Esther and Star Ch. 01

"No!" she protested. "No. No. No. I read about Jehovah's Witnesses online after you two were engaged."

I looked down at the ground.

"So, it's true," she concluded.

I nodded.

"Wait a minute. Did you know? Before?"

I glanced at her and shook my head.

Star burst into laughter.

"Fuck off, Star. And be quiet. Esther's sleeping."

"Oh, my gosh. Oh, my gosh. And no anal either, right?"

"Fuck, no," I said. "Are you fucking kidding me?" Then I started chuckling a little.

Our laughter slowly died away, and after a few seconds of silence, Star asked, "When did you two start dating?"

"Beginning of sophomore year."

"That's right," she said, and then her face looked like she was doing mental math and she said, "Have you ever had oral sex, like, in your life?"

"What the fuck do you care, Star?"

"Because it'd be a tragedy if you haven't, that's why."

I sighed. "No, I've never gotten it or given it, okay? Fuck."

"Oh, brother mine, that is one of the saddest things I've heard."

"I'm okay."

"Sure you are," she said drily, and then she asked, "So what can you do together?"

"Fuck. Kiss. Touch."

"Can you suck her tits?"

"Are we having this conversation?"

She stared at me.

I nodded.

Star pursued the subject. "Can you finger her?"

I nodded, saying, "But, not just to do that. It has to be in preparation for sex."

"What else? What can't you do?"

"Look, we can't do anything weird."

"Right, but what's something normal that you can't do?"

"She won't let me fuck her from behind," I said.

"What?!"

I nodded.

"That's, like, the best position, though!"

I stared at her. "Star, you're a lesbian."

"We have strap-ons, dumb ass," she shot back. Then, to my surprise, she added, "And, I don't know, maybe I miss it sometimes."

"You miss guys? Being with guys?"

She sighed. "It probably grosses you out, but dildos are a far, far cry from the real thing."

"I'll take your word for it."

Star engaged the footrest and reclined in the chair. She closed her eyes and said, "Oh, brother mine, aren't we a pair?"

***

I woke up early and showered before heading in to work for training. When I came out, Esther was still asleep.

That never happened. She always woke up when I took a shower. She'd sit up in bed and start the day by reading her New World Bible.

Every morning that week, she skipped it.

After my first week of training was finished, I asked her about it.

She sighed. "I feel like I need to think, not read."

We were all in the family room watching tv on Saturday morning. I could tell that Star, again, had a late Friday night. I asked Esther if she wanted to go into the city, but she glanced at Star for a moment and then said she didn't know.

Star said, "You go ahead. Esther and I are going to hang out."

I went to Harvard Square, just to check it out. Good fucking balls, that was a freak show! Bunch of sun worshipper-looking dudes handing out pamphlets by the stairs, a group of people whose genders I could not decipher protested and chanted by the newspaper stand. All kinds of raggedy musicians hang out there. One dude was even playing the fucking kazoo. Dancing around and playing the kazoo—for money. Even the homeless people in Harvard Square are fucking weird. One guy—a white guy with long dreadlocks—was wearing a bra and panties on the outside of his clothes. I gave him a few bucks.

I may seem like a dick, but I always try to give homeless people a little money. I don't give a shit if they buy a drink with it. If I were homeless, I might want a fucking drink, too.

Anyways, I couldn't imagine a Witness walking through Harvard Square. To them, it'd be like navigating a minefield of devils in hell.

I walked around for a while, went into a couple of shops, ate lunch at Charlie's—pretty good burger joint. Then, before I left, I went into the bookstore—the Harvard Coop. Not for me, of course; Esther's the reader.

I probably sound like an arrogant asshole saying this, but I went to the Self-Help section to find something for Esther. Right. I know. Typical male dickface: he fucks up his wife's life and then buys her the self-help book. Nice.

I wasn't thinking of it that way. I was thinking she was in the dumps and that she liked books. That's it.

So, I wandered through the shelves and, after a while, my eyes came across a book titled, "Disfellowshipped." There was some subtitle, I don't know, I didn't read it. I figured it was a book about how to cope and maybe get back in the church.

What I found out much later was that this book was not in the Self-Help section. I'd wandered past that area into the Religion section. I definitely, definitely got the wrong book for Esther. Holy shit.

But, I didn't know that as I was breaking out my wallet and paying for the fucking thing. I was glad to be leaving the bookstore, having found something that might help my wife feel better.

When I got home, Esther and Star were chatting in the living room. Esther was wiping her eyes. They both glanced up at me as if I were something of an intruder.

"Hey," I said.

Esther got up, walked over, and hugged me. Her eyes were red from crying.

"You okay?" I asked.

She nodded, and I gave her the book, saying I thought it might help. She briefly glanced at it and thanked me.

I went into the kitchen and grabbed a Coke from the fridge. I saw a T pass card on the counter.

"Hey, Star?"

"Yeah?"

I held up the card. "This yours?"

She nodded.

I said, "But, Star, this is a full-ride pass." Her card, the most expensive one, gave her unlimited service for the month on the subway, bus, and commuter rail.

"So?"

"You get this from work?"

She hesitated and then said, "Yes."

"Why? Dana-Farber is, like, a five-minute walk from here. Not even." Star worked for the Jimmy Fund, a fundraising wing of the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute.

"I go other places in the city, you know," she responded, smiling condescendingly.

"Dana-Farber pays for that? Even though they know you live here?"

"Yes."

"You use the commuter rail?"

"Sometimes. There's cool places to go outside of the city."

"Huh."

I glanced at the card and flipped it over. "Who's X35 Entertainment Limited?"

Quite a few companies in Boston offer free monthly T passes to employees as a benefit. The unlimited T passes often came stamped on the back with the name of the organization that provided it. Star's didn't have the Dana-Farber insignia, but said "X35 Entertainment Ltd."

She stood up and walked over. There was some urgency in her stride. "I don't know. Who cares?" she asked, reaching for the card.

"Just weird, I guess." I handed it to her.

She took it and put it in her pocket. "Where'd you go today?"

I told her about Harvard Square.

That night, I heard Star roll back in the house at about 2:00am. Again.

***

I slept late Sunday morning. When I woke up, Esther's back was to me. I rolled over and touched her shoulder. She flinched and drew away.

"Esther?"

Quickly, she spun toward me and her eyes were wet and glassy, pink and flushed. The book I had purchased yesterday was in her hands. She pushed it at me. "Did you even read the cover of this book?"

I took the book and looked from it back to her eyes. "It's not...it isn't about being disfellowshipped and what to do?"

"No!" she cried. "Look at it!"

I did. "Disfellowshipped: Abuse of Power in a Dangerous Cult," it read. The letters of the subtitle were stretched, skinny, and hard to read. No wonder I ignored it at the Coop, but, oh, fuck. "It...it was in the self-help section, Ess. I swear."

She rolled away from me, got out of bed, and went into the shower.

I read the back of the book. No, this was definitely not a self-help book for disfellowshipped Witnesses. This was an expose, packed with interviews from former members. It was a book designed to make her religion look abusive and foolish. I threw it down to the floor.

Strangely, on Tuesday morning, when I emerged from the shower, Esther was in bed, reading the book. Wednesday morning, too. And Wednesday night. In fact, Esther was either reading that book or reading on her tablet almost continuously.

When I asked her about it, she looked at me sternly and said, "I'm just reading."

Needless to say, I wasn't getting any pussy.

Esther did not look for work, and Star was okay with that. Esther kept house, and she loved doing it. She did all the laundry, cleaned the place, cooked dinner. Esther was a hell of a cook, too. Star was pleasantly surprised. Esther's cooking almost made up for the fact that I could never eat her pussy. Almost.

Every night, when I slid into bed beside her, she was reading. Her posture in bed signaled for me to stay away, but by Thursday, I was poking her ass with my cock.

"Let me read, please," she said, calmly.

"Esther, please. Just let me."

"Not now."

"Then, will you at least tell me what's got you so interested in that crummy book I bought you?" I never cursed in front of Esther.

She set the book down and rolled over. "Did you read the cover finally?"

"Yeah."

"So you know what it's about?"

"Basically."

She nodded. "I'm reading the book because I want to understand how others view my church, and I'm using the tablet to check their facts for myself."

"Like research or something?"

"Kind of, yes. Like a research project on the Watchtower." The Watchtower was the headquarters of all Witnesses.

"Can you tell me what you're finding out?"

She squinted a little and said, "I'm not sure the Watchtower is what I thought it was." She looked at me thoughtfully for a moment and then rolled back over, opening her book.

"Ess?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I just...can I just use your body for a few minutes? You can keep reading."

I felt like an idiot saying it, but I couldn't help myself.

Esther flipped over and chewed me out for not treating sex seriously enough or some shit. I don't know. I was watching her lips, wondering what they might feel like on my dick.

The next day was June 1st. We didn't see Star all day. Esther kept reading.

On Saturday, I woke up early and went into the kitchen to eat some cereal. I saw a June T pass on the counter. Another unlimited one.

I looked around. Star was still zonked out from her late night. Man, I thought, she parties hard every weekend.

I grabbed it and flipped it over. X35 Entertainment Ltd, again.

This was no coincidence. Two cards from the same outfit? Plus, I had actually seen Dana-Farber unlimited passes. The logo didn't look anything like this.

I went back to our bedroom and grabbed the tablet from Esther's nightstand. I looked up the company.

It took me a few minutes, but I found it.

No way.

What I learned hit me like a cannonball to the gut. It was one of those bits of information that showed how fifteen other bits of information that I'd known for a while and been ignoring suddenly were all interconnected and made perfect sense.

Still, I said out loud, "No fucking way."

I spent a little bit more time on the tablet, looking up a few things, and then I gave myself a little mission.

I wasn't sure I wanted to do it, but I had to know.

Over lunch, I mentioned to Esther that I was going to go out with some buddies from work that night.

Star asked where we were going.

I told her Landsdowne Street near Fenway Park.

She nodded and said that she was going out, too.

Esther said she wanted to stay in and read.

I told Star to text me if she thought she might make it out to Fenway.

She nodded.

I left around 6:00, but not before something strange happened.

Esther hates it when I drink. Hates it. She won't talk to me for days. The few times I've been really sauced, I learned to stay the hell out of our bed. Anymore, nine times out of ten, I just tell her that I'm not drinking, and then I'll have some vodka, but not too much. She hasn't yet smelled it on my breath, but I have to be careful.

Before I left, Esther said, "You know, if you want to have some wine tonight, you should."

I stared at her.

She continued, "But, just wine, and not too much, okay?"

"Wine?"

She nodded.

I was stunned. Esther giving me the green light to drink alcohol? I said, "Okay."

What the fuck?

I went to a store downtown and picked up a few items I needed for the evening, and then I went back to Landsdowne Street, a place called Jillian's. I had a burger and a Dr. Pepper, watching the NBA playoffs. Yep, I went to Landsdowne Street, just like I said I would. But, this was not my final destination.

I was headed to Lagrange Street, downtown. Lagrange is practically an alley, not too far from the Commons on the Green Line. So, at 9:00pm, I paid my tab and went to the bathroom with my little bag of goods. I put them on, and then left Jillian's, taking the T into Boylston. From there, I walked over to Lagrange Street.

I was nervous.

But, I wouldn't be recognized. I was wearing a Northeastern University ball cap and a shitty fake mustache—stuff I picked up earlier that evening. In the mirror back at Jillian's, I thought, fuck, I look like an undercover cop or a sex offender.

I walked to the door. The cover was only $20, which surprised me. Music was bumping. There was a super high ceiling and a loft area above. In front, a raised white platform jutted out into the center of the area, maybe ten feet wide. It ended in a larger circle. In the middle of the circle was a silver pole that stretched from the floor to the ceiling at least 25 feet up.

The raised white platform was lined with barstools. High tables and chairs filled the place. A wide semi-circular staircase wound up to the loft area. The place was pretty packed and lights were dancing and moving all over the place.

A beautiful blonde server ushered me to a table against the far wall. I ordered a vodka tonic and watched a young red-headed woman in a very revealing Catholic school uniform gyrate on the platform.

I was at a place called Centerfolds. It was owned and operated by X35 Entertainment Limited.

'Roided-out bouncers eyeballed me and the other patrons almost continuously. I wondered if there was ever a moment when I wasn't being watched. My drink arrived. $18 bucks for a vodka tonic. I tipped her two dollars with an even $20. She was not impressed.

The redhead untied the knot of her white shirt between her breasts and threw it off, revealing a black lace bra.

I looked up toward the loft area. Two bouncers stood on either side of the steps at the top. There appeared to be tables, couches, loungers, and a few patrons.

My server came back. "Thinking about heading up to the loft?"

I said, "Uh, no, I was just wondering what was up there."

"Your dreams are up there, sweetie."

I smiled politely.

She explained, "Private rooms, private massages, semi-private dances and lap dances. It's $100 per hour to go up and you have to buy at least one bottle of champagne."

"How much is the champagne?"

"$200."

"I think I'll stay here."

The redhead was topless now, and her breasts were kinda big. No pasties at this place, nipples were fully on display. Below, she was down to her panties. Again, black lace. Scanty things. Fuck, she was gorgeous.

A bouncer came up to me and asked if I was expecting any friends to show up.

When I told him no, he nodded and turned away curtly. I guess these guys are trained to treat the cheap assholes like shit to make space for the big spenders.

I never liked these places. Been to a few. It's all a tease, and I don't like being teased.

Oh, I know. I suppose if I dropped two and a half grand, I could probably get my cock finally sucked, but I would never do that—not even during the short time that I had been single. And, fuck, what if you drop two and a half grand and don't get your cock sucked? How shitty would that be?

My neck craned forward and my jaw dropped. This place was different: the redhead removed her panties. She was completely naked up there. I saw the whole thing: the kit and the caboodles. She spun on her hands and knees and pointed her pink pussy at the patrons on my side.

Fuck. I took a big drink. Maybe the tease wasn't so bad.

I fended off two more staff members, inviting me to the loft area. Got unwelcome looks from both of them. I ordered another vodka tonic from my server and tipped her $5. Her face crinkled into a smile. I nursed it while two more dancers, both sexy, came and went.

Then, the DJ announced the next dancer. There was some fanfare to it, as if the guy knew this next dancer was a favorite. "Here comes...Stella!"

A guy next to the platform reared back and screamed, "Stella!!" Some line from an old movie, I think—the way he said it.

The new stripper came out to "Bulls on Parade."

My sister emerged from the dangling screen of diamond string beads with a pink punk-rocker pig-tailed wig, short jean jacket riddled with old rock buttons over a halter-top, and a form-fitting, torn jean skirt with very revealing ripped cut-outs on her hips. She wore tall black boots, and she was covered with black leather and chrome jewelry and chains.

It was the way she walked. I knew it was her, instantly. Everything was confirmed.

I had a feeling that her apartment was a little too nice, a little too well-located for a young woman with a mid-level marketing gig at a non-profit. How the hell could she pay for it? And, there was the fact that Star had been gone late at night on, like, every Friday and Saturday. Then, there was a time Esther had asked about something in Star's bag one night before she left the apartment. I didn't know what the hell they were talking about; I was watching tv. But, I remember Star explaining that it was for a costume party. I wondered why it didn't dawn upon me, then, that a costume party in May was a little strange.

Seeing her up there explained everything.

I watched the guys who were watching Star, and I started to get pissed. I ordered another drink, tipping $10 this time. I think I got a real smile, but I was ignoring it. I barely knew what Star was doing up there. My heart pounded, my muscles pumped with blood as I saw these fucking dildos ogle my sister.

My gaze must have been filled with hatred. A bouncer stepped in front of me.

"Is everything all right, sir?"

I awoke from a kind of anger-trance and looked at the dude. A big fucker in a cream silk suit with a blue tie; he had an earpiece in his right ear with a coiled wire down his thick neck. "I'm fine," I said.

He stared at me for a few seconds and then turned away.

"Wait," I called to him.

He turned back to me.

"How long has Sta...Stella been working here?"

"Why don't you ask her yourself in the loft? She'll be up there when she's done here."

I shook my head, and he left me alone. I scanned the room, looking for dicks who might try to fuck with Star. When I looked back to the stage, I was transported.

I use that word—transported—and I'm not even sure I know exactly what I mean by that, but it seems right: I was transported.

Star was topless and in just her panties. Everything else was gone—the jean jacket, the boots, everything—except the panties and a black, chrome-studded collar.

Fuck, she was incredible. I got it now, why these dudes were all standing, cheering, and hooting—why the area surrounding the stage was shoulder-to-shoulder and nuts-to-butts with grown men, staring.

Star was hot as fuck. Her skin was flawlessly tanned, smooth and rich. The form of her body was perfectly feminine—a tight little hourglass figure. Her tits were fucking perfect. Fucking perfect. Just over a handful, each, with fat nipples. They barely jiggled. Those tits were like boners on her chest. Her legs were sleek and strong. She had beautiful inverted bowling pin calves. Her feet were even perfect, and I could give a shit about feet.