"I just think it's terrible," Martha said.
"Well, it's just young people these days," Yvonne said.
This conversation was taking place near me, but I had not been paying much attention. I didn't really want to be here, but Yvonne was my neighbor and I didn't have an excuse for not showing up for a neighborhood cocktail party. I usually begged off because Yvonne and almost all of her married friends spent too much of their spare time trying to match-make me with their unmarried friends. I've been a widower for two years. I'm 62 and in great shape with no beer gut, most of my hair and a more than ample bank account. My reward for working out and being successful is that it is open season on my love life. Don't get me wrong, I like women and would like a steady relationship – maybe even to get married again, but it will be my decision, not some busybody friend.
"Billy, what do you think?" asked Martha.
"I'm sorry," I said, "I didn't hear what this is about."
"It's about the deplorable morals of young people these days." Martha said. "The girls have these 'bachelorette ' parties where they hire a young man to take his clothes off. They call them CFNM parties – clothed female, naked male."
"Oh, come on, Martha," Yvonne said. "They're just kids having some fun."
"Some fun?" Martha said. "I hear that they humiliate the young man. They pull him around by his...his..."
"Penis, Martha." Yvonne said. "Billy knows what a penis is."
"Well," Martha said, "they pull him around and spank him and make him serve them drinks and kneel down and lick their toes. It's horrible. Then, at the end of the party the bride...well the bride does this thing..."
"The bride gives the young man a blowjob." Yvonne said. "Billy knows what a blowjob is. Eileen always claimed she was the best." Turning to me she said, "So what do you think, Billy?"
The reference to Eileen and blowjobs took me off-stride for a minute. Eileen was my now deceased wife and she was, as far as my experience went, the best at blowjobs of anyone in the world. I did not, however, know that she discussed her talent with her friends.
"Well, I guess if the girls are having fun, it seems harmless enough," I said.
"What about the young man?" Martha asked.
I was on my fourth or fifth drink and was far enough along to figure if I just slightly offended them, they would leave me alone. I liked Yvonne and I could tolerate Martha, but I was tired of their interfering with my life.
"It sounds like fun. I presume they pay him. If I were 30 years younger, I might choose that as a career over the law. Take your clothes off, get poked around a little my some cute girls, get a blowjob and, in the end, a check – probably with a tip. I can't find a flaw in that plan," I said.
I thought Martha was going to drop her drink. She was staring at me in total shock. My plan had worked – for her at least. Yvonne, on the other hand, was laughing.
"You're right, Billy," she said. "I didn't see it from the man's point-of-view, but it makes sense that a guy would have a lot of fun."
Just then, Yvonne's husband, Matt, came up to our group, took me by the arm and steered me toward the bar. Over his shoulder, he said to his wife, "I'm going to borrow Billy for a while and go smoke a cigar. He's seen all the fresh meat you invited tonight."
"Thanks for the rescue," I said.
"I wish you'd find somebody so Yvonne and her friends will stop all this shit," he said. "By the way, I heard the comment about Eileen and blowjobs. I hope that didn't bother you too much. Actually, Eileen taught Yvonne how to do it and I was grateful to Eileen until the day she died." With that, we freshened out drinks and spent the rest of the evening on the patio smoking.
Two days later my phone rang and it was Yvonne. As soon as she identified herself I was thinking of reasons I could not attend another party. She had something else in mind, however.
"Billy," she said. "Do you remember that conversation we had the other night about the bachelorette parties?"
"The CFNM parties?" I asked.
"Yes," she said. "You indicated that there was a time you might have done that."
"It would have beat the hell out of waiting tables to pay my way through law school," I said.
"Well, would you be interested now?" she asked.
I laughed out loud. "Yvonne," I said, "I'm 62. I don't think a bunch of young women would be too interested in me."
"No," she said, "but a group of more mature women might."
"What are you talking about?" I asked.
"I think it would be just the thing to spice up my Wednesday bridge game."
"You're kidding," I said.
"No, I'm not," she answered. "We're bored. Our husbands, as you well know, are wealthy. Our children are grown and have moved away. We get together to eat lunch and play bridge, but mostly we drink chardonnay until we're plastered. It's pretty sad."
"Look, I'm sorry about that, but I don't think it would be a good idea." I said. "Besides, your friends might get offended and Matt and the other husbands would not like it either."
"Matt and the other husbands are not to know," she answered. "There are only four of us and we can keep it quiet. It sure would be fun. You're still a really cute guy and it would be just the kind of fun you described the other night."
"Complete with a blowjob?" I asked.
"I can't promise what anyone else might do, but I'm certainly interested."
As strange as it may seem, this was beginning to make sense. "Isn't Martha part of your bridge group?" I asked.
"Don't worry about Martha," she said. "Thirty minutes into the wine and she's a wild woman."
For some reason I agreed – maybe to reclaim my youth or to try a new adventure now that my wife was gone. I don't know exactly what, but I do know that my dick was as hard as it had been in years.
Wednesday, around 11:30 I showed up at Yvonne's kitchen door in shorts and a tee shirt. She opened the door and invited me in. "First thing," she said, "get those clothes off. The girls will be here any minute and you're going to answer the door. Did you wear the underwear I told you to?"
"I did," I answered. I took off my shirt, shorts, and flip-flops and revealed a black thong.