Pretty Woman Ending

[Entry into the Literotica April Fools Story Contest 2025 - please vote! Names have been changed to protect the innocent. But only the innocent]

---

I guess the guys wanted to take matters into their own hands. It wasn't a prank, but then, it wasn't especially well-thought-out either. But it was my birthday, and it was my favourite restaurant and my favourite bar just down the street. Guys aren't geniuses; we generally find a plan that works and we stick to it.

I'd been building up to the birthday with trepidation. It was a big one, but not in the same way that turning forty had been a big one. This was going to be the first one that I woke up alone.

I went downstairs, as usual, did the same things as always: opened up the back door to let the dogs out, made myself a mug of tea, fed the dogs, checked the weather. The sound of my movements echoed through the beautiful open-plan living area, reflecting off the polished stone benchtops that my wife had insisted on. I always noticed the echoes. Half the furniture was missing because Eloise had taken it.

There were messages, even a video. My parents had sent a card because they were still clinging to a stubborn faith in the postal service. It was nice to get a card. The kids would get up soon too, and then we'd have the usual circus of breakfast, a couple of presents, and it would almost, just almost, feel like it had always done.

There was a message from Eloise. She wished me happy birthday, as in 'Happy Birthday, hope you have a good day!' That was it. At least she didn't run straight into asking when I'd be dropping the kids back to her. At least she had the grace to separate the two statements.

In the silence of the house, surrounded by the remnants of fifteen years of marriage, I wondered what she was doing, how she was feeling about all of this. Then, I found out.

My phone pinged again. It was Eloise, asking what time I'd be dropping the kids off.

---

It started in such a small way, and I put it out of my mind at first. I mean, we're both professional people, Eloise and I. We finished degrees, went into corporate jobs, met on the job, fell in love, got married, a mortgage, two kids. There isn't anything remarkable about it, looking back. We were comfortable enough, nice holidays, good car, solid careers. But even recalling that tells me why it imploded in the end. A life full of the little things, standing by each other whenever there was a speedbump like Dalia, our eldest, going off the rails at thirteen, or Sam, our second child, Eloise's baby, not getting into the football team after all.

We all got along, and the flow of life was marked by the steady ticking down of the mortgage on the house. Then Dalia turned sixteen and started wearing make-up.

Eloise took it as a direct challenge, and they fought constantly about it, leaving Sam and I to retreat to the bunker, or in this case, the media room. We'd be playing some shoot-em-up while the females in the household circled each other. Eloise challenged me on that, but I told her that I backed her, and that it was important for our son not to feel pushed to the periphery because his older sister was acting up and getting all the attention.

It turns out that I missed something fundamental. I've had plenty of time to think about it since, and any way I run the scenarios, I don't honestly think we would have come out any differently.

It was a combination of factors, coming together in a perfect storm that ripped right through the middle of our marriage. Firstly, sex had tailed off between us. She didn't seem interested anymore, and the last few occasions had been pretty lukewarm at best, like she was doing it because I wanted to. That led to me feeling guilty for asking, and later, like I was nagging. The last time we tried to make love, I could see it in her body language. I'd been rock-hard but then I just sort of deflated. An awkward silence settled down, and we went to sleep. From that night onwards, it had been Dead Bedroom syndrome.

Still, we both soldiered on. The kids seemed to be filling all available space anyway, but that led to the second factor, the thing that I missed completely. Dalia had blossomed, which I think is the accepted term. She was slim, bright, light grey eyes in a delicate face, dirty-blonde hair like her mother. When she wore short skirts, she flashed legs that were not the spindly kid legs of my daughter, but the legs of a woman. The make-up wasn't the start of something, it was the end of the process: now, a child in a woman's body.

Dalia was being dictated to by an older version of herself, who was struggling with her daughter's attitude and clothing choices and something more fundamental, something I never actually realised until it was all too late.

My wife was struggling with gravity. Her full, plump breasts were hanging lower, nipples thick from breastfeeding two kids. There were faint silver lines on her tummy from where her abdomen had been stretched twice, her bottom not as pert and rounded anymore. Eloise was looking in the mirror every morning, and then at her daughter every day. For someone who had been able to stop traffic at twenty-one, the comparison would have been hard to take.

That's the other thing about teenagers: you can't hire babysitters anymore and you can't trust them on their own. They're in that awkward middle ground and so we defaulted to tag-teaming. If I had something on after work, Eloise would make sure she was home, and vice versa. The calendar became a closely-watched item in the house, operating on a first-in-best-dressed arrangement. Eloise usually won, given her uncanny ability to schedule months in advance, like she was playing the game on a different level to me. I didn't mind too much, I just slotted into the gaps. We crossed paths a lot more and spent time together a lot less.

When she changed jobs at work and was thrust into a new team, I guess it was only a matter of time. Her new team was large, and there always seemed to be birthday drinks, or end-of-project celebrations, or the big boss coming to town, or strategy days. Then there were strategy away-days. Durant attended these as well.

I'd been introduced to him when my wife invited me to stop into drinks after work. He was a little younger, dark-haired, serious, not at all my wife's type. I talked to him for a little while, and he seemed like a good enough sort of guy to have a drink with, but maybe a little too earnest for me. We drifted onto deeper subjects than an after-work mingling session would normally have covered.

It turned out that Eloise liked talking about the deeper subjects. She liked having someone's undivided attention for once. She liked staring into his warm brown eyes. She confessed afterwards that she liked being seen.

---

I put on a shirt and pants, because it was my birthday. I'd dropped the kids off with Eloise in plenty of time. She'd found a place ten minutes away, and as I stood in the hallway I did the quick scan around. Either she was living alone, or she'd tidied because she knew I was coming. Or he was careful not to leave a trace, was the third option. She'd opened up enough under questioning to tell me that Durant was unattached.

Maybe it was casual, something she was keeping from the kids. I looked around the hallway and felt that weight settling so I left as soon as the handover was complete. I didn't need a birthday kiss or a how-was-your-day, I was straight in and out. What she did was her own business.

The restaurant was within walking distance, and it gave me time to think, or more accurately, to brood. Curiously, I didn't have any particular animosity to Durant. He'd known she was married, that she had a family, but Eloise would have needed to cross that line herself. If you fly a plane into a mountain on purpose, who's more to blame? The mountain, or the back-stabbing pilot? And, if it wasn't that mountain, it would have been another one eventually, or worse: we could have kept in level flight.

That had been the insight that saved me from staring up at the bedroom ceiling. Cheating had been bad, but the worse thing would have been to just have kept on going. Some people do that, carry on for years, sometimes their whole lives, stuck in a compromise that makes nobody happy.

I picked up the pace because I wanted to make sure I was the first to arrive. It was my birthday after all. What was this then? Bailed out, I needed to stick the landing. I needed to get back in the air and weather the patches of clear air turbulence. Maybe I would put my profile online this week, have a few beers, get the words down. I'd said that to myself before, though.

The restaurant was busy enough, some spare tables on a Thursday. It served the finest Indian cuisine in town because the guy who ran it was a genius. His wife worked the front-of-house and greeted me as I entered. She was middle-aged and bustling, black hair gone to grey, pulled back in a no-nonsense bun. I suspected that the continued existence of the restaurant was more down to her than her husband. She always struck me as the practical one.

"Mike, so good to see you. Special occasion, is it?"

"Hi Neera. Maybe."

"I put you up on the long table next to the kitchen, if that's okay."

"Perfect."

She led me through to the back, to an area nearer to the bustle of serving, where the air was heavy with the scent of roasted spices. Glass windows admitted a view of a tiny garden, and between indoor plants hung in baskets there was a long wooden table, surrounded by tables for two against the walls. It was the best table in the house.

Brendan was already there. He got up as soon as he saw me, and we shook hands.

He launched straight into it. "Mike, happy birthday. You're only as old as you feel."

"I feel like a twenty-one-year-old."

"Don't we all, mate? Or maybe a couple of them, but they're hard to find."

Yes, this was it. No birthday cards, just bullshit and banter. I had just sat down when Brendan got up again. I turned to see Dino and Shaw approaching. Dino was the ladies' man of the four of us, on account of his Mediterranean ancestry and his job in sales. Shaw was the whitest guy on earth and could talk underwater. I stood up and we shook hands.

"Got here on time," Shaw said to me. "Not a day early like last time."

"I was exactly a day early, to the minute," I fired back.

"Yeah, tricky living on the other side of the International Date Line," Dino joined in.

They all sat down and Neera came over with menus.

"Beers?" Brendan enquired, and we all nodded. He turned to Neera. "Four please, and pappadums. We'll let birthday boy pick the mains. He's going to need a minute."

We fell into it, and it was a relief. No discussion of Eloise or checking in on my situation. No further discussion of birthdays, just Dino giving shit and Shaw talking about whatever random thing had crossed his path today. Brendan orchestrated, calling Neera over for the orders. The beers arrived and we raised our glasses.

"Cheers," Brendan called out. He gave me a look.

We clinked glasses, and Shaw was straight back into his monologue. Brendan was watching me, though, just for a second, then he turned his attention to the orator. It's all that was needed, a tacit acknowledgement that we were going to drink and eat and bullshit and ignore all the shit in my life on purpose. They say any port in a storm.

Neera showed a woman to a little table by the windows. She was maybe a few years younger, with auburn hair held back neatly with a butterfly clip, subtle make-up, glasses. She was dressed like she'd just left a meeting, in a knee-length skirt and dark-grey blouse, with low heels. She settled onto her seat and took the menu from Neera with a polite nod, crossing her legs.

I watched her cross her legs, and then I caught Brendan out of the corner of my eye, watching me watch her. I turned to him.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing."

Dino was arguing about the housing market, his favourite subject, with Shaw. Brendan cocked his head, then he looked across at the woman. She glanced up for a moment, probably following where the noise was coming from, and Brendan nodded to her. She gave a little smile back and then turned her attention back to the menu. She was pretty.

"What do you reckon?" he mused. "Out of town?"

"Her?"

"No, the pot plants, Mike."

"I guess."

"Pretty. A pretty woman."

"Fuck off," I hissed, but Brendan wasn't to be deterred.

"Table for one on a Thursday night. Probably been here for the week. What do you think her story is?"

"I really wouldn't know."

"Any rings?"

Despite myself, I rose to the bait. "No rings," I confirmed, and Brendan smiled like he knew he'd got me.

"Good eyes there, mate."

I looked across at her. She was trim, nice looking without being showy, bare legs crossed in a way that was both casual and sexy.

"It's supposed to be bad for your health," Brendan continued.

I groaned. "What is?"

"Eating on your own."

"Wait. Do not."

"It's your birthday, Mike."

"Fucking do not."

But Brendan was already up from his chair. The conversation at the other side of me halted. Shaw turned around, catching sight of the woman behind him.

"What the fuck?" he muttered.

Brendan walked over, calm and collected, and introduced himself, talking in low tones that I couldn't overhear. She glanced across at me, then back at Brendan. He said something else and she nodded in a way that gave me butterflies.

Shaw noticed my reaction. "Oh, Mike. All to play for, mate."

Dino chimed in with, "Under pressure."

"Fuck off the both of you," I rasped.

My guts were churning, willing Brendan to fail. I could feel my friends' eyes on me. But then she got up from her table and allowed Brendan to walk her over to us. She scanned each of our faces, settling on me last. I stared up at her and froze, like a rabbit in headlights. It was not my finest moment.

---

Eloise was up before me that Thursday morning. She had a flight at nine-thirty. I was still in my towel, hair dripping wet as she bustled around the bedroom, packing the last items into her overnight bag.

"All set?" I asked, going over to my drawers to pick out underwear.

Eloise was already dressed in her usual work attire. She was wearing a neat blouse, knee-length skirt, bare legs, her dirty-blonde hair gathered by tidily in a butterfly clip. She was looking into the mirror, applying eyeliner, giving me the opportunity to watch her unobserved. She'd been on an exercise kick for months now, and I could see the changes in her body. Her legs were more toned, and she'd dropped a dress size. The skirt wasn't tight, but she was bent over just enough for me to admire the curve of her rear stretching the light-grey fabric. She turned to me, catching me looking, and flashed me a little, sexy smile. I stepped up to her, still with just a towel around my waist.

"Don't, Mike. I'm out of here in five minutes. I need to say goodbye to the kids."

I smiled. I'd gotten practice at that. "Okay."

She stepped around me, slipping into low heels that I hadn't seen before.

"New shoes?" I asked. "They're nice."

"I've had them a while, Mike."

It was all she said as she headed through the bedroom door to find our children. I watched her go, appreciating the way her legs looked in high heels, the subtle change in the tone of her muscles. I imagined laying my hands on her hips and holding her there, peeling her tight skirt up, exposing her. Then she was gone. She'd had the shoes a while, apparently, but she'd never worn them for me. I would have remembered a detail like that.

I concentrated on getting myself dressed. Her overnight bag was on the bed, closed but unzipped, and I could hear voices somewhere in the house, the usual cut and thrust of trying to get teenagers out of the door for school. On a whim, I opened the bag. I don't know why I did it.

She had packed exercise wear. There would probably be a gym at the place they were staying, after all it was billed as an executive retreat. She had a couple of clothes options for dinner, a change of footwear. Then I reached the layer below and my fingers touching silk. I frowned, lifting the layers like an archaeologist, careful not to disturb the scene.

At the bottom of the overnight bag was a set of smoky grey stockings that I'd never seen before, and a dark blue silk camisole. Eloise never wore stockings. I still don't know how I did it, but I replaced the clothing exactly as I'd found it, arranged the bag, stepped away from the bed and put on my shirt. I brushed my teeth and went out of the bedroom, found my wife and my children around the breakfast bar and I smiled at them all as if it was just another day.

Eloise looked up at me. "Mike, you got the note about after-school?"

"Yes. I'll be there. It's all good," I replied, calmly.

"Okay, great. Love you all."

Eloise kissed Sam and then Dalia, and then me. It was a perfunctory peck, not at all like the deep, passionate kisses of our first ever night together. No, the last ever kiss from my wife lasted a moment, like it almost hadn't even happened at all.

"Love you too," I said, automatically.

I watched her go, and strangely the only thought in my head was wondering if she'd already fucked him.

---

No man is an island, but it turns out that we are all archipelagos. The first few weeks after confronting Eloise became a curious waking dream, a heart-wrenching sadness punctuated by project meetings and kids' sports. I found myself ticking off my calendar appointments, feeding the kids, going to work, coming home. Then, I would go to bed and stare up at the ceiling and wait to go numb.

Eloise had moved out, which was a debate I wasn't interested in having. I think I told her to get the fuck out, or maybe just to get out. I don't remember if I swore at her or I just wanted to. It's all a bit hazy. Anyway, she'd cheated on me so those are the rules, right? The cheater has to be the one to leave the house. Everyone knows that. It's like that in all the movies.

Eloise's mistake had been that she'd come home too tired to unpack. She left the overnight bag in the hall by the front door when she headed to bed, so I unpacked for her.

It's a strange feeling to be sitting on the polished wooden floorboards of your own hallway in the silence of your home, with your wife's used lingerie in your hands. There were white marks on the dark blue silk of her camisole top. Durant had probably pulled out of my wife afterwards, looking down at her as she lay on the bed beneath him decked out in her new lingerie. He'd probably gone up her body slightly, for an open-mouthed, passionate kiss like I remember Eloise giving me. His tip had probably brushed her perspiration-soaked camisole, leaving a white streak of cum behind. My wife wouldn't have noticed it as she went to sleep, sated, in her lover's arms. She hadn't been smart enough to dispose of the incriminating evidence either. I mean, what price is a lingerie set to keep, offset against losing a marriage?

So, that night was tough. I didn't get much sleep, lying next to her, trying to get my head around it. I'd given her enough rope and she'd hung herself. I realised that I'd wanted more than anything to pull the lingerie out and find it unused, that Eloise had pulled up from the headlong dive into the mountain. Maybe I should have stopped it the morning that she left, calling it out. But, in the dark with my cheating wife next to me, I knew that all it would have done was stall the inevitable. Somewhere along the line between our first kiss and our last, we'd passed a point of no return. Now, it was clear what I needed to do.

The next few weeks were tough, but I kept a lid on it. I had to, given the kids. We concocted a story about taking some time apart, like it was mutual, my fingernails digging into my palm as we talked. I wanted her out of the house, I wanted to see the back of her, and I didn't want to go to pieces in front of my children, so I stayed the course. The quickest route from A to B is a straight line.

Then it became months. I kept it civil. I didn't blow up in front of the kids. I had that same fucking awful conversation time and time again, bumping into neighbours who hadn't seen Eloise lately, catching up with the guys and holding up my hand to show the missing wedding ring. The same response, each time: how sorry, how difficult. I concocted a fantasy in which I had asked her to move out because of her infidelity, but that we were working through everything, that it was a step-by-step process, and no, there wasn't going to be a chance of a reconciliation.

Then, in the night, I'd stare up at the bedroom ceiling and it would all come out.

There is a worse thing for a man than having your wife fuck another guy behind your back, and that's going to pieces because of it. Nobody likes a basket case. You certainly do not attract the opposite sex if you're a basket case. You need to get that shit into a pile.

I tried. I went out after work, but the bar scene is full of kids these days. I had drinks with the guys, but they're all still married. We were never going to saunter over to the pair of women at the table next to the bar and introduce ourselves. The apps looked like a nightmare from which there would be no waking up: an endless, moving meat market based off of a couple of seconds per profile photo. We don't live in a big city. The buffet is limited.

So, I went to Molly's.

It exists in a little black hole sandwiched between the main road and the industrial district. Information does not travel across the event horizon, as if the street numbers just skip one. Everyone knows Molly's is there and at the same time, nobody knows it's there. At least it has good parking around the back, where nobody's going to drive past and spot your car.

It offers reflexology, hot stone massage, and some other bullshit, but the fact that the sign is lit up at ten o'clock at night tells you everything you need to know. It took me twenty minutes just to get up the nerve to open the car door.

Inside, I realised that I didn't know what I had expected. I'd been bracing myself for slightly shabby, faded décor, but the young receptionist was pretty and personable, dressed in a pink sweater like she was working in one of the car dealerships further down the road instead of a brothel. She gave me a smile as I came in that instantly cut through the foreboding. The desk was polished wood, the walls neutral, illuminated by spotlights in the ceiling with a soft, low-level glow.

"Hi, I'm Britney."

I walked up to the desk. "Uh, Mike."

"Hi Mike. First time here?"

My face fell. "Is it that obvious?"

"No, it's just a question." She smiled again, but at least she didn't ask how she could help me today.

To my relief, she launched straight into it.

"We have a few girls free at the moment, Mike. The rates are here, just pick what you want and then you can meet a few of the girls and have a chat."

Britney offered me an iPad that looked for all the world like it was a restaurant menu.

"You can take a seat or I can sort you out now if you know what you want."

"I'll, uh, I might just sit for a minute."

"No problem, Mike. Let me know. Oh," she paused and I looked up at her. "And, if you decide not to, tonight, that's perfectly fine. Sometimes it takes a few visits."

She smiled again and I retreated to a chair to peruse the menu. Britney couldn't have been much more than early twenties and I had the inkling that she already knew more about the human condition than I ever would. She certainly knew how to handle me.

The first page were the rates, based on length of time, with an introduction period and then however long I wanted. There were types of things I could ask for, priced accordingly, and then a section at the bottom detailing other services, price-on-application. I turned the page and came face-to-face with Sadie.

She was blonde, beautiful and probably the same age as the receptionist. I stared at her face, into her eyes. She was smiling brightly for the camera, in a string bikini. There was a short bio blurb. Twenty, it confirmed, and it twisted my guts. She was less than half my age. There's a fundamental challenge about choosing from a set of girls who are just a few years older than your daughter. There is a basic preventative instinct that kicks in.

I leafed through the next three pages, and it was all the same: beautiful girls smiling brightly in bikinis or crop tops, a smorgasbord of young women. I realised that I hadn't thought any of this through. I turned the pages quicker, feeling the anxiety rising. What the fuck was I doing here anyway? I wanted a girlfriend, someone to share that empty space in my bed. So, why was I doing this?

The next page was Jacie. She had tousled auburn hair and olive eyes flecked with honey, smiling back at me coyly from the page. She wasn't grinning like the others, and she was older, in her thirties. I read her bio twice.

"Anyone you like?"

I looked up. Britney was watching me. "Uh, I dunno. I... what happens next?"

"Those are the girls who are on tonight. If you don't see anyone you like, we can take a booking."

I got up. Fuck it. Grow a pair. "No, there's Jacie, right?"

"Yeah, she's really nice," Britney gushed. "I can call her if you like?"

The silence between us lengthened. "Okay," I said at last.

"Cool. It's just for an intro, Mike. It's totally fine if you decide not to. We don't charge for this bit."

I couldn't stop the words in time. "I get to talk to a pretty girl for free?"

"For five minutes. Then you can talk to her for the conversation rate in fifteen minute increments. Or you can bump up to something more."

"People just talk?" I asked, incredulous.

"Sure. Jacie's a good listener. I tell her all my problems. But obviously, I'm staff, so I get to talk for free."

"Okay."

"Just go at your own pace, Mike."

"Thanks," I muttered. "It's my first time in a place like this."

Britney fixed me with a look, not unkindly. "I know. Just take a seat."

I sat back down as Britney talked on the phone. After a few minutes, a door opened.

Jacie was a head shorter than me, dressed in jeans and a cream jumper. She was walking in low heels, for all the world like she'd just come from school pick-up. But there were subtle differences: her heels were stilettos, her jeans were tight and showed off the curves of her hips and the trim pillow of her bottom. The top was soft and floaty, hanging loose over her breasts. She was wearing eyeliner and subtle pink lipstick, her auburn hair falling around her shoulders. She glided to a stop in front of me and held out her hand.

"Hi, Mike. I'm Jacie."

Dazed, I took her hand and got to my feet. She led me towards the door she'd emerged from, glancing over her shoulder. We entered a long corridor, softly lit with purple downlights. The carpet was neat, like we'd entered a boutique hotel.

"Do you want a tour?" she asked. "Brit said it's your first visit."

I cleared my throat. My mouth had gone dry. Her hand in mine was so soft. "Sure."

Jacie seemed to read my mood. "Well, firstly, let me point out the fire exits. One here," she pointed to the door on my left. "And one at the end of the corridor. If you hear a long, continuous beep, you'll need to proceed to the nearest one and assemble at the evacuation point."

She grinned, and my mood lifted. "Good to know," I replied.

"You might hear other sounds, but generally just ignore those."

Jacie opened a door and led me into a room. It was divided into two: one half tiled with glass shower panels and a spa bath, the other half carpeted with a large square bed. The lighting was soft, and there was a little bar fridge with soft drinks and water. Everything looked neat and new.

"That's complimentary, if you book a session, Mike. You can tell people you went to Molly's and the coke was free."

Jacie laughed and I smiled back at her.

"You want to sit and talk?" she asked.

We perched on the edge of the bed. She was still holding my hand.

"What you expected, Mike?"

I shook my head, then laughed awkwardly. "I don't know what I expected."

"Am I what you expected?"

"Honestly, no. I mean, I recognise you from the profile but you're different, uh, in the flesh."

"You mean I'm not in a bikini? I can do that if you like. There's a wardrobe with options. I just thought you might like this." She indicated her body with her other hand.

"I do, actually," I conceded, relieved.

I guess that was Jacie's niche, the older woman, dressed casually, just talking. Britney had forewarned her and Jacie had obviously decided against the leather skirt and the six-inch heels. Honestly, I'd have probably run a mile.

"Don't take it the wrong way," I continued, "but the other girls were, I guess, girls."

Jacie laughed. "Oh, I get you, Mike."

She kept calling me Mike, kept using my name. It set me at ease.

"The girls are all lovely," she continued, "But sometimes it's a challenge, right, if you're less of a girl man and more into MILFs?"

"Uh, sure."

"Though, I've never been a mother. I'm more of a NILF. A neighbour-I'd-like-to-fuck. But that's just it, you see. Not a mother, no kids, no baggage or complications. I'm just the woman next door. You could have just called around for a chat."

Jacie patted my knee. "Or, like I said, you can give me a couple of minutes to slip into a sex harness."

The way she said it, the little wry expression, made me laugh and it felt like the ice breaking.

"We don't even have to get naked if you don't want to. You can just peel off my jeans. I really don't mind."

She picked up my hand and placed it on her thigh. I could feel her flesh beneath the denim, the relaxed muscle, toned and supple. She knew exactly what she was doing.

"I've never done this before," I muttered.

"Never, Mike? Or just not for a long time?"

"A long time."

"Want me to drive?"

She looked into my eyes and the offer was there, of something new and enticing. But I was at war with myself. I shouldn't even be here, in a fake hotel room at Molly's, with a woman I'd only just met, staring into lovely olive eyes flecked with honey. If I nodded now, we would be on the clock and I'd be able to fuck this woman. It would be as easy as that.

"Yeah," I confessed.

Jacie closed the gap between us, her lips touching mine ever so softly. I caught my breath, unprepared for the sensation of contact. She pulled back a little and gave me a reassuring smile.

"It's nice to be gentle," she murmured. "Take our time."

Jacie came in again, and this time I kissed her back. In response, I felt her arm snake around my waist and she pressed her body against mine. Her tongue parted my lips, but didn't slip inside. She was tentative, probing, testing my boundaries. It felt exquisite.

It felt like nothing I'd ever experienced. Eloise had never been like this, not even at the start, and I had a sudden realisation that the difference was that Jacie wanted to please. It was her job to make me feel wanted, to make sure I had a good time. For the first time in my life someone was focused on what I needed, and it illuminated my marriage brightly.

We continued kissing, her hand letting mine go so that she could run her fingers through my hair. Her arms stayed around my waist. She didn't touch me otherwise. I got up the nerve to slide my free hand over her thigh.

Jacie shifted against me, parting her legs, and my fingers drifted down between her thighs.

"Whatever you want," she breathed.

I reached up, cupping her breast, stroking over the soft woollen fabric with my thumb. I felt a bump and brushed over it. Jacie murmured.

"I like that. You're so gentle."

Emboldened, I slid my hand under her jumper, discovering her bra, running fingertips over lace. It excited me more than if she'd stripped for me, feeling her lingerie hidden beneath the woman-next-door top. The pretty neighbour with the sexy little secret hidden underneath her everyday clothing was making me stir in my pants.

She raised her arms, giving me permission, and I pulled her jumper over her head, exposing a wickedly-sexy black lace bra.

"Not so NILF now," I muttered.

"Want to see the rest?"

Jacie didn't wait for an answer. She laid back, raising her hips and unbuttoning her jeans. She kicked off her shoes and then stripped herself, revealing matching black lace panties between toned thighs and a flat stomach. I couldn't help staring. Jacie held up a little foil square, asking the unspoken question. I hesitated.

"If you want, Mike."

I rose from the bed, staring down at the beautiful woman on the bed, stretched out on display in her lingerie. Some rational part of me was tracking through the menu items as we progressed from base to base, reminding me that this wasn't real. But, with Jacie's body waiting for me, it was hard to tell the difference. Was I really going to fuck her? Was I actually going to put the condom on and actually have sex with her?

I unzipped my trousers, pushing my underwear down my legs, exposing my firming manhood. I stepped out of my clothing, bare from the waist down, as Jacie shuffled further onto the bed. She spread her legs and made space for me between them.

But I didn't move.

I felt myself dwindling, and a weight began to settle on my shoulders again. It felt so desperate, being here, paying for a fuck. Like I wasn't able to get a fuck, like I had been used up and discarded by the woman I loved and I was reduced to seeking out dimly lit rooms and fake intimacy.

Like I was defeated.

"I'm sorry. I'm... I'm just not feeling it," I told the beautiful, willing woman on the bed.

Her reply was soft. "It's okay. I get it. It's okay."

"I don't... it's not that you aren't attractive, I just... I mean you're beautiful but...."

"But you wound yourself up just coming through the door, and it feels too weird."

I baulked at her perceptiveness. She sat up and held out a hand. I took it and allowed myself to be drawn down onto the bed next to her.

"How long have you been separated?" Jacie asked.

"How did you know?"

She laughed. "Not my first rodeo, Mike. Is this getting back on the horse?"

"Something like."

"You've given yourself a good old-fashioned dose of performance anxiety."

"Shit, you know your stuff," I admitted.

"Should do. I'm a model employee."

Jacie smiled, and I smiled back. It lightened the mood, like we were just back to chatting, like we weren't on the cusp of something fearsome and new.

"I had my performance review. Clara summed it up."

"You get performance reviews?"

"Of course. There's a health plan, but I guess you'd expect that. It's a good place to work. Good boss."

"What was the summary?" I asked.

"Of what?"

"Your performance review."

"Clara said that I'm not easily defeated. Just generally, in life."

I wanted to ask, but I sensed there was a boundary that I wouldn't be allowed to cross. The lingerie-clad woman next to me had a personal life beyond what she was showing me, and despite our state of undress, we were strangers.

I just came out with it. "I feel defeated."

"Are you though, or is this just a low point?"

She studied me, and I looked into those olive eyes again.

"How much do I owe you?"

Her face clouded. "Sorry, Mike, but we're on the thirty-minute slot now."

"That's okay. I guess it was me who changed my mind."

"Seems a waste."

"You like to give value for money?"

She shot me a look, but then her mouth curved into a little coy smile. "It's a sunk cost, Mike. Let me do something for you that might help."

"Clara's right about you."

"In what way?"

"You're not easily defeated."

Jacie slid off the bed, kneeling on the carpet in front of my knees. She placed her hands on my thighs and spread them. I let her.

"Let's clean out those pipes, Mike."

She kissed my manhood delicately, peppering me with soft attention. I began to react, and Jacie smiled up at me. She parted her lips, taking my tip into her mouth and suckling gently. I stared down at her with something akin to awe. I could feel her tongue working the little tender nook beneath my tip, teasing me until I was rock hard in her mouth.

Jacie began to suck, bobbing slowly up and down my shaft. I gasped, and she pulled off my tip with a pop.

"How is it?" she asked.

"Incredible," I confessed, wide-eyed. My cock danced in the air before her face, as if eager for her lips again.

"The world divides into two sets of women, Mike," Jacie murmured. "Those who have been obligated to give a blowjob, and those who enjoy it. I'm guessing your wife was the former. I'm not. There's nothing hotter than giving head."

She plunged down onto me again, enveloping me all the way down to my root, holding me there in the tightness of her throat as her breath erupted from her nostrils into the tight curls of my hair. I felt her swallow and my cock throbbed in answer.

"Oh fuck," I gasped. "That's amazing."

She pulled off me again, and the friction from her tightly-pursed lips was like electricity flowing into the little tight place behind my balls. But it was the look in her eyes that was stoking me. Those lovely olive eyes never left mine as she worked her way with little butterfly kisses down the underside of my shaft until she was nuzzling my balls. My cock quivered in answer.

Eloise had done it a handful of times, but always as the prelude to something else. She paid attention for as long as it took to get me hard and then we'd move on. Jacie was entirely different. She took me into her mouth to tease me, letting me squirm and buck, sucking on my shaft until I was ready to explode, and then popping off my engorged, purple head to trail kisses down to my root until I had cooled down.

It was exquisite torment, and all the while those eyes were on mine, staring up at me hungrily. I lost myself in her gaze and I didn't feel defeated anymore. Instead, this was a new beginning, an exploration of the things that existed beyond the confines of Eloise. My horizon was expanding.

"Do you want to finish?" Jacie purred.

All I could do was nod. In answer, Jacie closed her eyes, breaking contact, and it felt like a mercy. She wrapped her lips around me again, sucking mightily, coiling her fingers around my shaft. She wasn't taking me deep anymore, her tongue working my head and sending shivers through my core. I felt the tension building up behind my balls, my cock twitching in answer to Jacie's relentless attentions.

She sucked mightily just once, and as my orgasm erupted, she pulled up, jerking me off with her hand as I gushed all over her fingers. I thrust upwards, as if my tip was desperately searching for her lips all of its own accord, but she kept milking me, making me pump and pump until I was completely spent.

Finally, she released me, and I settled back down onto the sheets, my chest heaving.

Jacie got up, retrieving a box of wipes. She settled down next to me, cleaning her fingers and then drawing out another wipe to clean my softening cock. I stared at her for a long moment, and then I laughed.

"You're good," I told her.

"Don't forget to rate me five stars as you leave."

"That was so hot. I'm sorry, I made such a mess."

"I swear I thought you were turning yourself inside out there for a moment. Do you need to rehydrate?"

Jacie completed the clean-up operation and then settled against me on the bed. "You get the full half hour, if you want it," she said, as if in explanation.

"You're something else. My wife would have bolted to the sink to scrub her hand down after that. Uh, I mean, ex-wife," I corrected myself.

"Like I said, two types of women in the world. There's nothing hotter than having a good-looking guy lose his load because of what I did."

Jacie rolled onto her back, relaxing at last. From the side, I was treated to an arresting view of her lingerie-clad body stretched out on the bed.

"Good looking?" I muttered.

Jacie turned to me, her eyes sparkling. "Yeah, Mike. Believe me, I see a lot worse than you. You're not a hardship at all."

---

Brendan gestured to the head of the table. "This is Brooke," he announced.

The woman smiled at us and took the offered seat, next to me and Brendan. "Hi. I hope I'm not inconveniencing you."

Brooke glanced at me, holding my gaze for a moment: olive eyes flecked with honey.

Shaw piped up. "Not at all. Join us. You eating alone?"

"Yes," Brooke replied. "I'm just in town for a few days. I'm going home tomorrow."

"Ah, okay. What brings you here?"

"I'm a medical sales rep. I sort of travel the country convincing doctors to buy equipment. I don't have much of a home life."

She scanned the table again, returning her attention to me. A look passed between us. I glanced at Brendan but his expression was benign.

"We're about to order, Brooke. Do you know what you'd like?" he said.

"I think so."

"Cool."

Brendan leaned back in his chair, catching Neera's attention and she came bustling over.

"One more for the table," he announced. "I think we're good to go."

We all chatted though the meal. Brendan kept setting me up with lines, and I obliged, taking the bait each time, exposing things about myself to the woman sitting next to me.

For Brooke's part, she kept it low-key, laughing along at Dino's jokes, answering questions from Shaw. She didn't want to talk about work though, shifting the conversation away from medical devices. I knew the reason why. She didn't meet my eyes when she did that.

Neera cleared the plates away and asked about coffees. Dino demurred, uncharacteristically, and I watched the pantomime play out as he and Shaw discussed sharing a cab. We split the bill, or at least Brendan settled the bill and refused to let me pay my share, taking care of the logistics. He made a thing about Brooke's share but I watched closely and saw that money never changed hands.

When Brendan returned to the table, Dino and Shaw got up as one, like it was all choreographed. They bid goodnight, and we shook hands, and then I was left at the table with Brooke.

"So," I said, breaking the silence, "Brendan, right?"

Brooke nodded, chagrined.

"And what's the deal?" I pressed.

"They all put money in, for the full night."

"Back on the horse."

"Yep."

"Uh, what should I call you? Jacie? Brooke?"

"Brooke. It's my name."

"Your real name."

"Yeah, sounded a lot more believable than Jacie, the medical sales rep."

We lapsed into silence again. I poured water into our glasses, just for something to do.

Brooke took a sip then set the glass down again. "So, the cover story is that I'm just in town for one more night. A single night. I was to make that clear, and then I'd slip out before you woke up."

"Nice."

Brooke nodded. "It is actually. It's pretty sweet that your friends arranged it. I got such a shock when I walked in, and it was you."

"Ditto, believe me. That was awkward.

"It isn't a big town, Mike, and I guess I'm the go-to NILF at Molly's."

The way she said it made me smile, and a ghost of a smile crossed her lips too.

"So awkward," I repeated. "When you came over."

"Brendan was trying so hard."

"I didn't recognise you in the glasses at first."

"I only wear them for reading. Not much call for them at work, at real work I mean. If I was actually a rep, I'm sure I'd be wearing them all the time."

I drained the glass of water in front of me.

"So, what now? I guess you're on the clock, right?"

"I am. The night's entirely up to you, Mike."

"We could go for a drink."

"Or you could take me home."

Something in her tone made me look up. I met her eyes.

"Who am I taking home, Brooke?"

Brooke cupped her chin in her hand, gazing back at me. "I can be anything you want tonight, Mike."

"Sales rep?"

"Lonely sales rep. Or, bored neighbour if that's what you like."

"Or like Cinderella. You're my princess until the stroke of midnight."

"Any of those."

I considered her for a moment, but she filled the gap in conversation unbidden. "It's something you learn, Mike, to roleplay."

There was something in her gaze, drawing me in.

"You must have been asked to play a lot of roles," I said.

Brooke nodded. "Cheerleader, but not so much these days. Work colleague. Boss," She hesitated. "Ex-wife hate-fuck."

I shuffled in my seat. "Let's get a drink. Do you feel like a drink?"

"It's your birthday," Brooke said. "We can do whatever you want to do."

"Okay, let's go to the bar."

We got up and Neera greeted us at the door. "Hope you had a good birthday, Mike."

"It has been, thanks. Great food, as usual."

"We aim to please." Her eyes drifted to Brooke. "Have a good night. See you soon."

"See you soon."

We left, together, Brooke and I. We didn't hold hands or even talk much until we got to the bar. It wasn't busy, and Brooke found us a table towards the back.

"What would you like?" I asked. "I'm paying."

"I can pay, Mike. Let me get them in. It's your birthday."

I frowned.

"It's all part of the girlfriend experience."

"Just a beer, thanks."

Brooke went to the bar and I sat. I watched her as she ordered the drinks. Her body language had changed, becoming more reserved, as if she was hunkering down. When she returned I had to ask her about it.

"You okay, being here?"

Brooke handed my beer to me and sat down. She took the chair facing the back wall, I noticed, and held up her beer. We chinked glasses.

"Cheers," she said, and took a sip before rousing herself. "Yeah, fine, Mike."

"You seem, uh, distracted."

"There's a guy in a blue shirt by the window, sitting with a blonde woman. See him?"

I scanned the bar. Yes, I could see him. He was about my age, with a woman of similar age. The way they were talking told me they were married. "Oh," I said. "You know him?"

"He's pretty regular." Her attention drifted to her beer coaster.

"Shit, sorry. Do you want to go?"

Brooke shook her head, a tiny motion. "It's okay, Mike. I don't think he saw me."

I pondered her response for a moment. "I didn't think. I guess it's like running into the ex."

"And his wife, yeah. Part of the territory though. It's a small town."

I could see it from her side. Eloise was going to be in a restaurant that I walked into one day, and we'd see each other and I'd feel awkward. Brooke's issue was that she had the same chance with every place she went: bars, restaurants, the mall, the park. Guys who would give away that little flash of recognition and then avoid her like she had the plague. Then, she'd see them at work and she'd have to be naked for them.

"If you see me in future, you can say hi," I said. "You don't have to avoid."

Brooke gave a little laugh, but it was humourless. "That's sweet, Mike, but trust me. When you're sitting there with your lovely new girlfriend, the last thing you'll want is me coming over."

"I think the girlfriend situation is a long way off. But I guess that's why the guys set this up."

"Get you back on the horse."

"With, what did you call it?"

"The girlfriend experience." Her nose wrinkled.

I decided to probe, gently. "You do this a lot?"

"Nah. Generally just do my shift at Molly's, go home, crash out. Take a bath." The plucked at her top. "See this? Not girlfriend material."

I tugged at my shirt too. "Not boyfriend material either."

"You will, Mike. You process the divorce. Time passes, and the right horse comes along. There's a difference."

"Gotta get over being married first."

I looked around the bar, toying with my beer. There was a group of kids at a long table, all dressed up, trying hard. It looked so easy, nobody encumbered, opportunities. Then I looked at the guy in the blue shirt again, at the other tables. A few couples, a few groups of guys getting drinks in. It wasn't like the movies. There wasn't a woman sitting on her own at the bar in a red dress, dabbing at her tears. It wasn't that easy.

"Yeah, that's the hard part," Brooke said.

"Getting over being married?" I asked. "You been there?"

I regretted it immediately, stepping out of the boundaries, but Brooke shrugged.

"Yeah, five years. I guess that was some kind of record. I was pretty young."

"I guess it's hard, meeting someone."

"That's the easy part, Mike. I meet a lot of guys. Shit, that came out wrong. It makes me sound like a whore." She broke into a grin, and her mood lifted. "It is what it is. I like the work, actually."

She was opening up, little by little. "Which particular part?" I asked.

Brooke laughed and took a swig of her beer. "Not that part. Despite what you might think, I'm not a nymphomaniac. I guess it's the helping people. Lifting them up, even just for an hour. My job is to spread happiness. You see? I've comforted widowers. I've even saved marriages."

"Uh, okay."

"Plenty of guys go to Molly's with the wedding ring on, or at least, the tan line around the finger. They're coming out of dead bedrooms or the wife has a medical condition, or they have a medical condition. You work it through, and you help them out, and they go out the door taller than when they came in. Some guys just want a girlfriend for an hour. They don't even want to fuck."

"The girlfriend experience."

"Yeah."

Brooke had become more talkative, like she was relaxing at last. The meal had obviously been hard work, with Dino asking questions about a fictional life that she'd had to adlib on the spot. She looked up at me.

"What?" she said.

"The glasses, they suit you."

"Makes me look more like a date?"

"Something like that." A thought occurred to me. "So, if it's a date, tell me something about yourself."

"Like what? My job?" Brooke leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms.

"No. Favourite movie."

"Uh, as in?"

"It's not a trick question, Brooke."

"But, you can have different favourites, like best adventure movie, best comedy, best romance."

"Best overall, there must be one."

Brooke contemplated me as she reached for her beer and took a mouthful. When she put it down again, she smiled slyly. "I like the Shawshank Redemption and long walks on the beach, Mike."

I laughed. "Not Pretty Woman?"

Her eyes went wide. "Shit, no. That was so over-baked. The guy, the millionaire Richard Gere played, I dunno how he kept a straight face acting it. It was, uh, schmaltzy."

Brooke took another sip of her beer, waving the glass around in little circles while I grinned at her. It felt good to be just talking, to not have the fact that she'd been paid by my best mates to fuck me hanging over our heads.

"But he whisked her away and transformed her life," I countered.

"Unrealistic. I mean, I get that it's a romance, but seriously, that ending?"

"What's wrong with the ending? They get a happy ever after."

"White knight saves pathetic damsel from her troubled life. Presupposes that she's helpless, right? That she's trapped."

"I guess she did feel trapped."

Brooke paused, narrowing her eyes shrewdly. "Do you think this is a Pretty Woman scenario, Mike?"

"No way."

Brooke hunkered down, her hand cupping her chin, watching me. "Why?"

"You don't look like the trapped type. Plus, I'm not Richard Gere."

"Oh, I dunno."

"Really?"

Brooke laughed. "Look, not Richard Gere now, though there's a definite silver fox thing going on there, but you're not bad looking, Mike. I reckon you'll do alright."

"But I'm not a millionaire," I countered. "I'd be whisking you away to poverty. Dunno if you found this, but divorces are pretty costly."

"Yeah," Brooke smiled. "Carried over the threshold into a one-bedroom apartment where half the furniture is the packing boxes we moved in with. Sounds like my first marriage."

She finished her beer.

"Another one?" I asked.

"Depends on your plans. I don't get drunk, but you can if you want."

"Dutch courage?"

"Whatever floats your boat."

I finished my beer too. I had a decision to make. I looked up from the empty glass to find Brooke watching me closely.

"I think I'm done," I replied, then took a deep breath. "What about you?"

"It's not midnight yet."

"Want to come home with me?"

Brooke reached across the table and took my hand. Her skin was smooth. "Yes," she said.

We got up from the table and headed to the door, Brooke tailing me slightly. I realised that she was using me as a human shield, to pass the guy in the blue shirt undetected. Outside, she pulled out her phone.

"Gotta make a call, okay?"

"Sure."

"To Clara, just gotta check in." She hesitated. "Nothing personal Mike, it's just protocol."

Brooke stepped away, talking in low tones, her shoulders hunched. She was doing it so that I'd know that her boss knew where she was, so that we were all on the same page. I watched her talking, facing away from me. She looked just like any other person, in her work skirt and low heels, and I could almost believe she was a sales rep, in town for just the night.

I could almost believe that I'd met a woman in a bar and we'd hit it off, and I was going to take her home. I could almost believe I'd got lucky. Almost.

---

I decided to be a bastard. I let Eloise unpack her case the next morning, chatting about little things. I was standing behind her, in the bedroom doorway. All the while, I was watching her, amazed by the way she could be so nonchalant, arranging school sports schedules like we always did. It was like she was two people: the wife and mother who lived with me, and then some secret identity where she dressed up in smoking hot lingerie to have sex with other men.

It kept going around in my head, watching her empty the case. She looked the same as always, but I couldn't get the picture out of my head, of her laid out in her stockings and her silk camisole top, parting her thighs and letting her lover enter her. I watched with a perverse glee as her motions became more erratic.

"I'm going to put a load of washing on," I announced.

The case was shielded from my view by her body, but I could see her movements as she scrabbled.

"You have anything you want washing?" I asked.

Eloise stopped, and then turned around to face me. She was casual, but there was a tightness around the corners of her eyes that hadn't been there a few moments ago. She stepped away from the case and I could see that it was empty. She scooped up a little pile of clothing from the bed and went over to the laundry basket.

"Just these, Mike."

I held my breath as she lifted the lid of the basket.

A little sound escaped her lips and I knew that she'd found her used lingerie on top of the other clothing in the basket. She froze.

"Anything wrong?" I asked.

The clothes she was holding tumbled through her fingers into the basket and she replaced the lid.

"Anything you want to say?" I pressed.

Eloise turned to me, her face ashen. Her eyes locked onto mine like a hunted thing. I'd had all night to work through it. She was dealing with it in the moment. We had the kids in earshot.

"Mike, I...."

I smiled amiably.

"Get the fuck out of this house," I replied.

---

I opened the front door and led Brooke inside. I put my keys in the little bowl on the side table and the sound echoed through the darkened house.

She looked around. "It's a nice place."

"Temporarily. It's already sold. I have to ship out at the end of the month, and then my wife gets her cut." I walked down the hallway and Brooke followed me. "I guess I'm not Richard Gere. I can't even whisk myself away from my life."

"You on your own?"

"Tonight, yeah. My kids are with their mother. Want a drink?"

Brooke shook her head. I felt the nerves bubbling up again. I knew that she wasn't going to walk out, because she was paid to be here. I knew that I was going to get laid tonight because that was the arrangement. But, having her in my house made it all very real, the fact that she was standing there and not Eloise.

"The bedroom's this way," I told her. She followed me.

In the bedroom, we came to a halt. It felt so strange, having her in the place that I'd been all those years with my wife. I cleared my throat, breaking the silence.

"I guess it's time to get back on the horse," I said.

Brooke smirked, and I had an insight into her. She'd been here before, dealing with the first times. She knew what to do.

"Like I'm a horse?" she replied. "That's very flattering. A girl could get offended."

I smiled back, relieved. "I'm not sure you get offended."

Brooke closed the gap between us, cozying up to me and wrapping me up in her arms. "No, I've got pretty thick skin, Mike, always have had."

She kissed me and then stepped back, beginning to undress herself, peeling off her skirt to reveal tiny black panties. She took off her top, revealing a matching bra, black against her bare skin, effortlessly enticing. She embraced me again and this time, when we kissed she lingered.

"Your skin feels pretty soft, actually," I murmured.

"I moisturise. It helps as you get older, trust me."

She plucked at the top button of my shirt and I allowed her to unbutton me. She undid my belt, popping the button of my pants, stripping me slowly. I looked down at her, noticing the care she took as her hands traced over my skin. I stepped out of my shoes, standing in only my underwear. Brooke rose to her feet, still in her heels, almost the same height as me now. When she traced her fingertips over my bare chest, it felt like electricity.

"You really are something else," I told her.

"Yeah, Mike. I really am."

She took my hand and led me over to the bed, sliding onto the sheets. I watched her kick off her heels, and shimmy up the bed. I followed, lying alongside her. There must have been something in my expression, because she asked, "All good, Mike?"

"Yeah," I confessed. "It just that you're the first woman I've had in this bed since my wife."

"Not been dating?"

She stroked my chest casually. She wasn't rushing things. She knew what she was doing, that I needed to get my head around it.

"It's a small town," I replied, "and shit, things have changed since I was last single."

"Yeah, it's a new world now."

"Tell me about it. I went out to bars, but it's like a needle in a haystack." I felt my face crumple as the shame hit me. "Cruising for single MILFs like some desperate fuck. That's why I went to Molly's... it just seemed easier."

"To break the drought, get back on the horse."

"I guess."

She kissed me, unexpectedly, and I felt her warm skin settle against mine. She was beautiful and willing, and I couldn't help feeling the contrast to Eloise. But then Brooke's hand slid beneath the waistband of my underwear and she began to caress my manhood, and those thoughts went away.

I began to firm as she stroked me. Her kisses became more ardent, drawn out, and I gave in to the sensations of her soft lips on mine and her fingers curled around my shaft. I didn't fight it as she tugged my underwear down my legs.

"You making sure the guys get value for money?" I whispered, but she didn't reply. There was a condom packet in her hand.

"I always get my man, Mike. I'm like you. I'm not easily defeated."

I watched in silence as she ripped the foil square and slid the condom down my shaft. I stared in mute fascination as she unhooked her bra and slipped out of her panties. She straddled me, looking down with a coy smile.

"Time to get back on the horse, Mike. I'm saddling you up."

She grasped my cock, angling me, positioning her hips above me. I stared down at her bare pussy with mute fascination as she lowered herself onto me, subsuming my manhood inside her body. She clenched around me, milking my erection.

"Oh, fuck," I gasped.

"On the horse, Mike. Now, let me show you Cowgirl."

---

I was showing Brendan around the new place. I'd found a townhouse in my budget range, three bedrooms for me and the kids when they stayed over. I'd stalled a few days before inviting him around to see it, because I wanted to pick the First of April. It just seemed appropriate.

"Want a drink?" I asked, leading him through into the modest open-plan living area.

"Bit early in the day."

"I just meant coffee or tea."

"Tea, thanks."

I got mugs out of the cupboard and started the water boiling. Behind me, Brendan was wandering around the place.

"Nice," he commented. "You settled in pretty quickly."

"Yeah. Feels good to be able to put a stake in the ground. Somewhere to build up from."

"Yeah. How's things with Eloise?"

I measured out tea into a pot. It wasn't the full Japanese Tea Ceremony, but it felt good to be building up habits again, after everything.

"Functional, I guess you could describe it. We didn't go nuclear in the divorce."

"That's good."

"The kids. Just because she fucked up, we needed to keep it civil for the kids."

"They come first, right? That's good, Mike. That's a good way of looking at it."

"Yeah. No point going over old arguments. Time to start something new."

Footsteps padded down the stairs, and without looking, I called out, "I'm making tea for Brendan. Would you like some?"

Brooke sailed into view in a casual top and shorts that showed off her legs. She was barefoot, with her hair gathered up in a clip.

"Yeah, please."

Brendan was staring at her, open-mouthed. April fool, I thought to myself, smugly.

"Hi Brendan," Brooke called out, following up with, "I'm in town for a couple of days. Nice to see you again."

I watched the conflict in his expression. "Nice to see you too," he managed.

Brooke beamed at him and sauntered over to me, sliding an arm around my waist and then kissing my cheek. I didn't say anything, pouring out the tea into three mugs. I looked up at Brendan, who appeared to be rooted to the spot.

"Milk, sugar?" I asked him.

I put a little milk into my mug and Brooke's. I already knew how she liked hers.

"Milk... uh, yeah, just milk thanks."

"Sweet enough?" Brooke purred, clearly enjoying his discomfort.

She picked up her tea and took a sip, flashing me a little look over the rim. "Lovely, thank you. I might take it out into the garden."

I watched her go, the way she moved in bare feet across the floor, with the same grace as the first time I'd seen her. Brooke knew how to walk. She knew to the millimetre just how good her rear looked in her shorts. When she slipped through the tall glass double doors, I turned to Brendan at last. My face gave nothing away. I could see how much he was struggling.

"Mate, look, uh... fuck. I need to say something."

"Yeah, she's great, isn't she," I replied, casually. "I'm so glad we got to chatting on my birthday. It's nice when she comes to town and stays over."

"About that, uh. Shit, I know how this is gonna sound, but I need to say...."

"Say what?"

"Only good intentions, Mike." He came to a grinding halt and that's when I took pity on him. He was right. No harm, no foul.

"April fool. I spotted her the moment she walked into the restaurant."

Brendan gaped. "What?"

"I'm not a monk, Brendan. I gotta tell you, you picked right."

"You knew?" Brendan's face wrinkled. "You fucking knew?"

"You'd already gone to the bother, seemed a shame otherwise."

Brendan turned away, looking out through the double doors at the beautiful woman perched on a garden chair in the sunshine. He shook his head slowly.

"Wonders never cease," he rasped.

I looked out at her too, and I smiled.

Brooke told me why she needed thicker skin as she got older. When you can see you're not getting chosen based on your boobs any more, but your hourly rate. When it goes from being just a thing you're doing for now to make ends meet, to the thing you do for a life.

I'm not sure where it's going, or if it's going anywhere. Brooke said not to overthink it, but I do. Either I'm getting freebies from the smoking-hot NILF at Molly's, or I have a new girlfriend who also fucks guys for money. But, we've talked about it. She'd like to go legit. She wants the do-over. She wants the Pretty Woman ending.

Fuck, don't we all?

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