What to do with two gorgeous women?

I want to thank the readers of my story Living Works of Art not just for your generous ratings of stars, but also for your wonderful comments! I hope you are not disappointed with this sequel, but at least the sale of the ten-million-dollar apartment is included. I tried to write the story so that you do not really have to read the preceding story.

*************

Susan had stayed over at my place again. She still wanted to keep her own place. Neither one of us was ready to take the step of living together even if by now Susan had taken over one of the closets in my big two-bedroom apartment. She kept duplicates of all her feminine products too at my place. These ranged from make-up remover to a panoply of nail polish in an enormous array of colors to several different perfumes to banal items such as tampons. Luckily my apartment has one and one half baths, so I gave her all the counter space in the main bathroom and banished myself to the small one off the kitchen. Women need a lot of space. Her periods were beginning to get irregular and she felt the dreaded menopause was around the corner.

Susan was simply born a pretty woman. Even when she woke in the morning she looked gorgeous. After a cup of coffee, she could melt a heart of stone with her smile. Her eyes sparkled with mischief and when they looked at me, they shone with love. I was living a dream.

The problem with living a dream is that dreams tend to end when you wake up. I was determined never to wake up from this one, but when the telephone rang and I saw the caller ID, I woke up. Who calls at 6AM? Only one person would do that. I knew who it was even before I saw the caller ID.

"Good morning, Carol. How are you?" I said into the phone. 6AM in New York is 3AM in California and it's a strange time to be calling your ex. Carol is my ex-wife. The one flaw Susan has is that I suspect she is jealous of Carol. This is silly. I'm over Carol. Susan silently brought me a coffee as I listened to Carol on the other end of the phone. Susan saw my expression and she gave me some privacy. She knew whatever was going on over the phone was heavy.

One of the things about getting older is that your friends and family die around you if you live long enough. I had lost both of my parents long ago. Now apparently it was Carol's turn, and her mother had gone to sleep and never waked. Carol was coming to New York for the funeral. Our daughter Samantha was coming, too. I had not seen Samantha for years. This had been due to Samantha's refusal to see me.

I had loved Carol's mother. She had treated me as the long-lost son she had never had. Carol has a brother, true, but I represented the kind of son Carol's mother wanted to have had, not the son she actually did have. She even took my side in the divorce. I had stayed in touch with her after the divorce. At times I'm sure she felt closer to me than she did to Carol. Carol had moved to California to pursue her Silicon Valley dreams and was out of the picture.

Susan seemed to know everything even before I spoke. I have a transparent face and Susan was remarkably adept at reading it. She was disarmingly talented at inference. Give the woman a few scraps of information and a few facial expressions and she will weave together a story which is right more often than not.

Susan and I sat together in silence, sipping our morning coffee. I made us eggs and toast and we sat at the table for breakfast. Over easy for Susan and scrambled for me. Susan was a relocation specialist in the real estate industry. She had an executive coming in from St. Louis that day and she had twelve properties lined up for him to see, all in one long day. He had been abruptly transferred to New York for at least the next five years. The company was paying him a fortune for relocation expenses. Susan only had a half hour before she had to meet him.

I assured Susan I would be fine, and she left for the Sotheby's office where she was to meet the guy. I was always a little leery about Susan showing apartments to men who were prepared to pay over five million dollars for an apartment. My anxiety stemmed from the story she had told me about the time she showed an apartment to a man who was close to making an offer. The asking price was ten million dollars. Susan's commission if she sold such an apartment would be around $300,000 before taxes.

*************

Susan is not a twenty something bimbo. No, she's in her mid-forties but she has the body of a hot twenty something woman and the face of a Greek goddess. She told me a story about the first time she had sold an apartment to a member of the mega rich. At the time of this story she was in her mid-thirties. One can only imagine how sexy she was ten years earlier, given how sexy I find her this very day!

Sometimes when she shows off an apartment she tries to emphasize its sex appeal, if she intuits that's a way to get to the buyer. She gave me a sample when we began dating. She sat in the powder room area and pretended to be putting on make-up and asked if I could not imagine my wife sitting right there, perhaps in her bra and panties, applying make-up as she got ready for the day.

What I imagined of course was Susan herself sitting there in her bra and panties. She told me she had done this for a zillionaire who was close to making an offer on a ten-million-dollar apartment. He was from Bangalore, and his name was Mr. Ravishankar. It's easy for me to remember because I grew up with the music of Ravi Shankar and his influence on George Harrison of the Beatles.

The client Mr. Ravishankar told Susan he had a poor imagination and could she model using the powder room table for him in her bra and panties? Susan smiled politely at him, giggled to make light of his request, and declined. She quickly moved to another part of the huge apartment to show him the picture windows.

"Can people see in via these windows?" Ravishankar asked.

"Mostly, no. We're too high. Only the windows of buildings the same height or higher would be able to see into this window. This limits it severely," Susan said. "You'd have lots of privacy. Only a few windows might be able to see into your apartment when the drapes are open."

"I want you to prove it. Take off your clothes, Miss Hansen," he said.

"Excuse me?" Susan replied.

"I want you to demonstrate the privacy of these windows by removing your clothes right in front of them," he said.

"You like to make jokes, don't you?" Susan replied, laughing nervously. Susan had a quite fetching nervous laugh.

"Miss Hansen, I'm willing to pay around ten million dollars for this apartment. At the very least you can back up your claims by putting your clothes where your quite beautiful mouth is, now can't you?" he said.

"I think this is inappropriate behavior. I'm trying to convince you to buy this apartment, true, but I think you can decide how private it is or not is without me getting naked right here and right now. Maybe you would like to see the wine cellar and the storage facilities in the basement now?" Susan said, and she flashed one of her brilliant smiles.

"Let me sweeten things, Miss Hansen. Regardless of whether or not I make a successful bid on this apartment, I will give you five thousand dollars cash right now if you demonstrate its privacy by stripping naked for me," Mr. Ravishankar said.

At the time, Susan needed money. She did not need money so badly that she had to make the sale on the apartment. If she did she would be in clover. But $5,000 would go a long way to putting her personal finances above water regardless of the sale of the apartment.

A thought flashed through her mind. It was a time when Susan was rather casual about all things sexual. It was just one of many delightful features of the woman. She made a decision.

"I always tell the truth, Mr. Ravishankar," Susan said, as she began to remove her blouse.

"Call me Ravi, Miss Hansen," he said, his eyes glued to her every movement.

"You may call me Susan," Susan said as she removed her pantyhose, putting her leg on a chair and sexily peeling the hose down, one leg at a time. Susan noticed the lump in Ravi's pants as it grew, and he adjusted his stance for comfort. His evident arousal amused her.

"Do you have the money with you, on your person? Five thousand dollars in cash is a lot of money for a man to carry around," Susan said as she released the catch on her skirt and unzipped it.

"My servant has it. I'll text him right now to bring it up here. Don't worry I'll meet him at the door. You won't be exposed," Ravi said.

"Thank you," Susan said, as her skirt dropped to the floor. She stood in front of Ravi in her bra and panties. I know from my own personal enjoyable experiences that Susan favors lace bra and panty sets. A consequence of such a sartorial choice is that it is easy to see the important lady bits right through the lace. She has one bra which is especially revealing. I love it when she wears that bra.

Susan went and stood at the window, giving her bra and panty clad body a full-frontal view. "I imagine this proves the point that we have privacy. If not, I'm giving quite a show to the world."

"Yes, you now have me convinced. If you want the $5,000 however, you must be nude. Please continue undressing, Susan," Ravi said.

"You just want to see me naked," Susan said as she unhooked her bra but held it close to her breasts.

"You have me there. Any normal man would want to see a body such as yours, my dear," he said.

"Just looking, right? No touching, please," Susan said as she let her bra fall to the ground. Now she was wearing only panties.

The doorbell rang. "That must be your servant. I'll get the door," Susan said, enjoying the surprise on Ravi's face. Susan's not shy. She strode to the door and threw it open. The servant man knew Ravi so he was not overly surprised by Susan's state of undress. Ravi called out to him to give Susan $5,000 and to give him the rest.

The servant entered giving Susan her $5,000 and continuing on to Ravi. The money was five bundles of ten one-hundred-dollar bills each. Now it was Susan's turn to be surprised as he handed about twice as much cash to Ravi.

"You may go now," he said to the servant.

"May I molest her, sir?" the servant asked.

"I don't know. Let me ask her. Susan, may my servant play with your boobs a little?" Ravi asked.

"No! Absolutely not!" Susan said nervously. She was outflanked with the two men there, and she was nearly naked to boot. Her lower lip quivers when she is scared or very nervous. I find it fetching. Her lower lip was quivering heavily just then. The men were much bigger than Susan and both were quite muscular.

"Maybe later, Krishna," Ravi said. Why don't you wait in one of the bedrooms?" Ravi said.

"What's going on?" Susan asked.

"You have your money but you're not yet naked," Ravi said.

"Oh, you noticed," Susan said. "Why is Krishna your servant still here?"

"I thought maybe you'd like even more money?" Ravi said.

"More money? Why?" Susan asked.

"First complete the initial deal. Remove your panties, please, and stand in the picture window," Ravi said.

"Okay, I guess it was part of the deal," she said, as she slowly pushed down her panties and stepped out of them. She then walked, wiggling her hips for fun, over to the window. "Would you like a deep knee bend, Ravi?"

Ravi smiled broadly. He was handsome when he smiled, Susan thought. Susan did a few deep knee bends thereby showing off her unshaven pussy to Ravi's eager gaze. "Now what about the extra money?"

"Do I need to spell out what I'd like you to do for the extra money?" Ravi said.

"Just you, or you and Krishna both? He's your son, not your servant, isn't he?" Susan said. "Anyway, no you don't. I guess I know what you want. Getting me nude was just a preliminary, wasn't it? The question is, how much extra money are you offering?"

"Another ten thousand dollars," Ravi said. He showed her a pile of hundred dollar bills that was twice as thick as the bundle Susan had already put in her purse.

"This would make me one hell of an expensive whore. Why me?" Susan asked. "You can do better for less on the open market, you know."

"I want you precisely because you're not a whore and you've never done something like this before," Ravi said.

"You want to corrupt me? That's how you get your jollies, is it?" Susan said.

"Yes, exactly. Deal?"

Susan said nothing. She walked to Ravi and fished his cock out of his pants. It was already hard. She began to softly stroke it. It was an affectionate gesture. "Just you, right?" she asked.

"Well...you're right. Krishna is my son. I want to introduce him to the wonders of beautiful American women," Ravi said.

"He's young, handsome, and rich. He can find beautiful American women all by himself. No need for Daddy to pimp for him, you know," Susan said as she played with Ravi's cock with her hands. "Now why don't you undress? I like my men naked."

"You'll seduce him, too?" Ravi asked.

"Make up your mind, Daddy. You want sex with me or for me to have sex with sonny boy? Your choice," Susan said.

"Both of us," Ravi said.

"What?" Susan said.

"Both of us," Ravi repeated. "I am after all giving you $15,000."

That's where Susan stopped her story. She refused to tell me what happened, leaving it to my own imagination. Sher would not even tell me if Ravi bought the apartment. (He did, I found out later from public records.) I guess Susan knew where my imagination would go, and I guess she was okay with that. It was not hard to figure out that this was a test. Would I still love her after a confession like that?

I have to admit, though, her story turned me on. As she told it, she went through all the motions of undressing that she recounted in the story. I did not have a grown son to contribute to a little group sex when she stopped her story. I had to content myself to playing the part of the rich as Croesus Indian man Ravi. I think I did a good job. Susan had no complaints.

"You know what else?" Susan asked, as she lay next to me, her naked breasts lusciously rising and falling with her breathing. She was languorously playing with my now flaccid cock.

"No, what?"

"Ravi told all his rich friends about me. When they were in the market for a new apartment he told them to look me up. I am, after all, a damn good real estate agent," she said. "I made a lot of money. Sotheby's began to introduce the new super-rich clients to me. I became the resident expert on apartments for the super-rich.

"Did you sell a lot of expensive apartments?" I asked.

"Some. The rich are very hard to please, to say the least," she said.

"Did you make enough money selling the apartments?" I asked.

"Selling one a year was enough for me, I was not greedy. I showed the apartments to a lot of men, too. Selling apartments was not the only way I made money, though," she said, and she winked at me as my cock was now hard enough so that she put it in her mouth.

"Oh?" I kind of asked. "Pray tell."

"Well I guess you can imagine the other ways, no? Ravi's friends were a lot like him," Susan said. This stiffened my cock remarkably. "Yes, I guess you can indeed imagine," Susan continued and she giggled her fetching giggle before beginning to suck me in earnest.

After a while I pulled her off and rolled her onto her back and climbed up and aboard. "I love you Harry," she said. "Can you still want me after all I just told you?"

"Let me show you," I said, and I saw that she was already good and wet. The memory of the story had aroused her, too! "Did you do it in the picture window? My window is probably smaller, but I'm sure I have more curious neighbors?"

I was now inside her enjoying her tight, sweet, wet and velvety passage. It was heavenly.

Susan gasped at my sudden and deep entry. "Maybe another time, lover, we can do it in the window," she managed to get out before she added, "Ooh yes! Oh, my goodness, just like that. Oh, Harry please always love me. Please, always?" and then she moaned as I continued to pump into and out of her, over and over again. As I pumped I leaned down and suckled a bit at her boobs, taking a tit between my teeth and Susan groaned a groan of extraordinary pleasure.

I realized she was nervous and insecure after her recounting of her sexy exploits of a decade earlier. I guess some men would have been grossed out? I was not one of those men.

**************

Now she was going out to help some new rich guy choose an apartment. I wondered if he knew what she was willing to do to sell an apartment? Was she still willing? Was she going to cheat on me? Is that why she told me the story of Ravi and his mega rich friends? Susan said it was all in the past; it was ten years ago for Pete's sake! I could not help but wonder, however. Suddenly I was the one who was insecure!

A couple of days later I had my noise cancelling headphones on while I worked away at my computer. I loved the way the headphones suppressed the constant drone of the air conditioner. I was surprised by a phone call. I was not expecting one.

"Hello?" I spoke into the phone.

"Hello Daddy. It's Samantha. Want to take a break from your work and rendezvous with your daughter? I'll treat for the coffee."

I was in shock. I was hearing from my sixteen-year-old daughter for the first time in five years. I knew she was in town for the funeral of her grandmother but I had no expectation of hearing from her. I was hoping at least to see her in person at the funeral and now here she was calling me to rendezvous for coffee? I was in a state of stunned silence.

"Dad? You still there? Dad? Did you hang up on me? Not that I'd blame you if you did. Dad?"

"I'm here, Sammy. I'm just a wee bit surprised is all," I managed to get out.

"Good surprise, or bad surprise?" Samantha asked. "And Dad, I'm not Sammy anymore. I'm Samantha."

Samantha looked great. She had inherited Carol's pretty face, dynamite body with generous breasts and a cute little ass, but she had longer legs than Carol, being around 68 inches tall. That, and her eyes, she got from me.

She did not look 16, but more like a 21-year-old young woman on the make. Her blouse was low cut and her skirt was tight and short. Maybe that's the way teenagers dress these days? They don't know just how irresistibly sexy it makes them look now, do they? It's different though when the sexpot jailbait is your own daughter!

Samantha asked to meet me so after the initial hello (no hugs or kisses; we both felt awkward) I decided to let her speak first and set the agenda.

"You're probably wondering why I broke my boycott of you, Dad, and asked to meet you?" she began.

"It crossed my mind, yes. I've missed you Samantha," I said, stifling a tear forming in my right eye.

"Don't get all mushy on me, Dad. This is serious business. Mom needs you," she said, studying my face. She was so much like her mother. I stayed quiet.

"Not just for the funeral," Samantha continued. "I know you'll be there for that and hopefully you will sit with her. She misses you and she is floundering without you. You were so cruel to abandon her, Dad."

"I didn't abandon her Sammy," seeing her face, I said, "I mean Samantha. You'll understand when you're older. We do still love each other, you know. We just cannot seem to live together. As your Mom herself put it, she's too wild for me."

"You abandoned her when you went to Ghana for three years. She cried herself to sleep for months after you left. I could hear her. Finally, after giving up on you returning anytime reasonable, she began to seek comfort elsewhere. All those men who came and went with Mom were just sex substitutes for the real thing. You're the real thing. She's crying herself to sleep again, Dad. She needs you, even if you are a bastard."
That last gratuitous insult coming from my daughter hurt, but I let it pass. "I'm with another woman now. She needs me, too."

"I know. You're with that tart Susan Hansen. Okay, she's very pretty, she's a little younger than Mom, and I'll bet she's a great fuck. Mom is too, though, from what I hear. Your tart Susan Hansen sleeps with men to get them to buy apartments. I guess you know that," she said, studying my face and reading my reactions.

"She's a real prize, she is," Samantha continued. "Do you know about her past?" Samantha did not wait for me to answer, but ploughed right on. "You know how she put herself through college? She went to Hunter College here in NY during the day and she made porn films in the evening. Did you know that?"

This time she could tell by studying my face that I had not known that. Not at all. I found it hard to believe.

"I've watched them. She was good! She's a very convincing actress. My boyfriend was so turned on after watching one with me we did it three times in a row!" Samantha was closely studying me now to see if I was shocked. I was, for so many reasons! if only just to hear her talk like that, her diction and confidence, the fact that she was sexually active, and of course it was a shock to learn that the woman I currently loved is a former porn star! Samantha wanted a rise out of me. I was not giving her one, though.

"Here," Samantha said as she handed me a flash drive. "One of her best movies is on the flash drive. Her screen name is just the one name 'Crissy'."

I managed to speak. "How do you know all this?"

"You're not the only one in the family who can hack computers and learn things, Dad. In some ways I take after you," Samantha said.

"I wasn't fucking my girlfriend at age sixteen," I said. Like you are now with your boyfriend was the unspoken part of that sentence,.

"Yes, you were. Her name was Melissa, and she was five feet tall with tits the size of Montana. You even knocked her up but you never knew that, did you?" Samantha said. She was still angry with me. "Don't worry; you're not a father by Melissa. She miscarried. Not all pregnancies end in births, you know."

"Forget about me and my sex life, Dad. Mom needs you. You abandoned her once when you went to Ghana. Maybe more than once, I'm a bit vague on the real details of the divorce. She needs you now. Sometimes I fear she becomes suicidal, but she'd never kill herself because of what it would do to me. It would, too. She just cries for hours and hours."

"She needs to see a doctor," I said.

"Dad, she sees two mental health doctors and she's on Prozac or something like it. Effexor, I think it's called. What she needs has a simpler name. It's Harry. You know I'm right."

We sat there. To do something I got up and went to the counter for a coffee refill. I asked Samantha if she wanted one and she declined. I returned and sat down.

"I've said my piece. Think about it, Dad. Please for the love of God talk to Mom. She still carries a torch for you. She needs you. She wants to fuck your brains out, I'm sure, if that matters to you. We're staying until the funeral plus two days, so you have some time. Go watch your love interest starring in one of the best porn movies ever made. A warning: the male lead has something like an eight-inch cock. Just in case you worry about feeling inadequate," and with that Samantha got up.

"One more thing. Don't you dare ever let Mom know we had this little tête-à-tête. It will be another nail in her coffin if she were to learn I did this. Dad, she needs you. I'm not kidding."

Samantha looked at me. She softened. "Dad, I'll forgive you and love you forever if you can make Mom well again. I want to hear my Mom giggle. It's been much too long since her last giggle. I want to hear Mom moan again while you fuck her as I did when I was ten. You must be very good in bed, or wherever the two of you do it. Of course, it probably helps that she loves you and adores you. God alone knows why! As you yourself always said to me when I was little, 'Life presents a lot of mysteries.' Mom's love for you is one of the big ones. See you, Dad."

With that she was off, leaving me alone in the coffee shop. The coffee shop was called Think Coffee and that's what I did. I sat there and thought. I thought, and thought some more. Then I went home and masturbated to the movie of my very own sexy Susan fucking her lustful heart out in the porno flick. Samantha was right. Either she was one hell of an actress, or she was really and truly into it.

Life is complicated. Mine was about to get very complicated. After the movie I poured myself a large glass of Kansas City Whiskey, adding the proper amount of ice. I sat in my favorite armchair and continued to think, waiting for Susan after her exhaustive day of showing the rich guy twelve apartments on the market. I wondered how many of the apartments she fucked him in? No man could fuck her in each and every one of the twelve of them. He'd have to call in reinforcements. Maybe he did? I'll have to ask her when she returns.

She did not return, however. She went back to her place and called to let me know. She purred into the phone. Was it a guilty purr from all the fucking, or was it the purr of love that I live for? Samantha had turned me into a suspicious monster.

The funeral was in three days. I had three days to figure out my life. I called Carol and suggested dinner. "With Samantha?" she asked.

"Sure, if she wants to join. If not, just the two of us is fine," I said.

We arranged to meet at her hotel at 6 PM, and to take it from there. I made reservations anyway. It's always a good idea for the man to have a plan for the evening. When I laid eyes on her I fell head over heels for her yet again. Carol has that power.

It's some sort of magical animal magnetism. I see her in person and I fall for her all over again, each and every time. When I got to the hotel and saw Carol this time it was no exception. I knew it would happen and yet I was surprised by its intensity.

Samantha was there to give me her regrets, and this time she hugged me and kissed me on the cheek. I watched the sexy ass of my very own daughter walk away, wiggling. I stood there, shaking my head.

"She's quite a girl, our daughter," Carol said.

"So's her mother," I said, squeezing Carol's equally delectable ass. We grabbed a taxi waiting at the hotel precisely for people like us. "Rouge Tomate in Chelsea," I told the cabbie. "Do you know it?"

I looked at Carol with new eyes as she showed off quite a bit of leg getting into the taxi. I saw the blushing young woman I had fallen in love with so long ago. Carol was nervous and vulnerable. She was scared. Her usual take charge veneer she always kept up as a defensive shield was gone. The real Carol was there in front of me, baring her soul right in front of me. She's also baring a hell of a lot of cleavage, too, as well as a hell of a lot of leg, I thought as I felt a little twitch down there.

"No, but Google Maps sure does. Fasten your seat belts, please," the cabbie replied. Good advice, I thought. I was in for a wild ride.

Rouge Tomate is a fancy restaurant with a casual veneer. It's in Chelsea, on W. 18th Street, between 6th and 7th Avenues, closer to 6th. We got there fairly quickly. We were seated in the window facing East 18th Street. Carol's chair was such that people on the street could look right up her skirt if she let her legs drift apart. We felt exposed.

People, usually couples, kept stopping to study the menu posted nearby but I noticed the men kept stealing glances at us. I figured they were looking up Carol's skirt. I put my hand on her knee and sure enough her legs were reasonably far apart.

"Up to your old exhibitionist tricks, my love?" I asked.

"Oh Harry! You used the L word," Carol said. She looked radiantly happy.

"Carol, you know I love you. I always have, and I always will. I wish we had never divorced," I said. "I wish all that ugliness never happened. I wish..."

Caro leaned forward across the table giving me and anybody else well positioned a lovely look down her dress. The woman has cleavage to die for. The man outside who had been looking up her skirt was now enjoying the view down her dress. His date pulled him away. She was annoyed. Carol saw the street scene and she giggled.

I made a mental note to let Samantha know that her Mom, my Carol, had giggled.

"I love you, too, Harry. Wishing away the divorce won't help. Maybe we can start over?" Carol said.

"I'm with a new woman now. Susan Hansen," I said.

"The former porn star known as Crissy?" Carol asked, Usually she's not so bitchy. Samantha had prepped her, I guessed.

"Yes, that's the one. I didn't know about her porn star past until quite recently, I must confess," I said. "Susan and I haven't yet discussed it."

"Maybe Crissy can act out some of her moves with you. Samantha tells me she is quite the flexible little minx, or at least she was twenty years ago," my newly catty former wife said.

"I do believe you are jealous!" I said to Carol.

"I was jealous of your little Ghanaian love interest Fifi, and of course now I'm jealous of Susan!" she said. "I'm jealous of all your tarts. Each and every one of them. I want to be the only woman who spreads her legs for you, my hunk of a man."

"Have you of all people suddenly become monogamous?" I asked. "That's quite a change, I must say."

Carol blushed. She played nervously with her napkin. She knew I was jabbing her about her rather pronounced tendency towards promiscuity. Of course, it's possible she has aged out of promiscuity. It's easy in your twenties and thirties to seduce lots of men but perhaps it's harder in your forties and fifties? Frankly, I had no idea.

"No," she said. "I can't deal with monogamy or with women as property. I don't care about our Judeo-Christian heritage and all that crap. What I care about is you, Harry Potter, and you believe in monogamy. Isn't that what our divorce boiled down to in the end?"

I thought about what she said for a few minutes.

"Yes, I guess so. I couldn't handle you sleeping with so many men while I was in Ghana, and even after my return," I said.

"That was because you abandoned me, you idiot. You know how much I need sex all the time. Besides, you were sticking it to Fifi and who knows who else over there in Africa. You know, I never asked you. Are African women good in bed?" Carol said.

"They're good in bed, on the floor, in the bath, outdoors, and all sorts of other places, too. Happy?" I said. I was sensitive about Fifi. I had no business having an affair with her while I was married to Carol thousands of miles away. It contributed to destroying my life and also Fifi's. It was a selfish thing to do.

To be without a woman however for three long years was just not viable for me back then. I had wanted Carol to come with me, and she might have had it not been for Samantha. In actuality though, going to Ghana with its constant dangers of malaria and yellow fever did not tempt Carol. I understood.

Fifi was something else. Trained from the age of nine to balance baskets on her head she had unbelievable posture. You should have seen her boobs when she stood up straight, which was all the time. I'm not sure how she learned to fuck so spectacularly. My only explanation is that the men in Ghana are sexually demanding of their women. They train them well and there is no question I benefited. I still to this day get hard when I think about the positions and little tricks Fifi had mastered. What a babe she was! The only woman who came close to her is Carol.

I think it boils down to loving sex. Nobody ever loved sex more than Fifi. Carol takes a strong second. Now I was thinking about how much I had enjoyed making love with Carol over the years. I thought about all the idiotically risky places we had gotten it on. We had been 'caught' more than once, too. Luckily, we were never caught by the police!

Carol interrupted my ruminations. "Harry? Wake up. The waiter is here for our dessert orders."

After dinner we took a taxi back to Carol's hotel. We called the room from the lobby to let Samantha know we were coming up. Samantha met us at the door, kissed her Mom and kissed me too on the cheek and announced, "I'm going down to the hotel bar. They don't check ID at this hotel. Have fun, lovebirds!" and off she went in her remarkably short skirt before we could say anything.

Carol looked at me. "Kids," she said, blushing. She shyly looked at her feet. I had no idea who was more nervous, Carol or me?

"Want to play truth or dare?" Carol said. I said okay. It was a good way to break the ice. It was a game for teens and we were decades beyond that age, but still.

"Truth or dare?" I said to Carol.

"Dare," she replied.

"I dare you to strip naked in the window," I said.

Carol giggled. "You're so predictable, Harry," and she stripped so fast my head was swimming. She left her panties on.

"Panties too," I said.

Carol looked me in the eye. "You sure, lover?"

"I'm sure." The panties went down. Carol put a couple of fingers inside and sucked them in her mouth.

"I'm already wet for you, big boy," she said. "Now it's your turn."

"Dare," I said.

Carol smiled. "Strip naked in the window and get hard for me," Carol said.

I was already hard. Carol saw this when I stripped. "Good boy," she said.

We looked at each other. "Samantha expects fireworks, doesn't she?" I said.

"It'd be a pity to disappoint her. You know how children love fireworks," Carol replied.

I walked towards Carol as she walked towards me. When our bodies were flush one against the other with my cock pressed against Carol's tummy I put my arms around her and pulled her hard against me. Carol's head leaned back, her eyes closed, and I kissed her lips. Carol moaned softly and we kissed like that for quite some time.

As we kissed my hands roamed over her naked back. Her skin was so soft and yielding to my touch. The curves of her hips were perfect, her shoulders met her neck gracefully, and her silken hair hung just a little down her back. I broke the kiss and pushed her a little from me so that I could gaze at her gorgeous boobs and erect nipples, floating above a nice flat tummy.

How did she have such a great body at her age? Good genes, I guess. "Are you really wet?" I asked, as my fingers went down to the source. Ronald Reagan always said, "Trust, but verify." I trusted her, but the fun is in the verification.

Of course, Reagan also said, "It's silly talking about how many years we will have to spend in the jungles of Vietnam when we could pave the whole country and put parking stripes on it and still be home by Christmas." So maybe he's not really a man I want to quote.

Carol moaned as I fingered her. After a while she crumpled down to the floor. Her hotel had a nice plush rug so I joined her on the floor. I kissed her boobs and then raised her legs in the air pushing them back to her head. Carol was still the flexible little wench I had married so many years ago. Her pussy and asshole were exposed to me. What a choice!

Okay, so nine times out of ten I'm a boring traditionalist and this was yet another one of those times. I stuck my cock at the entrance to her pussy. This was her chance to back out. Boy was she not taking it! She actually scooted her body forward 'forcing' my cock to enter it. "Don't tease me you bastard. Give it to me!"

How can you not love an attitude like that? I plunged all the way into that wonderful pussy I already knew so well. Carol reacted as if it were our first time. She was groaning and panting as I pumped, rising up to meet every thrust and coaxing a maximum effort out of my sixty-two years old bones. One bone in particular, I might add. "Give it to me, Harry! Oh God do I need you! Oh yes, just like that. You were always the best. Oh MY!" she exclaimed as she climaxed.

That was fast! I took it as a big complement that I was 'the best.' She had a huge sample to compare me with, I was sure. She started fucking at a young age and never slowed down all through college and graduate school. Like the store name, she fucked in bed, in the bath, and in the beyond. I especially liked it when we did it in the beyond, you know?

As I continued plowing her, I was reminiscing in my mind of past wonderful times we had shared. My favorite was that time in the airplane bathroom at 35,000 feet. Another time we did the deed on a hotel balcony in the middle of Manhattan. Carol was naked, too. I knew with Carol I could have her anywhere, any time. The only constraint on my little wife was my own imagination. How did I ever manage to blow that relationship?

Fucking ambition, that was the enemy. The three years in Ghana made my career. I'm now a quasi-wealthy man. I'm a successful man. I have an ex-wife who loves me and a former porn star girlfriend who loves me. With that thought I lost it and squirted my heart into the depths of my fragile little sex machine of an ex-wife.

Carol was kissing my chest and telling me she loved me. I love when she does that. I suspect she does it to all the men she fucks. It's a charming trait for a lover to have. Of course, in my case I knew she meant it and it was not just the sex speaking. I knew Carol loves me. I love Carol. That's not the problem, is it? No, it's not.

"I should go. I'll let Samantha know the coast is clear," I said.

"Ask her to give me ten minutes before returning to the room, okay? And don't you dare leave without kissing me!" Carol said.

I smiled. "I wouldn't think of it." I bent down and kissed her.

"I meant on the lips, lover," Carol said as she giggled at my kisses on her boobs, my little gentle bites on her nipples, and my kissing of the region between her legs. "But I guess whatever floats your boat, Harry, is okay."

"You've got my boat seriously floating Carol. Talk to you tomorrow, okay?" I said, and we kissed slowly and intimately before I left.

Down at the hotel bar Samantha was working on her second glass of cabernet while some twenty-something junior executive with a garish tie was talking her up. When she saw me coming she said something to the man hoping for a little action from Samantha and he turned beet red and slinked away.

"I told him I'm jailbait," she said to my questioning face. "That works most times."

"What happens when it doesn't work?" I asked.

"Some men are just not risk averse, you know? You don't want to know what happens. Daughters and Dads don't discuss such things," Samantha said. She was so much like her mother!

"Carol asked for ten minutes before you return," I said, relating Carol's message.

"Was she good? Did she moan?" Samantha asked.

"Daughters and Dads don't discuss such things," I said.

"Make an exception, Daddy. I need to know," Samantha said. Samantha had some sort of bizarre daughter power over me, especially pronounced when she called me "Daddy." I could not refuse her.

"Yes, she was good. She moaned. She was loud, too," I said. I don't blush, but if I did, I would have been blushing as I spoke those words.

"Good for you, Dad. I knew I could count on you. When I'm eighteen I hope to find a man who can drive me to distraction and to involuntary moans," Samantha said, and she winked at me. If I did not know better, I'd have thought she was coming on to me, her own father!

I said goodnight. We kissed each other's cheeks and I left. When I was at the door I turned around and Samantha was sitting at the bar continuing to drink her glass of red wine. The man with the garish tie had returned and his hand was on Samantha's thigh as she sat there. I could see her reflection in the mirror of the bar behind the bottles. She was smiling. She was looking right at me via the mirror as his hand began to move up her thigh and under her obscenely short skirt. She made no protest and his hand stayed up under her skirt. I noticed her legs had parted slightly.
I hoped Samantha was letting him do that just for my benefit, to torment me. I don't know what she actually told him but her being jailbait could not have been it. Let it go, I told myself. It's too late for you, Pops. The time when you could influence the behavior of your daughter left around five or six years ago. I turned and left.

I hid nearby and ten minutes later Samantha left the bar. I was relieved to see that she was leaving alone. I was again amazed at how short her skirt was, too! It barely cleared her privates. I glanced in the bar and Mr. Garish Tie was still there, now without his jailbait sexpot. Thank goodness for small favors.

I grabbed a taxi and headed home. Maybe I'd read a good book? I had not yet read the latest Jack Reacher novel by Lee Child. Or maybe I would use my considerable computer skills to find another of Crissy's feature length porn movies? I was intrigued by the title "A Hard Night's Day." Crissy, really just my very own Susan twenty years earlier, was quite convincing in her roles. The woman had talent as an actress even without the sex. But the sex! Oh, the sex. What a babe!

So, Jack Reacher or Crissy? Lee Child's talent or Susan Hansen's remarkable talents? To pose the question is to answer it!

Carol or Susan? Now there's a real question. No need to answer it that night, though. Thank goodness for small favors.