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Frank had been making weekly trips to Gina’s Gentlemen’s Club for most of the past decade. He started making the thirty minute drive back in the fall of 1997, when the passion began to erode from his marriage.

Frank, now 56, had no problem attracting the attention of ladies. His problem was he couldn’t get enough of it. At 6′1, Frank still maintained a solid build and regularly worked out. He had made a personal fortune investing in his earlier years, so money was never an issue. He had married Jeannie when the two were in their early 20’s. At the time Jeannie had been wild and passionate about life. As time passed she had started to let herself go. She didn’t enjoy sex nearly as much as Frank, and frankly he stopped enjoying the infrequent sex they did have.
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Paul and Barbara Blake were in their late thirties, and had been married for just over eight years. Although the Blakes were usually very active and constantly on the go, today they planned on spending a quiet Saturday at home. Rising late, the young couple showered, and since the morning was almost over, they skipped breakfast. The only task they had given themselves today was to wash and wax the car. Barb put on a T-shirt and terry cloth shorts, while Paul wore only shorts. Neither one wore anything on their feet, or any underwear. Although normally very playful, Barb and Paul agreed not to soak each other today, since they did not want to have to change clothes before they relaxed with their old movies.

When they finished washing the car Paul and Barb went back into the house and fixed a light meal. After lunch the pair cuddled on the couch to watch old movies on television. While the couple watched the flickering images on the screen, Paul’s hand idly caressed Barb’s warm soft breast. Barb sighed with contentment enjoying her husband’s gentle touch.

Half way through their favorite John Wayne movie the couple was interrupted by a gentle tapping at the front door. With a deep sigh Paul got up to answer the door, “I wonder who that can be?” he said with a frown.
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Rubbing a warm hand against this damp forehead, Pablo Junior glanced at the bright green lawn he’d just finished mowing. The nineteen year old had been hoping to finish with the assorted yard work by twelve, but his Aunt Cecilia, or Cessy for short, had kept coming up with one chore after another, effectively prolonging the agony of being out there in the scalding sun. And then, just when he was about to get the grass done, she’d very conveniently hopped into her silver Honda and driven away, with neither flash nor mention of the twenty bucks she’d promised to pay him. It had been bad enough that he hadn’t been able to get a job the last couple of weeks, with that drug misdemeanor permanently blackening his record, but now, to do all this stupid yard work and get stiffed by his own aunt?

With a grimace, he glanced at his last appointed task; to break up an old couch into smaller pieces and toss it into the garbage. “Fuck!” He cursed out loud, knowing that the big garbage tub was already near capacity. No way all that debris was going to fit, and if he knew Aunt Cessy, she would start deducting dollars from his promised pay. “Fuck!” He exclaimed again, aiming these particular obscenities towards all judgmental employers, law enforcement in general, and his cheapskate aunt in specific. “FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!”
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Pablo Robles sat on the living room couch, impatiently clicking channel after channel until he finally gave up and left the TV on the sports network. Football scores and highlights filled the screen, along with the annoying, sappy commentary the hosts always chattered. One stupid joke after another flowed between the overweight, balding has-beens, almost as if they were flirting with one another. He might have been in his early forties, like the announcers were, but he’d be damned if he ever got caught winking and smiling at another man.

Still fidgety, Pablo tried raising his arms behind his head, and clasping his fingers together, but that only lasted for a few seconds. Anxiously, he clasped both knees, trying to will his palms to remain motionless, and he found some success doing this, until he caught his body unconsciously leaning forward and his head turned towards the kitchen. He had a clear view straight to the sink, where his oldest daughter Elsie was busy doing the dishes. It took some willpower for him to make his body lean back against the cushions, and then his hands were fluttery again, scratching at his nose, tugging at the folds of his shirt, and more often than not, adjusting the considerable bulge under his shorts.
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Most other guys would be having the time of their lives, Frankie Robles glumly thought to himself, sighing inwardly and tilting his head down slightly in order to gaze towards the swimming pool without drawing attention to himself. There were three beautiful women in it, splashing and sloshing about, their wild antics occasionally sending torrents of cool water crashing down near his position on the low lying folding chair. Not that he had anything against being in close proximity to attractive and scantily clad females, but in this case, he quietly scrutinized behind his dark shades, they were all in some way related to him.

First there was his wife, Carmela, lean and trim at twenty-one years of age and sporting a red bikini that blended nicely with her dark latina skin. Although possessing only a modest B cup, the smallest size of the trio prancing about in the water, her breasts were nevertheless well centered and perky, her waistline was small, her hips smoothly contoured, and her ass, after countless hours spent running on the treadmill, was tight enough to crack walnuts.

Next came his sister Melinda, a year older than his own twenty-one seasons, wearing the predictable black two-piece that she usually wore on such public outings. On display were her formidable C’s, barely kept in check by a small patch of fabric across each breast, but ever threatening to spill out on either side as she danced and dove about playfully. Her waist was naturally thick, as were her thighs, but her current job as a stripper kept both nicely toned, and her ass was more reminiscent of J-Lo’s than anything else. Note the way she frequently and obviously reached around to adjust her thong.
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Pablo Senior was pretty pissed off. He was standing outside, his thick arms crossed and his body leaning back defiantly on the hood of his most prized possession, a 1964 Chevy Impala Lowrider complete with wire wheels and six switches of hydraulics. Wearing only a white tee shirt and gray sweats, the forty year old man was anxious to get back inside, as the night breeze was threatening him with its cold embrace. The only thing preventing him from doing so was his feisty daughter, Melinda, who was busy pacing a few yards away, the keys to the vehicle held tightly in her grip. “I’m going to tell you again, you are not going to use my car.”

The twenty year old woman was quite used to getting her way. She’d abruptly moved out of her parents’ house as soon as she turned eighteen, gone against her father’s wishes and become a professional stripper as she tried, then failed to complete her classes in the hopes of becoming a beautician. Her father was still paying off the loan, she thought smugly to herself. “My car is in the shop. It won’t be ready for another couple of days. I need to use your car.”
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Carmela Robles fumbled through the many keys in her key ring as she precariously balanced two bags of groceries on her lap, until she found the correct key that would unlock her front door. Impatiently, the twenty-one year old jabbed the key into the deadbolt, then turned it and shoved open the door, scurrying inside with her groceries before the door bounced off the foyer wall and shut itself behind her. As the door slammed shut, she cursed under her breath as she remembered her keys were still stuck on the deadbolt, then stomped through the small foyer and across the living room on her route to the kitchen table. Once she’d dropped off the two bags, including depositing the two gallons of milk into the fridge, she made her way back to retrieve her keys.

The water was running upstairs, she noticed, glancing at her watch to verify the time. It was a quarter past one, still too early for Frankie, her husband, to come home and pick up his lunch before he went out for his second job. Perhaps he’d gotten an early out from the restaurant, she figured, wondering if they might have time for a quickie once he got out of the shower, before he went out on the road again. Even as the words ran across her head, she frowned. Frankie wouldn’t take the time out of his busy schedule for her, she knew, he’d just pick up his customary turkey sandwich, bag of chips and cold soda, and wave goodbye like he always did. He’d be in the house for eight minutes, tops, before the front door would close and she’d be left all alone, just like always.
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Twirling her long brown hair with one hand, eighteen year old Amanda Robles stood pensive in the doorway that led to the garage-converted-into-a-workshop-and-rec-room. She’d gone into the room to get her clothes from the dryer, where they’d been laying since she’d left for school that morning, and to her surprise, had discovered the form of her father, spread all over the old, brown and tan striped couch and snoring drunkenly like some hibernating bear. She might have gone through with her errand, but as she quietly made her way towards the appliance, the sunlight that had entered into the otherwise dark room behind her fell upon the portion of the couch where her dad’s legs drooped and draped, splayed open like some deliciously crooked wishbone.

He’d gone to his alcohol-induced slumber wearing his baggy gray shorts, and now, with both legs stretching off in different directions, the fabric had ridden up high on the oblivious man’s thighs, revealing a formidable and half-erect specimen of the male genitalia. It was big, she thought to herself, no, more than big, it was huge, so huge she’d almost bitten through her bottom lip as she thought furiously about what she was going to do next. Of course, walking out had been the first and most logical choice, because after all, who wants to see their forty year old father drunk and half naked? And in fact, Amanda had taken a couple of steps backwards and towards the curtain covered glass sliding doors, and might have walked away except for a couple of other extenuating factors that were now coming into play.
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Melinda Robles swung into her parking spot with a flourish, nearly taking out her neighbor’s side mirror with her reckless driving. Unapologetic, she didn’t even bother to back up and correct her late model Accord, and instead left it parked so awkwardly that the elderly Mrs. Mathers would have to climb in through the passenger side the next time she wanted to drive anywhere. Melinda didn’t care; the old lady was a bitch anyway, with her constant complaints to the complex manager whenever Melinda had her stereo turned up too loud.

As a matter of fact, Melinda was in such a foul mood at that point that part of her was hoping that the old hag would dare step in front of her with some kind of accusation. Since it was past eleven at night, however, she knew it was well past the old lady’s bedtime. The twenty year old looker was pissed and ready to blow up, having waited over an hour for her boyfriend Matt to pick her up after work, only to have the asshole not show up again, the third time in the last two weeks that he’d left her waiting. After the night she’d had so far, she’d been really looking forward to seeing him.

You see, Melinda worked as an exotic dancer at Pistol Pete’s, a downtown strip club that catered to some of the wealthiest businessmen in the city. She danced under the name of Mercedes, and with her voluptuous J-Lo type figure, full C-cup breasts, thick waist and even thicker hips, had become one of the most popular strippers in the club. As if that wasn’t enough, she had a set of hazel-green eyes, full lips, and jet black hair that hung halfway down her back; more than enough to captivate the attention of every man, and even most of the women, that walked in through the club’s double doors.
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Carmela Diaz-Robles was a very impatient young lady. She was twenty-two years old, with a bachelor’s degree in business management, and had a good, high paying job as a business account representative at the local phone company.

Carmela also had a great figure, the result of an intensive workout program that included consisted of three visits a week, two grueling hours at a time, to an expensive gymnasium ripe with muscular instructors who personalized and monitored her workout, as well as her dietary intake. At five foot four, her legs were long and trim, her ass tight, yet shapely, and her waist drew jealous stares from her peers wherever she went. Her breasts were merely B cups, but they were nice and round, and her shoulders were well chiseled, leading up to her soft neck and almond shaped face. Thick, sensuous lips framed her small mouth, and her tiny, delicate nose was perfectly placed between her larger than normal black eyes. Her hair was another attractive feature, naturally jet black, but now dyed in a strong and deep red with nicely accented her dark Hispanic skin, and was set back in full and bouncy waves.

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