They arrived around four thirty, bringing big smiles and welcome six-packs. Jenny and William, Two of my best friends who were lucky enough to find, in each other, soul-mates. They were the last to arrive and so our party could begin. I manned the foreman grill, it being my house, while everyone else settled in around the TV to watch the game. No less than half an hour in, while the burgers were cooking nicely, Jenny got up and joined me in the kitchen. "Can I talk to you about something, Phil?" She asked. I nodded and she grabbed a soda from the fridge and scooted up onto the counter, leaning her shoulders back and crossing her legs in the same way she always did when we were talking serious.
Jenny and I had always been able to talk about anything. We were very close, as close as two friends can get without crossing a line that neither of us thought we should cross. We just meant too much to each other. I had met Jenny while attending school, she was there for an education degree and I was there for psychology. We spent nearly every day together during those three years, and we developed a bond that lasts to this day. We even helped each other through a mid-term crisis which ended in us switching majors. She became a psychologist and I became a teacher. Three years after graduation and we were still the best of friends.
I mentioned that line that we thought we shouldn't cross. That is not to say I didn't think about it. I did, more than I probably should have. She was always the kind of person who thought she was the most hideous thing on earth, no matter how wrong she was. I had always been taken with her beauty, and tonight was no exception. Jenny stands a buxom 5'5" with a double D cup size and an hourglass figure. She has shoulder length, dark blonde (almost brown) hair that usually stayed straight unless it was really humid. She has the most expressive dark green eyes, and she always seems to be able to see directly into my thoughts. She is by no means perfect, age and time are just beginning to get the better of her, but she carries her Thirty-One years well, and the maturity makes her all the more desirable. She would never have been called a supermodel, but her genuine warmth transforms her from merely good-looking to radiant.
She was wearing a white tank-top under a buttoned up white men's dress shirt, untucked, and a pair of worn-looking white sweatpants with a understated panty line and just a hint of a camel-toe. I always thought she looked her best when she wasn't trying, it let her personality shine through more. She always seemed like her personality was muffled whenever she gussied herself up. Not that she couldn't look absolutely stunning in an evening gown, I just preferred her when she was herself, not the beauty she thinks she has to be. She was barefoot, preferring almost never to wear shoes in the comfort of her own home (and I guess she felt just as comfortable in mine.)
It took her a moment to find her voice, which she kept low so the others in the next room couldn't hear, and she began her story as I was flipping the patties and adding the brats to the grill. "It's William." she blurted. "I love him dearly, and I wouldn't trade him for the world, but that man doesn't know what it is I need." She paused, looking at me with a worried expression, waiting for me to tell her to stop being silly, no doubt. I just cocked one eyebrow and let the silence trail on. Eventually she began again. "When William and I make love, it's just that, Making Love. And it's wonderful! His skills in the bedroom are simply amazing. It's just that he doesn't see the need to make love to me more than once or twice a month. And when I try to tell him I need more, he just laughs it off and tells me to stop being childish. I know he thinks I'm not serious, but I am. You know me, I was used to getting it three or four times a week, and now its dropped to once every two weeks! If I'm lucky!" Her eyes were beginning to tear up at this point, so I slid around the grill and stood next to her, putting my arm around her shoulder, and told her it was OK. "I'm even cheating tonight," She gestures down at her sweats. "I know these sweats turn him on, so I wore them, with one of his shirts, and I'm getting nothing from him. Not even a second glance." I let her talk her problem out, and I told her to try again to talk it out with her new husband (while keeping tight lipped about what I really wanted to say)
To be honest, the rest of the night was kind of a blur to me, we ate and laughed and watched the game, and after dinner we sat around the kitchen table to play cards and talk.. We all lost track of time, and before we knew it, it was almost Two A.M. Everyone decided to leave and try to make it home before it got too late. Everyone except Jenny and William, who had both had a couple of drinks. Better safe than sorry, my mom always told me, so I offered the two of them the queen sized bed that I used to share with my ex-fiance Michelle, before she walked out on me three months ago, and I settled into the back office to sleep on the futon. All I could think about was Jenny in those sweats, and I had a hard time falling asleep, knowing how unsatisfied she was right down the hall. I finally convinced my over-active imagination to settle down by firmly telling myself that Jenny and I were friends, nothing more, and I held her in too high a regard to try and impose something else on her when she is this fragile. I drifted off around Three-Thirty, and dreamed of little else except Jenny and those sweats, languishing back on my counter like that. Barely two hours had passed when I woke with a start to the creak of the floorboards in the hall. Assuming that someone was using the restroom, I chided myself on the slight, irrational, hope that sprang unbidden to my heart. Imagine my surprise when the office door quietly opened and Jenny, resplendent in her sweats and tank-top, crept in.
"You awake?" She whispered.
