He was sure there were not. On a one to ten scale, Vixen was an eleven or twelve. “You know what they want.” Vixen gave him a few eyelash blinks, her coy look. He nodded, and then shook his head, dispelling the image of some big football player rutting between Vixen’s long legs, her red hair swishing from side to side, her wonderful breasts jumping to and fro, hell of an image. “Well,” she said, “this is kind of embarrassing, well, I mean, the boys, they don’t, I guess you’d say, they don’t satisfy me, sir. I mean they’re all sweaty and pumping and groping and stuff. But, but they won’t even talk about it, before or after.” “Maybe you should see the nurse, the infirmary.” He shook his head. “I’m no expert. You are talking about sex, aren’t you?” She nodded and sniffed. “Well, you just got married, didn’t you?” He nodded and licked his lips. Sex with his young wife was always done in the dark and always the same way, missionary. It seldom took long, but it did help him sleep on. Chelsea then demanded that we get high, so bundling up in our winter coats, we went out into the backyard to smoke a joint so there would be no telltale odor inside the house. The sky was overcast and gray, spitting an occasional flake of snow. We were soon stoned and the tension and angst that had come over us in the kitchen dissipated as the marijuana smoke filled our lungs. The house next door was empty, and its backyard Jacuzzi beckoned to us invitingly. We decided to sneak over and use it while nobody was home. Indeed, the neighborhood was populated with working couples and few people seemed to be around during the middle of the day.Totally buzzed, we went back inside the house to change into swimsuits. This was an unexpected turn of events, and since I hadn't packed appropriately for my visit, Gwen loaned me a pair of her father's trunks. Unfortunately, the years had given him some girth and I had to hold onto the waistband to keep them from falling down. The kitchen was empty.
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