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--------------------------------------------------------
Copyright 2004. As the author, I claim all rights under 
international copyright laws. This work is not intended 
for sale, but please feel free to post it to other 
archives or newsgroups, keeping the header and text 
intact. Revision to the text (such as the basis for 
another story) is acceptable as long as the original 
author is given credit and the resulting story is 
distributed free of charge. Any commercial use of this 
work is expressly forbidden without the written 
permission of the author.
--------------------------------------------------------

Dancing With Irene
by Marcia R. Hooper (marciar26@aol.com)

***

Rob has not seen Irene in six years. He is still in 
love with her and she is still married to his friend 
Aaron. What Rob doesn’t know about Irene is about to 
cause him much aggravation, but also the chance to 
steal her away from her husband. Or at least to get her 
into bed. A story of forced infidelity told from the 
male POV. (MF, rom, reluc)

***

Author Notes: This is a work of fiction and is not 
meant to portray any person living or dead, nor any 
known situation. This story contains mature themes and 
is meant for adults only and is not to be read by 
person's under the age of 18, or the legal age in the 
county/state/country in which the reader resides.

If you would like a Microsoft Word version of this 
story (a much better read), please contact me at 
MarciaR26@aol.com


Note to the Reader: I always get grief when I post a 
story with no sex in it, so this is fair warning: There 
is no raw sex in this story. It’s a rewrite of another 
person’s story and submitted per his wishes. M.H. 


DANCING WITH IRENE

by Marcia R. Hooper
(MarciaR26@AOL.com)

Based on the Short Story:

BLINDSIDED

by Matthew Steele
(Matt2670@aol.com)



I had not seen Aaron Lerner in five years. Six years, 
once I stopped to think about it. I was at the Home 
Depot at Milestone Center, looking for a replacement 
thermostat; I ran into Aaron at the end of an isle. It 
took two looks to convince myself that it really was 
Aaron, and then, I almost walked away.

"Hello, Aaron," I said, sticking out my hand. "How are 
you?"

He looked just as surprised--and just as put off--as I 
did. "Hey man! What’s going on?" There was a toilet 
repair kit in his hand.

I shrugged. I looked around for Irene. "You alone 
here?"

He nodded. "She’s out with her mother, shopping. Like 
that isn’t news."

We both laughed. Aaron hated the woman.

"So," I said. "Life treating you good?"

He held up the replacement float. "Just like this," he 
said. Then: "How’s Dee?"

Dee’s my ex-wife. Irene and Dee worked together for a 
long time. That’s how I knew Aaron. I had it bad for 
his wife. 

Irene was not a beautiful girl, not by any stretch of 
the imagination; glancing at her, most guys would not 
look back. She was of European descent--Greek, I think-
with dark brown hair, very dark eyes, an olive 
complexion and features just a bit too full. She was 
also a bit too full around the waist (at least, the 
last time I had seen her), and had a habit of whining 
whenever Aaron gave her shit. And she was from 
Brooklyn. 

All of which did nothing to explain her appeal to me.

"Still racing?" I asked. Aaron had owned thoroughbred 
horses and stabled them Charlestown Racetrack in West 
Virginia. We used to go down on Friday nights, 
occasionally with the girls, but most of the time just 
him and I. Now he owned five horse. 

"Any of them winners?" I asked. 

He just laughed. Then he asked if I wanted to go down 
with him to Charlestown Friday night.

I should have said no. Later, I would fervently wish I 
had said no. But I wanted to see Irene and I said yes. 

* * *

I met him at his house. It was a two story, vinyl-sided 
affair, on a nice-sized lot; Irene had laid out a pair 
of flower beds beneath the two front windows. Beside 
the fences bordering her yard she had planted pansies, 
mums and impatiens; impatiens ran along the sidewalk. 
In the side yard was a Home Depot brand shed and in 
back, a Home Depot brand swing set and sandbox. Irene 
had two children, Aaron Jr. and Angie.

I rang the front doorbell. My stomach was knotted. When 
Aaron answered, all I could manage was, "Hey."

"Bring plenty of money?" 

I looked beyond him, wanting to see Irene. "I brought 
my wallet," I said.

"It better be full."

"I left my credit cards home," I said, which in fact, I 
had. Betting horses, especially with Aaron, could be 
dangerous.

I waited in the living room while Aaron got his things. 
Most of the furniture was new from the last time I’d 
been there. The dining room suite--where I had once 
kissed Irene during a drunken game of Truth or Dare--
was the same, and so was the recliner in one corner. 
Everything else was new. 

"Where’s Irene?" I asked.

He blinked, as though unsure whom I meant. "Upstairs," 
he said, before yelling her out her name. 

"Don’t do that! For Christ’s sake, Aaron."

"What?"

"She doesn’t have to come down."

But I did want her to come down. I also prayed that she 
wouldn’t. I heard her footfalls on the floor above, 
followed by her footfalls on the stairs leading down. 
They were not light and happy footfalls, but the clump-
thunk of anger. 

I thought, Why the hell did I come here?

Irene wore a cream-colored sleeveless top over blue 
jean shorts. She had New Balance sneakers on her feet 
over white ankle socks. She had not gained any 
additional weight, but neither had she lost any. She 
wore her hair loose across her shoulders. 

"Hi," she said. 

"Hello, Irene."

She made no effort to come forward to shake my hand, 
hug me, or anything else. She just stood under the 
living room arch, holding a child’s school book in her 
hand. Her hair had some gray in it. I noted the wedding 
bands on her left hand, the rings on her right hand, 
the pair of small stud earrings in her ears. Like a 
Polaroid photograph, I recorded it all.  

She said to Aaron: "When will you be home?" 

"When I get back," he said.

"I need to get the carpet cleaned," she said. "Win us 
some money, okay?" The carpet looked spotless. 

"Two million, with Rob, here. How’s that for you, 
babe?"

She smiled crookedly. "When did you ever win?" she 
asked me.

"Never." 

"I didn’t think so. Be careful, both of you." And then 
she went upstairs. 

* * *

We headed south on Route 340. After a while, I asked, 
"So, you still go down with Jonathan?" Jonathan was 
Aaron’s co-worker. Sometimes he had accompanied us to 
the track.

"He moved back to Brooklyn . . . you didn’t know that? 
Anyway, lately, I’ve been going with my neighbor, Tom." 
He shrugged. Tom and I didn’t get along.

"Any winners in the stable?" I asked. Aaron had 
terrible luck with his horses.

He looked disgusted. "I lost so much money last year I 
made money on my taxes. I damned near got rid of the 
lot of them. Damn bastards."

"She go with you much?"

"Irene?" He laughed. "Never. Not once in the last three 
years." He gave me a querulous look. "Not that I mind, 
you know."

I knew. "Still after the girls?"

"Of course."

I passed a lumbering eighteen-wheeler going up a hill. 
"That girl at your office... Molly? You ever get to 
her?"

His grin grew really big. "That was a long time ago, 
but yeah. She ended up quitting. Her husband found 
out." He laughed, jabbing my arm. "I thought for a 
while he’d come after me--big son of a bitch. Not a 
nice guy at all. Met him at one of the Christmas 
parties. But she got her down on her knees for me, five 
or six times, so it was worth it."

Same old Aaron, I thought. "What about Irene? She ever 
catch on?"

He gave me that querying look again.

"What??" I asked. "Did I miss something?"

"You don’t know?"

"Know what?"

"About Irene."

I was suddenly very wary. "What about Irene?" 

"Dee never told you?"

"Never told me what?" I demanded. 

"That Irene and I are swingers."

* * *

It was some time before I trusted myself to speak. 
"What are you talking about, Aaron?" I slipped the car 
around another big truck.

He laughed. "I can’t believe you don’t know."

"Enlighten me," I said. 

For once, he was not flippant. "Before you and Dee 
broke up--shit, I’d say for a good two years before--I 
had Irene fucking other men."

I said nothing.

"It started out with another woman. Then another woman. 
Then the first woman again and I got to watch. After 
that, well she only let me set up men and always in a 
motel room or alone at our house." He grinned, though 
not happily. "She made me stay away until after they’d 
left. Then we’d have sex and I’d screw her fucking ass 
silly, you know?"

"Jesus, man."

He looked at me intently. "She did Tom, our old 
neighbor, two guys from my work, and a guy or two from 
her own work. She even took two guys at once, Rob."

"Aaron," I said, pained.

"Believe me," he said. "She’s no angel." He had no idea 
how close he came to getting punched. 

"So why are you telling me this? Now?"

"Thought you’d like to know. What you missed out on."

He almost got punched again. "For Christ’s sakes, man. 
I thought you and Irene were..."

"Happily married?" 

A pair of fire engines and an ambulance with lights 
flashing and sirens wailing approached from the 
opposite direction; I slowed and drifted onto the 
shoulder. 

"We were never that happy, man. You know that."

"Yeah, but Aaron... swinging?"

"Actually," he said. "The swinging part was hers. I 
just took pictures and then fucked her good and hard 
afterwards. That was my part."

I ground my teeth and drove on.

"Don’t be so judgmental," he said after a while. "At 
least we’re still married."

I said, "I got news for you, Aaron. All the swinging in 
the world wouldn’t have helped Dee and me. And why just 
her? Why not you too?"

He shrugged. "Just how it happened. I would have liked 
fucking her in a threesome, you know, maybe even a 
foursome, plug all her fucking holes--"

"You are so perverted," I cut in, unable not to laugh.

He laughed back. "Things needed shaking up, man. She 
didn’t like to fuck anymore and didn’t even like to 
kiss. And you could forget getting a blow job. Getting 
her swinging changed all that. Besides, its been years 
anyway. The kids got too old. We had stop."

"Thank God for that," I said. "And if it’s all the same 
to you, I think I’ve heard enough for now."

"Fine. Just so you’ll know, though, she said no."

"No to what?" I asked.

"What do you think?"

I honestly didn’t know. Then I did. 

"Don’t say another word!" I threatened him. "One more 
word and I’m turning this car around."

"You don’t understand," he said, beginning to laugh.

"I don’t want to understand."

"I think you do."

"Fuck what you think, Lerner! One more word and I’ll 
pound your face in!"

He said simply, "She said no, because she likes you so 
much."

* * *

I had lost forty dollars. Aaron had won eighty. His 
horse was running next. 

"Do I bet him?" I asked.

"I’m betting to win, but that’s your call, Rob."

I put down twenty dollars to Place. What could I lose. 
So far, I hadn’t let him say anything more. Now I did. 
"Tell me what you meant in the car."

He said, looking at the odds-board, "She never came 
right out and said it, but I always knew. Remember that 
night you kissed her? Playing Truth or Dare?" I 
shrugged. "She was like, in heaven, man, the rest of 
the night."

What I remembered was a warm, wet mouth, soft lips and 
a so-what attitude afterwards. Dee cared more about the 
kiss than Irene did. Or so I thought.

Aaron shook his head. "You’re the only guy I ever tried 
to set her up with, that she said no to. What’s that 
tell you?"

"That she dislikes me?"

He burst out laughing. "You are so dumb! You are so 
fucking dumb, Rob." 

I had heard enough. I told him so. And for the rest of 
the night, although he occasionally flashed me an 
inquisitive grin, he never broached the subject again. 
Until we got back.

* * *

He said: "I’ll prove what I was saying."

"Aaron."

"She never waits up. Never. Wanna bet she’s waiting up 
tonight?" He nodded toward the house. There were lights 
on downstairs, and in one of the windows upstairs.

"What’s that prove?" I asked.

"She’s not waiting up for me." I pulled into his 
driveway. "Wanna make a bet?"

"I lost enough already tonight."

"Double or nothing."

"God Dammit." I saw a shadow cross one of the 
downstairs windows; a blind tipped up. "That means 
nothing," I said.

Aaron only grinned. "Coming in?"

"Not on your life."

"She’ll be disappointed."

"Fuck you, Aaron." Leaning over, I opened the 
passenger-side door and told him: "Out. Now. Get out."

"Okay," he said, removing his seat belt. "But you’re 
making a mistake."

"The only mistake I made," I said, angrily, "was 
stopping to say hello to you in the store. Now, get the 
fuck out of my car."

He got out, shut the door and stood back. He wore that 
same inquisitive smile. I gave him the finger, though I 
too was now grinning, and backed out of the driveway. 
As I drove away I felt, rather than saw, Irene’s eyes 
following me.

* * *

It was Monday noon. I sat at my desk, eating lunch. I 
tried not to think of Irene, just as I’d tried not to 
think of her all weekend. The telephone rang. "Hey 
man," Aaron said.

My heart clutched. I sat upright in the chair. "What do 
you want?" I said.

"Remember our little conversation of the other night? 
Well, I gave her a choice," he said. "Either she sleeps 
with you, or she sleeps with somebody else. Either way, 
she needs a good fucking and she’s going to get it."

"You know, Aaron, I’ve had about as much of you as I 
can take. One more word and I’ll come over there and 
bust your face. I swear I will."

"Rob!" he said, laughing. "Do you want to fuck Irene or 
not?"

I wanted to fuck his face. I wanted to fuck the phone. 
I tried to strangle it instead. "Look," I said, once I 
had calmed down, "leave me alone, Aaron. Don’t call me, 
don’t e-mail, don’t--"

Matter-of-factly, he said: "It’s you or someone else, 
Rob. You really want Irene to fuck someone else?"

I hung up the phone. He called back.

"What is the matter with you? I’m offering her to you 
and you say no?" He stopped talking and I heard voices 
in the background. When they were gone, he continued. 
"Things are like they were when I did it before. I 
can’t stand it, man. Either she fucks someone, or our 
marriage is over."

"Then it needs to be over," I said. "Have you ever 
considered a marriage counselor, Aaron? If ever 
counseling was meant for someone, it was meant for 
you."

He laughed. "Christ man, she fucked him too."

I dropped the phone on the hook. I shook my head. When 
the phone rang again, I got up and left the office. The 
next day, Irene called.

* * *

"Hello," she said.

I sat bolt upright in the chair. My heart lurched and 
every neuron in my brain fired. 

"Rob?"

"Wait a minute," I said. I got up and closed the office 
door. "Irene?"

"Yes. Can we talk?"

I couldn’t believe this was happening. "About what?" I 
said.

"About Aaron," she said bitterly.

"I--I don’t like this," I said. 

"I don’t like it either."

"Aaron is crazy. You don’t have to do this."

She laughed very softly. "I like how you can say that, 
Rob. I really do."

"Irene, listen--"

"No, you listen," she said. "He hasn’t brought this up 
in three years and suddenly he wants me to do it again? 
After seeing you?"

"Irene," I said hurriedly. "This is not what you 
think."

"How do you know why I think?" she screamed at me. "You 
screw up your marriage and you run out on your wife. 
Five years later you want to ruin mine! Where the fuck 
do you come off Rob Gerry?"

"Irene--"

She screamed unintelligibly at me and the line went 
dead. For the second time in twelve hours, I tried to 
strangle the phone.

* * *

"Hello? Rob? Are you there?"

I stood staring at the telephone with the refrigerator 
door open. The answering machine had it picked up.

"Rob, this is Irene." She paused. She wasn’t expecting 
me to answer, just composing her words. "I wanted to 
talk about this afternoon. Maybe you don’t want to talk 
about it, and I certainly wouldn’t blame you." She 
paused again. "I shouldn’t have said what I did. It 
wasn’t your fault and it certainly wasn’t true."

"No," I muttered. "It wasn’t."

The line went dead. 

I closed the refrigerator door and stared at the 
handset. I looked at the caller ID. It wasn’t her home 
number; perhaps a cell phone. I considered calling her 
back. Instead, I went to the bathroom and started the 
shower. I shaved, which made me feel better and then 
got under the spray. The telephone rang and I jumped 
out of the tub, raced into the bedroom and grabbed up 
the handset off the nightstand. "Hello?" 

I was too late. I got only a dial tone. The phone 
number was the same, however, so I waited there, 
dripping water on the carpet, but she never called 
back. 

* * *

A week passed. A cool front moved in, replacing the 
ninety-five degree afternoons with something a little 
better. I began to emerge from my funk. I discovered 
the best way to deal with Irene was the same way 
alcoholics deal with their affliction: "Today, I won’t 
think of Irene." 

Saturday I worked in the yard. I watched two movies in 
the evening and Sunday morning I slept in. Irene did 
not call.

Monday morning, she did.

"Hello." It took one word to convey her misery.

"I should have called back," I said. 

"I wish you had."

"I’m sorry," I said.

She hesitated, then pressed ahead. "I apologize for 
what I said."

"Don’t," I said.

"It wasn’t your fault. Aaron needs no one but himself 
to fuck me over. I hate that word. I shouldn’t use it."

I said, "Why do you stay married to that... that..."

"Cocksucker?"

"Yes!" I exclaimed, laughing. "Exactly!"

Irene laughed then and suddenly I felt a hundred--a 
thousand--times better. I said, "You are crazy not to 
leave that bastard, Irene."

I sensed her shrug. "He’s my husband."

He’s not your whoremaster, I wanted to say. "You do 
believe me when I say I had nothing to do with it. I 
need you to believe that, Irene."

"I do."

"I didn’t even know. Aaron told me on the way to the 
racetrack."

"I wish he hadn’t, but I guess wishing is useless."

"The truth is," I said, realizing for the first time 
what the truth really was, "he planned this from the 
very beginning. The day I saw him at Home Depot... it 
just fits so nicely."

"I’m sorry," she said again. 

"Don’t you be sorry for me. I’m not the one being 
victimized here." 

She waited a moment, then said, very softly, "I have to 
do this, Rob. I can’t say no to him. He won’t take no 
for an answer."

I said what I thought. "You don’t want to go to bed 
with me either, Irene."

"I don’t want to go to bed with anyone."

"Then just say no. Make him stop it. Leave him, if you 
have to."

She started to cry. "You don’t understand! I have kids, 
the house, all my friends and relatives--"

"No courage?"

She cried out: "Thank you very much, Rob! I call you 
for help and you --"

"I’m sorry. I get mad and things just come out. I won’t 
criticize you again. Sorry," I said.

She was silent. 

"When?" I finally asked.

In a very low voice she answered, "This Friday night."

"Is there someone else picked out? In case I don’t 
show?"

She didn’t answer.

"Where and when?" I asked.

* * *

The agreement was this: Dinner out, followed by a 
movie, and then back to her house for sex.

Aaron arranged for the kids to be with his in-laws and 
had booked himself a room at the Red Horse Inn. He 
would stay there until three o’clock; I would be gone 
by three-fifteen when he got home. Irene would then... 
well, that’s what had my stomach in an uproar.

I paced the living room floor, back and forth, 
muttering to myself.

"She doesn’t want to sleep with you, Rob."

"I want to sleep with her."

"Think how much fun she’ll have fucking you, gritting 
her teeth and staring up at the ceiling."

"It won’t be like that."

"Sure it won’t."

"Irene," I had asked her Thursday afternoon in my head. 
"Have you ever enjoyed this?" 

"No," she said, flatly. "Never."

* * *

At six o’clock, I headed to Frederick. I sat for ten 
minutes at the end of the street, tapping my fingers on 
the wheel and muttering curses. At seven o’clock, I 
pulled into the court and parked in her driveway. I 
couldn’t get out. 

"Jesus Christ, Rob. If she doesn’t fuck you, she’s just 
going to fuck someone else." I opened the door and got 
out. "I am someone else," I said, and went to the door 
and knocked.

* * *

I drove and we remained quiet most of the way. The 
reservation was for eight o’clock at Dutch’s Daughter; 
the crush of people pushed that back a full forty-five 
minutes. Irene, dressed nicely in a blue summer dress 
and no stockings, fidgeted continually.

"Relax," I said. "It’ll be fine."

She studied her watch. The show was at nine o’clock. 

"There’s things to do besides go to a movie," I said. 
She fretted anyway. 

"I told him nine o’clock. What if he’s waiting there? 
What if I don’t show up?"

She had informed me this was Aaron’s habit: keeping 
watch on her. "What’s he gonna do?" I said. "Call the 
cops?"

"You don’t understand, Rob. All it takes is one thing 
out of order and all I hear for days is how I screwed 
up."

"Irene--" I indicated the packed lobby. "We most 
certainly will not make the nine o’clock show. Just get 
your cell phone out and call him. Things have changed. 
Things always change. The world is fucked up."

She grimaced. "You don’t know Aaron," she said. Even 
fretful and pouty-mouthed, she still looked good. 

"Whether Aaron likes it or not," I said, "there are 
three people making decisions here. I’m not some 
remote-control toy he can stick batteries into and run 
around at his leisure."

"I know," she said, defensively. "But--"

"But nothing. One-third of what’s going on here is me. 
One-half," I corrected. "Aaron is a bystander."

She groaned, "You’re going to get me in trouble, Rob."

"You already are in trouble."

She jammed her hands between her knees and pressed her 
lips into a flat line. 

* * *

"What do you want?" I said, looking at the menu. 

"Nothing. I don’t want anything."

"Irene."

"Nothing looks good."

"Irene, everything looks good."

A waiter passed with a lobster dinner and I followed 
him across the room with my eyes. My stomach rumbled. 
Irene closed her menu and said, "I just want to go 
home."

I leaned across the table. "Have you considered lying 
and telling him we did it?"

"No!" she said, as though that were preposterous. 

"Why not? It would certainly solve the problem."

She looked at me, flummoxed. She shook her head. "Aaron 
would know."

"How?" I asked.

She blinked

"Fake it," I said.

"I can’t."

"Why not?"

She turned beet red.

Ordering for us both, I chose the lobster dinner and an 
order of Calamari for Irene. We small-talked through 
salad and the bread, mostly about her children. I 
wondered if every time was like this for her. The Irene 
I remembered was an incessant chatterbox, going on for 
hours, mostly about nothing. I could listen to her 
forever. Suddenly, I said: "I’d like to take you out 
dancing, Irene. What do you think about that?"

She stopped mid-bite. Her eyes went wide. 

"Lucas McCain’s," I suggested, "over on Forty. Or maybe 
Donavan’s?"

"No!" she said, almost explosively. "Are you nuts?"

"You like to dance, Irene. I know you do."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because."

"Come on."

"No!" She put down her fork in frustration. "Aaron 
would have a fit. Don’t you understand that?"

"I understand it’s you who should be having a fit, not 
Aaron."

"Please," she said, motioning with her hands. "No 
more."

"Then what?"

She shrugged. "Go back to the house. Do it. Get it over 
with."

What a great night, I thought.

* * *

"I should be paying for this." 

"Not on your life," I said, giving my Visa card to the 
waiter.

"The tip, at least?"

"Forget it." 

Outside the restaurant, I said to her, "It’s two 
minutes after ten. We can get a newspaper, see what’s 
playing."

She shook her head. "I’d rather just go home." She 
started across the parking lot. I stopped her half-way.

"I want to ask you something," I said.

"What?"

"I want you to kiss me. Right here."

She opened her eyes wide and looked around. "Here?"

"Right here and now. In front of the whole world. In 
front of your stupid husband, if he’s looking."

She backed away a step, looking ready to flee.

"I won’t make love to you Irene, unless you kiss me 
right here."

"But--"

I reached out and grabbed her by the biceps, drew her 
tight against me. She hung motionless for a time, lips 
frozen like a statue’s, almost as cold. Then her arms 
were around my neck, her breasts pressed hard against 
my chest, her groin letting me know it was there. Her 
lips parted to release her tongue and she kissed me 
with a sudden, tremendous fury. Her purse hit the 
ground.

If her husband was watching, he certainly got an eye-
full.

* * *

I lay with my eyes closed, breathing peacefully, my 
right arm across Irene’s back. Her right leg lay 
snugged between mine. She pulled up the covers. 

"You’re awake," I said.

"Ummm."

"Go back to sleep." 

She lifted her head. I brushed hair away from her eyes. 
I could just make them out in the dark. 

"I am really confused," she whispered.

"You don’t have to be," I said.

She looked at the bedside clock. "You have to go."

"Soon," I said. "Not yet."

She sought out my eyes. "Aaron will be here, soon."

"Screw Aaron. Aaron’s a prick."

She sighed, lay her head down on my shoulder. "A couple 
more minutes, then," she said.

I touched her shoulder gently. Despite our lovemaking, 
twice now, touching her was still new. "Look," I said. 
"I’ll say this once and then I’ll go. You have to say 
no to any more."

She started to object, but I cut her off.

"You said yes just to get him off your back. Now that 
it’s done--" I shushed her again "--you have to say no 
to any more."

"I told him that a billion times," she said. "He 
refuses to listen."

"He will if I refuse."

"No!" she said, almost in a panic. "Then he’ll—"

"Do nothing at all."

She sat up in bed. "The only way Aaron would do 
nothing, Rob, is if I left him. And I can’t do that." 
She covered her breasts, wonderfully full and swaying. 
"You can say no, that’s your decision. I have a family 
to think about."

I sat up to face her. I kissed her gently on the mouth. 
I said to her softly, "I’m getting up now. I’m getting 
on my clothes and I’m getting in my car and I’m going 
home. I want you to come with me. You want to come with 
me." I slid off the bed and stood up. "Family is where 
you make it, Irene. What’s keeping you here is fear."

She watched me get dressed. She tried to speak but I 
wouldn’t let her. "You either come, or you don’t," I 
said, standing at her bedroom door. "That’s your 
decision."

A very long five seconds went by, during which she took 
a deep breath. "Tell me again," she said, "how much I 
love to dance."

And I did.


THE END

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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.

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Kristen's collection - Directory 32