Vicki takes his measure from across the room, watches him lean on the bar and scan the room with his eyes. He's big, some would say, fat. She likes that in a man, makes her feel fragile in the arms. She's stringy and tough, likes the feeling of being girly.

If he were closer she'd check out his hands. Her mama taught her that: hands tell all, see how treats the waitress, that's how he'll treat you. Should of listened to mama, she thinks, running her thumb up the edge of her blouse, tucking in her bra strap.

Jet black hair, eyes the color of a husky. Hešs looking at her over his drink. She heads out to the ladies, picks a stall.

Vicki's sure there's another way, but she doesn't know it. She goes into a stall, takes off her panties, and lies on the floor, the gray tile cold under her back, and props her feet up on the wall of the stall opposite the roll of toilet paper. She inserts a female condom and a tube of Koromex jelly. Nobody's going to stick his mouth there tonight.

Bob had never used protection -and she hadn't either. Still, in eleven years, no kids. So whose fault was that? Can't feel hardly anything with the condom in. The jelly makes the condom less obvious. Juicy pussy.

Back at the bar, he offers a drink. She wants bourbon on the rocks, smiles and asks for bourbon and soda, more lady-like. Too late for white wine. She smiles, tries to hide her teeth.

She's on the wrong side of thirty-five, she thinks, and this is no long slide. More tilt a whirl these last few years. His eyes keep scanning the room the whole time they talk. She turns and looks over her shoulder, and then he says he'll take her home.

Fine with her. Mr. Big, with jet black hair, says his name is Jack. Sure. Jack. Jack Black, Jack Daniels, don't know jack, Jack be Nimble. Yeah, Jack, be nimble. Jack and the Beanstalk. Letšs see your magic beanstalk, Jack. Later?

His hands tell the tale, smooth, no ring mark, neat nails, clean, not jagged. They won't tear her up if he gets friendly.

He drives fast. She explains the kids are hungry, gives them the names of her favorite characters from the Days of Our Lives. He'll never know. They never do. Kids keep the men out of her house, keeps it uncomplicated.

Last year she didn't follow her rule. Couldn't get one of them out of her house. Shit, couldn't get him out of her pussy. By the time he left she was all torn up. No more. No, four children keep the men out of her house, not out of her.

She points to a house, says it's empty, and the back porch has a swing. They go round and he gets on her, in her. She looks up and over his shoulder at the peeling paint on the ceiling, feels the swing's slats against her back. They move, the swing's chains creak, and she can't hardly feel a thing. Maybe he's smaller than she thought he'd be. Maybe it's the condom. No wonder men griped. Don't wanna wear one, can't feel. Shit. They were right.

So she can't feel his dick. Still, let him think he's a good fuck. He gave her a ride, now she'll give him one. Move your hips, she tells herself, say, baby baby, Jack be nimble, say you're so fine. Thrust. Move. Dig your fingernails into him, but don't break a nail off. Moan. Come on, now. "Ride me, Jack."

Vicki would give him more of a show, but he's quick, this one, like a rabbit. In and out a couple dozen times, just enough friction to let her know hešs been there.

She watches him drive away, burning rubber. She's carrying her shoes in her hand along with her purse. She walks barefoot across the lawn, the grass cool and damp under her feet. She turns the key in the door of the still empty house.