Sara, your boss's intern.

You reflect on the odd turns that led up to this date. Your boss, Doctor Howard, decided to take in an intern to help her medical practice, and she chose Sara. Sara, the four foot two, perfectly proportioned young woman who kept the left side of her head shaved, dyed the rest a neon blue, had a big septum piercing, three eyebrow piercings, and from what you can tell, a ton of tattoos. Two impressive sleeves, and her neck as well.

She'd been effusive in her praise of you, especially your physical attributes, often in graphic fashion when no one else was around, talking about the sexy young MILF with the bubble butt and killer cans manning the desk. She smiled at you almost all the time, calling you a "dynamite broad". If any of her attention was unwelcome, it would definitely be sexual harassment, but even her slaps on that "bubble" or remarks about "would've brought a fork if I knew you were gonna bring the cake!"

That last, followed by her tiny hand groping your posterior, was the final straw for you. "Put up or shut up, Pint-size," you growled. Or rather, your wet, frustrated pussy growled using your voice.

She gave your right cheek one more hard squeeze, then looked you right in the eyes through her black horn-rimmed glasses. "Dinner tonight, Tattaglia's. I'll send a driver to pick you up at seven."

Which is why you're here in your burgundy crushed velvet halterneck dress with the dramatic slit up one leg nearly to your hip, which your daughter said was the dress to wear on a date to Tattaglia's, especially if that date was with a foul-mouthed miniature lesbian.

Lesbian.

That word gave you pause, and no amount of sexual frustration was getting past it. You were lusting after a woman, no matter what else, you knew that after tonight, you would never be the same.

"Just let me know if I'm gonna have two mommies!" Jess, you daughter, teases from the kitchen table where she's catching up her college coursework on her laptop.