I rolled over and glanced at the clock. Bright and early on a Sunday. A full bladder interrupted my intention to sleep in. Harriett wouldn't be back until Tuesday, giving me a quiet day off and a lonesome Monday. The house felt eerily silent without the echoes of arguments or the waves of latent hostility. Just before she left for her "Reentering The Business World" seminar in Milwaukee, we had words about her getting a job. It wasn't any macho or gender thing. The thought of dual incomes sounded cash register bells in my head. I just didn't believe she'd succeed, and then I'd be left to clean up the long-term mess. The possibility of working, making money, doing something useful in the real world brightened her spirits, but only mildly softened her attitude towards me. I guess I shouldn't expect miracles.

Just as I cracked an egg into a sizzling fry pan, the phone rang. Maybe I should take out our landline and get an unlisted cell phone, like Annie. "Hello?"

"Harvey, this is Roberta Pasternak. I play bridge with your wife?"

It sounded like a question, along the lines of, 'Do you remember me?' I didn't, but pretended. "Hi, Roberta. Harriett is out of town."

"Yes, she told us. She was so excited. But, she rarely makes it to our games anymore. Do you play?"

Around? Yeah, with a couple of babysitters and some of Annie's friends on their birthdays. Bridge? Not since college, and then not well. I never could get the hang of bidding with signals. I always wanted to announce 'One false club.' "Not for a long time."

"You should sit in for Harriett some time. I think you'd enjoy it. I know we would."

Sitting at a card table with three women, only communicating through a formal but imprecise bidding protocol? Not my idea of snappy entertainment. Now, if bridge were a strip game, at least there'd be breasts to look at-

"I have a favor to ask," she continued. "My daughter MB is going to be in the senior dance show and I'm having trouble getting her costume put together. Harriett always told us how handy you were, when Anna was growing up."

Handy? "Me?" Harriett paid me a compliment?

"You'll help MB, won't you?" Her voice was pleading, oozing with honey.

A young woman whose costume falls apart? Possible trouble, but her mother was asking. "Sure."

"Great! I knew I could count on you. She's on her way over-"

The doorbell rang.

"Was that yours? I'll let you answer it, its probably MB. I told her to co-operate and not to make things hard for you. Take good care of her, okay?"

Not make things hard? Can't be avoided with me and young women, in most cases. Take care of her? Didn't she mean the costume? "Yeah, fine. Bye."

MB was at the door in polo shirt and shorts carrying a cardboard tube. Her costume? "Hi, Mr. Marcus. Did Mom call?"

"Yeah, we just got off the phone. So what's the problem?" I stood aside so she could come in. Her hips swayed as she passed me. Nice wiggle, whether intentional or unconscious.

"So, I'm in this dance number. Modern. Mom tried to get my costume glued together but it wouldn't stay."

"Is it in that tube?"

"Uh huh. Do you want to see it?"

"Let's do it in my office upstairs, where I have my tools and stuff." The tool in my pants was perking up at the thought of having this young lady alone in the house. I hoped she wouldn't notice but after all, I still had only pajamas on, not the best way to camouflage an erection. Could I avoid sexual stuff? Maybe.

"Mom says you've got the right tool to handle me."

Strange way to phrase it. Not 'You've got the right tools to handle the situation.' The sexual innuendo of Roberta's words delivered by MB was distracting. I uncapped the tube and spread the contents onto my work area, a card table hand-me-down from Harriett. There were two identical cutouts of transparent plastic that crackled as I unrolled them. The shoulder edges were stained with a white glue residue. Remnants of tape, clear, dotted the edges. Roberta had done a poor job of assessing the proper solution. "Hang on." I fetched some rags from under the laundry tubs and wiped away the remnants of MB's mother's attempts. The plastic sounded like radio static with even the slightest movement.

From the bottom drawer, I grabbed some corded tape, the strong kind used in packaging with fibers embedded. I mused how I would feed in bed, embedded in MB's pussy. God, why do these thoughts come to me? Cum? There it was again.

After I got the edges clean, I dried them and brought them over to MB. "Stand up." She shot from the side chair like a soldier getting commands from a sergeant. MB stood, hands behind her back, her breasts thrust out. The buttons strained on her shirt.

I handed MB the front piece of her costume. "Hold this." She clutched it to her chest. Crunch. I walked around back, cut a couple of short pieces of tape, held the back against her shoulders and taped the front and back together at the shoulders. I walked around to the front to see how it fit. At the bust line, the front piece stuck out, pushed away by MB's breasts. "Are you sure your mother cut this right? It seems small."

MB looked down at the problem. "Maybe its because I don't wear a blouse under it."

I swallowed hard. I prayed the answer wouldn't be 'Nothing.' "What do you wear?"

"A leotard."

Dodged that one. "Did you bring it?"

MB shook her head. "It's in the wash at home. Mom got glue all over the shoulders and sides."

I rubbed my chin.

"I can take off my blouse," she offered.

Damn. She was willing to undress in front of a perfect stranger? Well, I guess I'm not perfect, but I was sporting a perfectly functional erection. "Are you okay with that?"

"Oh yes. Mom said I should cooperate completely. She says you're good with girls like me."

Good with costumes, or in the sack or what? How did MB's mother know, anyhow?

I undid the tape and placed the two parts on the worktable and waited. MB unbuttoned her blouse and slid it off her arms. The bra held her breasts high on her chest, up-thrust and perky. I knew from just looking that even without the blouse, the problem wouldn't disappear.

MB placed the blouse on the back of her chair. "I should probably take off my bra, too. I wasn't wearing it when Mom measured and cut out the pieces. The dance instructor insisted we don't wear them under our leotards." Without waiting for permission, MB reached back and popped the hooks. Her breasts leaked out from under the loose garment. I was shocked at how much her young tits sagged. Weren't all young breasts naturally uplifted? Why, even Harriett's breasts didn't sag until years after we were married. When they'd been firm and forthright was a waste, however, since I'd gotten slapped every time I tried to nuzzle them or use my mouth on her nipples.

Given MB's nude profile, I understood why her mother's measurements and cutting were fine. Without high-placed tits, there was sufficient material along the sides to glue and still fit her daughter's torso. I heard a snap. MB had opened and slid her shorts off while I was contemplating the design of her outfit. "We don't wear pants either," she explained.

So now I was face to face with a nubile young woman only in panties, standing straight as a soldier, waiting for my next request. 'Jump onto the bed and spread your legs'? Why do I do this to myself? And better yet, why do I do it to them? "Let's try another fitting, shall we?"

This time, MB held the front part against her chest, squishing her nipples against the plastic. It crunched with contact. I brought the other piece around back, surveying her nice round ass. It was half covered by bikini panties and hadn't fallen a millimeter. I reattached the packing tape and came around front. The outfit lay fine around her body. Roberta's words had sounded like she expected her daughter to get laid.

"You're not going to leave it like this, are you?" MB's face showed dejection.

Her mother had tried glue. "I can add more tape. Is there a reason it has to be attached differently?"

"The dance teacher was very explicit. No tape. The overhead lights will make tape stick out like a sore thumb."

MB's lack of clothing was quite explicit, with almost all of her showing. And I was sticking out, longer than any thumb I'd ever seen. "Not tape, hmm?" I thought for a moment. "I know! Epoxy."

"Is that expensive?"

I laughed. "Nope. I have the stuff right here." I strode over to a thin wooden cabinet with half a dozen drawers. It took rifling through various tapes, glues and miscellaneous adhesives before I found the two glass bottles in the bottom drawer. I removed the tape and placed the two parts of the costume on the table. I applied a thin bead of part one along the edge of the front piece, skipping the neck hole and bottom. The backside got the other gel. I waited the requisite minute, glancing over at MB for most of that time. She smiled, feet together, and those hands going behind her back. Her breasts remained in a sagging position.

With as much precision and concentration I could muster with an almost nubile young woman in the room, I joined the front and back and pressed the edges together. The chemicals in the two gels warmed as they bonded. It would take at least fifteen minutes for them to cure sufficiently to test. I unfolded two chairs and sat down across from MB. "Sit. We have to wait."

"Okay."

The silence was more than awkward. What do you say to an almost nude woman, obedient and willing? "So tell me about your dance."

"Can I show you?" She was all smiles, almost jumping out of her seat.

"All right. Is there enough room here?" My office was extremely cluttered with magazines, boxes of mementos, all of which Harriett called "Harvey's crap." Good thing I had my own room, or my stuff would have disappeared a long time ago.

MB moved her chair out of the way and stood, arms to her sides, chin up, legs straight and together. She took a stiff step forward, like a march, but just once. Then she stood. And stood some more.

I didn't mind having an excuse to look at her naked form, but I was also curious. "Is this dancing?"

She came out of her statue stance. "It's an interpretive number. We're chess pieces, on a board. The stage will be painted as squares. I'm a pawn."

In my game of seduction? Perhaps her mothers? "Okay."

"There are other pieces on the board, and they interact. That's what you're not seeing. You could help."

"How?"

"You can be the knave."

To the best of my memory, there were no knaves in chess. Knights, rooks, bishops, yes. "Okay. What do I do?"

"Stand there, over to the side, on a diagonal." I stood in the spot she pointed to. "Great. Now, we wait while some other pieces move."

It was difficult to concentrate, with MB standing there in only her panties, arms at her sides, breasts exposed, rising and falling with each breath.

"Okay, now take a step towards me." I did, looking down at her, the slope of her breasts, the smell of her hair, herbal. And something else. Was she gooping her panties? Something smelled like sex.

"Now, take me."

"Huh?"

"Take me, silly."

I accepted her direction, scooped her up in my arms, one hand behind her back, one under her legs. Her eyes went wide, as I moved my face forward to kiss her.

"What are you doing?" she shouted.

I stood embarrassed with an unclothed young woman in my arms. Best idea was to put her down. "You said 'take me' and I thought-"

"Not that kind of take. Chess take, like on the board. Bumping." MB stroked my arm. "Don't feel bad. I'm flattered."

My face felt like it was on fire. Their words, hers and her mother's, were accidents of speech, not an invitation for sex. "What was I supposed to do?"

"Come here." She dragged me back to my position facing her.

My cock pushed the crotch of my sleeping pants out. No way could she ignore that. "Now what?"

"Push against me, like a knave taking a pawn in chess."

I leaned forward. My erection touched her first, followed by my stomach and finally my chest. "Like this?"

"Uh huh." MB rocked back and forth, bumping her lower body against my hard cock. Then she sidestepped away. "Now turn around and face the audience."

I spun one hundred and eight degrees.

"Perfect. That's my part." She giggled and pointed to my crotch. "And that's your part."

I looked down. My penis had escaped, splitting the flap in front. I adjusted my sleeping pants, tucking my erection back inside." "Sorry."

"That's okay. Mom said you might show me your penis."

"She did? And why would I do that?"

"Because you might need to demonstrate something. About sex. I've been having trouble with boys. Big trouble."

So, maybe I was wrong. Roberta expected me to be a knave and seduce her daughter. And she advised her daughter to be willing. "You want to talk about it?" Oh please.

"Guys don't like my tits." Her eyes teared up. "As long as I keep my bra on, everything is fine. We kiss and touch and, well, you know. But if they insist I take my bra off, or they lift one of my tits out, they get grossed out." She escalated to crying. "MB is short for Mary-Beth, but guys call me Mushy Breasts." Now she was sobbing, covering her chest. "This shouldn't happen until I'm way older. Hell, I'm only 18."