This bit of silliness is a sequel to Nice Guy (my story of that title), written years ago for a long vanished friend. Just for fun.

DISCLAIMER: The following is a work of fiction and any resemblance between characters in this work and actual persons living or dead is entirely coincidental. This work contains scenes of explicit sex between adults and is intended for the entertainment of adults only. If you are offended by depictions of adult intercourse or if you are less than the age of majority in your jurisdiction please do not read or download this file. Because this is a fantasy, characters in this work engage in unprotected sex in a universe where AIDS and other sexually transmitted diseases do not exist. In reality sex without protection is unwise and nothing in this work should be taken as condoning such activity, or any of the other activities depicted herein.

Francine turned on her dutiful smile. “Mr. Tooriche, Mrs. Tooriche, how good of you to come. Please, come in.” She extended a hand, leaning forward to give him a better view down her dress.

Francine turned her attention to the couple standing in the doorway. It was two of her parents’ friends. The man was tall and well turned out, with silver-tinted hair. His much younger wife was a stunning brunette in a form-fitting dress. Diamonds glittered around her neck.

“Well, I’d better get that,” Francine said. She ran one finger down the edge of her neckline, hoping to guide Clifford’s eyes back down to her chest. He obliged her nicely. Francine had a very nice rack, if she did say so herself. She would be disappointed if Clifford didn’t appreciate them. She waved a hand as the couple headed off to the back of the big house, hand in hand. The high heels on Vicky’s black boots clicked on the hardwood floor. They made her exposed legs seem even longer.

“OK.” She shot a glare at Clifford, who was trying to look down her cleavage again. Clueless! He glared back at her with that same beetle-browed intensity she had met earlier. She blinked and shook her head briefly. Whatever happened passed in moments. The doorbell rang.

Vicky and her boyfriend exchanged another meaningful look. “It’s a surprise,” Vicky said. “You’ll see. Come find us when you get away from the door, K?”

Another giggle from Vicky. She had been doing that a lot lately. All of her friends at school noticed. “Oh that’s nothing,” she said, a gleam in her eye. “The real gift comes later. Right Clifford?”

“No. He’s a lawyer. But thanks so much for the gift.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to, Vic,” Francine said, taking the little package. “I’m just glad you came. It would be so dull here without you”. She set the gift on the hall table with all the others. “My mom insisted I invite all the other parents to the party too. She thinks this is like, my coming out’, as if I’m some rich debutante and my father is the 11th Earl of March.”

Vicky said, “Oh, I almost forgot. Here, this is like, for you.” She handed Francine a small wrapped package, tied with a blue ribbon. .

“Oh, well, that’s too bad,” Francine said. She was surprised again. Vicky’s mother was known for the tight leash she kept on her only daughter. Vicky’s father was away a lot on business. Had Vicky borrowed her mother’s car?

Vicky giggled. “She was when we left,” she said with a grin. She and Clifford exchanged a look, sharing a secret. Vicky giggled again. “I think she needed a rest. She was . . . entertaining Clifford. She found it hard.” Vicky was still grinning.

She felt a little guilty about being so rude to Clifford. She had only just met him. He did seem like a friendly fellow. She should give him a chance. “Please,” she said, to both of them this time, “come on in. The party’s in the back, around the pool.” She looked behind them. Clifford had arrived in a sporty new Lexus. The luxury car contrasted starkly with his reading on the geek-o-meter. “Say Vic, isn’t your mum coming?”

It was quite an intense glare. He lowered his brows and stared at her the way Mr. Millford did in history class when he caught somebody talking. Francine was momentarily tickled that her little dig had scored. For a moment her vision went shaky. The door frame wobbled and wiggled like bad reception on a television. It passed as quickly as it began.

“Oh, I couldn’t have a party without Vicky!” Francine replied, deliberately leaving Clifford out again. She touched the jewelled heart on her long necklace, hoping Clifford the walking garden rake would take the hint and stop ogling her chest. He didn’t. Instead he glared at her rudely.

“Uhm, uh, thanks,” Clifford stumbled, with all the polish that Francine had expected of him. “It was real nice of you to invite us.”

To be polite, Francine took his hand and shook briefly. “Welcome to my party, Clifford,” she said coolly. “Any friend of Vicky’s is welcome here.” She put just the right emphasis on her reply, to imply that she was suffering his presence only because of Vicky. She didn’t like the way he was looking at her. He had been checking her out from the moment she opened the door. His eyes kept flicking down her V-necked dress, like something important was written on her boobs.

Vicky had cleaned him up for the party, that much was obvious. He was wearing a blue blazer over an ordinary shirt and khaki pants, along with, of all things, a bow tie. Francine was instantly sure that Clifford could strip down her computer blindfolded and had never met a video game he didn’t like.

There was no way to reconcile Vicky’s breathless accounts of her new beau with the skinny, intense, bespectacled geek standing in the doorway to her parents’ home. Clifford was thin enough to slip under a locked door. His hair looked like it saw a comb about once a week.

Vicky never stopped talking about what a nice guy he was. She sighed every time she said his name. Even her mother adored him. Francine and the rest of her posse of sexy seniors could hardly wait to meet him.

Vicky had been going out with Charlie, star of the football team and all-round studmuffin, for months. She came to school one morning fairly gushing about this new man she had met, Clifford she said his name was, and how he had swept her off her feet. He had given her a lift home from school one afternoon, and the next thing you knew they were going out steady.

Francine took his hand and shook politely. She tried not to let her disbelief show. This was Vicky’s new boyfriend? It wasn’t possible.

“Hey Fran, I want you to meet Clifford, my boyfriend!” Vicky cried. She turned to the tall, nervous fellow standing slightly behind her. He extended a hand shyly.

Francine’s dress was more reserved. Her mother wouldn’t let her wear anything really sexy. The two girls exchanged a warm hug.

Vicky was the best looking girl at Valleyview High and Francine’s best friend. She had just recently turned eighteen, like Francine was today. She was dressed in an expensive red dress, daringly short and baring one shoulder, along with red-seamed stockings and short black boots. It was a bold outfit to be wearing to a birthday party. Vicky managed to make it look hot and sophisticated at the same time.

“Oh, thank you Vicky, thank you so much. Please, do come in. You look . . . ravishing.” Francine stepped back from the door to let her friend enter.

When the last of the guests had arrived, Francine felt she could leave her post by the door and join the party. She stepped down the long hallway and out the sliding glass doors onto the rear deck. The entire back yard had been made over for the party. Festive balloons and ribbons competed with the colourful flowers blooming in the gardens. A red-striped tent has been set up in the middle of the lawn, in case it rained. A large banner announcing “Happy Birthday Francine” in foot-high letters stretched across the yard. Flowers and candles floated in the pool.

There were at least thirty people in the large back yard. Some were her own friends. The rest were friends of the family or older people her parents had insisted on inviting. The caterers, young women in proper white blouses and black skirts, were serving fruit punch and canapes to all the guests.

There was even live music, of a sort. A jazz quartet set up on a little stage under their own striped canopy was pouring out soft, bland tunes. The musicians were all in black tie and jacket. Francine’s parents had spared no expense.

Her father and mother were talking to another middle-aged couple. The sun glinted off her father’s bald pate. Her mother stood beside him, a beautiful, slender woman with a quiet manner. Her father noticed Francine standing there. “Ladies and Gentlemen, the guest of honour has arrived!” he cried in a voice used to being raised. He raised his glass. “Happy Birthday Francine!”

Cries of “Happy Birthday” came up from the assembled crowd, followed by a round of applause. Francine’s father and mother beamed. Francine stood on the deck and smiled, acutely embarrassed. She made a mental note to kill both her parents as soon as the guests were gone.

Francine looked around for someone to talk to. She spotted Vicky, dutifully introducing Clifford to the other party-goers. She had both her arms wrapped around one of his. Francine still could not fathom her infatuation—Vicky could date anyone she wanted, and Charlie was a great catch. So what was the deal with this Clifford guy?

She turned her attention to the geek of the day. Clifford was obviously ill at ease among all these rich, classy people. He shook hands uncertainly. He was always frowning. Odd duck. Everyone he met seemed to garner a scowl, sometimes so intense that the other person reeled. Poor Melissa De Witt practically fell off her high heels, so severely did Clifford glare at her. He even frowned at one of the caterers.

“Would you like some punch, miss?” said a voice nearby. Francine looked up to see a caterer standing in front of her. She was cute and small, probably Japanese. She had a tray of drinks in one hand.

“Thank you,” Francine said, taking a glass. The punch was only mildly alcoholic. Francine’s parents disapproved of drinking to excess.

Sipping her drink, Francine mingled with the crowd. She tried not to appear too bored. She chatted with her friends. They all made jokes about the band. Everybody said they loved her dress. Francine thought it didn’t show enough cleavage.

Francine noticed something funny. The party was very dull, as far as she was concerned. Yet everyone was in fine spirits. And everybody seemed to like Clifford.

“Isn’t he a fine lad,” said Millie Cutebottom, one of Francine’s mother’s friends.

“So very sincere,” agreed Sarah Wiggle.

“Hey, Francine, have you met Clifford?” demanded Sarah’s daughter Chelsea. “Isn’t he just the cutest!”

Francine looked at her. “He’s kind of skinny.”

Chelsea giggled. “Oh, he’s just built long and lean, that’s all. I bet he’s long and lean, like, everywhere.”

“Chelsea! What have you been drinking?”

“It’s the way he looks at you,” said Tessa, another high school friend. “He’s so . . . focused. It’s like he’s giving you his total attention, you know? It makes you feel special.”

“I’ll bet he could make me feel special, if I could get him away from Vicky for a few minutes.”

“Mmmm, yeah. I’ll give him something to focus on.” Titters erupted all around.

Francine looked at her friends in bewilderment. “Hey girlfriends, what’s got into you? Clifford is OK, I guess, but he’s like, an alien from the planet geekzoid. I don’t see what Vicky sees in him. Come on, he goes to Crestwood High!” In Francine’s circle, there was no stronger indictment.

Chelsea said, “Yeah, but Vicky says he’s really smart. He’s helping her with math and she’s doing a lot better.”

“Sure, that and making eyes at Mr. Winthrop every day,” Tessa added, laughing. Vicky’s unerring ability to find her teachers’s soft spots was well known.

“Hey, you know what else?” Chelsea exclaimed. She was a slender brunette in a form-fitting dress, shorter than Francine’s parents would permit. “Vicky says Clifford can do this like, trick with his head. I mean, with his brain or something. It’s way cool. He just has to like, look at you, and you can almost feel what’s he’s thinking! Isn’t that freaky?”

Francine waved a hand. “Come on, Chelsea, you don’t believe that.”

“No, it’s true! It’s like, what’s that thing . . . teleporting?”

“You mean telepathy, bimbo!” All three girls shrieked with laughter.

“OK, OK, telepathy, whatever. Vicky says that’s like what he does. It tires him out though.”

“Oh, but he’s been practising, like with Vicky and her mom,” Tessa took up the tale. “So now he’s like getting better and better.” Tessa was the shortest of the three, but no less cute for it. She wore a double-layered top of white and blue and a pleated blue miniskirt that swirled about her thighs. There was a blue stone in her navel.

Francine drained her punch glass. “You two are smoking fairy dust,” she said flatly. “Nobody is really telepathic. That’s only in the movies.”

She cast a glance around the yard. She spotted Vicky sweet-talking one of her father’s lawyer friends, acting cute and innocent while showing off her bod, like she always did. Clifford was off to one side, in an animated conversation with Francine’s mother. She was standing close to him, one hand resting on his arm, laughing and flirting like he was the most charming fellow in the world.

Francine frowned. That wasn’t like her mother. She was usually rather reserved with strangers.

“I think I’d better go save Mr. Featherstone from Vicky,” Francine said, “before she talks him into giving her a new car or something. See ya.” Her heels sank into the manicured grass as she made her way across the yard.

“Happy Birthday sweetie!” somebody said as she passed by. Francine smiled and gave her a wave. She couldn’t remember the woman’s name. One of her mum’s friends. For some reason the woman had unpinned her carefully arranged hairdo and let it run loose over her shoulders.

Vicky saw her coming. “Hey Francine, want to see your present?” she asked, bouncing across the lawn toward her. A man nearby turned to stare at her legs.

“You already gave me a present, silly.”

“No, not that one, your real present. Come on, let’s get Clifford.” She waved her hand to draw his attention.

Francine was confused. “What’s the present?”

Vicky giggled. “A make-over. What better way to celebrate turning eighteen. Hi Cliffy!” She greeted her boyfriend with a kiss so intense Francine felt she should turn away. “Are you ready to give Francine her special present?” Vicky asked, about twenty seconds later.

“Of course,” the geekster said easily. He had his arms around her.

“Wait a minute,” Francine demurred, “this is all very nice of you but I’m not sure I want—”

She caught Clifford looking at her with one of those intense scowls. His brows furled over his eyes. For a moment the party drifted in and out of focus. She shook her head.

When the world returned both Vicky and her boyfriend were looking at her expectantly. She grinned at them. “Where do you want to do this?”

Vicky took her by the arm. “Let’s go to your room.”

The three marched purposefully toward the house. “Hi Clifford,” Mr. Tooriche’s trophy wife trilled as they went by. “How bout a dance?” A few people were foxtrotting on the grass by the bandstand.

“He’s busy!” Vicky replied for him. She towed her gawking boyfriend away from the disappointed babe, who blew him a little kiss.

In a few moments they arrived in the house. They passed by the kitchen, where one of the caterers was busily making up more snacks. Another girl, the one Clifford had spoken to earlier, was casually emptying a bottle of vodka into the punchbowl.

Francine stopped in shock. “What are you doing!” she shouted at the girl. “You can’t serve that! That punch is ruined!”

The woman looked up in surprise. “Clifford said it was all right,” she said.

“Clifford! What—” Francine turned to him for an explanation. She found herself confronted with a close-range glare. She tottered for a moment. Everything blurred.

“What’s the problem?” Clifford asked.

Francine considered the question. “I . . . I mean . . . there was . . . . She paused for a long moment. “I . . . I . . . don’t . . . remember.” For some reason she found that hilariously funny. She laughed uncontrollably. The pretty caterer stuck one finger into the punchbowl, tasted the drop on her finger and found it satisfactory. She picked up the bowl and carried it outside.

“Make sure everybody has some,” Clifford instructed her as she walked past.

“Of course,” the girl replied. She winked at him.

“Let’s get to your room,” Vicky said impatiently. She dragged her still-giggling friend upstairs to her huge bedroom. Clifford followed.

Vicky stood Francine in the middle of the room and considered her critically. “That dress has got to go,” she pronounced. “It is like so church school. This is supposed to be a party.”

“I don’t know, Vic,” Francine demurred. “If my parents saw me . . .” She looked at herself in a mirror over the dresser. Clifford was standing behind her. She could see his reflection. He was frowning intently. The mirror shimmered and glistened, like someone had thrown a pebble into a reflecting pond. When the ripples died away, Francine was a lot less concerned about her parents’ opinion.

“Let’s find something real short,” she declared. “And a top that shows off my boobs.”

Decisively, she began to unbuckle the dress. Clifford’s frown had turned to a self-pleased grin. Vicky noticed. She grabbed him by both arms. “You, wait outside,” she said, pushing him toward the door. “We’ll be at least a half hour.” She closed the door in his disappointed face. Francine was disappointed too. She wanted Clifford to see her titties.

She set about deciding on something better to wear. Vicky insisted that she strip right down to buff, so they could start from the ground up. “That’s where your other gift comes in,” she said mischievously. “Wait here while I go get it.”

She returned with the gayly wrapped package she had given Francine at the door. Francine tugged on the ribbon. The wrapping paper fell away. Inside the little box, carefully packed, was a gauzy purple underwear set and a pair of full-fashion silk stockings. Francine cooed in delight.

She held up the little fragment of floral lace that was supposed to be a brassiere. “It’s gorgeous!” she exclaimed. “But gee Vic, I don’t know, that’s pretty . . . insubstantial. Even for my birthday.”

“Clifford helped me pick it out,” Vicky said.

That settled it. If Clifford liked it, Francine was going to wear it. She felt a thrill of excitement. Just wait till he saw her love-puppies in this!

With Vicky’s help, Francine climbed into the wispy brassiere and panties, then pulled the fancy purple garter belt around her hips. She sat on the bed to pull on the nylons. The felt soft and luxurious sliding up her legs. When all was set she stood and looked at herself in the mirror.

She looked fabulous. The underthings had been designed to cover almost nothing, while at the same time displaying her lithe young figure as alluringly as possible. The stockings hitched to the garter belt at the top of her thighs, anticipating a high hemline. All that remained was to find something appropriately sexy to wear over them.

There were lots of possibilities. Francine’s walk-in closet included an array of hip fashions, including a number of hot-date outfits her mother didn’t know about. They tried on several. Francine deferred to Vicky’s opinion: she knew better what Clifford would like. When she was finally dressed, Vicky insisted on doing Francine’s face and hair for her too.

When the girls emerged from the bedroom some forty-five minutes later, they found Clifford lying on a padded bench in the hallway. He appeared to be asleep. He had one arm around the beautiful Mrs. Tooriche, the young wife who had offered him a dance earlier. She was stretched out half on top of him, stroking his hair. An empty punch glass lay on the floor.

“Oh hi there!” she said cheerfully, when she saw the girls. She sat up quickly. “I didn’ think there was anyone—oooh, Francine you look de-lish-us.”

“Do you like it? Vicky gave me a make-over! Hey, what’s wrong with Clifford?”

“I dunno. We were jus’ like, uhm . . . talkin’, you know, and he fell asleep. Right in the middle of . . . anyway, I guess he’s all tuckered out, poor guy.”

From the look of the woman, Francine suspected they had been doing more than talking. Her short dress was rucked up around her waist and her hair was falling out of its braid. One of Clifford’s hands was resting casually on her nylon-encased thigh. His fly was undone.

“It’s OK,” Vicky said. “He does this thing with his head that tires him out sometimes. He’ll be right as nine-pence in a moment.” She frowned at the brunette. “Hadn’t you better get back to the party?”

The shapely young wife got to her feet. Her diamonds glittered. “Oh. . . OK, if . . . will Clifford be all right?” She belatedly began pulling her dress down.

“He’ll be fine. Scoot.” She half-pulled the doting woman away with the patient resolution of one who had done this many times before. Mrs. Tooriche looked over her shoulder as she tottered away.

“Clifford is like this chick magnet,” Vicky explained. “Girls are constantly coming on to him. I don’t know how he puts up with it.”

“It must be hard,” Francine agreed. She was trying to see if anything was visible inside Clifford’s open fly without being obvious about it. He began to stir. He sat up and looked about, blinking.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “I guess I dozed off. That girl can really—uh, I mean we were—oh!” This last exclamation came when he noticed the transformed Francine.

“What do you think of my birthday present?” Francine asked. She posed in front of him, one leg extended.

She was wearing blue, her favourite colour. The top was a semi-transparent, navy blue mesh that clung faithfully to every young curve. It was meant to be worn with a camisole, but Francine didn’t want to hide her pretty new brassiere—or the jutting lovelies that her brassiere failed to hide. The miniskirt was a silky, skin-riding dash of fabric in swirls of blue and yellow and red. It would have been wonderfully leg-revealing even without the little slit up one side. Francine’s legs looked smoking in the full-fashion stockings, of course, especially with the dark blue high heels. Vicky had carefully swept up her hair to better show off her earrings and necklace of big blue marbles.

“You’re gorgeous!” Clifford blurted, openly staring. “I can’t—Wow!”

“Toldya he would like it,” Vicky said proudly.

“You don’t think it’s too . . . flimsy? Do you?” Francine teased. She smoothed her open mesh top down over her breasts as she spoke. She looked Clifford in the eye with what she hoped was a sultry look. She was basking in his artless admiration. Clifford was a cutie, but he was still totally uncool around a hot babe. He couldn’t seem to find his tongue.

“No! No, it’s not too flimsy,” Clifford said earnestly. “You look great!” Francine almost laughed out loud. Clifford was such a nerd he didn’t even recognize flirting. His open fly was starting to reveal how much he appreciated Francine’s make-over. She stifled a laugh.

“Maybe we had better get back to the party,” she said, twinkling. “Before you have . . . oh . . .”

Quite unexpectedly he was frowning at her. She was no longer surprised when her vision went out of focus for a moment. Beside her she heard a little gasp from Vicky.

In a matter of seconds her vision cleared. So did the scowl on Clifford’s face. Francine stole a glance down at his crotch. Everything was measurable in inches. Her thirty-six inch chest and her fourteen inch skirt and her four inch heels were giving Clifford—how many inches? She had to know.

She bit her lip. “Hey Cliffy, I just had an idea. Why don’t I thank you properly for this wonnnnderful birthday present.” She extended a hand. “Stand up.”

Clifford did so, wordlessly. Francine stepped forward, put her hands on his shoulders, and gave him a long, warm kiss. When she was done she looked over her shoulder at her stunning best friend. “You don’t mind, do you Vic?” she entreated her. “After all, I’m the birthday girl.”

Vicky was watching with hooded eyes. She had one hand over her chest, squeezing gently. She said, “It’s . . . fine. As long as I can . . . you know.” She was clearly aroused by what Francine was about to do.

Francine turned her attention back to the skinny horndog in her arms. Without letting go she began to slide her hands downward. She bent at the waist until her face approached his belt line. She spread her legs wide, but lost her balance in her heels.

“Here, I’ll hold you,” Vicky offered, coming up behind. She put her arms around Francine’s waist, keeping her steady. Such a good friend. Francine turned her attention to the growing bulge in Clifford’s open fly. With a few deft movements she brought his cock out into the daylight. He twitched above her. Without hesitation she lowered her lipsticked lips over his cockhead and sucked her way down.

Clifford stiffened. He gasped. Francine began to suck him diligently. She slid her mouth down as far as she could, until she felt his glans against the back of her throat. Then she retreated, sliding her lips lovingly up the length of his substantial shaft. She stroked him keenly with one hand. She fell into a quick rhythm, not holding back.

Francine was not very experienced. This awkward position would not have worked were not Vicky there to hold her steady. Her friend was hugging her from behind, rocking back and forth as Francine worked on Clifford’s wang.

Vicky’s hands were around her waist. One of them slipped down a little. It found its way under her microskirt, then up a leg. It began to stroke and tease.

Francine grunted around the cock in her mouth. She wasn’t sure her girlfriend should be doing that. She especially shouldn’t have danced her fingers up under Francine’s insubstantial panties and (oh!) right into her well-moistened slit.

After two seconds she decided she didn’t mind at all. In fact, she thought it was a swell idea. It felt so good, blowing cute Clifford while his girlfriend fingered her pussy with one finger—actually two fingers now, and her other hand was fondling one nipple—that Francine didn’t want it to ever end. She was grunting and moaning now as she worked, echoing the gasping cries from Clifford above her.

It didn’t last long. Clifford was too horny to hold back. In a matter of minutes he climaxed. He stiffened and began to spurt into Francine’s mouth. Francine sucked vigorously. She tried to take it all—guys liked that—but at the last moment she let him slip out because Clifford’s masterful member and Vicky’s flying fingers brought her to her own sweet orgasm. She let Cliffy slip out so she could cry out: “Ohhhh fuckyesssss!”

His cock smeared jism across one cheek. In the throws of her peak, Francine lost her balance completely. She toppled forward, pulling both Clifford and Vicky down with her. The trio collapsed in a happy heap on the bench and the floor.

They lay there for a while, catching their breath. Eventually Francine said, “I guess we should, like, get back to the party.”

She had to fix her make-up again before they left.

On the way back through the kitchen they encountered a couple of the caterers again. The Japanese girl and a slightly older woman, probably her boss, were busily making yet another bowl of punch. They had run out of vodka, and were now tossing in random samples from the bottles in the liquor cabinet. They tasted each bottle before it went in, and the developing punch afterward.

There was something odd about the way there making punch, Francine reflected. She couldn’t seem to put her finger on it. Thinking about it gave her the giggles.

“Hi Clifford!” the younger girl said fondly. Her eyes were a little glassy. “Wanna try some punch? We’re . . . ah!” She gasped softly, in unison with her employer, when she looked into Clifford’s scowling eyes.

“The thing with his head!” Francine exclaimed. “He’s doing the thing with his head, isn’t he!” She watched in admiration as Clifford adroitly mind-fucked a couple of young women he didn’t even know.

“Isn’t it the coolest?” Vicky replied. Clifford had stopped frowning. The two caterers were shaking their heads and blinking.

The older one said: “These uniforms are uncomfortable. Too hot for a day like today.”

“Yeah,” agreed the cute Japanese girl, “too hot and too boring. Let’s fix that.” She was already unbuttoning her blouse.

“Here, let me do that,” her partner said. She reached over and began opening the other girl’s white blouse. Her new friend reciprocated. Hands feathered lovingly over exposed breasts. The couple seemed to have forgotten the other people in the room. They want to show off their titties too, Francine reflected. Wasn’t that wonderful.

“Party time!” Vicky said. She linked arms with Clifford. Francine joined them on the other side. They stepped onto the deck overlooking the back yard.