Jerk

I was getting dressed, still in just a slip and hose, when my wife walked into the bedroom. "So?" she asked me, "you two were talking for half the night, what was he like?"

I frowned. "He was kind of a jerk," I said, "like he was god's gift and he was doing me a favor just by talking to me."

"I saw him putting his hand on your leg."

"I know," I said, "I tried to ask him not to, but every few minutes, he was touching me again."

"Men do that," she said, "it's this whole, I don't know, always be closing nonsense, like touching implies intimacy which begets more touching."

"I was never like that," I said.

She laughed. "You were never the manly type," she said.

"Shut up," I stuck my tongue out at her.

"So, did he ask you out."

I nodded. "He was even kind of a jerk about that, less asking and more just telling...we're going to dinner on Saturday he said, like I'd told him I would."

"What did you say?" she asked. "No, I assume...I mean if he was that much a jerk."

I looked down, face suddenly red. "I...I mean...I wanted to say no, but I just...I don't know."

She smiled at me. "You're such a sissy," she laughed. 

"What?"

"That's how it is, you know. Men act like a jerk and girls go out with them. Apparently it works on sissy girls, too."

"It's just dinner," I said.

She laughed. "It's just dinner," she said, "it's just an after dinner drink...it's just letting him put his hand on your leg...it's just a kiss...it's just a handjob...it's just a blowjob..."

"I'm not giving him a blowjob," I insisted.

"Well, we'll see about that. Talk to me on Sunday morning and we'll see if I was right...or if you were."