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"He just walked out of the bathroom, straight over to the bed, stuck his dick in my mouth and told me he wasn't going to take it out until I told him what was wrong."

Helen paused; I gasped. "So what did you do?"

"I sucked him dry!" She laughed and took another drag on her cigarette. "It had been so long, I thought I'd forgotten how to do it. But it's amazing how quickly things come back to you when they're... shall we say ‘staring you in the face'."

Now it was my turn to laugh. The last time I saw Helen and Terry together, I'd have laid odds on their marriage not lasting another month. They barely spoke, they never looked at one another, and anybody who didn't know them would have said they were complete strangers, who just happened to be at a party together. Suggest they'd been married for 14 years, and you'd have been laughed out of sight. But they had, and the sad thing was, there was a time when they couldn't keep their hands off one another.

That was a long time ago, though, and I think most of our friends knew that things had been going downhill between them for a long time. Now, however....

Friends take sides, and I'd gravitated firmly to Helen's... not from some sense of "all girls together," but because I was one of the first (if not the first) of our circle in whom she confided, around the time she and Terry hit one of the worst anniversaries any couple can attain - "twelve months since we last had meaningful sex"; as in, sex that doesn't involve a 30 second tumble in the middle of the night, that ends the moment the guy's shot his load.

It wasn't all Terry's fault, she assured me; the longer they were together, the harder she found it to communicate her needs as well. "I mean, you can't just turn to your husband and say ‘my pussy could really use a good licking,' can you? You shouldbe able to, but you can't."

I shook my head. Happily unmarried as I am, I really cannot envision being in any kind of relationship where you feel too embarrassed... shy... whatever... to make your physical feelings known, no matter how crude your wording may be ("come here, hun, and fuck my titties, will ya?"). At the same time, though, I've certainly had long-term boyfriends with whom it is easy to let that side of things slide a little... well, there's always other stuff to do, isn't there; the time is never right; there's something on TV....

Well, Terry had certainly found a way around that particular problem, hadn't he? And a rather arousing one at that. I wondered vaguely what he'd have done if Helen had simply moved her head to spit him out? Or maybe that was the idea, one final test to let him know exactly where he stood. Now he knows - and the only thing Helen spit out was the cumshot that flooded her mouth at the end. "But I don't think he noticed, and I had him back in there for the last few drips anyway." A shadow crossed her face. "I'm sorry, I'm not grossing you out, am I?"

I patted her shoulder. "Not at all. I love it when...." I stopped as the waiter arrived at our table, but I think he'd heard all he needed to, regardless; the look he flashed at Helen told me that.

Helen saw it as well. "I should have ordered the oysters in white sauce," she said as he walked away.

"With a side dish of mayo," I added. "And an extra napkin."

We were still giggling when my boyfriend, Ray, arrived. Six months had passed since he and I first met - six months, during which he had wholly uprooted his own life back east, and moved to the west coast... to be with me? Actually, no; to be closer to the bulk of his business clients. But his newfound proximity certainly hadn't hurt our own relationship; in fact, the knowledge that we could just meet up for lunch a few times a week had placed us on an even keel that our first few weeks of jet-lagged jumps had never prepared me for.

Of course, we girls both had to stifle another bout of giggling when Ray

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