Someone jumps the queue

The rest of the weekend passes in a haze. I think I manage to behave normally toward the girls—they don’t give me any indication otherwise, anyway. I keep wondering if what I heard was really the truth: do all these girls really want to have sex with me? My head says I should call Scarlett in, take her up to my bedroom, and unceremoniously fuck her brains out—but that’s my little head. My big one, spoilsport that it is, has to be the voice of caution, and so I do nothing. I’m tempted to call all the girls over and tell them I overheard Bailey talking, but temptation aside, I know better.

I can’t quite bring myself to believe I heard the truth. I can’t imagine Bailey was lying, still less that the conversation was faked for my benefit, but—I’m forty years old; these girls are eighteen. Why would they want me?

*******

I’m pondering. —At least, that’s what I would tell my colleagues. The truth is, I’ve gotten myself outside of a couple drinks and my mind is still spinning through the same circles. I’m a grown man, for crying out loud—I’m a therapist with a Ph.D., no less—I’ve had plenty of time to sort myself out. Why can’t I get any traction? . . . No, I’m smarter than that—I know why I can’t: deep down I want to believe everything I overheard is absolutely true. I don’t know if I’d take advantage of it, but I want to believe there are six barely-legal hotties who want to jump my bones. That’s why I’m in such a tangle. I sigh heavily. At least Lily isn’t here tonight to worry about me. I wonder what she’s doing with Scarlett that’s so mysterious?

The sound of the doorbell breaks the circle. I get up to answer it and find Meaghan standing there. “Hey, Meaghan,” I say in surprise. “What are you doing here? Lily’s not home.”

“That’s OK, Ben,” she says easily. “I actually came by to talk to you. May I come in?”

I realize with a start that I’ve kept her in the doorway. “Of course, where are my manners? Come in, please.” I step aside to let her through, then close the door. “Is the front room OK, or should we go to my office?” Meaghan looks into the front living room for a long moment; she seems to be staring at the closed curtains, which is odd. She turns back to me and says, “The front room will be fine.”

I return to my seat, while she takes one of the chairs facing the sofa. “So, this is something you can’t talk to your parents about?”

“Right,” Meaghan says calmly.

“Do you need my advice as a professional?” I ask.

“Not exactly, Mr.—Ben.” That’s an odd slip; whatever it is, she’s anxious. Meaghan just sits there indecisively for a long moment, then stands up and walks toward me. She gets up on her knees straddling my lap, then grabs the bottom hem of her shirt with both hands. She pulls it over her head with a decisive motion and tosses it across the room, leaving her topless and her nipples looking me right in the eyes. Her breasts are actually larger than I would have guessed, I think irrelevantly. Fingers under my chin lift my gaze to her face. “Ben,” she asks, her voice quavering just slightly, “do you like my titties?”