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Maybe I was overreacting.

“Or maybe I’m not,” I whispered. It wasn’t the first time he had done something to subtly—or not so subtly—convince me to change my mind about something.

Like the time a year ago when my father had invited me to Texas for a visit. After my mother took me away when I was fourteen, I didn’t see my dad for four years. There were no cell phones back then, so no easy way for me to sneak a call to him without my mother finding out. But I’d called my father collect from a payphone on my first day at my new school. I’d been relieved to reach him, and quickly told him where I was so that he could come and get me. I’d been stunned to learn that he already knew where I was. My mother had called him days after we’d arrived in Philadelphia. I didn’t understand why he hadn’t come for me, but he explained that he’d wanted to do exactly that, that he’d contacted the authorities to try and find me. But my mother had convinced him that she was in a better position to take care of me. My father worked long hours as a janitor at two different office buildings and didn’t make a ton of money. Who would see me off to school in the morning, or make dinner for me when he worked late? He also explained that while his desire was to fight for custody of me, he knew that the courts favored the mothers the majority of the time. Besides, going to court would cost money—money he didn’t have. He promised we would stay in touch via phone calls and hopefully visits when the opportunity arose.

I’d had to accept what he’d told me—I didn’t have any other choice. But I secretly believed that he hadn’t
pushed the issue of custody because he didn’t want to fall out of favor with my mother. That after everything she had done to hurt him, he still hoped she would come back to him one day.

Their relationship may have been dysfunctional, but he’d loved her.

True to his word, my father and I did stay in touch. We talked on the phone about once a week in the beginning, then tapered off to about once a month. When I was eighteen and legally an adult, I borrowed money from a friend to go see my dad. I thought maybe I could live with him. But a week into the visit, I knew it wasn’t going to work out.

There’d been an expression in my father’s eyes all week that I couldn’t quite place. A sort of sadness in his gaze as he regarded me, even though he’d been glad to see me. When he’d called me by my mother’s name, I realized what the issue was. He couldn’t look at me without seeing my mother.

And that was painful for him. Not because he didn’t love me, but because I looked so much like the woman he had adored with all his soul and lost. He had been crippled by the loss. Like a person unable to move on after the death of a loved one.

Four years apart, and I no longer knew how to relate to him. I couldn’t help him out of his melancholy. I went on with my life, moving to North Carolina with my best friend, Treasure.

I’d only seen my father a handful of times after that. Once a year, maybe. And we didn’t speak on the phone all that often, either.

My dad hadn’t been a consistent figure in my life for many years, but I’d been trying to come to terms with the unhappiness of the past, trying to find a way to move beyond the disappointment of my childhood. So going to Texas to see him had seemed like a great opportunity to strengthen our relationship. Robert, however, had thought that seeing my father would be a bad idea, that it wouldn’t go the way I had hoped and maybe even send me into depression.

I understood his concerns. I had shared the truth of my troubled upbringing with my husband, as well as the fact that I’d experienced bouts of depression at times in the past. But when I made the decision to go to Texas anyway, and had booked my ticket, Robert “surprised” me with a trip to Paris. It was one of my favorite cities on the planet, and I’d been looking forward to the day when we could go back and explore it as a couple, rather than me shopping alone while my husband did business. Robert had conveniently forgotten to tell me that he’d booked the trip for us.

It had been a surprise, he’d reasoned.

But I couldn’t help wondering if the trip had been a surefire way to make certain I didn’t visit my dad. Robert didn’t like him—and he especially despised my mother—and felt any contact with my parents would negate all the progress I’d made in moving to an emotionally better place in my life.

So I’d gone to Paris, where Robert had wined and dined me and treated me like a princess—and reminded me of the time when my father, after two years of not hearing from him, called to ask me for a loan. Robert
had me doubting my father’s motives. I’d returned from Paris and hadn’t gotten back in touch with my dad, convinced that my husband, who loved me and wanted the absolute best for me, was right.

My father died of liver disease three weeks later. I hadn’t known he was ill. He’d wanted to tell me in person, but never got the chance.

My legs were spread wide over the arms of a love seat, my lover’s face buried in my pussy.

He was looking up at me from his position on the floor, his eyes locked with mine as his tongue ran circles over my clitoris. He had three fingers inside me, fucking me with his hand to heighten my pleasure. He plunged his fingers in, withdrew them and greedily lapped at my essence, then thrust his fingers deep inside my pussy again.

I watched as his teeth grazed my clit, knowing I was on the verge of a wicked orgasm. And when my clitoris disappeared into his wet, hot mouth, the erotic charge was so electric that I came violently, shuddering hard.

There was a hand on my breast. But whose? Something wasn’t right.

My eyes popped open. I saw not my hazel-eyed lover,
but Robert beside me, his hand stroking my nipple through my nightshirt. I was momentarily stunned.

“Looks like someone was having a very interesting dream,” he said.

My face flushed. “I…I was?”

“No need to be embarrassed.” Robert slipped his hands beneath the fabric and placed his warm skin on mine. “It turned me on.”

“Turned you on?” I repeated.

“I know it’s been a while, but I want to make love, sweetheart.”

“But…but your heart.”

“It wasn’t my heart, remember?”

I came fully awake. My husband wanted to make love. I pushed the image of my fantasy lover from my mind and concentrated wholly on Robert. I was already wet—ready to take advantage of this rare sexual advance.

“I haven’t taken my pill, but I think I’ll be okay,” he said, and kissed my lips.

I eased my body upward, leaning into his kiss. He moved his hand slowly over my breast, gently. I moaned and pressed into his palm, trying to encourage him with my response to be less gentle. I wanted excitement and passion and I-need-you-now kind of sex.

I opened my mouth, deepening the kiss while I placed one leg over his. “Yes, Robert. Touch me harder. Suck my breast, please.”

He lowered his head and began to lick my nipple. I gripped his head and held him to me, wanting him to take me completely in his mouth. But he continued to flick his tongue over my breast in steady thrusts.
Teasing me, but not quite exciting me the way I wanted him to.

I reached for Robert’s penis as he continued to lick my nipple. I wrapped my hand around him and pumped his erect cock, hoping to make it harder before I spread my legs for him.

And then he was groaning and gripping my arms. I felt his cock pulse beneath my hand. He buried his face in my shoulder.

Oh, shit. He’d come.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have…” I didn’t finish my statement. I was too disappointed. I’d wanted my husband excited, but not so much that he’d ejaculated prematurely.

I needed him to come inside me.

“Well, that didn’t turn out as I’d hoped.” Robert rolled onto his back.

“Don’t feel bad. It’s my fault.”

“I should have taken my pill.”

Feeling defeated, I watched as Robert got off the bed and headed for the bathroom.

You’ve got to find a way to loosen up,
I told myself after a minute of wallowing in misery.
You’re putting too much pressure on yourself, and on Robert. If you’re ever going to get pregnant, you need to loosen up.

It’s just that I wanted a baby so badly. I was beginning to feel what Sharon said she had felt after so many miscarriages: that I was a failure as a woman.

It was a silly thought. In my heart, I knew that. Some things in life were out of our control.

But still… I wasn’t ready to throw in the towel yet. I
truly believed that a baby was what Robert and I needed to fill that void in our lives, to give our relationship renewed purpose.

In the meantime, however, I needed to find a way to let myself enjoy whatever sexual interaction Robert and I shared, even if it didn’t end with lovemaking. I was thirty-seven. There was no reason I couldn’t have a baby in my early forties, if that’s how long it took to get pregnant.

As the day passed, I contemplated getting Robert into the mood for lovemaking later, but I dismissed the thought. With his chest pain scare last night, there was no reason to push it.

That’s what I told myself as the weekend passed, but that niggling doubt about the whole chest pain story didn’t quite vaporize. Because I never did see Robert take any medication for his supposed gas pains. As he’d prematurely ejaculated, and his breathing had grown more rapid, he hadn’t complained about any burning sensation.

He even played golf on Sunday.

He seemed completely back to normal, which was a marked difference to how he’d been the first time around.

But I let the matter slide. There was no point in belaboring the point. It would only lead to conflict, and I didn’t like conflict with Robert.

And who was I to say how long the discomfort should last? Each incident could be completely different.

I concentrated instead on how to spice up our sex
life. Maybe what Robert needed was extra stimulus. Something different and out of the norm.

Something new and exciting.

Hell, younger couples tried a variety of tricks to spice things up. Why shouldn’t we?

By Wednesday, I had an idea.

As the owner of Distinct Creations, I always arrived at least half an hour earlier than my staff. Spike was my full-time employee, and I had a few part-timers as well.

Spike was scheduled to help me open this morning, while Maxine was due to work in the afternoon. She was a college student who fit in her part-time hours between classes. Like me, she had always loved arranging flowers for friends and family, and hoped to have a floral business of her own one day.

As I sipped my morning coffee before Spike arrived, I logged on to the computer and began to check a couple of options for how to spice things up with Robert.

The sound of footsteps surprised me. I looked up to see Spike approaching from the back of the store. He was decked out with his usual dramatic flair, in a royal-blue blazer, pink scarf wrapped neatly around his neck, and a multicolored hat.

He was gay and proud of it, and didn’t tone down his flamboyance even in this conservative town.

“You’re here already?” I asked.

“Good morning to you, too,” he replied.

I smiled sweetly at him. “Good morning. I wasn’t expecting you for another fifteen minutes.”

He made his way around the counter, to where I was staring at the computer screen. “Whatcha looking at?”

I put a finger on the mouse, about to minimize the screen to hide what I was researching, but then decided not to. Having been judged his entire life for being gay, Spike was the last person in the world who would judge me for what I was considering doing. In fact, he’d probably get a kick out of it.

Besides, I needed to share my erotic plan with somebody.

“Take a look,” I said.

He lowered his travel coffee mug and glanced at the computer screen. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Yep, it’s a pole.”

“You planning to open a strip club, doll-face?” he quipped.

“No.” I sipped my coffee. “But I thought it would be fun to use one…to spice things up in the bedroom.”

Spike’s eyes grew wide. “You trying to give your husband a heart attack?” As soon as he asked the question, he realized his error in judgment. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Robert didn’t have a heart attack. I think his heart is stronger than most men half his age. It’s his cock I want to work on.”

“Girl…you are gonna hurt that man.”

“You know how things get stale in a relationship sometimes,” I said. “You fall into a routine. Or a rut—whatever you want to call it.”

“No.”

“All right, Casanova. You may not know personally,
but you know what I’m saying. Sex can get…boring. And when your husband is nearly seventy, it’s hard to…”

“Keep it hard?” Spike suggested. “Oops. Did I say that?”

I gave him a look of mock reproach. “I want a baby,” I said after a moment. “I’m ready. I’m more than ready. And yet it’s not happening. I figure if I can add some excitement, maybe that’ll lead to us having the kind of sex we used to before.” Like we’d had that time in Paris when he’d smothered my body in chocolate. “And if we can let go and do that, maybe that’ll help us conceive.”

“Or you could find someone your own age. Someone who won’t be dead as you raise your kids.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d casually suggested that I should leave my husband. We’d also had a couple of heart-to-hearts regarding my marriage. Spike, who was completely motivated by sex, didn’t understand what the attraction was to a much older man.

“There are no guarantees in life,” I told him. “Just ask Sharon.”

“Touché.”

“So here’s what I was thinking,” I went on. “Pole dancing is all the rage these days. Bachelor parties, divorce parties.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You can rent them for whatever function you want. So I’m thinking that I’ll rent one, have it put in our bedroom. And then I’ll put on a very special show for Robert.”

“You know how to work a pole?” Spike asked.

“Not really. But I could figure it out.”

“Why don’t you go to a strip club?” Spike suggested. “Learn from the pros how it’s done.”

“Ooh.” I nodded slowly. “I like that idea!”

He rolled his eyes. “I was
kidding.
”

“But it’s brilliant!” I knew nothing about strippers except what I’d seen in movies, and I had hardly been adventurous when it came to sex. I was ready to change all that. “And you could come with me.”

Spike snorted—and damn near spit out his mouthful of coffee. “You want
me
to go to a strip club—the kind where
women
take their clothes off?”

“I’m not going alone.”

“Girl, you’re not serious.”

“You would only be going with me so I don’t feel uncomfortable. You don’t have to watch if you don’t want to.”

“You’ve lost your mind.”

“Think about it. It’ll be fun. And for me it’ll be a different experience. Maybe help loosen me up, too.”

“You tryin’ to unleash your inner ho or something?”

“Or something,” I said, smiling wickedly. “Robert used to tell me that he went to strip clubs for ‘business’ meetings. Some out-of-town clients liked to be entertained that way. And I’m not stupid—I’m sure he enjoyed looking. I used to tease him that I wasn’t enough for him…but I think this will be a fun way to turn the tables on him.” My eyes went back to the Web
site. “It says they provide a training video. Or personal instruction.”

“Then there you go. Problem solved.”

“Maybe. But if I’m going to do this, why not go all out? The outfit, the shoes. Ooh—the wig. I’ve got to find a store that sells all this stuff.” I went to the search engine and typed in “adult stores in Charlotte.”

As I waited for the various options to load, my gaze ventured to the store’s front window. And that’s when I saw a pair of familiar wide shoulders and a smooth bald scalp.

This time I was sure.

“Oh, my God,” I muttered.

“What is it, doll-face?” Spike asked.

I didn’t answer. Instead, I made my way to the door. The stranger with the hazel eyes had peered only briefly through the window before continuing on his way.

I unlocked the door as quickly as I could and rushed onto the sidewalk. I looked to the right—the direction he’d gone—but didn’t see him.

I hadn’t been imagining him. He’d been real.

He must have turned at the corner. It was the only place he could have gone.

A part of me wanted to follow after him.

“What’s going on?”

I turned at the sound of Spike’s voice. My heart was racing, and I was slightly breathless. Why did that man bring out this reaction in me when I didn’t even know him?

“I thought I saw a friend,” I explained. “But I was wrong.”

I turned and went back into the store. Spike followed and locked the door behind him. We still had another ten minutes before we officially opened the shop.

My heart still pounding, I went back to the counter and the computer, ready to see the results of my search.

“So about this strip club thing,” Spike began, “you really want to do this?”

“Yes.”
Forget that guy. He’s nobody. You’re ready to get pregnant.
“I’ll call Robert and tell him we’re going out for dinner. Then we can catch an early show.”

“An early show?”

“Or whatever they call it. I’m sure they must have shows throughout the evening.”

I saw those hazel eyes again, this time in my mind. But I tried to block the image of the man I’d been fantasizing about.

Focusing on my plan again, I looked at the computer screen, at the list of stores where I could buy a sinfully delicious outfit. “Look at all these places. I’ve been missing out.”

I clicked on the first link, and Spike’s eyes widened as a barely clad woman appeared on the screen. “Girl, you really do want to unleash your inner ho.”

“Uh-huh. And hey, you never did say yes,” I said when I realized he hadn’t confirmed whether he’d go with me to a strip club. I folded my hands together in a pleading motion. “Please say yes. I’d take Sharon, but there’s bound to be cigarette smoke in these places and she’s pregnant. But you—you’d be perfect. Please? Pretty please?”

Spike pursed his lips as he stared at me. I held my breath as I waited for him to answer. “Don’t ever say I’m not up for adventure.”

“Yes!” I threw my arms around Spike’s neck. “Oh, thank you.”

“Which club are you gonna hit?”

“Hell if I know. But you can find anything on the Internet these days.”

I found the perfect spot.

It was an upscale gentlemen’s club in south Charlotte, a part of town I wasn’t hesitant to go to. I think I might have changed my mind if the only strip clubs around were in seedy areas.

The online reviews were great. Men commented that they’d been in town for business and decided to check the place out. That’s exactly the kind of venue I wanted—one frequented by professional men. I called and asked if women were allowed. I was told that we were definitely welcome.

To my surprise, there were a number of women in line, all accompanied by men. Maybe going to strip clubs together was a hip thing to do these days. A bit of foreplay before you got home and fucked.