He turned to me, “Shower.”

“Of course.”

Of course — he wanted to get me naked as soon as possible. In the shower, he tried to play it casual, but I could see a vein in his neck throbbing in excitement. And that wasn’t the only thing that throbbed.

But to be honest, and why not? Hotel rooms have always turned me on too. Starting back in middle school when I was blowing three of my girlfriends’ dads.

Walk and I soaped each other up — I was careful not to make him cum. As he fingered me, he nuzzled my neck and whispered, “I want you to cum, Winter.”

“Of course.”

Part of my arousal was hotel-driven — that wonderful sense of freedom, of somewhere new. Partly it was purely physical — Walk now knew my body almost as well as Vanessa.

But a large measure of my excitement stemmed from the sheer naughtiness of being with my son. And, the night before we left for the airport, I admitted to myself that I would, once again, probably end up being submissive to him.

Did that mean I would let him fuck me? No, absolutely not. Yet, the last time we were alone for an extended period ... well, he could have. Three different nights.

And that minuscule tingle of uncertainty was bouncing around my mind as he gave me that first, gentle orgasm. “OH!” Then a moment later someone in the shower whispered, “Don’t stop, baby, don’t stop.”

“I know, Winter, I know.”

Later, as he was unpacking our case, I thought, “Oh great. He made me cum five minutes after we checked in.”

I had to smile as the handsome lad gently stacked my panties and thongs in a drawer. We hadn’t discussed it, but I knew wardrobe decisions would be just like when we spent that week alone — he would decide what he wanted me to wear. And, the mood I was already in — well, that was just fine with me.

It was March — early spring — and 20-degrees warmer in New Orleans than Kansas City. Walker handed me a pair of wispy pink panties that I hadn’t seen before. Hmm — the lad had done some shopping on his own.

I stepped into them, and he added in approval, “Nice.”

“Thank you, kind sir.”

Half an hour later, it was almost 2 in the afternoon, the Uber driver pulled off a two-lane highway onto a narrow north-south road called André Previn Road. Then we were, suddenly, in downtown Sausalito, Mississippi.

It was small and tidy, built around a park with a bandstand. The buildings were all one and two-stories tall. Not much traffic, only a few pedestrians moving slowly through the heat.

Walker directed our driver to a place called Contrary Mary’s.

Contrary Mary’s — a timeworn bar and grill — was a large, ramshackle wooden structure. It rested on 18-foot piers. Walker ‘Research’ Jennings told me, “It was built long before Katrina — it’s grandfathered in. Otherwise, it would have to be higher.”

“Yawn.”

The building tilted a little to the left, to the north. “It’s about five degrees off plumb.” I looked at him and shook my head. We climbed the wide stairs to the front section of the wraparound deck.

“Mary’s never closes and it’s not because the City Attorney owns it.”

“Noted.”

“No under-the-table payoffs to politicians, no goat-fucking videos, no friends in high places.”

I hadn’t been much interested to begin with, but now I felt a brief twinge of curiosity. I judged the level to fall somewhere between polite and mild.

Walk tapped the side of his nose with the length of his index finger, an old-timey gesture that I found quaint.

“Mary’s has always stayed open, all day, all night, even on Christmas and Easter.”

We entered through wide-open screen doors. Wheezy old Arctic King air conditioners mostly just pushed the warm, moist air around. Overhead fans didn’t help much either. The large room was bathed in a perpetual honey-colored light that was surprisingly flattering both day and night.

A U-shaped bar, with its back to the entrance, greeted us. Tall wooden booths with cracked red leather seats lined both sides of the room with its gently sloping wooden floor. There were a few mismatched tables in front of the bar, but they didn’t get much use.

Mary’s smelled, not unpleasantly, of beer and grease and frying food.

Yvette Landry seemed to be on permanent daytime rotation on the old Wurlitzer... “Friday night special, that’s all that I am.”

I said, “How in the world did you find this place?”

Walker tapped the side of his head, “All-knowing, all-seeing.”

“All bluff and BS.”

Then I stopped short — a little girl smiled at us, “Welcome to Mary’s. I’m Sarah.”

We stared. She looked about 14 or 15 — pretty and tanned and almost naked. She was wearing only a tiny thong that said CUNT in vertical letters.

Walk recovered first, “Hi Sarah. I’m Walker and this is my mom, Winter.” He patted me on the butt, already trying to establish the relationship.

Sarah’s grin widened, and she nodded at me, “Primo. Where you Yankees from, anyway?”

“Kansas City — Mom’s real curious about that “Sun-Fuckers movie.”

Mom? He had never called me that. I’ve been ‘Winter’ ever since he could talk. Hmm, more shifting boundaries.

Sarah nodded, “We git a lotta that.” She glanced around, “I don’ see any of those sweet mamas right now, but there’s some here in town.”

I looked the joint over. It was about a third full with four or five other little similarly-clad girls. They were sauntering around, casual and comfortable in those tiny thongs. I saw more flirting and teasing than waitressing.

There was a slow, easy pace to life in Contrary Mary’s. Sarah led us to a booth and Walk slid in beside me. Since we were new, Sarah handed Walk a menu:

Breakfast: $6 Dinner: $7 Supper: $8

Mr. Research said, “Dinner, please. And a couple of beers.”

“Sure — Dixie okay?”

“Yes, thank you.”

He was too young to be served. She was too young to serve. Laissez-faire down in Cajun Country.

Sarah winked at him, “It ain’t on the menu, but handjobs are only ten bucks.”

Walk didn’t seem the least surprised, “Blowjobs?”

Sarah sighed, “Sorry — Miss Darlene don’t let us suck cocks.” She leaned forward, feeling the need to explain, “I understand though. See, the girls charge $50 at Miss Kitty’s.”

Walk, Mr. Wise-to-the-Ways-of-the-World, nodded, “The boss doesn’t want you undercutting the price.”

Sarah nodded, then brightened, “But when you cum, she lets us lick it up.” A distinction that seemed important to the little girl. She was obviously smitten with Walk and winked, “An’ she lets us git naked in the car.”

She casually tugged her thong off to the side to show him her bald little pussy. Walk tried to hide his surprise by nodding, “Nice, really nice, Sarah.”

He patted my thigh, “Mom is bald too — I love the look. But her pussy is even smaller than yours.”

Sarah stared at me, seeing me for the first time. She traced her finger on herself, “Really? Smaller than mine?”

He raised his palm, “God’s honest truth.”

Sarah mouthed the word ‘Wow’. Clearly impressed. Not that Walker knew about my pussy, but that it was smaller than hers.

I thought, “Oh great. He made me cum five minutes after we checked into the hotel. And now he’s describing my pussy five minutes into our first Sausalito-conversation.”

To change the subject, I said, “Your boss is pretty strict?”

“Oh, God, yes! See Miss Darlene is in charge of the pussy.” She frowned in concentration, “I don’ mean jess here. At Miss Kitty’s too. An’ she runs the Calendar Girls, the church-pussy ... let’s see, the Motel Girls ... um, if it’s pussy, Miss Darlene is in charge.” She was lost in thought for a moment, then brightened, “An’ the Lively Ladies acourse. Let’s see ... The Dirty Dozen, the Elite Eight...” She shook her head in wonderment, “Miss Darlene.”

Interesting. Fascinating, really. And nice to see a woman running things. Although I was pretty sure that little Sarah didn’t have an accurate understanding — probably exaggerated her boss’s influence.

Our lunch — or down here, our dinner — was surprisingly delicious. I complimented Sarah when she brought our second beers. She grinned, “They age the cheese six years in New Zealand.” She frowned, “Or maybe Australia, one of those. An’ they fry the potatoes twice — once to cook ‘em, then to crisp ‘em up.”

She smiled at me shyly, “Would you let him ... I mean, I’d be pleased...” She made a jacking off motion with her fist.

In for a penny ... I played into Walker’s game, “Oh honey, that’s up to Walker.” I lowered my voice, “He makes all the sex decisions in our family.”

Sarah was impressed. She looked at him, “Huh.”

This was turning out to be fun. The first time ever we’d been open to admitting our mother/son relationship in public. It was freeing in a sort of exciting way. We’d never see these people again, so why not enjoy the ride? The public ride?

Sarah seemed to take the Walker-news in stride. She giggled and stripped off her thong. Tossed it to Walk. Who was grinning like a fool. I looked around — several people were staring, but no one seemed all that surprised. A couple of wolf-whistles and an “Atta girl!” But no gasps, no finger-pointing.

Walk, the fool, said, “Where?”

“Your car, silly.”

“Um, we don’t have a car. I mean we have one, but it’s back at home.”

This got Sarah’s attention — she was startled at the strange Yankee behavior. “Uh, lemme see. I know! I’ll ask Miss Darlene. Be right back.”

Walker and I watched her butt-twitch her way across the dining room and through a door marked Staff Only. Buck naked. I shook my head, “Rabbit hole.”

Mr. Worldly said, “Relax, Mom, and go with the flow.” He picked up the thong and smiled.

I said, “Mom?”

“Mom.”

Well, that was that.

A couple of minutes later, another young Cajun girl came out of the back room and walked over to our booth. But she was dressed in a tee and shorts. She was as pretty as the waitresses, but there was a certain assuredness to her.

She smiled at Walker, and said, “I’m Darlene Pellerin. May I join you?”

He stood up — our relationship might be upside down this weekend, but he hadn’t forgotten his manners, “Of course. I’m Walker Jennings, and this is my mom, Winter.”

I was startled. The way Sarah had gushed about her boss, I had pictured a woman in her 40s or 50s. Miss Pellerin might be 15, maybe 16, but she had a calm maturity about her. She was Cajun-dark, petite with coal-black hair and a vivid white smile.

Quickly, as we visited, I realized how sharp she was. She played along — addressing most of her questions to Walker, but I was pretty sure she got it. She knew role-playing when she saw it.

She confirmed that she also managed a strip joint called Miss Kitty’s. Mr. Research had already known about the club. He casually dropped Kansas City into the conversation, “Mom and her wife own a titty bar back home.”

Darlene looked at me with interest. The ‘wife’ mention got her attention, but she asked about the business, “Really? Full frontal?”

I could tell her interest was professional, not salacious. “The law is murky. Depending on the girl, and on the mood of the room, they may lose their thongs. But we turned the upstairs into a private club. Pretty much everything goes.”

“Private rooms?”

Walker answered, reclaiming the authoritative role, “Yes. It’s like ... like a promotion to work upstairs. More money, of course, but it’s a prestige thing.”

Darlene nodded, “Smart.”

Walker, showing off, draped his arm over my right shoulder, and casually cupped my breast. Darlene smiled to herself. Touching ‘Mom’ in public aroused him — I could have known without even glancing down at his sudden bulge.

Darlene — and I don’t know how I knew it, but I did — played into his dream scenario. She pretended to be asking him for permission, but I understood she was really talking to me.

“We show everything at Miss Kitty’s now. It caused quite a stir when Kate Broussard first opened the joint — about 20-years ago. But now ... well now, everyone just expects to see pussy.” She winked, “And a lot of it.”

Mr. Cool said, “Cool.”

Walker was unconsciously twirling my nipple. My erect nipple. Darlene leaned forward and placed her palm on the back of his other hand, “My audience loves to see...” She tapped his hand with her middle finger, “New pussy.” She tapped, “Especially, Yankee pussy.” Another tap, “Blonde, Yankee pussy.”

Walker was startled and couldn’t quite disguise it, “Oh. Oh!”

Still addressing him, but talking to me, she said, “Would you consider letting your mom dance a set for me?”

He sat up straighter, took a moment to compose himself, “Um, what would be involved?”

“First of all, with a stunner like her — well, it would be Standing Room Only. I’d sell out the house.”

“Oh.” The big fool grinned like a big fool.

“She could be solo — that’s one option. Or I could put another girl up there with her.” She winked, “The crowd loves to see girl-on-girl.”

Walk at least managed to grasp a tendril of reality. He shook his head, “No, she won’t be unfaithful to Vanessa.”

“Solo it is.” Darlene paused for emphasis, “Although...”

“Yes?”

“Late nights — weekends — I sometimes have a mother/son show. That’s the most popular of all.”

I couldn’t hold back, “Live sex?”

“Yes ma’am. That movie opened the door. Wide open. Now, I don’t do it very often — I want to keep it special.”

Just then, Sarah, still stark naked, brought us two more beers and a cup of coffee for Darlene. Darlene patted the little girl’s butt fondly, “She gets off in a few minutes.” She winked at Sarah, “And her sweet mama will be picking her up. Caroline — she’s a little firecracker.”

Sarah nodded proudly.

Darlene tapped the back of Walker’s hand again, “If you’re in the mood for some pussy, there’s a bed in the back room.” She winked, “For you and Caroline.”

Sarah nodded again.

I was proud of the lad — he resisted what had to be an enormous temptation and stayed in his role, “Thank you, Miss Darlene, but I’m dedicating this weekend to Mom.”

Myself, I was able, somehow, to retain my composure at this outrageous conversation. Darlene was offering Walk the chance to fuck Sarah’s mother. And the naked little girl seemed delighted by the idea.

I reached down and gave his boner a squeeze, teasing, “Are you sure, honey? You’re about to explode.”

Sara nodded, “Mama loves it.”

Walk cleared his throat, “Thank you anyway, Miss Darlene, but this is Wint — Mom’s weekend.”

“I understand. Tell you what, Walker — let’s go over to Miss Kitty’s. It’s only a couple of blocks, and you can check it out. Before you decide to let her dance.”

“Let’s!”

“Dinner is on me.”

“Thank you, very kind.” He still left a $10 tip, which Darlene noticed, and I approved.

Sarah walked us to the door, and told Walker, “Next year when I’m too old to work here, Darlene will put Mama and me on the stage. At Miss Kitty’s.” She felt the need to explain, “Guys love that — to see a mother an’ daughter naked. It’s like a ... a fantasy thing? A sex fantasy?” She shrugged, “A guy thing.”

I said, “Not just guys.”

Darlene looked at me with interest.

Sarah, “If you come back then, you kin take Mama an’ me to the Blowjob Room.” She got a serious look on her young face, “It’s $50, but ... I mean, we will do ... you will...”

Darlene teased her young waitress, “If it’s Mr. Walker Jennings, it’s on the house, dear.”

“Oh. Acourse! Acourse!”

Walk patted my butt — even in the midst of this extraordinary conversation, he hadn’t lost sight of his primary goal. Moi.

Walker and I walk a lot back home. And, we’re brisk. Although his legs are longer, so he has to slow down a bit for me. But down here ... well it had to be 90-degrees, and the air felt moist. We automatically adjusted to Darlene’s slower pace. Actually, everyone we saw was moving languidly.

Walker is often the tallest one we encounter in our neighborhood strolls. But down here in Cajun-land ... well, he was head-and-shoulders taller than almost everyone we saw out on the streets. In fact, I was taller than most of them. Darlene came up to maybe chin-level next to me.

Walk kept his hand possessively on my butt as we ambled along. Darlene smiled to herself. I guess in Sausalito — in Son-Fucker territory — it didn’t seem all that unusual.

We paused in front of Miss Kitty’s. Walk was staring at the blatant photo display in the front window. There were 10 large pictures showing 10 smiling, naked women. The banner on top read: Cum Cup Finalists. There was a number posted under each girl’s picture — ranging from 23 to 31.

And — this really got my attention — there was a smaller photo with each girl. It showed her, fully dressed, with from one to three children.

Walk couldn’t contain himself, “Cum Cup?”

Darlene smiled, “Let’s catch some air conditioning, and I’ll explain.”

Inside, it was dim except for the brightly-lit stage. Two girls in their 20s wore only a thong. At four in the afternoon, it was a small crowd — maybe 15 guys and one table with four women. A good sound system was playing “Get Low” by Lil John and The East Side Boys.

Mr. Cool managed to keep from staring.

Darlene led us through the crowd into the back. She pointed, “Laptop dances.” Then, “Blowjob Rooms. We had to add a second one.” So, Sara hadn’t been exaggerating.

The dressing room was amazing. And not just because three naked girls were leaning forward applying makeup. Three walls were floor-to-ceiling mirrors. The fourth was an open shower area.

Darlene introduced us, “Cindy, Rebecca, Sal, this is Mr. Walker Jennings and his mom, Winter.”

The girls smiled broadly and shook hands with us. They had bald pussies, just like Sarah. And me.

Darlene, still playing along, said, “Walker is thinking about — considering — having his mom dance here.”

Sal grinned at the fool, “Oh, hon, you should! You could make a million bucks.”

Cindy said, “Is her pussy bald? Darlene keeps all of us bald.”

The fool nodded solemnly “Of course. I had her get it touched up yesterday.”

Rebecca nodded as if it were a normal comment for a boy to make about his mother. Darlene smiled to herself. On the way upstairs, Darlene glanced at the stage and called out, “Lose the thongs, ladies.”

The crowd murmured its approval and the two girls complied instantly. Naked, they melted into each other’s arms and began necking. Walk cleared his throat as they reached down and began fingering each other.

Someone turned down the music and brightened the spotlight. The four audience-girls whistled and clapped.

I just hoped Walk wouldn’t cum in his pants. Counting Sarah, he had seen six naked girls in the past 10 minutes or so.

Upstairs in Darlene’s office, we looked down at the stage through a large window. One of the girls was lying on her back. Her partner was straddling her face, leaning back on her hands. The four women were crowed up to the stage, cheering them on.

Darlene — Miss Darlene — smiled at Walker, “The Cum Cup is an annual contest. We figured the average guy’s cum might fill a teaspoon. Of course some shoot a lot more.”

The fool nodded sagely.

“So 48 teaspoons equals a cup. We rounded it up to 50 — so the first girl to suck off 50 guys wins the Cup.”