My wife Abigail sank back in the hand tooled Italian leather chair in her home office and looked across her desk at her best friend Molly who was nervously stirring the cream into her tea. The two women were an interesting contrast. Abigail with an elegant and luscious build which stemmed from her largely Scandinavian ancestry was tall and lithe with large C-cup breasts that were nothing short of a natural wonder of the world and just the right flair of hips that made men look twice regardless of whether she was wearing blue jeans, or a business suit. She had finished at the top of her class in law school, and had enjoyed a successful career in a prestigious practice, before we started to have kids and she decided to hang out her own shingle and work from home to be there to raise them.
Molly, on the other hand was a quiet ginger. Shorter than Abigail by nearly a head, smaller but pert breasts, and a toned but somewhat more muscular gymnasts build from the waist down. It was a look that had a very definite and earthy charm, which had not escaped my notice. She was younger than Abigail by 7 or 8 years, but the two had grown close through PTA appointments and church committees, and by virtue of the fact that our kids were all around the same age.
"So, Molly. You sounded pretty upset when you called earlier and you're obviously worked up about something. You want to tell me about it?" Abigail asked.
"I'm not sure what to do, Abby. I need a friend I can rely on to help me out of a bit of a jam, and you're the only one I'd trust that way." Molly stated.
"Well, we've always been here for each other, Molly. I'll do what I can to help, but you have to tell me what's going on. You look like you're a nervous wreck." Abigail said.
"You know I told you it took me an extra semester or so graduating college, and that I didn't meet Bob until a couple of years afterwards. I've never told you, or anyone else for that matter, why it took me longer to graduate." Molly offered.
"Molly, lots of people take a little extra time to graduate college. I had always assumed it was the normal stuff. Getting a particularly tough professor in a key course, or some such thing." Abigail speculated.
"Abby, what I'm about to tell you must remain between you and I. If Bob or the kids ever found out...I don't know what they'd do, or what they'd think of me, and I really don't want them to know..." Molly trailed off.
"Come on, Molly, what could be that bad? You're one of the most straight laced mom's I know. I can't imagine you doing anything outrageous." Abigail encouraged. "But if it'll make you feel any better, whatever you tell me will remain confidential."
Molly seemed visibly relieved at this reassurance. She looked at Abigail sitting across the desk, said something about everyone having a darker side at one point or another in life, took a deep breath and began her tale.
It had been junior year in college, when her roommate had come up with the idea. One of her sorority sisters was making a small fortune dancing in a local strip club and she'd said that the club owner was looking for some fresh talent. It'd be like shooting fish in a barrel, she said. It'd be easy money, she said. It'd help keep the student loans to a minimum, she said. So they hopped in her car and twenty minutes later were in a neon soaked parking lot in one of the less reputable neighborhoods of the city.
