"No, no," I said quickly; perhaps too quickly. I was grateful for a chance to say something. "No trouble at all. Your instructions were very explicit."

He chuckled warmly. "That comes through practice," he explained. "I've directed many people here."

"Oh," I commented, awkwardly.

"Say, Allen. How about a drink? What will you have?"

"Scotch. With ice."

He left me sitting on the living room couch and he turned towards a portable bar in a far corner of the room. As he walked away from me, I became aware of the way he was dressed. He had on an old, wrinkled sport shirt and a pair of gray slacks. His loafers clumped silently against the rug. I felt strangely overdressed in my suit and tie.

"Your first time?" he asked, bending his words over his shoulder towards me but not turning around. He clanked glasses and ice together.

"Yes," I confessed.

"Just relax. Take it easy. We won't bite. Not yet, anyhow!" He laughed at his small joke.

"Hell," he said. "Me and Yvonne have been doing this for nearly three years. You'll get used to it. Just relax and let yourself go; you'll enjoy yourself."

He brought the drinks over and handed me mine. I sipped it, immediately feeling the strong comfort of the alcohol sliding down into my stomach. I could feel myself relaxing.

Ken sat across from me in an over-stuffed arm chair with curved wooden arms. He sat with his legs crossed and he sipped his drink. It looked like orange juice.

"Are you married, Allen?" he asked. He was treating me as though I had just dropped over for dinner. His manner was casual and relaxed.

"Yes. But Patti – my wife… doesn't…"

"Some wives are like that," he helped. "Now take Yvonne. She's always liked sex. And it got worse as she got older. Instead of quieting down, she seemed to need it more and more. It was her idea to start swinging. I just couldn't satisfy her enough. She used to bleed me dry."