Who's Coming For Dinner?

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Who's Coming for Dinner?

T. Yger

Carol's smile appears behind Art when he opens the door. I am always happiest when these monthly dinners happen at their home. Something about the coziness, the hominess of their early sixties' era house, the way they keep it, how it is furnished, reminds me of my youth. And the food is always memorable.

Stepping into the humidity caused by boiling pots of potatoes and vegetables, the comfortable warmth of a kitchen in full production stirs my appetite, warms my soul, and fogs my glasses. For a couple in their late seventies, Art and Carol are not ones to shy away from work. And they make it look so easy.

"Come in, come in," Carol beckons with one grasping hand. "Curtis and Trinity are already here. They're in the living room."

"Smells like heaven," I say, giving Art's thick hand a shake and Carol's pudgy cheek a peck. They remind me of my grandparents, only a little thicker. Life has been good for them, and they are enjoying it. Ellen, my wife of thirty years, offers to help in the kitchen, follows Carol as though sucked into the vortex her wide hips vacated. She is a veritable semi truck heading down the hallway, through the living room and around the corner into the kitchen.

"Beer boy?" Art offers, opening the door of the fridge in the vestibule just inside their back door. No one uses the front, which opens into the dining room. The back door, actually a side door, is the way in.

"You know me." I accept the can, beaded with cold condensation, snapping the top open with a satisfying hiss. He takes the six-pack I brought with me and adds it to the stock in the fridge.

Following him to the living room, we engage in small talk. The weather, health, it doesn't take long since we speak frequently.

"Curtis," I shake his hand when he stands from the sofa he'd been reclining on. I love his crooked smile, bright teeth, honest eyes. It reminds me of the actor, Matt Damon, although the resemblance ends with the smile. Voluntarily bald, Curtis' head shows a few days worth of stubble. He normally has it shaved smooth, but isn't opposed to letting it out once in a while. His wife, Trinity, sits in Art's recliner. She's the only one allowed to sit there except Art. She is a bubbly lady, a little large through the middle due to complications during the birth of her youngest that left her with some mobility challenges. Unable to exercise, hardly able to walk, she'd been promised surgery to get her back on her feet, but our crappy healthcare system had delayed that for twelve years. She struggled to bring the chair to sitting and then to stand. I tried to save her that effort.

"You don't need to stand. I'll come to you."

"But look," she says, standing, holding her hands out to her sides, "I can stand now and am happy to do so. I'm getting into a walking routine so I can start getting rid of this." She grips the bulk of her stomach.

"Oh," Art pipes up. "Guess you won't be needing that chair any longer." He points, taking a step toward it.

She sits back down, quick, having given me a hug around my neck and a quick kiss on the lips. "I don't be thinking so." She smiles up at him, knowing he was only kidding.

I want to encourage her so I pretend I can already see progress with her weight loss. She beams at me.

The doorbell rings.

"Must be Allan and Jacquie." Carol comes out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. "Go let them in, Art." She waves him toward the side door. A few minutes later, after the noise of greetings settled down, the three of them parade in. I note Jacquie is looking great. She is a slim woman, with dark hair and a serious expression. She is so pretty when she smiles. I don't know why she doesn't do it more often.

Allan is exactly the opposite. He is always smiling, full of energy and jokes. Tonight, was no exception as he came in making a big deal about his socks which were festooned with his favourite superhero. "He's such a child," Jacquie said with a dour look on her face. I am certain she was kidding. Maybe I just don't understand her sense of humour.

"Someone come and set the table." Carol commanded. White haired, big busted, she is a force not to be denied. But the brusk exterior she often displays, is camouflage for a heart of gold. I enjoy kibitzing with her, and she has often hip-checked me to maintain her superiority. I am happy to give her that because she feeds me well.

All of us guys move to comply with her request. It's a great opportunity to share work and catch up a bit with each other. While we set out the silverware, Allan shares with us that Jacquie is likely going to have to have a mastectomy. Speaking in low tones, he explains she went in last week for a biopsy of a mass in her breast and they are waiting the results. "She's pretty stressed and doesn't want to talk about it, so I never said anything. Got it?"

During dinner, which includes three bottles of wine, we discuss all the popular topics and finally the conversation turns to what game we are going to play tonight. My hope is for charades or Pictionary. I do pretty good with those, but my wife Ellen says we haven't played Screw Your Neighbour, a card game, in a long time.

"I want to play Truth or Dare," Jacquie announces.

"What's that?" Carol asks. "I don't remember playing it."

Jacquie looks at her while most of us smile behind our hands. We know that game and its pretty risqué. I am certain Jacquie is just kidding.

"Each person gets to choose if they get a question or a dare. Whoever's turn it is can ask any question or make any dare. If the person lies, or doesn't do the dare, the asker gets to make them do anything they want as punishment."

"Like make them give all the money in their wallet?" Art asks. He's a capitalist.

"I've never seen anyone do that," Jacquie responds, and I wonder just how many times she's played that game. It's been a lot of years since I last played in my teens. She looks around the table, smiling, then continues, "It's a good way to get to know people better."

I just about laugh out loud at that comment. It sounds pretty innocent, but I know what lies behind it.

"That sounds like fun," Carol declares, and we all know the issue has been settled.

While the men clear the table and do the dishes, the women prepare for the game by making cardboard tiles with numbers on them. After the men clear the hassock out of the middle of the living room, each of us choose a tile from the two piles. Whoever gets one, gets to ask first, whoever gets A, will be the first to be asked. I drew three and B. Carol drew one, and Trevor got A.

We settle into the living room to play.

"So, what do I do?" Carol asks. She looks at each of us for direction.

Jacquie tells her, "First, Trevor has to say if he wants a truth or a dare."

"I'll take a truth," he responds. A look crosses his face. Maybe he's worried just what he might be asked to reveal.

"Ok Carol." Jacquie continues her guidance. "You ask him any question you want."

Carol looks down, muttering to herself, then her head snaps up. "How much money do you make in a year as a counsellor?" I guess Art isn't the only capitalist living in this house.

"What?" Curtis blurts out. "What kind of question is that for this game?"

Carol's lower lip puffs out. "She said I could ask any question I wanted."

"Yeah." Curtis speaks slow, with a bit of a drawl. "But they're generally more personal than that."

"Well," Carol glares at him, "I think that's pretty personal. What did you expect me to ask? How big his dick is?"

"Actually." Trinity smiles and sits forward. "That's more what I've heard before."

"Oh, really?" Carol stares for a moment. I can almost hear the gears grinding behind her eyes. "Ok, then. How about, do you have a chub?"

"Now we're talking," Curtis chuckles. Art guffaws.

Allan looks at her with a quizzical expression. "What do you mean?" he asks.

"She wants to know how thick your penis is," Jacquie states. After a moment, when Trevor doesn't answer, she adds," It's not a chub. He's got a nice one, but its not a chub."

Trevor sits back, shaking his head. "I don't know if I like this game."

"It'll get better," I reassure him. I don't want anyone spoiling the mood. I have a bit of a chub in my pants just thinking about the possibilities.

"I don't even know what a chub is," Trevor declares.

There is a smattering of laughter. Trinity says, "He didn't answer the question. Doesn't that mean he has to suffer the consequences?"

A look of shock crosses Trevor's face. "Consequences?"

"Yeah," I offer, "If you lie or don't answer, whoever's asking can tell you something you have to then do." I paused a moment while his expression turned to one of horror before I added, "but, since he's just learning, I think he should get a pass."

"Yeah, yeah, a pass." Trevor's eyes grow wide, and he nods his head.

"What pass?" Carol asks. "I could make him show us his non-chub?" And then she laughs as though she would never ask that.

"Technically," Trinity responds, "but since its his first time, I vote he gets a pass."

There were a few "yeahs," and "I guesses," but Carol continues her protest. "What's this pass? No more passes." Trevor sits back, a sigh of relief escaping him.

"Ok, who's next? This is fun." Carol laughs.

"I have two," Curtis announces. "Who had B?"

"Me," I say, hoping he doesn't make this too weird.

"Truth or dare?" He asks. Someone says "Dare." But I'm not biting. Knowing where this could lead has already given me a woody.

"Truth."

"Alright." Curtis looks at Ellen, then back to me. "When and where did you last have sex?"

Ellen blushes, since whatever I say will include her. I make a big deal about thinking, as though it's difficult to remember. Then I answer, "Yesterday, morning, in the bathroom."

Ellen's face blazes red. We'd had an unexpected session, with me bending her over the sink. We've fallen into sexual doldrums, not feeling that urge too often. It had been particularly satisfying with both of us feeling the need.

"Tell us more," Trinity says, and others nod. Her smile is mischievous, hinting at bottled up excitement. The evening just became even more interesting.

"He answered, that's enough." It's obvious Ellen doesn't want any more details being shared.

"So, he told the truth?" Curtis looks at her.

"Yes," then Ellen smiles and adds, "as far as I know."

Everyone laughs. Carol claps her hands, a huge grin on her face. Her eyes blaze. This surprises me. I've always considered her pretty reserved, a bit of a prude. I'm shocked she's allowed this game once she found out the rules. Her eyes dart around, and I wonder if she's measuring targets. But now it's my turn to lead and hers to receive.

"Alright, alright." I give them a moment to quiet. I sit up straight, staring at Carol. The smile fades from her face. "Truth or dare."

"I know you better than to allow you a dare." She points a finger at me. "Truth."

"Have you ever been naked outside?" I want to get a measure of how prudish she has been. Seeing a seventy-year-old woman is just camouflage for who they were in their younger years.

She doesn't answer right away. Her eyes dart around the room but are unfocussed, as though she's thinking, deep. "Nope." She finally answers. "Never." She drops her hands into her lap in a 'so there' gesture and gives me one of her 'got ya' smiles where she scrunches her face and her nose, jutting it at me.

Damn. I was certain I'd discover a secret side to her. Resigned, I start to say, "Alright then. Who's next?" but Art cuts me off.

"Not so fast there, little Missy." He leans forward, a hand on his knee. His face looks ready to explode. He has something interesting to say. "There was that time," he pauses, his mouth working to smile but he's trying to hold it back, "you'd read that book. remember?"

Carol's face flares red. She doesn't need to answer for all of us to know she does remember.

"Oh, that stupid story." Waving a hand as though that would dismiss the conversation, she goes quiet.

Art brays his laughter. Sounds come out of him, but the words aren't forming. He's too busy laughing.

"What story?" Trevor asks.

Giving another guffaw, Art continues, "Naked on a Fence."

"Nude on a Fence," Carol corrects him. "It was Nude on a Fence."

"Yup, yup." Art is sitting forward in his seat, his ass barely hanging onto the front edge. "Nude. And you went out in the backyard and did just that."

Carol manages to turn even more crimson.

"And then you called me out. Remember?" Art's giggling now, full in the memory.

"Enough of that story." Hands on her hips, she glares at him. She looks at me, and in that millisecond, her entire face transforms. Now she's all sweet innocence, her smile soft, her eyes gentle. It isn't going to work on me. There have been many times in the past when she could have shown me mercy, kindness, but she always chose harsh. It was time to bring that pony home.

Now, it isn't as though seeing her tits is a fantasy of mine. Think of it more as a curiosity. For years I've seen then sway and undulate under whatever button-up blouse she wore. Shirly is a loose C, tight B-cup bra. Carol sports a tight D at least. I've wondered just what they might look like, and I am going to find out. "Get those puppies out." I command, trying to get a tender edge in my voice. We don't all have to be assholes.

"What?" She acts like she doesn't understand my request, but her hands have gone right to those babies, as though they might pop out on their own.

"You know what? Those, those," suddenly I can't call them tits, or titties, the words won't come out of my mouth. She is too old to have them referred to like that. She deserves more respect. Ha, that's a joke, I'm about to make her bare her breasts in front of a group of her friends and I'm thinking respect? "Those breasts, your bosoms. If I may be so bold, yer knockers. Let's have a look."

There is horror on her face now that she knows I'm not going to let her get away with anything. But there is something else too. Mischief? There seems to be a slight upturn to her mouth that looks like a little smile. Does she want to show her tits? Maybe she wants me to see them? A woody grows in my pants at that thought, unbidden by my consciousness, but there it is. This seventy-something woman is giving me a stiffy with just a hint of a smile. Wow, women can sure be powerful. I almost change my mind but decide to charge forward. Now that I've had this thought, I am going to see it through.

Her hands go to the hem of her blouse. She lifts it and works her fingers under the bottom edge of her bra. "Like this?" she asks, lifting everything enough that I can see the white flesh of her belly, the hint of her breast bulging under her fingers. She stops there, waiting for my approval.

Not trusting myself to speak, I just nod.

"Alright, but I don't know who wants to see these old things." With that, she pulls up, and her tits flop out.

There are gasps and giggles, but I hardly take note. I'm busy cataloguing how they jiggle, then settle against her stomach. They are massive, with large, dark brown nipples covering the ends. I think it would be a huge baby to be able to feed off those. On the heals of that thought, I add, but they were probably much smaller when she nursed her kids. She had two. But both are large enough to have started on such impressive tits.

"Had enough?" There is a defiant glint in her eyes. When no one responds, she pulls her clothing back down, stretching it out and over those massive melons. My stiffy has gone away, but I realize she has turned me on. There is no way I'm going to give anyone else an indication of that. I look around to see if anyone else might have been stimulated. It's hard to tell. Are they all hiding their reactions?

"I'd kinda forgot what they looked like," Art says and follows that with another braying guffaw. Everyone laughs.

"And you can just get right back to forgetting," Carol counters. Everyone laughs again. Less restrained this time. "Alright, who's next?"

Curtis picks up the list he made to keep track of the players. "Ellen, you're asking Trinity. This should be fun." He gives a leer toward his wife.

"Truth or dare?" Ellen asks.

"I'll go with truth after that last show." Everyone laughs again.

"Alright then." Ellen pauses, although I'm certain she already has the question. After thirty years of marriage, you know someone. She likes the drama, so would let it build. "What's your greatest sexual fantasy?"

There are murmurs around the room. This is a question that's generated some interest.

"Oh my," Trinity leans back, her hands clasped between her knees. She rolls her eyes up as though deep in thought. "Do you mean unfulfilled? You know, Curtis is so good at keeping me satisfied." She gives a mock gasp. Curtis beams.

"Unsatisfied. We don't need any of your intimate details. Not like Doug there. In the bathroom." Everyone laughs, then turns to look at Trinity.

"Well, I guess I'd have to say," and then she pauses for dramatic effect. If it was out of shyness, uncertainty for what she was about to say, it doesn't feel like it. As though what has been revealed by those going before her have given her confidence, drawn her closer to the others in the room, her next words come out smooth, "doing it with two guys."

I flash a look at Curtis to get his reaction, but he doesn't flinch. I am certain she told the truth and that they've talked about it. In that moment, I admire him and the relationship he has with his wife. If I'd said anything like that to Ellen, she'd brain me with a frying pan, then smack me with divorce papers. Actually, I am pretty surprised that we are still here. She had been clear from the first conversation we'd had. There was no place in our sexual relationship for others. She'd been cheated on in the past and wasn't revisiting the hurt she'd endured.

"Ok," Ellen says. She has a stunned look on her face, so I guess she wasn't expecting that answer. "How do we know if that's true?"

"It's true," Curtis responds. Everyone looks at him, but he doesn't say anymore.

"With who?" Trevor asks. Then puts his hands to his mouth as though he hasn't meant to actually speak those words.

"Well," Trinity says. "Curtis for sure but the other, well, that will have to be the question for a future truth."

"I wish she'd lied," I say. "The truth, while interesting, seems a bit of a let down after Carol." Everyone laughs.

"Ok," Curtis looks at his list again. "Trevor, you're the asker, Jackie, the askee."

"Truth or dare?" Trevor looks at his wife.

"Truth, and it better be a good question, mister." She holds up a fist as though we would need that prop to understand her meaning.

Faking that he is scared, Trevor says, "Tell us a secret you never told anyone." There are a few muttered comments and one "Oh."

Jacquie's face softens, then her hands come to her mouth. "I can't answer that. Secrets are secrets. I guess you'll have to give me a dare." She raises her fist again, but she's smiling.

"Alright," Trevor says. "This dare has to do with secrets. Secrets that hide in pants." He pauses and looks around the room, pausing at each person. I can feel the tension in the room increase and want him to finish his demand. Finally, he says, "Each man has a secret in his pants. You have to reach in and check each of them out. You are free to share what you find or keep it to yourself."

Jacquie sits looking at him, staring at him, glaring at him. "Oh, you bastard." Her voice isn't much more than a whisper, but everyone hears her. Everyone laughs. The secret in my pants is stirring at the thought of her fondling me. I am up for this challenge. I see Curtis wiggle his pelvis and assume he is having a similar reaction to me. Art's just smiling. Carol's looking at Art, but she isn't smiling. I would give a week's pay to know what thoughts are bouncing around in her skull. This game is really getting fun. Then Jacquie adds, "Each of them?" I'm pretty sure she's just stalling.