"Do you suppose that the girls and guys, but the girls especially have fun?" Ted asked me.

"If they don't they should work somewhere else," I answered.

"How about you, could you see yourself being one of them?" he wanted to know.

"My upbringing will have me say 'I would die of shame and embarrassment'. But deep down, at the very bottom of my soul, lie some strange fantasies. And one of them has to do with showing off. Being naughty," I confessed.

"Those girls are as well dressed as a naked mannequin while you are as fastidious regarding dressing as anyone I have ever known," was his answer.

"That's part of the fu. You men like to ogle, we women like to provide the eye candy," I tried to explain.

"I don't think you could or would be joining them if they asked, no matter how much that fantasy is tugging at you to go ahead," he teased me.

He should not have done that because I am known to sing my own melody. This was practically a challenge begging to be answered one way or the other.

Ted turned to look at me. I could see his wheels turning. He was wondering what was going on in my mind. Maybe he felt a bit challenged, too. After all, he was a male, and my husband, how could he be wrong?

We were at "The Elephant's Trunk Casino', an adult stage theater in Stockholm. This was our first time to see a show where the girls' costumes were more revealing than covering. If sex were liquid the stage would have been awash like a tennis court after a rain storm.

We had moved into our apartment only a month ago when Ted had been transferred to Stockholm because he was fluent in Swedish.

A 45 minute intermission had just been announced, which was followed by a 'Word for the Ladies'. It reminded the ladies that tonight was Volunteer Night and that the spot for a volunteer was still open.

"Here is your chance," Ted needled me, not thinking of the consequences. He should have known that his wife was not to be needled or challenged. She just might show her true mettle and take up the challenge. And tonight she did.

"You are not serious?" stuttered Ted as I picked up the table phone to make my announcement.

"You have a volunteer," was all I said. Ted opened his mouth to say more, but no words came out. He just stared at me. It took only a few seconds before a young lady appeared to take me backstage. I rose, kissed Ted a good-bye and followed my escort.

The stage director had me sign a disclaimer, then rushed me to the costume and make up wing. I shed my clothes and immediately had my face changed by the friendly elderly lady who was in charge. A wig followed and when I looked into the mirror I saw a beautiful young thing. Magic had happened to me.

A short briefing followed and I was given my limited role.

When Ted picked me up at the stage door after the show he was quiet for a long time, and then there was just one statement from him, "WHOA". I was too aroused to talk; it probably would have been gibberish. There was only one thing on my mind. Get home in a hurry.

It was a wild evening. When we finally took a much needed shower and then fell asleep it was long after midnight.

Promptly at seven in the morning the devil's instrument, the alarm, insisted we get up. We still had plenty of time for a leisurely breakfast before I had to drive Ted to the airport. I already dreaded the next three months with Ted in Siberia and me alone and bored in Stockholm.

* * * * *

When Ted returned home after three months, I served him his favorite dinner. After dinner I made us two vodka martinis and told him to sit on the couch. I pulled my armchair in front of him and started slowly.

"Ted, I am going to tell you a story and I want you to listen to the very end before saying anything.

When I returned from the airport the day you left, the house felt cold and empty. I thought a double vodka martini might help me over the blues I felt coming over me. Just as I finished my martini the Casino called. They asked me to come back; hey even put the girls on the phone to persuade me. I felt lonely and deserted and I heard myself say "Yes".

It turned out that one girl was in the hospital and they were desperate.

And so I had my face made up on Thursday night, starting my temporary career as a show girl by the name of Lucy. There was much to learn still. I also found out that I had certain off-stage duties.

They consisted of providing companionship when requested by a customer. There was an iron clad rule of 'look, but don't touch'. And there was a time limit of twenty minutes.

I enjoyed those assignments. The variety of men, their habits, and their preferences was fascinating. The most memorable came the day after I started, on Friday.

I received a request for a visit to a private loge to see a Mr. Benson. He turned out to be a fatherly gentleman of about sixty, with salt and pepper hair and a permanent smile. I liked him right away.

I knew what was expected of me and so I sat myself next to him and introduced myself.

'My name is Lucy, not my real name naturally, just my stage name.'

'You are new here, aren't you?' he asked.

'Just started yesterday,' I told him. 'But I have been on stage here once before, in fact, last Saturday. I wound up on stage as a volunteer as a result of a kind of a dare.'

'I noticed a ring that either is designed to keep the wolves at bay or it means that there is a husband at home.' This did not sound like a question, but it definitely was.

'You are right,' I admitted. 'There is a husband, but he will be gone for three months on an assignment in Siberia and I will die of boredom. I took him to the airport on Monday, went home, fixed myself a martini and felt sorry for myself. Then the Casino called and here I am sitting next to you.'

He told me about his business, about the stress he was under, about his wife, and about their relationship. I bumped into her twice later in his front office; she even looked like Xantippe, a real bitch. Then he startled me with a proposal.

'Lucie, there is some magic about you. You spread happiness being close, listening to a man that has not had much sweetness and empathy in many years. It would mean very much to me if you would answer with a -yes-. I would like nothing better than for you to join me for lunch once a week, say every Wednesday. Same fee as here at the Casino. What do you say?'

'Hold it right there,' I answered him. 'If I join you for lunch once a week I do it because I love to do it, and because you are such a nice man, I don't do it because of money. I work to kill boredom, and to have fun.

I will have to make an exception to my self-imposed rule about seeing a customer outside my job. I will make that exception simply because I like you.

How do you want me announce myself to your secretary?' I asked him.

'Just tell her that you are Lucy and you have an appointment with me,' he told me.

Ted, you probably want to know if I had lunch with him. The answer is 'Yes', every Wednesday, and I will continue to do so. He is a sweet, kind, and considerate man, married to a bitch of a wife.

We also settled the money matter. He convinced me that my companionship is valuable; the few bills he stuffs into my purse are meaningless in his case.

This is about the end of my story. But before you say anything I want you to look at our bank balance. It has increased by a little over thirty thousand dollars.

Now stand up, take your lonely and lovable wife into your arms and kiss her."