I hold Jen close as she sobs. I make empathetic noises, although I feel at a loss in how to help her. Her tears soaked through my thin shirt, causing momentary irritation on my part.

“Cry as you need then tell me why you are so upset,” I say to the girl nestled on my shoulder.

 Jen had appeared at my door a little earlier, clearly distraught. She had told me briefly that she was having some personal problems. I had held her as a friendly gesture, which I now realized had been emotionally overwhelming, and had opened the floodgates of her unhappiness.

The crying subsides, and she begins to explain her sadness. Jen tells me that her husband has left her. Although this appears to be a sudden move on his part, they have been drifting apart for some time.

 “He has got some French tart pregnant and says he is committed to marrying her,” she explains, continuing “that’s long-distance lorry drivers for you.”

 I feel some sorrow for her and say, “It must be very raw just now. Do you see any way that things might get back to normal?”

 “Honestly no,” she tells me, “I have already had a letter from his solicitor.”

 “Do you have anyone looking after your interests?” I ask.

 “No not yet,” says Jen.

 “Call this number tomorrow,” I tell her, “it’s a friend in the legal department. Explain that I have given you the number. Okay?” I say to her as I write on a small notepad.

 Handing her the note, our hand’s touch, and linger. An electric sensation passes through me, as I tell myself this is not the time or place to have passions. I look across at Jen and note she is trembling slightly.

 “Put the number in your bag don’t lose it,” I whisper to her.

 She does this, and says, “Thanks, I feel a little better maybe I should be going and leave you in peace.”

 “If you have to,” I tell her.

 I pull her to me and give her a deep hot-blooded kiss on the mouth. With her tits pressing against me, I can tell she is not wearing a bra. Jen stares into my eyes, and I return her unwavering gaze. Jen stares into my eyes, and I return her unwavering gaze. I feel for the poppers on her shirt and slowly unfasten them. Her breasts are exposed when I brush aside the garment. I place my hands on them, squeezing and lifting them. The large nipples harden.

 Watching her eyes close, I feel her hands releasing my belt and tugging at my trousers.

 “Let’s get in a better position,” I say to Jen.

 She then moves and straddles the arm of a chair. Facing me, she releases my cock, and my pants drop to the floor. I have a fantastic sensation when her tongue moistens the tip of my penis. My cock swells as she takes me in both hands, guiding me to the hot sweaty valley between her tits.

 Jen squeezes her breasts together, making a tit pussy and holding my penis tightly. I thrust upwards and downwards between her boobs. My stiff cock slides over her skin, causing her moans to get louder.

 We pant our way to a climax. My sperm covers her tits and hands. Jen smiles at me as she licks the gooey cum from her fingers. Next, she spoons all she can from my cock with her tongue.

 “Maybe you can grab me a towel when you have finished watching,” she says laughing.

 I do this and watch while she gets off the chair and wipes the mess off her tits. I notice a wet patch on the chair arm.

 I pull her close and kiss her neck. She returns my kisses. I feel the crotch of her panties. It is soaked. I can tell that my erection is likely to return.

 “Much as I want to, I don’t even have my toothbrush with me,” says Jen as she sees my cock begin to rise.

 “Yes Jen,” I reply, “you know you are welcome to come back anytime.”

 “Thanks. By the way, did you ever find out about your mysterious phone number?” she replies.

 I answer, by saying to her, “Not yet, maybe I should just give up.”

 Jen looks at me quizzically, before saying, “What about the barmaid at that club we were in?”

 “Why should she know anything?” I ask.

 “Look,” she says, “it didn’t seem like my business and it probably still isn’t.”

 “Meaning what exactly?” I respond.

 “I thought I saw her carrying a slip of paper when she brought you a drink,” Jen tells me.

 “You think that could have been the telephone number,” I exclaim.

 “There’s only one way to find out,” she tells me.

 “Yes,” I reply.

 Jen puts her clothes in order. We hug and say our goodbyes. She promises to let me know about her legal help. I, in turn, promise to let her know about my visit to the barmaid. Jen does tell me not to include anything personal that may happen.

 “I just have this feeling that the whole saga could have elements I don’t want to hear,” she says as she opens the door to leave.

 Feeling awkward, I say to her, “I can’t make promises about what might happen.”

 “Not yet,” she replies stepping through the doorway and leaving.

 I close the door after her. I ask myself what I should do, and decide to phone the Blue Moon Club. I do this and ask for Rose. The guy I speak to tells me she does not work there anymore. He decides to be helpful and tells me she will be there at about 8.30 pm the following evening.

 I breathe a sigh of relief and go for a shower.