That same week, everything escalated.
Dad called from work on Monday morning saying two of his old college buddies were coming into town for a short visit and would be staying with us for three nights. My heart raced when he told me. Mr. Thompson and Mr. Daniels — both in their late forties, tall, successful, and exactly the kind of older men who made my thighs squeeze together.
They arrived that evening.
Mr. Thompson was broad-shouldered with a deep voice and salt-and-pepper beard. Mr. Daniels was leaner, smoother, with intense dark eyes and a charming smile. The moment they saw me in the living room wearing a tight tank top and short cotton shorts, their eyes lit up.
“Damn, Richard,” Mr. Thompson said to my dad, not even trying to be subtle.
“This can’t be little Lulu. Look at you,
