Secrets

"That's better," Mary said , he hair still wet as she walked out to greet Brandon, the sudden coolness making her nipples stick out like knobs on a radio. "I'm ready for that joint."

His eyes gave it away. The bloodshot whites like a neon sign flashing his guilt. And the odor. No mistaking that familiar smell in the air.

"Sorry," Brandon said, a different-what was it called?-inflection in his voice. "But I couldn't wait. I saved the other half for you." He pointed to an ashtray on the coffee table. The half smoked joint laying cock-eyed in the ashtray, a lighter next to it.

Suddenly Mary felt exposed, felt like she should cross her arms and hide her nipples. Her now very erect nipples.

"Thanks," was all she could muster.

"Do you mind if I do another shot?" Brandon asked, getting up from his chair and pointing to the kitchen.

"No," Mary replied, sure now, absolutely sure the way he was speaking was different. Not so gay, that was it. And his eyes, not because they were bloodshot, but because of the way they washed over her body like a loofa sponge.

"Would you like another?" Brandon asked from the kitchen.

"Sure," Mary answered, thinking maybe the alcohol was affecting her hearing. She needed to get high, even things out, get on a level plane, because the plane she was on now was anything but level. All those crazy thoughts about seducing Brandon, visualizing his cock, she should have just made herself cum in the shower.

Mary sat on the couch, grabbed the half a joint and lit it. She inhaled deeply, too deeply and it made her cough, gag, feel like she was going to vomit.

"Hey!" Brandon yelled from the kitchen. "I should have warned you, that's some really strong weed."

"Thanks," Mary whispered.

"That will really get you high, though," Brandon said, carrying in two more shots. "Coughing like that really forces it into your lungs and bloodstream. Take another hit. Just not so much this time."

Mary did as she was told, already feeling the effects of the first hit. This time it was better. She didn't cough as much. She did the shot Brandon had placed before her and now she was really off in no-mans-land. Yet she couldn't shake noticing the change in Brandon. Maybe she would stick to her original plan; try and seduce him; satisfy her own curiosity and stifle the lingering, nagging feeling that something wasn't right. Something was amiss.

Brandon sat back down in the arm chair just to Mary's right. "I'm pretty buzzed right now," he said, looking at Mary with those hazy, bloodshot eyes. "How about you?"

And she was both stoned and drunk, staring right back at him. And did his eyes, however slight the movement, just glance down at her nipples, her breasts, her tits? She had seen that I-hope-you-didn't-notice-what-I'm-doing look a million times at work. Men couldn't help it. It was like their eyes were ball-bearings and her breasts the ultimate magnet. But that never happened with Brandon before. Never. Until just now.

"I'm really buzzed too," Mary said. Buzzed, that was funny. Hadn't said that word since high school.

Mary's mind was racing; convoluted thoughts having trouble connecting into one random, rational thought because she was so high, so horny. And that phony gay persona was gone. That was it. Brandon wasn't flitting and throwing his hands around like he normally did. And he had looked at her breasts, her tits. She was sure of it. Not because she was so stoned or drunk, but because it happened.

She had come out of the bedroom, dressed like she would have if her girlfriend was over, never giving it a second thought, until...until what? Until she suddenly felt exposed, and then the eyes tilting ever so slightly to catch a glimpse of her braless tits. Dominic looked at them all the time. "Those tits are fucking perfect," he'd say, reaching out to touch them. Thirty-four C cup beauties, stood up on their own, stood up firm even without the support of a bra.

Then Mary had an idea. An idea to save face for all involved. So she reached down and pulled the tank-top up over her right breast and felt the bottom, no, massaged the bottom like there was an odd pain or something. She exposed the whole breast, the nipple and all, felt, no, massaged the base of the breast like she was doing a self-examination. The snaking tattoo originating from near her bellybutton.

Brandon was silent, her suspicions confirmed. He wasn't gay. The son-of-a-bitch had been playing them all. Playing the customers too. All this time and he was straight as Dominic, or any one of her other boyfriends.

Well, she thought in her insatiable, drug-fueled horniness, he was in for a treat. Teach him a lesson. Turn him on, tell him to get out of his clothes, strip off her own shorts and straddle him in a 69, sucking his cock down her throat at the angle she loved, and grind her pussy into his face, telling him to stick his thumb inside her because the curved angle of the thumb hit the G-spot perfectly and made her have explosive orgasms every time. And as high as she was, there was no telling what she might say or do. She might even tell him to fuck her up the ass, just as another lesson for his homosexual charade. "Thought you might like that," she'd laugh.

Mary could feel the dampness between her legs. She spread them, feeling sexy and horny as hell. Give Mr. Brandon a peak at her wadded up piece of paper. But when she turned to him, her fuck-me face on, she couldn't believe what she saw. There was Brandon, with his hand on his chest, resting there like a he was having an Oh-my-God moment, asleep. Dead asleep, with a grin on his face that had gay written all over it.

Happy Valentines Day, Mary thought. She leaned back in the couch, relaxing again, not feeling uncomfortable, knowing she had been wrong about Brandon. Hell, must have been the shots and dope. She leaned way back into the couch now, feeling tired and her shorts opened enough to see her pussy from where Brandon sat. And with one eye just slightly open, he enjoyed the view, feigning sleep with a slight grin on his face.