"I want you to think about it," Charlie said.

Brenda Foster looked at Charlie Wilson. He was a nice guy, a decent guy. He had a wonderful job in a local department store and he wanted to marry her.

The trouble was Brenda did not know whether she wanted to marry Charlie.

She did not know whether she wanted to be married at all.

Not again. She'd been divorced nearly ten years, she had a son, and she wasn't certain she wanted to be married again.

In any case she had doubts whether Charlie turned her on enough.

It was nice sometimes. There were times when she really enjoyed it when they fucked, but usually it was boring.

It wasn't Charlie's fault. She certainly couldn't blame him. It wasn't Charlie, it was herself.

She knew what the problem was. She was a realist and she hated deceiving herself about things. The problem was that whenever she and Charlie had sex she found herself thinking about her son Ken.

She thought about Ken in ways a mother shouldn't think about her son. She thought about fucking Ken and sucking Ken and doing all the things with Ken that she did with Charlie.

How could she possibly marry Charlie when she was obsessed with her own son?

Now Charlie said, "You're dreaming, honey. You haven't heard a word I've been saying. You've got a faraway look in your eyes, like you're a million miles away on another star. What's happening?"

Brenda pulled the hair back from her eyes. Some of the men at the other tables in the restaurant were looking at her. Men always looked at her. They looked at her in a special way that said they'd like to fuck her, and she always enjoyed that.

Even Ken looked at her like that. The other day she'd caught him staring down the neckline of her blouse to get a look at her tits.