Chaparone

I shifted nervously on the couch, couldn't help but see the hem of my dress rise up my leg, exposing most of my leg, exposing the dark welt of the top of my stockings. I saw his eyes move, drawn to my legs; he smiled, confidently moved a hand to my thigh, left it there.

I swallowed but didn't move, didn't push his hand away, even when he moved it, casually caressing my leg through my stocking. I looked up, saw her standing at the bar, my wife, a cup in her hand, a smile on her face. She wouldn't approach us, wouldn't say anything, but was silently chaperoning me, making sure I didn't do anything to sabotage the evening.

"You'll like him, he's your type. Tall, muscular, handsome, confident."

"Martha, I...I don't know," I'd protested. 

"You'll never know if you never try," she countered. "Just think about the benefits. If you find a nice man, we can double date."

"It's just...a man...I mean...I never...I never thought of myself as...you know...g...gay."

"Honey, why are you so hung up on a label? Besides, it's not two guys going on a date, it's a man dating a pretty woman...that's the most natural thing in the world."

"But what if he wants to...what if he expects..."

"Oh, he'll want to...he'll expect it," she said. "All men do."

"But I can't just..."

"Nonsense, you just do what all women do when they like a guy. Let him take the lead and mimic what he does. If he holds your hand, take his arm; if he touches your leg, touch his chest; if he reaches for your breasts, reach between his legs."

"I don't know what to do," I said.

"Follow his lead," she said. "You won't have to sleep with him on your first date, at most he'll expect a handjob or maybe a blowjob."

"A blowjob! Martha!"

"He knows you're inexperienced, don't worry, he won't expect perfection. Just watch your teeth and swallow what you can, that's all he'll want."

"S...swallow?"

"The way to a man's heart," she said.