The worst thing about being a divorcee wasn't the divorce itself. It was the circumstances leading up to it. We had been married for 20 years, two beautiful daughters, a nice house in the suburbs. We were both employed, he as an attorney, soon to become a partner in a prestigious law firm. I'm a marketing consultant at a cosmetics manufacturer. Our social life was full, parties with co-workers or at corporate events. I thought my life was set. Kari was heading to college in the fall, Shari the next year. Then, as empty nesters, we could travel or just sit and enjoy what we had worked so hard for.

Then the day. Or should I say, the night. Ben (Corcoran, my now ex) was attending a week-long lawyers' convention at the convention center in the city. He took a room at the attached hotel to avoid the long commute back and forth each day.

The girls (Kari and Shari) were old enough to take care of themselves. So we called Uber Eats for them. I took off to the convention center to surprise Ben and spend a romantic night together.

I had a bottle of the spendy wine he liked, and a peignoir that didn't hinder access to the important parts when things got hot and heavy, and set out. It was a little after 9:30 when I arrived. I showed my ID to the desk clerk, along with the wine and a peek at the frilly black lace nothing in my bag, and conspiratorially explained that my husband was an attendee and I was surprising him. He gave me a key card, told me the room number, and pointed me to the elevators.

My key opened the door to a suite. I crept in, gently closing the door. Looking around, I could see that he had ordered room service some time before, and the dishes were on the serving cart. That was the first sign that something wasn't quite right. There were dishes for two. He had had dinner with someone else.

I heard voices coming from the bedroom. I walked silently to the door and pushed it open. What I saw made my heart stop.

Lying on that bed was my husband. My husband of 20 years. The father of our two children. The man that I had loved for so long that I couldn't remember a time when I hadn't.

Did I say 'man?' What I saw wasn't a man. He was wearing a curly light brown wig. His face had been painted with women's makeup. Foundation, blush, eyeliner, eyebrow pencil, eye shadow, bright red lipstick, the works. He was also wearing a hot pink teddy. The lacy top was pulled down to expose his nipples. The bottom was cut open at the crotch.

Okay, I might have accepted that. I'm a big girl; I know there are men who enjoy dressing up as women. I could understand it, I myself liked soft, silky underthings next to my skin. And God knows the company I worked for sold a ton of cosmetics to women, so why not also to men?

Yes, I might have accepted that. But not what was happening. My husband of 20 years was on his back, his legs over the shoulders of an older man whom I recognized as the managing partner of his law firm, also naked, lying atop my husband, and fucking him in the ass. FUCKING HIM IN THE ASS!! When I first entered, my husband also had his arms around his manager's neck, and they appeared to be French kissing.

I dropped the wine bottle and my bag, inhaled to the capacity of my lungs, and screamed, a woman who had just seen the end of her world.

They both turned to the door, expressions of terror/horror/I don't know what, on their faces. The partner (Preston Jaimeson, I remembered) pulled his cock out of my husband's ass and sat up, pulling the sheet to cover himself. My husband swung his legs out of bed and tried to stand, but his feet got tangled in their clothing on the floor, and he stumbled and fell. Lying on his back on the floor, he reached out to me. "Dorothy, honey, this isn't what it looks like. I can explain, please let me explain."

I backed away from the door. I know I was whiter than Casper the Friendly Ghost. My mind was processing data faster than IBM's Big Blue, and it would not compute. I was looking for a rational explanation for what I was seeing, and could not find one. It was what it was.

The only smart thing I did was get out my phone and take pictures. Lots of pictures. Of the partner, covered only by a sheet. My husband, made up like a Parisian whore. The partner standing up, the sheet dropping as he stepped towards me, in all his naked glory, intent on seizing my phone. He too stumbled on the clothes on the floor, causing him to fall on Ben. A great shot, him on top, Ben on the bottom, legs spread with Preston lying between them.

"Not what it looks like?" I screamed. "So it doesn't look like my husband is dressed up like a French whore, getting fucked in the ass by the managing partner of his law firm? You have maybe another explanation? I would love to hear it, but I have to get downstairs to the lavatory in the lobby. My dinner is coming back up."

I turned and ran out the door. Their calls after me faded as I approached the elevators, and ceased entirely when the doors closed.

I don't know how I drove home that night. I was on autopilot. All I could see was the two of them on that bed and what they were doing. And a chill ran throughout my body. My marriage was over. The world I had known was over.

The next morning, I texted Ben and told him his clothes would be in the garage. He should get them and figure out where he was going to live, because he was not welcome in the house. He finally stopped calling after I texted him that if he continued, I would get an attorney to file a protection order against him and use my evidence as justification. He came to get his clothes and stood in the garage calling my name, asking me to come out and speak with him. Finally, Kari went out and told him I wasn't going to come out, and he should leave before we called the police. Shari wanted to do a Lorena Bobbitt on him. I don't know how serious she was, but I had her sit in the living room until her father had driven away.

The divorce proceedings got off to a rocky start but then went pretty smoothly. Ben's law firm had some big guns, and they flexed their muscles after Ben was served. But Ben's firm wasn't the only shark in the ocean. Grady Wilson, our C-level corporate attorney, connected me with a classmate of his, Oscar Mortenson, who did divorces. I related what I had seen and showed him the photos. The look on his face was like a kid who found out on Christmas morning that he had gotten his pony. "Dorothy, you have the most winnable filing I have ever seen. You could ask for his balls in a jar, and they would do it. These photos guarantee that whatever we ask for, he will agree to. It's too bad I can't use them myself. A lesser principled man would have that old fart Jaimeson on his knees at a glory hole, servicing homeless men for a dime each. And I would be handing out the dimes."

It happened exactly as Oscar described. Preston directed there would be no discovery (so my photos would not be entered into evidence nor viewed by their attorneys) and they would stipulate to the charges and acquiesce to our demands for settlement. Consequently, I got the house, one car (the Genesis GV-80; he got the Camry), the contents of his retirement fund (almost five million dollars, including 401(k) and profit sharing), and a signed, notarized statement that he would never attempt to contact me again. The last time I saw him, we were signing final papers. He was dog-faced, still thinking he could make things right. I signed the papers after him, laid down the pen, and gave him the most withering glare I could. A thousand things went through my mind that I wanted to say to him, to try to make him feel as worthless as he had done to me, but I could see he was already a ruined man. I turned, shook hands with Oscar, and left.

Summer came. Suddenly, money was no problem, but I continued to work. It got me out of the house, gave me a sense of purpose, and kept me in contact with other people. Kari and Shari spent a lot of time sunning by the pool, enjoying themselves.

My company rented the convention center for their Fourth of July party. It was a little surreal, returning to the scene of the crime. But as the liquor flowed, my reservations eased. I circulated around the room, laughing and talking with people from different departments. When I got to the finance group, there was an argument between Judy Sweetwater and Sofia Perez. The rest of the department had formed a circle around them; it seemed they expected there would be a fight.

I stepped inside the circle and moved between them. Holding my glass up, I asked, "Are we having fun yet?"

They both looked at me, then Judy turned on her heel and muttered some words in Spanish I didn't understand. But Sofia did. And she lunged after her.

I managed to step in front of her, holding my arm out. "Sofia, an ugly incident here will be remembered next week when we're back in the office. Let her go."

"Of course you are right," she sighed. "But that fleje blanca knows how to push my buttons, and she enjoys doing it."

"Come on," I said, "Let me buy you a drink."

Drinks in hand, we stood near the bar, surveying the crowd. Then Sofia said, "I don't drink that much. But some of us have a room here, and I have something there that you might appreciate. Join me?"

The party was getting dull, so I agreed. We went up the elevator, and she ushered me into her room.

It was more like a suite. A sleeping area with a separate lounge. There were several pieces of luggage, so there must be quite a few people staying here. I briefly wondered about the sleeping arrangements.

Sofia opened her valise and removed an ornate bong. I knew what it was right away. These things have been in sorority houses since the Middle Ages.

"Sofia, my God, are you going to smoke pot here?" I asked. Her mouth curved into a sly grin, as she also removed a baggie filled with dark green vegetable matter. "Not just pot, chica," she said. "This is producto especial from my uncle in Quintana Roo. He services an elite clientele, but has some remnants he sends to his favorite niece."

We huddled on the couch, two conspirators excited by our daring. She packed the bowl, produced a torch, and lit it up. She took a long draw, holding it in her lungs, and handed it to me.

I hadn't smoked since college, but when my eyes met hers, she wiggled her eyebrows, puffed out her cheeks, and exhaled. "This is some good shit, chica. Take a hit."

Here goes nothing, I thought. I put my lips to the mouthpiece and sucked. Instantly, the smoke filled my lungs. I suppressed the urge to cough and looked back at Sofia as I held it in. She took the bong back from me, repacked the bowl, sparked it up, and began the process again. By the time she had finished her hit, I had exhaled. I felt a little woozy, but she extended the bong back to me, making hand gestures that I should take another.

I did. This time, the effect sat on top of the high I was already feeling. And I was already feeling pretty good.

I think it was after either the fifth or sixth bowl, she put the bong and pot back into her suitcase. "I think we are too stoned to go back downstairs. Maybe we should take a siesta." She took my hand and led me into the sleeping area, where a king-sized bed awaited. She sat me down on one side, lifted my legs up and put my head on a pillow. She went to the window, closed the shades, turned on the bedside lamps, and lay down next to me.

We had lain there for a few minutes when she turned to me. Her hand lightly caressed my stomach, gradually pressing harder. "How you feeling now, carino?"

I was flying high. "Mmm, really good, Sofia."

"I can make you feel even better." She rolled to me and, looking me in the eye, and began kissing me. Some part of me was shocked, but she was so gentle and sensuous, I started to kiss her back. Then her tongue pressed into my mouth, so naturally I tongue-fought her. She sat up, quickly removing her top and bra. She was shorter than me, and heavy-set. Her breasts were very large, with large areola and big, eraser-shaped nipples.

She opened the buttons in my shirt and pulled it from my skirt. My bra had a front clasp, which she quickly unfastened. She took a deep breath, uttered a Spanish word under her breath, and descended on my breasts. I could tell she had done this before. Her skill had me breathing hard in seconds. She rolled me to my side and unfastened my skirt, pushing it and my panties to my ankles and then the floor. She briefly rolled to her back, unfastened her pants, and pulled them and her panties off, also casting them to the floor.

Then she was back at me. Her teeth on my nipples caused just the right amount of pain. My hands grabbed her hair, holding her first at one, then the other. I suddenly realized the moans I heard were mine. She stuck two fingers up my cooch, her thumb playing a banjo tune on my clit. She moved back up my torso, her mouth clamping down on mine as she took her fingers out and pinched my clit. Hard.

My orgasm was an atom bomb. Her mouth muffled my screams, and her weight kept me from flopping off the bed. She had expertly set me up for it, and now she had delivered. As I came down, she removed her hand, and I saw her smiling down at me.

But we weren't through. She got up and dragged me to the middle of the bed. Then she got back on, resting on the pillows at the head. She reached down, pulling me up by my shoulders until my head was at the juncture of her thighs. Her very wet thighs.

"Do you like fish tacos, scotra?" she asked. I didn't know what scotra meant but I could guess it had to do with eating pussy. And hers was a mess. Her pubic hair hadn't been trimmed since puberty, and it was everywhere. She had leaked so much that the hair was matted around the labia. The odor wasn't so bad, it was the prospect of muff diving for the first time since my sorority days.

She twined her fingers in my hair and pulled me into her. "Feast at my comedor, chica. Drink my leche mujer."

I hadn't eaten pussy since college, but like riding a bicycle, some things you never forget. I parted her hair, found her clit, and attacked. Sucking, nibbling, tonguing it until my mouth was sore. Her pelvis bucked against my face, muttering Spanish that I did not understand, but, based on her body language, was complimentary. She had two or three orgasms before she called it quits. And, although I had tried to keep up with her flow, there was going to be a stain on the bedspread in the morning.

She rose, dressed, and gave me a peck on the lips. "We must do this again. Rest now, you can come down later." And she left.

I was dozing when I felt the mattress sag from someone sitting on it. Thinking Sofia had returned, I rolled that way and came face-to-face with David McAllister. He worked in marketing, a big talker who could charm the habit off a nun. He didn't have to charm the clothes off me, I was already naked. So was he.

"That was some show you and Sofia put on," he leered. "I was afraid the light wasn't good enough to record it, but it was. I got it all. Her fucking you, you eating her taco. Yep, that's going to be a big hit on the Internet porn sites. Of course, you will lose your job when it becomes known you're a lesbian. And your daughters will have a hell of a time themselves. Everyone will think the apples don't fall far from the tree. Yessir, this little video is going to make me rich."

"Okay, you fucking asshole, how much do you want?" I asked.

"Money? I don't want money. I want seconds."

It took me a second before what he meant hit me.

"No fucking way. There's no chance I'm going to let you fuck me today or any other day. I'll file charges against you for blackmail."

"Oh, it won't be me personally posting the video. I have friends who will do it for me. I split the residuals with them. Done it before. You might remember Susan Greenwood, used to work in tech writing. Caught her fucking a street gang for protection. There were fourteen of them, as I remember. She refused to play. It was a hell of a video, almost two hours long. I'm still making money off it. Yours will be even more popular."

Yes, I remember Susan. The look on her face when Security came and escorted her off the premises. No one ever knew why. Now I did.

He saw the resignation in my face. "Smart move, honey. It's just sex, like you and Sofia, except I have a cock, so you're going to get fucked." He stood up. Holy shit, his cock was only half hard and it was already huge. "Get off that bed and on your knees. We're going to start with some good old-fashioned cock sucking."

I slowly rolled off, onto my knees. At his feet, his cock was even larger.

He placed his fingers under my chin, tilting my face up. His eyes were shining in triumph. "Open up, sweetheart."

My mouth opened, and he placed his thumb on my tongue. "Now close." I closed.

"Suck."

I began to suck his thumb. With his other hand, he removed his phone from a pocket, thumbed it to video, and began recording.

I pulled back. "Fuck no, you're not going to get more video of me doing this shit. Enough is enough."

"You don't seem to understand. I already have all I need to ruin you and your girls. If you don't want to play, I'll just sell what I have and move on to the next babe. Make your choice."

Fuck. He had me. I moved back in, opened my mouth, and took his thumb back in. "Keep your eyes on mine, honey. I want our audience to believe you're enjoying it."

After a few minutes, he said, "That's enough of that. Let's move on to the next event. Grab my cock with both hands and stroke it. When the precum leaks out, stick out your tongue and catch it. When I nod, run the tip of your tongue across the tip, take it into your mouth, and make a big production of swallowing."

Both hands. And there was still some left over. My fingers barely met. It was hot, heavy, and hard. And on the second stroke, the fluid appeared. As directed, my tongue came out, and I lay the weeping head on it. As I stroked, I could feel the pool getting bigger and bigger. If he didn't nod pretty soon, it would overflow.

No such luck. At his nod, I licked the length of the slit, capturing the last of what was there. Swallowing was another matter. There was so much that I had to swallow twice, choking it down.

"There's more. Get that tongue back to work."

We did it twice more before he called a stop. He got onto the bed, lying on the pillows on his back. His cock stood erect, a monolith that I knew would soon be inside me.

"Get up here, get your pussy on my cock, and start riding me."

I knew it was going to be trouble. The last person I had intercourse with was Ben, and that was months ago. And he was nowhere as well endowed as David. If I didn't control the penetration, something would tear, and I would be in a world of trouble.

I climbed onto the bed, swinging a leg over his torso. I reached back, grasped his cock, and began rubbing the head over my vulva. I wasn't very wet, and I hoped his precum would make up for my lack of lubrication. He started to get impatient, pumping his hips, trying to seat it into me. I had to distract him, or I was in trouble. So, I did the only thing I could think of. I leaned forward and kissed him.

At first, he was surprised, but then his mouth opened against mine, and his tongue met mine. His hands gripped my hair, holding my lips to his, punishing mine. I tried to give as good as I was getting, all the while trying to get enough lubrication to keep me from being damaged.

This went on for several minutes before he got frustrated. He rolled us over, pinning me beneath him. He had my thighs on his, reaching down to resume rubbing his cock head against my vagina.

"Fuck, look at this. You're soaked. You must really want me to fuck you." With that, he notched the head at my entrance and pushed.

I guess the kissing kicked started the juice flow, and now he had half his cock in me. Two more pumps and his balls were bouncing off my ass.

"Jesus, you're tight. I'm going to have to go slowly, don't want to cum too fast."

I was stuffed. Not necessarily painful, just full. Then he put his arms under my thighs, leaned forward, and began to slowly fuck me.

He tried to kiss me again, but I moved my head away. This irritated him. I felt his mouth move to my throat, then a feeling I remembered from high school. He was giving me a hickey. He moved a few inches to the side and made another. I soon had six big bruises that would be almost impossible to hide.

Then he moved to my breasts. Same thing, but with biting too. By the time he was done, they were also covered in bruises and teeth marks. Then he bit and chewed on my nipples. Not drawing blood, but close enough. Wearing a bra the next few days would be painful, but at least no one would see them.

Then he grabbed my ass and said, "Time for the main event. Are you still young enough for breeding? I'm gonna shoot my little swimmers up your baby chamber. Thousands and thousands of little soldiers, marching through your porous gateway, all on a mission to win the baby lottery."

He was hammering me now, bouncing off my cervix. I was cramping. Then he let out a long "Oh, fuck, yeahhh," and I could feel his cock throbbing, shooting his semen into me. I immediately visualized what he had said, his ejaculate coating my uterus. My poor egg would never have a chance. If it was there, or coming in the next couple of days, I would be pregnant with his child. I shivered at the thought. He thought I was coming and said, "Yeah, I knew you were gonna pop on my cock. We're gonna be doing this a lot more from now on."

He got dressed and left. I just lay there. Now I was truly fucked, figuratively and literally. He had videoed everything, including his marking me and my face as he fucked me. He even videoed me lying on the bed, legs spread, his cum leaking out of me. I was his bitch now, his whore, a fucktoy to satisfy his every whim.

Then I remembered where I was. It was just plain luck that no one had come upstairs while Sofia and I, or David and I, were engaged. That would have been disastrous. My luck couldn't last forever. I hurriedly got dressed and, turning my collar up to hide the bruises, quietly left the party. I texted the CEO, telling him that I felt ill and had gone home, but would be back at work Monday. On the way, I stopped at a drug store and got the morning after pill. Better safe than sorry.

By Monday, I had combed out most of the bruises. The rest I covered with makeup. I was sitting at my desk when David walked by. He smirked, winked, and blew me a kiss, mouthing "Hi mommy." This was what I was going to endure from now on? The thought was depressing, and it affected my mood. I overheard someone whispering, "Stay away from Dorothy. She's on the rag today."

Great. Now my coworkers noticed my bad mood. That just compounded it. It got so bad I couldn't even stand myself.

I had a lunch date with Bob Smith, our senior account executive. I met him at a small Italian restaurant down the street. He rose as I walked in, a smile on his face as he extended his hand.

I saw his face change when I got close to him. First curious, then blank. Well, fuck him too, I thought.

We were shown to a quiet booth in the back. After ordering, he glanced across the table at me. "Wine with lunch is a little out of character for you. Word is, you're in a mood. Is it something you could share with me?"

I drank half the wine. "Nope. Everything is just hunky-dory."

He leaned across the table. "You bullshit your friends and I'll bullshit mine. But let's not bullshit each other. You're much too valuable to the company in general and to me personally to run off the rails like this. You need someone you can talk to. You need a friend. I'm both. Now tell me what's going on."

I could see the concern in his eyes, but I was reluctant to tell anyone, especially a coworker, my troubles. I kept looking at my hands clasped in my lap, then into his eyes, back to my hands, back to his eyes. I shrugged my shoulders, looking to the side. My face got hot, blushing at the thought of sharing the secret with him.

"Jesus, Dotty, is it so bad that you can't even tell me? I'm your friend. I'm on your side. Whatever it is, I can help you, if you'll let me."

So I told him. Everything. From discovering Ben and Jamieson in bed, to the divorce, to Sofia and me, ending with David. The whole time he sat, looking into my eyes, never flinching. "So now I'm going to have to let David fuck me, or I suck his cock or whatever other perversion he has in mind. And there's no way out."

Bob waited for several minutes, watching me. Finally, he reached out, firmly grasping my wrist, and spoke. "Dorothy, I want you to look at me." He squeezed my wrist hard. "Look at me!" Clutching my napkin, I looked into his eyes.

"Will you trust me? I can make this all go away, but you have to trust me. I will not share the plan with you, and you can never ask me about it. But at the end, you will have incontrovertible evidence that David will never bother you again. But you must trust me. Will you?"

It was an emotional rollercoaster. From the depths of despair to a ray of hope. If he could make it all go away,...

"Yes, Bob. If you can save me from this hell, I will do anything."

"Okay. Why don't you repair your makeup, and then let's eat? We should be getting back."

For the next two weeks, I would see David almost daily, and he always acted the same. Then on Tuesday, he passed me a note with an address, telling me to be there Friday evening "dressed for action." I knew what that meant. Now I was worried, and I couldn't find Bob to see what I should do.

It was late Friday afternoon when Bob stopped by my office. I had been frantically looking for him and rushed to meet him at the door. He hugged me before closing the door and pulling the blinds. He was carrying a tablet and had a big smile on his face.

"Your troubles are over."

"Bob, I'm supposed to be at an address tonight, dressed for action. Do I go?"

"Not tonight, or any other night." He pulled a chair around the desk, opened his tablet, and started a video. "Here, watch this." And he clicked an icon, starting a video.

If I had been struck by lightning, I could not have been more shocked. The setting was a hotel room. In the room were three men. One of them was David McAllister. The other two wore masks. And nothing else. David, on the other hand, wore an outfit that closely resembled the one I had seen on Ben. His was a little different, though. His bra had something stuffed in it, simulating breasts. The panties were cut out in the front, his cock and balls hanging through the opening. When he turned around, the whole ass end was missing, almost like an athlete's jock. He was on his knees, sucking the erect cock of one of the men. It was bigger than his. As was the other man's. The first man held David's head as he gently fucked his mouth.

The audio kicked in. "You ready for daddy's load?" David pulled the cock from his mouth, put his tongue out, and stroked the cock. There were five hard shots, some of which went into his mouth, but most painted his face. "You got to clean that up, boy. Don't want to waste that good spooge."

David immediately wiped the ejaculate from his face, licking it from his fingers, smiling all the while. "Now swallow it like a good cumdump." He did.

Then the second man bent him over the back of an easy chair. The cameraman (I now realized there was a fourth man in the room) moved to record David's face. The second masked man moved behind David, coating his cock with something I presumed was a lubricant. "Daddy's gonna open you up now, boy. Take a deep breath."

I saw the changes in David's face, first, from smiling to startled. That must have been when man number two began to rub his cock head against his anus. Startled to concerned. Penetration had begun. Concerned to pained. Getting stretched out now. I could see enough of what was going on behind him that it was the sudden thrust, fully seating the cock in his ass, that caused David to forcefully exhale, his face widening in shock. Then man number two began to fuck him. The cameraman came around to record the long, powerful strokes. Every time he bottomed out, David grunted. It was only a few minutes later when man number two signaled the cameraman that he was about to inseminate David. The cameraman moved behind them, lowering the camera to show where the cock entered anus. Suddenly, the thrusting stopped and the cock began pulsating. David apparently felt it, because his grunts changed to a prolonged "Aaahhh." The cock was withdrawn, and it now showed David's gaping asshole. Then the semen began leaking out, running down his leg. The screen went black. That was the end of the video.

"As you can see," Bob began, "Our friend has decided homosexual tendencies. Tonight a copy of this video will be delivered to that address, instead of you. There will be a note enclosed, advising him that if he ever bothers you again, this video will be posted on an anonymous OnlyFans account, and a notification will be sent to his entire family, all his friends, and his employer. He is not to contact you in any way from this day forward."

"During the Cold War, this is what was called 'Mutually Assured Destruction'. I'm sure he won't fire the first shot. He has much more to lose than you, although you might find that hard to believe. So, your worries are over."

Tears were running down my cheeks again. My nightmare was over. "Bob, I don't know how to ever thank you."

"Well, what about dinner tonight?" he asked.

My anger flared before I could check it. "You saved me from that bastard so you could fuck me yourself?"

I instantly regretted it when I saw the hurt in his face. "No, Dorothy. This was a friend helping a friend. Nothing more. Your friendship is payment enough."

"But I've admired you from afar for a very long time. While you were married, I couldn't do anything; that's not who I am. But since your divorce, I have been looking for the right time to ask you out. You're a smart, good-looking woman, and there aren't many of those around these days. Maybe dinner, maybe a movie, maybe just a cup of coffee. Getting to know you, as the song goes. I'm attracted to you and would hope you might develop feelings for me. Life's too short not to make a try for the brass ring when it comes around."

I was contrite. "Bob, I hope you will accept my heartfelt apology. I reacted in anger, and I am so sorry I insulted the man who just saved my life and my family. I will have dinner with you tonight, or any night, or a movie, or just a cup of coffee. I value your friendship now more than ever. And if it doesn't progress beyond that, I will be proud to call you 'friend'."