Invited To Dinner, And Served Fresh Oysters For Desert

I set up in a small town to set up an office there. My job didn't require me to stay, just set up the office. I took a room at a motel that caters to weekly rates, with a small kitchenette. I went about finding space, getting someone lined up to do the buildout, looking for a bookkeeping service in town. That's where I met Margaret, a mid thirties woman who owned the bookkeeping service.

Margaret picks up stray cats and dogs. A man in a motel without someone to cook for is as much a stray as any dog. She invited me to a hot dinner at her home. She was comfortable in the kitchen and we talked while she went about the duties of the meal. I stood in the corner away from her so as not to interfere with her comings and goings, with a glass of wine.

The more I looked at her the more I questioned what she was all about. Not ordinary, a bit homely, competent but not nurturing, pushy to some extent. I learned from her that she had inherited the house from her grandmother and had decided to keep it. Open her business. It slipped, she had at one time been a manager at a strip joint in Vegas. It's a business you know, and it needs all the business management services. The girls are the inventory. I asked her if she felt uncomfortable around the inventory. She said she got used to it, soon tits are tits, you no longer pay attention.

When we sat down she commented that men were always curious why a woman would be a manager at a strip joint. The answer, she said, was because that she fell into it. It was her expertise, and she didn't take a cut of the inventory. It made for just about the strangest conversation with a woman I ever had. Look, she would say, this girl comes to town. She needs a job. She's young, young. I interview her, she doesn't have experience. First step is to have her show her rack. If I liked the rack, felt it would sell drinks, I put her on the floor as cocktail waitress. If she did good, and passed her goals, she could try out for an evening shift, table dances and things like that. Some girls caught on quick, other's failed early. Showing your tits is not as easy as you think.

After dinner she offered desert. Pound cake she served with canned peaches, and coffee, or fresh oysters. She asked me if I liked strip joints. I was honest, I had only been once, it wasn't someplace I wanted to go. And I emphasized, too pushy for me. How about tits, what's your like? she asked me. How do yo mean, I answered, and she continued that there are all kind of tits, tits for every man. And once in a while a woman comes in celebrating her birthday. Women like tits too. That's how she first went into a strip joint. She was a tit girl herself. Yeah, she liked tits, ever since she was a school girl.

I asked her what she did now that she ran a bookkeeping service. About her liking tits. She went on, tits had become inventory, she just got tired of them. And the women that brought them in, most had problems and she got tired of dealing with their problems. Boyfriends, pimps, dealers. Dancers are not for taking home on Thanksgiving to meet your mother.

So, she asked if I had ever had a plate of oysters after dinner. I looked at her, I didn't get the question or answer right. OK, it's like this, a girl serves you oysters, do you eat? She said she was offering, she pulled her dress up, she was in a dress, no panties, she got between me and the table, and sat back with her legs open. Eat! Eat me and fuck me!

Margaret liked her oysters too, to go along with tits. She had a preference. She enjoyed eating her oysters. But, sometimes she needed a man. And that's how I ended up at her place that night.