(Author’s note: This is my entry for the Christmas 2013 Contest. It builds up over time, slowly at first, as David and Lauren’s relationship changes over five Christmases. Please enjoy and don’t forget to vote! –Theworldspins)

***December 11, 2000: Pfeiffer and Melinda’s Christmas Bash***

I wasn’t completely wasted when I first met Lauren, but the alcohol was definitely flowing, the party was in full swing, and I was in a state of stupid, inebriated bliss. In part, my mood was due to the booze, of course, but it was also just the feeling of release at the end of what had been a long, dark semester. I had lost a girlfriend, sprained an ankle, survived my parents’ divorce, and almost not survived a chemistry class I needed if I was ever going to graduate. It felt good to let loose, before I headed home for the holidays.

Getting drunk and spending one last night with friends for a while wasn’t my only goal that night, though. I was looking forward to my chance to talk to a girl I’d had my eyes on for a month or two, a friend of friend of a friend. I’d met her at Halloween, dressed as an angel. I might have poked a hole in my costume just looking at her—she was that hot. I learned she was best friends with my friend Pete Pfeiffer’s new girlfriend of the month, some chick named Melinda. This girl, who had the utterly terrible name Charleen, was just my type: petite, blonde, fair-skinned, and hot in a “girl next door” kind of way.

She was kind of shy, but I knew that this party would be my chance to get her talking. I had no expectations of actually getting lucky tonight, but I thought that I could at least plant the seeds for next semester. I was a junior in college, and I was starting to think about finding a girl for longer than a month or two. It wasn’t too hard to find freshmen girls to spend the night with, but as college girls got older, they started thinking a bit more seriously about a relationship, at least back then. I hear today that college is some kind of non-stop fuckfest, which is terrifying to the thirty-three year old version of me now, with two young daughters.

I was playing it cool, talking to everyone but her, but keeping an eye out, waiting for my moment. This might sound like I was being a complete chicken, afraid to make a move, but I can assure you I had a really good plan, only I can’t remember it many years later. What happened next, though, changed everything. If I would have walked up to Charleen, broken the ice, chatted her up, then asked her for her number, maybe we’d have met when we got back to campus. Maybe we’d hook up, fall in love, get married, and live happily ever after, and I’d have little blonde kids and a little blonde wife who adored me and never caused me heartache. This isn’t that kind of story, though.

“What do you think?”

I turned around to see a striking girl—more a woman than a girl—standing behind me, holding a hideously blue drink and leaning in over my shoulder.

“What?” I responded.

“I say she looks sweet, but take her back to your room and she’s got a huge bush. I mean, like, ’70s style,” she said, slurring her words a bit.

Needless to say, I was a little taken aback. I didn’t even know this girl, and here she was talking about pubic hair before even introducing herself. I might have been shocked, but I was always quick on my feet, even when I was tipsy.

“No way,” I told the girl. “You see how lily-white she is? I’m guessing German ancestry. She’s shaved it into a swastika.”

That got a laugh out of the drunk girl. I took a second to look her up and down, as sneakily as I could. She was hot—not my usual type at all, but hot, with a great laugh. I wanted to hear it again.

“Any more theories on the pubic coiffure of our friends here?” I asked her.

“Coiffure? You’ve got to be an English major,” she replied.

“You know it’s French, right?” I said drily, before cracking a smile so as not to seem like a dick.

“Excuse me,” she said in an exaggerated voice. “I liked your guess better than mine. Make another.”

“Oh, it wasn’t a guess,” I told her, winking.

“So you’ve fucked her, then!” she responded laughing. “Here I thought you were just slinking around like a little puppy dog in love.”

The first thing that crossed my mind was that she was wrong. I was not slinking around; I had talked to everyone, told a few stories, drank more than a few drinks. She would have to have paid pretty close attention to me to even notice how I was watching Charleen.

“No, you’ve got it all wrong,” I told her. “I’ve never slept with her. I’ve just seen her pubes—everyone’s here, actually. It’s a tradition at Pfeiffer’s parties. Hope you’re well groomed for show-and-tell later.”

She laughed again. Good.

“Can’t groom what you don’t have!” she said, arching her eyebrows.

I must have blushed, because she looked really proud of herself. She was upping the ante since I had handled her first attempt at shocking the prude. I wasn’t going to let her win this game we were playing.

“Too bad,” I said. “There’s a prize for fullest bush—year’s worth of hedge trimming from Pfeiffer’s dad’s landscaping business.”

I thought blue cocktail might shoot out her nose she laughed so hard.

“Ohhh, gross! Way to kill the mood, dipshit,” she said jokingly, punching me in the arm.

So there was a mood, I thought. Interesting.

“Hey, so, I’m David. David Mauer,” I said to her, expecting her to finally introduce herself.

She rolled her eyes.

“Lame. I’m totally not having sex with you tonight, so can we just go back to the actually fun conversation we were having?”

This time, I really was shocked.

“Hey, I never said anything about—”

“Sorry,” she interrupted. “It’s just…let’s not ruin things with awkward get-to-know-you shit. So…you’re David, David Mauer. I’m Lauren, Lauren Connors. Now be funny again, funny man.”

“So is that it, huh? I’m some kind of dancing monkey here to amuse you?” I said, pretending to be hurt.

“Not at all. A dancing monkey would be really, really entertaining,” she replied, her tone again lighthearted. “You’re just…OK.”

“Well I don’t want to be funny. I want to know how you knew I was into Charleen,” I told her.

Lauren smiled. She had a great smile, broad and toothy without looking silly. Again, she wasn’t my “type”: her skin was olive, a little Mediterranean, and her lips were thinner than I normally liked. When she smiled, her dark eyes wrinkled at the corners and her cheek bones drew upwards just a bit. She did have the button nose that I like so much, and the long, shiny hair, though hers was dark brown, almost black.

“Probably from the way you eye-fucked her while you were sipping that girly drink,” she replied wryly. “I hope your eyes used protection.”

“It’s a gin and tonic!” I exclaimed, defending myself.

“I know, right? You might as well be wearing a dress,” she replied, trying to get my goat again.

“Sorry, we can’t all be drinking—is that Windex?” I said, gesturing to her electric blue concoction.

She shrugged her shoulders exaggeratedly and flung her hands out a bit, almost sloshing some of the toxic drink out onto the carpet.

“Hello: girl drink—girl. I can get away with it,” she said.

“There’s a world of difference between a G & T and a Smurfette,” I responded.

“But she was the most special and beautiful of all the Smurfs,” she said. “Oh, and G & T? Really? Sorry, busy man—can’t be bothered to say the whole word? Must’ve saved yourself, like, what? A whole five seconds?”

I couldn’t get a read on this girl. I was used to going after my kind of girl: shy, looking for a boyfriend, pretty but not too overtly sexy. I knew how to coax them out of their shell, how to make them feel comfortable with me, and then how to close the deal. I did not know what to do with Lauren, though. I couldn’t tell if she wanted to fuck me or just make fun of me for an hour.

“So,” I asked her, “how do you know Pfeiffer? I haven’t seen you around before.”

Again with the eye roll.

“Not this again. Did I hurt your feelings or something?”

“No, not at all. I’m just trying to bore the shit out of you with small talk,” I told her. “I’m trying to get laid tonight, and you’ve already said we aren’t going to have sex. I can’t chat with you all night, you know.”

I figured that would either piss her off or make her laugh. If it was the former, then, so what? There’s another girl who doesn’t want to sleep with me in the world. Otherwise, she’d laugh, and then we’re back on track. Neither one happened.

“Sometimes I lie,” she told me. “I’m Charleen’s roommate. You’re not fucking her tonight—she’s got a boyfriend, and she’s, like, super-faithful.”

Shit! The night seemed like a waste.

“You lie sometimes? How can I tell the difference?” I asked her.

“When I’m scared or nervous, I lie. Sometimes. But I always tell the truth when it matters,” she said.

It was the most serious thing she had said all night. It also gave me an idea.

“OK, you don’t seem scared or nervous right now. Were you watching me tonight? Eye-fucking or otherwise?”

Lauren squirmed a bit. She wasn’t as comfortable as I was when the tables were turned.

“How about eye-foreplay? Or maybe eye-third base?” she said, biting her lower lip.

Up until that point, I had been really stupid. I was trying to think of clever things to say, trying to clear my head from a fog of alcohol, and trying not to screw things up. All that trying kept me from seeing what was going on with her. Her cheeks were flushed, just a little, and her chest was heaving. She was even constantly brushing her hair back behind her ears, sub-consciously probably. She was in to me.

It sounds weird, but that was the first time I really checked her out totally. I mean, she had—has—a great face, but her body was outstanding. Lauren is tall, almost 5’9″, with incredible long legs. The thing that stands out to me about her body, though, and this was, for the last time, totally not my normal type of girl, is that she’s thin, but kind of wide, in an hourglass-figure kind of way. She had wide hips and really generous breasts, which made her waist look smaller than it was. That’s what I meant when I called her a woman earlier: she had this look that was both sexy and strong at the same time. I remember thinking, before we had even touched, that she was going to be a hellcat in the sack, and my premonition proved true.

I’m sure some more repartee followed. Somehow we ended up back at my place, but I honestly can’t tell you how that happened. What I remember—what I’ll never forget—was what happened next.

“This is your lucky night,” she told me. “I’ve heard Charleen fuck. I’m much better.”

Lauren had the most wicked smile on her face. There was a moment of pause as our eyes met, then a whirlwind of clothes, discarded in piles around the floor. We were a little drunk, a lot horny, and both really young, which meant we didn’t need an hour of foreplay. We dove right at each other, mouth on mouth, as our bodies intermingled. I remember sliding into Lauren’s cunt with relative ease she was so wet, and there was little thought of slowly building things. She was fucking me as hard as I was fucking her, and my torch for shy, innocent blondes was extinguished.

This was a woman riding my cock, finding all the right spots to make herself cum all over me, and I loved it. A stream of nasty, dirty talk issued from that sexy mouth, and I distinctly remember learning a few choice phrases that night to add to my vocabulary.

I could feel her pussy clench tight, almost forcing me out as she came. Her body was covered in goose bumps, and she collapsed on top of me, as I came so hard that I was half-afraid that I’d rupture the condom.

“Wow,” she said, “I was really good, right?”

I smiled.

“I’ll fuck Charleen tomorrow and let you know how you rate,” I said teasingly.

“Asshole!” she cried, punching my arm.

We stared into each others’ eyes. I wanted to speak, to say what I hoped we were both thinking, but couldn’t. Lauren could.

“So, not to be that girl, but, can I stay the night?” she asked, trying and failing to disguise the earnest desire she felt. “It can be your Christmas present to me.”

“Stay the night? I might never let you go,” I said, not realizing the meaning in my words.

I went to Pfeiffer’s party trying to get a petite, demure, kittenish blonde’s phone number. I ended up fucking a tall, foul-mouthed, sexually explosive brunette on the first night we met. We were married two years later, and two years after that I was the father of two beautiful girls, Polly and Jenny.

***December 20, 2007: Sax, Kelly, and Schmidt Christmas Party ***

2007 was shit. Total shit. I had gotten the life you’re supposed to want. I had the job, the wife, the family. I loved two out of three, but the job was killing me. As it turned out, I hated the corporate world, and no amount of money would change that. I wanted so badly to go back to school, maybe even go into teaching.

Lauren, on the other hand, loved the lifestyle. She was working in management consulting for the financial industry, going to expensive dinners and conferences, getting the dream house. I couldn’t just follow my heart and quit; I had responsibilities. Moreover, I wasn’t sure how our relationship would work if Lauren became our primary earner while I was in school.

Maybe the job started to take over the good parts of my life. I was supposed to be “lucky” for landing a gig at a ratings agency with an English degree. I didn’t feel lucky. I felt like part of a horrible machine of corruption and greed. You can probably all tell from the date what I mean: I was on the ground floor of the greatest rip-off in human history, powerless to change anything.

To clear my mind and stay sane, I started writing on the side, short stories at first. It helped to get some of the darkness inside me out into the open. That was another reason I started spending more and more time alone, away from my jet-setting wife.

That year, I had begged Lauren to let me skip out on her office Christmas party. I couldn’t stand the kind of smarmy assholes that I knew would be there at my own company. Why would I want to do it twice? I was shocked at how easy she gave in to my requests, telling me it would be fine if I just stayed home with the girls. The night of Lauren’s company party, though, I started to feel guilty. I was letting my own unhappiness get in the way of being a good husband. Once I got a sitter, I drove over to her office to surprise her.

When I got into the lobby of her building, I gave my name to the security guard. His look is seared into my memory. It was a mixture of pity, disgust, and a strange kind of complicity, as if we already shared a secret. Something wrong was in the air.

Thinking back, I realize how important that look was. On a normal day, I walk into that party, loudly announcing my presence, talking to Lauren’s co-workers, and asking around for her. Without that warning look, she sees me coming a mile away, and maybe I never find out.

But that’s not what happened. Instead I slinked in quietly, lingering at the edge of the party. I saw it, and if I could see it, I knew others could see it too, at least a few: Frank Kelly’s arm around my wife’s back, rubbing between her shoulders. He was Lauren’s boss and a huge prick. I had even met his own wife, a silicone-enhanced trophy wife bimbo from Boca Raton. The whole arm thing might have seemed innocent, and hell, I might have shrugged it off myself if it wasn’t for that look. I knew that something more was going on.

I followed them discreetly, brushing off any feeble attempts at small talk from the office drones that I already knew. The way they were talking, the way she was laughing: something was going on. I knew it. No proof, of course, but still: I could feel it.

I must have looked dejected when I came out of the elevator in the lobby only fifteen minutes after going up. The security guard looked up at me, his face knowing and maybe even sad. He held his left hand up, pointing to an empty ring finger.

“Women ain’t no damn good, man,” he said. “You better off without ‘em.”

“Does everyone know?” I asked him.

Hell, at that point, I didn’t know. All I had was a couple of laughs, glances, and an arm around her. And that look.

“Naw, man, ain’t like that. We just see everything down here,” he said, gesturing to the bank of screens, connected no doubt to the security cameras throughout the building.

I went home. People at the party had seen me. Eventually, word would get back to Lauren. I wasn’t sure what would happen then. I wasn’t even home when I got her text message.

“Did you come by SKS?”

I waited until I pulled in the driveway to answer her.

“Yes,” I responded. “TTYL.”

She must have blown through every red light on the way home. She flung the door open, then tried to compose herself, as if she hadn’t frantically raced home. Her breath was heaving, causing her tits to jiggle in the low-cut dress she’d worn. She looked absolutely stunning, only it wasn’t for me.

“David, what’s going on?” she said, almost out of breath. “Why didn’t you stay and look for me?”

I was sitting on the couch, my blood boiling in my veins. I wanted to explode, but held my rage in check. I had sent the sitter home, and our daughters were sleeping upstairs. The last thing I wanted was to wake them to see what was about to happen.

“Are you scared?” I asked her.

“What? What do you mean?” she asked, her voice quavering.

For my part, I wanted to speak as low and monotone as possible. I thought it would keep me from screaming.

“Lauren. Are you scared right now?”

She was catching her breath and clearly wanted to try to play off her haste in coming home, as well as her own growing panic.

“I wasn’t, but now you’re scaring me a little,” she said uneasily.

“Are you nervous?”

“David, what’s going on? Why are you being like this?”

“I want to know if you’re scared or nervous because I’m going to ask you a question and I want to know if you’re going to fucking lie to me or not,” I said.

I could tell that reminding her of what she said to me the night we met hurt her. Suddenly, her tense expression melted into a kind of recognition of what was happening. I could tell she wanted to cry but was desperately clinging to the façade of not knowing.

“David, please, don’t,” she begged.

“Don’t what?” I asked.

“Don’t do this. Don’t ask me.”

That made me angry. It was like she was mad at me for hurting her. Now I knew what I had to do.

“Are you fucking Frank Kelly?” I asked, matter-of-factly.

Once the question was asked, it couldn’t be unasked. If I had horribly misunderstood things, we’d have a fight. She’d get mad. I’d eat shit from her for weeks. But if I was right?

“I’ll stop.”

For some reason, I thought about Charleen, the girl from the party seven years ago, right then. I wondered where she was. Was she married? Did she fuck her fifty-year-old boss behind her husband’s back?

“Don’t bother,” I told her. “I hope you two have a lot of fun together.”

Then Lauren made a terrible mistake. I guess she misunderstood what I meant. Maybe we’d already grown apart. Maybe she never really understood me. I knew that everything between us was really over when she spoke.

“Really?” she asked hopefully. “I love you so much, David. I should have known you would be cool with opening things up.”

I learned something about myself that moment, something that many people will never know. I learned that, deep down, I am a good person. Most people probably think that, deep down, they’re basically good and decent, but you’ll never know until you’re tested. I didn’t strangle Lauren right that moment. That makes me a fucking saint.

Instead, I stood up, and walked over to her. She started to backpedal, and I stopped my advance. I honestly wasn’t trying to intimidate her. I just didn’t want to say what I was about to say too loudly.

“I am not some piece of shit that you can fuck around on. I’m not your bitch, Lauren. At least…I’m not anymore. Good bye.”

Finally, she got it, and immediately burst into tears. She reached for me as I went for the door and grabbed my arm. I spun around violently, and she flinched hard, dropping my arm and throwing her own hands up in front of her face, defending against an assault that wasn’t going to come.

I don’t remember any coherent sentences coming from her, just a string of words.

“It’s not…I…no! David, I’m stupid. Please!”

I didn’t have any reason to respond to her, but looking around at all the Christmas decorations in the house, a weird kind of gallows humor overtook me.

“Merry Christmas, Lauren. You’ve given me a gift I’ll never forget.”

***December 23, 2011: My House, Party of Two***

For about two years, there were three things on my desk and three things only.

There was a bottle of Evan Williams, periodically replaced. I had quit my job and was living off savings and a few meager royalties for pieces in new fiction anthologies. I couldn’t afford the good stuff.

There was an old Dell laptop, whose battery no longer worked. It was too old to run really up-to-date programs, but perfectly capable of word processing, which was all I needed. It allowed me to write.

There was my grandfather’s old revolver. At first, I hardly believed it worked, until I took it out to the woods outside my father’s new house down south and shot it into the ground. It sat on my desk, a bullet in the chamber, waiting for the day I might need it.

Everyday, I woke up and went for a run. I came home, took a shower, and ate a meal in my sparse bachelor’s apartment. Then I went to my desk and made a decision. What kind of day was I going to have? At first, I chose the bottle more often than not. When that got old, I started choosing the computer. Unlike the romantic images of the alcoholic writer, you can’t really get much work done in a haze of bourbon. When I wrote, I was almost always stone sober.

I never chose the gun. That’s because of my girls.

I saw Polly and Jenny every weekend. By then, they had turned seven and had become walking, talking, actual people. Don’t get me wrong, I loved them as babies and toddlers, but being with them now was so much better. Even though they were a lot alike, being twins, they had their own unique quirks and personalities. I never thought I would be a good father—mine wasn’t, Lauren’s either. But I loved those girls, and they became my reason for living.

So I wrote. I was dead broke when my agent called me and told me Knopfler Publishing wanted my book. It’s not what you might think: I had tried to write “serious fiction.” I wanted to be Wallace or Pynchon. Instead, I ended up a second-rate, male Stephanie Meyers. Yeah, that’s right: I write schlocky romance books about magic for fifteen-year-old girls. It’s called “Young Adult Literature,” though it turns out that writing a book for teens actually means that a lot of adults, especially women, will also read and love it.

My series was about a world where certain people could remember things from their past lives. The heroine, who, let’s be honest, is pretty much just me in a dress, is a teen girl who begins to remember things from the past that she couldn’t have otherwise known. The protagonist in this kind of book is always a teen girl, and she always has some kind of power. My girl found out about her past lives and uses the knowledge to find her true love and save the world. It was utterly clichéd, but I can’t lie: I loved the recognition and just knowing that people liked something I had done. A lot of writers don’t even get read at all. This was something at least, and it made me a decent living too.

I still saw Lauren of course, when I picked up the girls, but other than that, I tried my best to steer clear of her after the divorce. We had a pattern. When she had a boyfriend, all she could talk about in front of me was how wonderful her life was. Then when they broke up, all she could talk about with me was how horrible her life was without me and how we should get the family back together. Then a new guy came along, and all that vanished.

Things weren’t just stuck in the same rut, though. In fact, as my life improved, hers declined. It started when she lost that management consulting job back in’08, a truly shitty time to lose a job. It turns out that prick Frank Kelly fired her to placate his wife when she found out about the affair. The next year, Lauren sold the house, which she could never afford without me anyway. Then came the parade of short-term relationships and instability for my daughters, punctuated by desperate, transparent attempts to get back together with me that fell flat.

After a while, I guess she gave up. We talked less and less, and by 2011, she just seemed…defeated. She stopped pretending everything was OK around me. I’m sure it ate her up inside to see my writing, which she had no doubt viewed as some kind of silly, useless hobby, turn into something big. I had hated the corporate world, and I managed to escape it and do something I loved. She had lost the life she loved.

It couldn’t have helped that I was also meeting a steady stream of women. I promised myself I would never fall in love again, but that didn’t stop me from sleeping with more beautiful women than I had ever thought possible. I don’t want to exaggerate—I was never Hugh Hefner, just a nerd who writes books. What I learned, though, was that those books spoke to women better than I could ever do on my own. Sometimes, it seemed like women fell for me almost before meeting me.

It was never hard to find pussy, and that was all I really wanted. I made a point of never having any one woman stick around for too long—my favorite were the graduate students at the nearby university, since they were usually there for only a short period of time and weren’t looking for a long term thing. I didn’t have an advanced degree or anything, but they even had me conduct a few creative writing workshops, which was also a great way to meet hot women.

I was spending the night with one of my favorites at the time, a petite blonde, who was sweet and a little submissive in bed named Melanie. I had gone back to my type, and Melanie let me pretty much have my way with her, within reason.

It was the 23rd, Christmas Eve Eve, and we were cuddled up on the couch drinking wine. I knew I was going to have to avoid her tomorrow and the next day, since both of those were actual holidays. I even considered not fucking her tonight in order to get rid of her more easily. I couldn’t have her around for the next two days, since the holidays were too intimate and too family-oriented. I didn’t want her thinking we were getting serious, and I had resolved to break it off with her after the first of the year. It seemed shitty, after all, to dump someone right before Christmas.

I remember her putting her wine glass down and leaning in to kiss me. With her, it was always easy to move from kissing to getting her to give me head. All it took was to place my hand on the top of her head, and she immediately got the picture. That night was no different. I loved to watch a blonde bounce her head up and down on my crotch, and Melanie had learned, through my skillful and patient teaching, exactly how to suck my cock right.

“Do you want to…you know?” she asked tentatively.

I had no idea what she was talking about. There were a lot of things I wanted to do to her, so I decided to just tell her what I wanted. She never gave me much trouble.

“Yes, I do want to fuck you later. First, just suck my cock,” I told her firmly.

She blushed with shame. I loved playing the worldly, rough-edged writer to such an innocent girl. I got off, admittedly, on being emotionally withholding and demanding with someone like her. I guess I can be a prick some times too.

She went back to work, taking as much of my cock as she could into her warm, wet mouth. Even now, she wasn’t the best cocksucker I’d been with for certain, but she was one of the easiest and most compliant. I was considering pulling out to cum all over her pretty face when we were both startled by a knock on the door.

I could tell she wanted to stop, but I was almost there. I held her in place, and right when the second series of knocks came, so did I, spurting a thick load into her mouth. I could feel her swallow around my cock, always a great feeling, before she pulled me hastily out of her mouth. Normally I like a good cleaning, but I couldn’t hold it against her under the circumstances.

Melanie got up from her knees and straightened her hair out. She looked at me confused, mouthing out “What do you want me to do?”

I thought it was kind of cute at the time. She acted like a frightened teenager. She looked so adorable, slightly disheveled, her lips a little extra red from giving me head. Part of me wanted to keep her around longer. She was a lot of fun.

“Go get yourself something to drink,” I said out loud. “And you don’t have to whisper.”

She scampered away into the kitchen, and I went to the door.

Shit, this is the last thing I need, I thought. It was Lauren.

Then I heard my daughters, bounding up from the car, their little matching pink bags bouncing around at their sides, screaming and giggling for their Daddy. Now I wasn’t upset, just a little confused.

“David, we need to talk,” she said seriously.

I had been distracted by Polly and Jenny, but now that I looked at Lauren, I could tell she had been crying. This might sound strange, but I’ve always had a weird thing for a woman who has just been crying. Who knows what kind of psychological damage that reveals in me?

“I’m surprised to see you, Lauren. I don’t get them until after the holidays,” I said, a little annoyed.

Lauren looked kind of terrible and kind of great at the same time. She was still in great shape, and despite gravity and two kids, the tits were still fantastic. Her eyes though, carried the weight of all disappointment in her life since I left her. She couldn’t hide a kind of hollow, weary sadness.

“Can we come in?” she asked.

“Of course…” I answered.

At that moment, Melanie came back into the living room from the kitchen, holding a glass of water. She locked eyes with Lauren.

“…but I’m not alone. Can this wait?”

Lauren seemed ashamed. I could tell she was surprised; more than anything, she didn’t want anyone to see her look like this, eyes red and rimmed with dry tears. She looked like she wanted to crawl in a hole and disappear.

Three years ago, I would have been happy to draw this out, torture her a little. Now, though, I didn’t care. I wanted to know why she had come and what the girls thought was happening, and I wasn’t going to figure this out with Melanie here. If anything, Lauren’s arrival gave me a perfect excuse to kick Melanie out and avoid her for Christmas. I introduced her to Lauren and explained to her that I needed to sort some things out about custody, but that I would call her when I was free again. I knew in that moment that our next date would be the break-up.

Of course, Lauren and I couldn’t jump straight into a deep conversation. The girls were just happy to see their Daddy, and I was happy to see them. They had just turned seven, and more and more they began to look like tiny copies of Lauren. I couldn’t see myself in them much at all, only her, and more than once I had considered the possibility that they weren’t really mine. The only proof I had for the fact that I was their biological father was Lauren’s word, which wasn’t worth a damn thing, and a picture of my mother’s mother as a girl, who looked a lot like them too.

Once they had tired themselves out, we put them to bed in their room upstairs. I showed Lauren to the bar in the kitchen, and she sat down. I offered her a drink, and she accepted.

“David, Paul and I broke up,” she said.

“The car saleman?” I asked.

“Don’t play dumb, I know you know everything I do from those girls. That’s how I know all about your parade of sluts,” she said, with evident bitterness.

That made me angry. Who the fuck was she to criticize me?

“Look, this is a mistake. I don’t want to fucking talk to you, anyway. You can pick them up in a few days when you get your shit together,” I said, barely disguising my disgust for her.

I expected Lauren, even in her current state, to buck up against me and fire back. That was the woman I had always known. Only, this time she just kind of fell apart. I’d never really seen her cry like that.

“David, I need you to take the girls,” she said, between sobbing.

“Fine,” I said, a little less angry. “When are you picking them up?”

“No, I mean, I think they should live with you. I don’t know how long,” she said, her sadness and disappointment unmistakable.

I was floored. This wasn’t like her.

“Why?” I asked, not meaning to sound like I was against the idea, though I probably did.

“Because I’m a fucking waitress. Because I live in a rat trap apartment. Because they want to be here, in your beautiful house, with their beautiful father, and not their bitch mother who cries all the time. Is that reason enough?”

Lauren’s whole body was shaking. She downed the glass of wine I handed her practically in one sip. It worried me; I hoped she didn’t drink like this in front of the girls. She could tell what I was thinking immediately, though.

“I’m not a drunk,” she said defensively. “You just have no idea how hard this decision was.”

She had a point. I poured her another glass of wine. This time, she sipped it slowly, as if to say that she was alright, or at least not on the verge of a total meltdown.

We talked logistics. I could tell she was happily surprised that I was going along with the whole idea. That, in turn, surprised me: did she not know how much I loved the girls? Did she think I held her actions against them? We talked for a few minutes, and when she had calmed down enough, she rose from her chair to leave.

“I guess I couldn’t have hoped for you to be any better than this,” she said. “Please tell them I love them, and that I will see them soon.”

That was something we had passed over: what was she doing now? When would she come back to visit? Those seemed like important things to know.

“Where are you going now?” I asked.

She looked ashamed.

“Home to pack. I’m broke, so I’m moving back to Michigan. With mom.”

That was like hearing a person say they were volunteering to go back to prison. I was stunned. Lauren had been on the executive track. She relished that stuff. Now she tells me she’s a failed waitress going to live with her mother.

She turned, defeated, and trudged towards the door. I thought of the girls. No matter what kind of shit Lauren had put me through, she was their mom, and they were losing her. That would be their Christmas memory: the day their mom went away.

“Wait!” I called out to her.

She stopped without turning around. I could see her shoulders trembling.

“Sit down. Please.”

She slowly turned towards me. Having to stick around after admitting something like that must have been hard on her.

“David, I didn’t tell you that to jerk you around. I know you don’t want me back, and I can see why after tonight. She’s…pretty. Just leave me alone. You win, OK?”

I can’t explain why I reacted to her self-pity with anger. It just happened that way.

“Oh, I win? What did I win, Lauren? A broken family? A broken heart? Years of misery? Now you tell me I’m the big winner here.”

I suddenly felt like shit and prayed that the girls hadn’t woken up. I expected Lauren to storm out, but she walked over to me and put her arms around me. Her body was warm, and in the midst of emotional turmoil, I have to admit that I felt a strange thrill to feel her breasts pressed against me again after all these years.

“I’m sorry,” she said into my shoulder. “I just…I can’t be a fucking loser forever. Polly and Jenny need me to get my shit together. I wouldn’t do this if it wasn’t for them.”

I held her tightly. My head was spinning. I took a deep breath, until suddenly my mind cleared. I knew what to do.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” I told her, pulling us apart just enough to look into her deep brown eyes, rimmed with tears but still so beautiful. “The girls need their mother. You’re not a loser. You just need…help.”

She looked up at me, her lips pursed ever so slightly. I could still feel her chest heave. My hands had crept down her waist to her hips, without me even realizing it. I felt a sudden urge to kiss her. This was taking a turn I didn’t expect.

“I…I can get you a job. Over at Hawthorne. In the Financial Aid Office. Pays well, not too hard, and you’ve got all the experience in the world. You can stay in town and see the girls whenever you want.”

She didn’t look as happy as I thought she would.

“I can’t get a letter from SKS. They despise me over there. I’ll never get the job,” she said with disappointment.

We broke off our embrace, and I watched Lauren’s body shiver, as if she was returning to normal from a state of intense emotion and—was it arousal?

“Doesn’t matter. I know a…guy there,” I reassured her.

I didn’t tell her that the person I knew in the administration over at Hawthorne wasn’t a guy at all, but instead a tight little brunette, who was a big fan of both my books and my cock. Lauren didn’t need to hear that right now.

That’s when I saw the smile come back, for the first time in years. It only lasted a moment before vanishing, but it reminded me of how she looked when we first met. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

“David, I…It’s just been…hard. I feel so alone,” she said.

“Lauren, you’ve got the girls, and, shit, you’ve got me. Whether I like it or not,” I told her.

Almost without thinking, I leaned down to kiss her cheek. She turned her head and our lips met. It was only a second before we pulled away, but after that, something was in the air.

“When I said I felt alone, that wasn’t all. David, I miss you. I miss the things you can do to me.”

I didn’t know how to feel: flattered or worried.

“It would…I mean, if you could find a way to…” she stammered.

I didn’t mean to sound impatient, but I told her to spit it out—what was the point of fucking around?

“David, I want you to fuck me. I’m not asking for the ring back. I’m not going to move in. I just need something in my life that makes me feel good. I know you don’t want me anymore—”

I didn’t let her continue. Something had come over me, and everything happened like it had when we first met, a blur of clothes and bodies, a hasty, long-delayed coupling. This time, maturity and Melanie’s talented mouth meant that I lasted a lot longer, of course. We were fucking in the middle of my living room, wildly irresponsibly as any parent can attest, going at each other like we were kids again.

My hands roamed across her body, retracing the paths I’d followed so many times before. Everything was familiar but strange, like returning home after a long journey. There had been no thought or planning, just a desperate, hopeless desire within me to fuck her senseless, matched in intensity by the woman who had once been mine.

Somewhere in the middle of things, though, when I ought to have been focused on the moment, on the lust and passion going on between us, I pulled away in my mind. I know she could tell; she tried her best to bring me back, to make me be present with her there in the moment, but I just couldn’t.

I thought about my desk. I thought about my grandfather’s gun. I thought about Frank Kelly. I even thought about Charleen.

“Please, David, I’m sorry,” Lauren said, almost out of breath from our furious fucking. “Come back to me. Be here with me tonight.”

With that, I snapped back into place. I don’t know if Lauren came or not—I was too distracted—but I certainly did, filling her with whatever cum I had left after Melanie.

I slumped on to the floor, exhausted, as she lay on the sofa.

“Where did you go?” she asked fearfully.

“Somewhere I don’t want to go again,” I replied.

“David,” she said, getting up to begin the search for her clothes.


“We can do this whenever you want.”

I didn’t say anything.



“Please want to.”

Lauren looked like she might cry. I got up, too, collecting my own stuff. I didn’t know what I was going to say. I wasn’t sure if I ever wanted to do this again. Maybe I wanted her to hurt, to suffer. Maybe I wanted to tell her I loved her and that she’d never be sad again. Maybe I wanted to crawl into a hole and die, never to think of any of this again.

“I do want to. But I need something from you,” I said, my brain working on auto-pilot.

“Anything,” she said, pausing in her fruitless search for her panties to approach me again.

“The girls are going to be at your place a lot still. When they were here, I never brought any of my ‘parade of sluts’ around.”

Lauren cringed when she heard her own words back at her.

“I don’t want a bunch of random fucking men around my daughters,” I continued. “So if this is going to work, keep them out of the apartment, OK?”

She looked weirdly relieved. I was sure she’d argue over me dictating the terms of her love life.

“I won’t see anyone else. I promise,” she said seriously.

“That’s not what I meant,” I told her. “I just meant do it at their—”

“I know what you meant,” she interrupted. “And I know what I meant. No one but you, as long you let this continue.”

I felt worried all of a sudden.

“The girls can’t know. And I’m not breaking up with Melanie, either,” I protested.

Of course, that last part was a lie. I had every intention of dumping her, especially now. Lauren looked unhappy, but she swallowed any objections.

“I hope she’s OK with it. Don’t do to her what I did to you. That’s not who you are,” she told me.

Lauren finally found her underwear and decided against trying to put it back on.

“Hey,” I said. “Let me keep those.”

She smiled and handed them to me.

“Here’s to the start of a beautiful friendship…” she said before heading out the door.

***December 24, 2012: Patterson Hills Mall, Santa’s Workshop***

Believe me, it’s strange to ‘casually’ date your ex-wife. It’s even stranger to casually date other women at the same time. I managed to keep the whole arrangement from the women I went out with, but I shortened my relationship lifespan with them even more than before, most down to just one night stands.

On the other hand, as far as I could tell, Lauren wasn’t seeing anybody else. I had issued that warning never expecting it to stick, but to my surprise, she totally followed through. She was always there for the girls, and for me, whenever I needed (or wanted) her. After a few months, I got comfortable with the arrangement and started making little requests: I told her to shave her pussy, wear some slutty lingerie, watch porn with me. It was all pretty basic stuff, but fun.

In fact, being with Lauren was starting to become the highlight of my week. I started to sour on all the sweetness from my usual type of girl. Lauren had gotten her sense of humor back. There was something about having a good, steady job and a comfortable social life that brought her out of the downward spiral she had been in the past few years. Now, she could be wickedly funny and a great sparring partner. I let her read my drafts even, once she had caught up on the two already published books. I think she secretly liked them, though she’d rather die than admit it. She just had an edge that I found exciting to be around. It had drawn me to her before, and it was drawing me to her again.

This time, though, I wouldn’t let myself go there. We fucked; we never made love. She never stayed over, and the girls were never told about mommy and daddy’s nighttime fun. I wasn’t just going to fall back into a relationship with Lauren.

Things went on like that for most of the year. When I had a “girlfriend,” which was a couple of times that year, Lauren backed off, even though I could tell that after a while she was getting really pissy. To her credit, she kept it to herself mostly. As soon as the new girlfriend was out of the picture, Lauren jumped on my cock like the last chopper out of Saigon. The sex was urgent, frantic, even animalistic. After September, I decided never to bother with a girlfriend: one night stands were fine, but I didn’t want to go through the motions of a relationship when I could be fucking Lauren savagely, whenever I wanted to.

To add to the strangeness, she basically turned into super-mom. The girls were never happier, and we started to be able to take them places together, the four of us. They were only eight, and I was afraid they wouldn’t understand what was happening, but they seemed so happy to get to be with both of us together that I didn’t have the heart to stop it. By day, Lauren was a reliable employee, the perfect mom, and not a bad friend. By night, she was an insatiable, cock hungry slut, for me and me alone.

She was in mom-mode that day, right before Christmas, when things changed for us again. We were in line at the mall, waiting with the girls to take their picture with Santa. They were right on the cusp of being too old for this in my view; I suspected they both harbored serious suspicions about the feasibility of Santa’s toy production and distribution system, but we all played along because it was fun and it wasn’t hurting anyone.

Lauren had mastered the art of looking totally appropriate as a mom while still showing me how hot she was. Completely breaking our normal pattern, she reached over to hold my hand. I thought about pulling it away, but I didn’t. I let her hold it, and for a second, it was like we were back together.

“I have a present for you,” she said in a low, subtly seductive voice.

“I’ve got one for you too,” I replied.

“You got me a necklace,” she said.

I gave her a smirk. She was right.

“I didn’t peek—Polly blurted it out. You shouldn’t have gotten her to help you wrap it,” she said.

I shrugged my shoulders.

“Wrapping presents was your job,” I said, trying not to sound bitter.

“That’s just it—I…I need to talk to you before I give you your present. The girls are in line for a while. Walk with me for a sec.”

I wasn’t sure where Lauren was going with all this, but I was curious. I agreed, and we moved away from the crowd.

“I need you to ask me all the things you’ve held off from asking me for this past year,” she said, with a serious tone.

“Here?” I asked with irritation.

“It might be safer to do it in public,” she said.

I hesitated. Why was she trying to ruin all this? This was working for me: the girls were happy, I was happy, my cock was happy. What was the point of trying to bring up the past?

“I don’t…”

I wasn’t sure what to say. Lauren spoke up.

“You don’t want to blow this thing up when we’ve just barely put it all back together. I get it. I don’t either. But—who was the last woman you saw for more than two weeks?”

She only waited for a second for an answer, before continuing.

“Exactly. You’re not replacing me, but you’re not letting me back in either. Understand me here: I’m not judging you. You don’t owe me anything. You can sleep with all the women you want, David. I just…I have to tell you the truth here. It kills me. I want you so bad, and I have to share you.”

I took a deep breath. I wasn’t angry, or nervous, or afraid. I just wanted, more than anything, to say things exactly how I felt them, without the wrong words distorting my meaning.

“Lauren, you broke my heart. You know that. But you also…you just stepped all over my pride. I’ve thought it all: I wasn’t good enough in bed, I wasn’t man enough, you never loved me, you name it. I like you. I like spending time with you. The sex is phenomenal. But every time I feel myself getting closer to you, to the way we were, I remember how you looked so happy when you thought I was going to…”

My breathing started to get heavy. It was flooding back over me now. My voice went into the low whisper of rage that only parents can do.

“…you…you thought you could just fuck him, and I’d—what?—be there for you when you got home? It felt like you were cutting my balls off.”

Lauren looked dejected, but she gathered herself. It seemed like she was trying as hard as I was to say just the right words, and do so without causing a blowout in the middle of the mall.

“When I worked there, I thought I was hot shit. I thought I was going to rule the world, and when Frank Kelly and all his cronies took me in, I thought I was on top. I started acting just like them, and I loved it. And when Frank came on to me, I thought, ‘Hey, this is how the game’s played.’ I thought I could get away with everything, and nobody would get hurt. I was wrong.”

I had been fully prepared for a weepy apology, but not for this. Lauren continued.

“I hurt you. I hurt the girls. I hurt myself. I’ve been in nothing but shitty relationships since you left—since I drove you away. I thought you were doing fine, great even. It’s fucked but, I felt better knowing your life was good without me to ruin it. I wasn’t jealous of your success, really. I was happy for you. You deserve it.”

I saw a tear in the corner of her eyes, subtle but still there. Neither of us could focus on anyone else around but each other and the girls, winding their way up the line to make it to Santa. Looking at them made it easier.

“I’ve been paying for that mistake for five years now. If you think I should pay longer, I will. But…if you love me even one bit, you’d know how much I hurt. I love you so much, David, but I can’t love someone forever who still hates me. I’m sorry.”

I knew I had to say something, but my mind had evaporated. I let my body make up for my lack of words, pulling Lauren in tightly to my chest.

“I don’t hate you. I just can’t go through that again with you. I feel trapped.”

I knew what she would say, or at least I thought I did, but I still had to ask her, one more time.

“They’re mine. For certain?”

She looked sad. We both looked over at them, now first in line. They were so beautiful, so alike and yet so different.

“Polly and Jenny are your daughters, in every sense of the word. I wouldn’t lie to you about that. Is that what you think of me?”

“I’m sorry,” I told her. “I just…needed to hear it again.”

Lauren held on to me, before she looked up.

“After the girls go to sleep tonight, go downstairs to the office. Wait till midnight. Don’t come down earlier than that. I’ll let myself in with the spare key. Then I’ll give you your present.”

I tried to speak, to ask what was going to happen then, but she leaned in to kiss me. This wasn’t something that we did when we weren’t having sex. At first, I simply let her kiss me, until I began to kiss her back, softly. I couldn’t let things go too far—this was Santa’s Workshop after all, and I saw the girls bounding towards us.

“Mommy, daddy, I’m going to get everything I want,” Jenny squealed.

She had just finished issuing Santa her list of demands.

“Me too!”

Polly always followed after her sister.

“Daddy is too,” Lauren said. “Daddy is too.”

We hung around as a family all day, driving to see Christmas lights and cooking a roasted duck together. Around 9:00, Lauren left as she always did. I put the girls down with a reading of “‘Twas the Night Before Christmas” and warned them not to get up in the night, or else they might scare off Santa and the reindeer.

I went to my room and felt my heart racing. For some reason, I just knew that Lauren’s Christmas present was going to be…important. Waiting three hours, without going downstairs to peek, was hard. I realized that I felt like a kid again, waiting as the hours ticked by excruciatingly until I could go downstairs for my present.

I heard Lauren come in around 11:30. I got up to check on the girls, who were sound asleep, but I didn’t dare go downstairs before it was time. I heard her enter my roomy downstairs office and close the door. Then I didn’t hear anything more.

Finally it was time. I crept down the stairs in my pajamas. The door to the office was closed, and there didn’t seem to be much light showing under the door. Slowly, I turned the knob and peeled open the door to reveal my present.

It was worth the wait. The candles, placed throughout the room, cast an alluring light on Lauren’s smooth, bare thighs. She was kneeling on the floor, on her knees, her legs spread apart. She had spread a soft blanket beneath her, and I could see the muscles in her legs tense from holding the position, though my eyes were soon drawn to the unbelievably sexy red lace panties Lauren was wearing. The panties matched the basque she wore above, perfectly balanced between classy and raunchy. The lace scalloping at her bust emphasized her luscious, full tits, pressed together just enough to make an inviting display of cleavage. Her long dark hair was silky and straight and hung down onto her shoulders, while her cheeks were rouged just enough to draw attention to her gorgeous eyes. Her lips were ever so slightly open, her face somewhere between a smile and a breath.

She held her arms behind her back, which only served to push her chest out more. I looked over to her left, at one of my writing tables. On it, I saw an array that made my mouth water. Lauren had brought a paddle, a bottle of lube, a blindfold, her digital camera, and even a ball gag. I suddenly realized I had no idea what was about to happen.

“David, I’m your present. I’m not in control any more now, you are. Take pictures, whatever you want.”

I reached down for the digital camera, my cock quickly becoming engorged. This was an image I wanted to savor, so I snapped off a few shots of Lauren in her lingerie.

“You can unwrap me whenever you want,” she said.

Her voice was less seductive than urgent. I think she wanted this as much as I did. I slowly undid the basque from behind, letting my fingers trail across her bare breasts as they fell free from their confines. She looked up at me with those big brown eyes. I began to toy with her nipple, before growing more insistent, tweaking and pinching it. She made soft little moans. I switched from the left to the right.

Once the top was discarded into a heap in the corner of the room, Lauren fell onto her hands and knees, her ass raised invitingly towards my gaze. Something was different, though. I peeled back her panties, and stared into the most erotic thing I had ever seen. Glistening in the candlelight, a bright green jewel sparkled between the mounds of her perfectly formed ass. I could see the slick sheen around her asshole from where she had lubed herself generously in preparation for inserting the thick, jeweled butt plug. My cock strained almost painfully in my pants.

“Nobody has ever fucked my ass,” she said, in a low, almost serious voice, “but I want you to do it. I want you to stuff your fat fucking cock into my ass and make me scream into that gag, and then I want you to fuck me so hard and so deep that I can taste it in my mouth when you cum.”

That was the dirtiest thing I had ever heard; shit, that was pretty much the dirtiest thing I could even imagine.

“I only have one rule,” she continued. “Don’t hold anything back. This is for you, so hurt me if you want to hurt me, fuck me as hard or as soft as you want, and, no matter what, do not think. Fuck.”

It was hard not to think, especially since the first thing I wanted to think about was what to do with all that crazy shit on the table. I’ve never been much into any kind of BDSM stuff, and honestly, just watching someone get whipped with a flogger would probably cause me to wince in pain. That said, the blindfold seemed hot and the ball gag gave me all kinds of ideas. Most of all, I knew that Lauren wanted me to take charge from here on out. That was the whole idea of her “present.”

“Take off my pants,” I said, trying my best to steel my voice and take on the whole dominant role.

Lauren complied instantly, popping up to her knees, licking her lips, and staring into my eyes as she unbuttoned my pants. She pulled both them and my boxers off simultaneously. My fully erect cock sprang up, pointing towards the ceiling, as soon as she freed it. She leaned in, to take me into her mouth, before I stopped her.

“Tell me why you want it,” I said sternly.

“I want it so much,” she said breathily.

“Not how much! Why?” I said, my voice rising to a pitch of anger I didn’t expect from myself.

There was still obviously a lot of rage in me, rage I thought I was over. Lauren was trembling, almost imperceptibly.

“Because there’s been a hole in me ever since you took it away. Because I was put on this earth to satisfy it. Because I love it, and I love you.”

Holding the back of her head, I pressed forward, my cock aimed directly at her parted lips. Before I entered her mouth, I could feel her tongue stretching out, anxious to make contact with my warm, throbbing member.

“No more talking,” I said, as she moaned softly around my dick in her mouth.

I didn’t plan on doing this for very long, but Lauren’s talented tongue and mouth made me think otherwise. I was pistoning my cock in and out of her mouth when I had a thought—yeah, I know, I wasn’t supposed to be doing that.

“Get up on the table, on your stomach,” I ordered, certain of Lauren’s complete submission to my every desire.

I slid most of the toys over to the side, pausing to grab the blindfold and the camera. Once she was on the table, I placed the blindfold over her eyes.

“Hold your ankles, and don’t let go.”

She did as she was told. Her full breasts, pressed against the desk, kept her head up some, though once I had a free hand, I used it to hold head her upwards. My cock found its way back into the warm and wet confines of her mouth, and soon I was thrusting hard into her, gagging her as I speared into her throat. Lauren was struggling to take my cock, and a flash of remorse and guilt almost made me stop. What kept me going was knowing that, just this once at least, what I wanted and what she wanted were the same. She had practically begged me not to hold back, and, as strange as it is to say, I fucked her face hard as a way of telling her that I was truly enjoying the gift she had given me.

The video I took, of my cock furiously sawing in and out of Lauren’s mouth, was shaky and frenetic, a perfect reflection of the experience itself. I wasn’t just a shitty cameraman because of the motion: I was also distracted by that jewel. It drew my eye to Lauren’s ass, tempting me with the pleasures I knew were to come. I felt a sudden urge to paddle her ass red. This time, I didn’t even think about holding back.

“Can’t you take that whole cock, slut?” I snarled, before swatting her ass with the paddle she’d brought.

It wasn’t really me, I thought, who said that. Lauren redoubled her efforts, and I slowed down on fucking her face to let her take my cock deeper. She really was trying to get me all the way down her throat, even if she couldn’t do it yet. I was almost dazed, overcome by pleasure, anger, lust, and something that I only faintly remembered.

It was love.

“Suck my fucking cock. I want to see it in your throat,” I said, this time with less apparent rage.

I intermittently spanked Lauren’s ass as she struggled once more to inhale my tool. I was beginning to feel that familiar feeling, as my balls started to tighten and my toes curled. It was at that moment that I finally broke through, slipping the head of my dick into her throat.

The saying that “Politics Makes Strange Bedfellows” was proven true in spades in a real life situation. The basic facts are a matter of public record and many of the details (the rest are my embellishments) were told to me by one of the two main “characters.” In the following almost entirely true story the names, state, and political office have been changed, and I the story is as if related by the main male character. The ages are as of the time the activities related actually took place, several years ago.

My name is Kevin Smith, forty years old, married to my wife Margaret (also forty) for eighteen years. The first eight years of our marriage were great; sex five times a week, many erotic trips together, etc. Then Margaret got into politics. Over the last two years especially it had become clear that me, and sex, were way behind politics in her list of priorities. I had become one horny dude, and my eye had started to wander, especially after she announced as the Democratic candidate for lieutenant governor of Virginia.

Her opponent, the Republican candidate, was Brian Jones, about forty five years old. We lived in Arlington, he lived one suburb over in Alexandria. Brian and my wife had a very contentious relationship – both are very ambitious, intense, and truly believe in the basic principles of their parties. I, on the other hand, am only mildly interested in politics, and though I would never tell my wife I am actually an Independent.

Although the election was still a good seven months away the League of Women Voters scheduled a “meet the candidates night” – not a real debate but public remarks by the candidates for governor and lieutenant governor, and then a “mixer” afterwards where everyone could mingle. Of course I was expected to attend and did so. Fortunately, none of the spouses were introduced, and I could blend into the crowd.

At the mixer part of the evening, while my wife was working the crowd, I saw a woman eyeing me on more than one occasion. While I didn’t want to have an affair until after the election was over, so as not to potentially embarrass my wife, I was on the lookout for potential “candidates” for the future so I sized her up. She was a big boned woman – and I don’t use that as a euphemism for “fat” because she definitely was not fat, just big – I’d say about 5 feet 10 inches tall, 150 lbs., probably a year or two older than I was. She had a nice face, though too much makeup. She also had enormous tits and a truly, truly spectacular ass, big and round. In both tit and ass size and shape she was very different from my small-chested, flat-assed wife. While I had always liked big tits and big round asses I overlooked those “deficiencies” when I fell in love with my wife.

I went up to the “big” woman and introduced myself as Kevin, just Kevin. She introduced herself as Carol, just Carol. We started talking, making eye contact except when our eyes strayed to various body parts. I was as pleasant, charming, and gentlemanly as I could be to her, and we talked and laughed for a good hour, before the mixer started to break up; clearly we had some chemistry. When we both realized that the event was winding down, we mutually said we needed to say goodbye. I said “you know I don’t even know your last name. I’m Kevin Smith.”

She got a quizzical look on her face and said “I’m Carol Jones.”

“Is your husband Brian, the person running against my wife Margaret for lieutenant governor?” I queried.

She laughed, and said “I guess so,” resulting in me laughing even harder.

I don’t know what came over me, but as we were laughing I said “Well I don’t know about Brian’s politics but at least he had the good judgment to marry a charming woman with an A+ ass.”

Oh Shit! Immediately after I said that I couldn’t believe that I had. Carol’s jaw dropped, and she turned red. I could feel that I was getting flushed too and was sure that my jaw had also dropped. I stammered out an apology, something like “Oh geez, I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean any insult. Sometimes the filter between my brain and mouth doesn’t work right.”

Carol smiled at that and said “Does that mean you really do think I have an A+ ass?”

Not knowing what else to say I said “Actually, yes, but it was inappropriate for me to say it.”

Just then her husband Brian walked up and introduced himself. He was clearly shocked to find out that I was Margaret’s husband. As we parted ways I smiled at Carol and said “Very nice meeting you,” which got a really big, genuine, responsive smile from her.

Not being too good at multi-tasking the next two days I thought of nothing but Carol’s charming personality, big tits, and especially that world class ass. I shockingly was even able to seduce my wife the day after (the first time in a month) and really pounded the shit out of her thinking about Carol’s ass.

Then a plan hatched in my pea brain. If I had an affair with Carol I wouldn’t have to worry about hurting my wife’s chances at getting elected since if the affair were exposed it would hurt Brian as much as it would my wife. So I called Carol up a couple of days later. I asked her to lunch, my excuse being to apologize for my comment and also to try and see if we could come up with ways to convince our spouses to keep the campaign as positive as possible with no personal attacks. She agreed – and I could hear genuine excitement in her voice when she accepted my invitation. Maybe she was thinking of me as much as I was of her, I dreamed.

Carol greeted me warmly, with a big smile and hug, when we met for lunch. She looked great – less makeup than the first time I met her, and in a more revealing outfit, one that honored that famous army officer “Major Cleavage.” Her outfit also was so tight on her hemispherical ass that you could bounce a quarter off of it. While we talked politics a little – I found out that she also was an Independent – mostly we talked about personal matters such as how difficult and lonely it was to be the spouse of a candidate. Before we knew it we had talked for three hours.

As we hugged to leave with an impish look on her face Carol said “This was a lot different than the first time we talked. You never mentioned my ass once.”

This time I don’t think I blushed, but took her comment in stride, and quickly responded “That’s because I’ve concluded it isn’t simply an A+ ass, but world class, and I would never want to take the chance of embarrassing someone who was world class in anything.”

That got me a laugh, and another big, tit-smashing, hug. When she turned and walked away it was obvious that she was swinging that thing as provocatively as she could. It was just like I was a trout and that ass was a baited hook; I was snagged!

I made a point of finding out as much about Carol as I could. I found out things like where Carol shopped and what activities she engaged in, and “ran into” her at several stores and twice at a health club. The health club run-ins were actually painful, however, since she was dressed in shorts and a tank top and my suppressed boner was so hard it really, really hurt. We also checked what political events each other would be attending so as to – ostensibly – not be bored when we attended, since we could chat with each other. I had contact with Carol at least four times a week, and we became really good friends.

Despite her apparent attraction to me, I was very reluctant to approach Carol sexually in case I had misinterpreted anything, or in case I was shot down – I am not good at handling rejection, never was, and probably never will be. Then a cataclysmic event occurred about three months after we first met. One of my wife’s staffers – I don’t know if it was with my wife’s knowledge or not – made a comment to the press about an alcohol problem that Carol had had about five years ago. It was a stupid comment that was totally irrelevant to the campaign but it was published in a local newspaper. Carol and I found out about it the same day. I was livid.

I called Carol up – by then I had her cell phone number – but she didn’t answer. I left a message telling her I would see to it that the person who made the comment was fired (which I did, despite my wife’s reluctance, since I went postal). I apologized even though I had nothing to do with it and begged her to call back. When she hadn’t called back by the next morning I took a chance and went over to her house.

Carol answered the door crying. When she saw that it was me, she tried to close it. I wouldn’t let her. I barraged in. I begged her to believe that I didn’t know anything about it ahead of time, that I got the person fired, and that I was truly, truly sorry. We sat on a couch together, and she continued to sob, saying that the hardest thing she had had to do in her life was to overcome her alcohol addiction, that she had tried hard to put it in the past, and that it was very painful to be reminded of it, especially in a public forum.

She looked so innocent – so vulnerable – so tender – so sensitive – I couldn’t help myself. I gently kissed her on the lips. Not meeting any resistance I continued the kiss for a good two minutes. When I finally moved my lips away there were no new tears in her eyes and she had a crooked smile. I told her “I really hate to see someone I love hurt.”

Did I just say that? What the fuck am I doing? I said to myself.

Carol looked startled for a few seconds and then seriously replied “You just said that you loved me. Are you just saying that to make me feel better, or is this another case of no filter between your brain and mouth?”

I sheepishly replied “Apparently my brain-to-mouth filter doesn’t work around you. It’s true, but I didn’t mean to say it.”

That moment changed everything. Before I could do or say anything else she was on me like a fly on shit. She rubbed her hands all over my body, plastered lascivious kisses on me, and within minutes had removed her top and bra and was going for my pants. Of course I was only too willing, and moved my pelvis around as best I could to help her get to my dick as I sucked and fondled her gigantic tits.

Her tits looked big when she was dressed but when she was topless they looked positively monstrous as they flopped around. They were beautiful, soft, and inviting, and her nipples were oversized even for her enormous breasts, and rock hard. God they were heavenly to suck on!

We continued to tickle each other’s tonsils as she uncovered my rock hard Johnson, and vigorously stroked in with one hand while gently fondling my testicles with the other hand. After less than 5 minutes of our mutual mauling I broke our kisses and told her “I’ve got to eat and fuck you, now.” By then I was completely pantless.

Her sly response “Anxious for lunch, are you? Let’s go someplace more comfortable.”

With that she got up, grabbed my hand and started leading me away. I stopped her, picked her up (not an easy thing to do, but I’m a big guy and weight lift every other day) and said “Me Tarzan, you Jane, Tarzan carry Jane to bed then fuck Jane good,” evoking a laugh from Carol as she pointed the way to her bedroom. Fortunately it was on the first floor – carrying her up the stairs may have been really difficult.

I bounced her on her bed then stripped off my shirt and removed her skirt and panties with one swipe. She had an enormous hairless pussy, with craggy swollen pussy lips – I didn’t know if it was because she was excited, or because they were always like that. Frankly, I didn’t care as I dove into her waiting cunt with both hands, my lips, and my tongue.

To be honest I never ate my wife much – not because I don’t like pussy because I really do, but because my wife’s pussy smelled like mackerel. Carol’s, on the other hand, was the sweetest I had ever tasted in my life, and smelled as good as it tasted. I was licking and slurping up a storm. After a few minutes, between loud pleasure moans, Carol said “I –groan – want your –Oh My God – dick, get –Holy shit, ahhh- it up here – scream.”

Not wanting to deny her anything I quickly spun 180 degrees and put my throbbing hard on just above her mouth while I continued to finger fuck and tongue her now sopping wet cunt. When she started to suck me like a starving woman with a lollipop as I slurped up her sweet, honey-like pussy nectar I thought “God, this truly really must be heaven”.

Once I drove her to two 8.0 on the Richter scale climaxes, and was about to spew cum all over the place myself, I spun around 180 degrees again and then buried my pulsating beet-red tool in her cunt. While I am 6 feet 3 inches tall, my dick is only a little longer and bigger around than what I have read is average, and it seemed to get lost in her cavernous fuck hole. I remember thinking Shit, she needs nine inches to fill her up, but I put my feelings of inadequacy aside, lifted her legs onto my shoulders, put a pillow under her ass, and literally pile-drove her. I guess I wasn’t as inadequate as I thought because I drove her to another, even larger orgasm, and thankfully came at virtually the same time that she did, depositing the biggest load of joy juice into her that I had produced in at least ten years.

After our essentially simultaneous over-the-top orgasms we lay together with my dick still in her and kissed and rubbed each other. I got the better of that deal since I had easy access to the phenomena on her chest, suckling her nipples like a piglet on a sow. It was probably fifteen minutes before we said anything. Carol spoke first: “Wow, that probably was my best pussy fuck of all time. To be honest, though, what really pushes my button is getting fucked in the ass. I hope you like anal.”

In actuality, I hadn’t done anal since I got married because my wife wanted nothing to do with it, and since she had a tight cunt I didn’t mind. However before I got married I had a girlfriend who wanted anal half the time, and I really liked it. With Carol’s statement I got steel hard again within a few seconds and said “Would you like to find out right now if I like anal?”

This elicited an enormous smile from Carol. She placed another lascivious kiss on me and as she was turning around to get on all fours said “You don’t need any lube except my pussy juices.”

When she was on all fours I scooped up copious amounts of both her pussy nectar and my cum – which was then oozing out of her snatch – and rubbed the liquid on her rosebud and my cock. I inserted one finger, then two, then three into her anus, each eliciting a higher level of pleasure groaning from Carol. After I had the third finger in her only a few seconds she started moaning “fuck me now, stick your prick in me, fuck me, dick fuck me now…”

Happy to oblige I buried my dip stick into her poop chute. It felt great. It was really tight and moist, and she had excellent control over her strong sphincter muscles. Not only that but now I had the best view possible of her world class ass. WOW. It was breathtaking. Naked it was even rounder and smoother than it looked when she had a tight skirt on. It had a pinkish hue, was really firm but like a hard object with a thin soft foam covering. I grabbed a luscious cheek with each hand as I started jack-hammering her ass.

Not only were her ass and anus beyond comparison but when I started whacking her exuberantly her mammoth tits started smacking into each other seemingly clapping to encourage me on. Not only could I hear the delicious flapping of her tits but by bending my torso and head to the side a little I could see them. After a while I was compelled to release one of her incomparable ass cheeks and grab one of her tits with one hand and squeeze it in sync with my whacking. My brain was overloaded with a combination of sight, sound, and tactile sensations like I could never remember having experienced before. Needless to say I soon rocketed another load of seminal fluid into her and – unprecedented for me – a volume as large as for the first fuck.

When I blasted her anus with my load Carol started convulsing, including an undulating squeezing of her sphincter muscles on my cock like a milking machine on a cow’s teat. I thought her other three orgasms were earth-shattering. If they were, this one was solar system-shattering. We were both shaking, tossing, and bucking for a good three minutes before we started to come back down. I then collapsed on top of her, with one hand still on a tit and the other on an ass cheek as my cock popped out of her ass. We lay sweating, moaning, and in semi-consciousness for what was probably a good half hour before we stirred.

We then kissed, showered together, dressed, and sat at the kitchen table eating a sandwich and drinking a non-alcoholic beverage. Between bites Carol asked “Where do we go from here dude?”

I swallowed, held her hand, and said “I’m more compatible with you than any other woman in my life, by far. Let’s fuck each other almost daily through the whole campaign, and then get divorced and marry each other.”

Without missing a bite of sandwich she nonchalantly responded “Sounds like a plan to me.”

In fact, that is what we did. Since our spouses were on the campaign trail every day, seven days a week, and at least five nights a week, we had a four month fuck fest. With Carol I had no trouble getting it up twice almost every day, six days a week, and if she still needed more I ate that sweet pussy for as long as she could take it. We really were much more compatible – both sexually and in our personalities – with each other than we had been with our spouses for at least ten years, maybe ever.

We waited a respectable two weeks (maybe it wasn’t long enough, but we didn’t give a shit) after the campaign was over before we told our spouses that we were divorcing them and moved in together. Several months later our divorces became final in the same week. That weekend we flew to Las Vegas, got married, and I fucked her pucker hole so hard and often she finally begged for mercy. To say that we’ve been wonderfully happy and sexually fulfilled ever since would be a gross understatement.

As far as the election was concerned I voted for Brian and Carol voted for Margaret. It was the least that we could do.

Do you know what is worse than being married for five years and not having sex for the past six months, finding out that other men have been having sex with your wife in your bed? My name is Robert, I am 35 years old, five foot ten, thick black hair that starts at the top of my head and doesn’t stop until it reaches my toes, green eyes, and a pretty naturally fit body, all compliments from my Italian heritage. I met Judy through my best friend from college, Mike and his wife Sarah. Sarah and Judy were roommates in college. When Mike and Sarah were married I was the best man and Judy was the maid of honor. We didn’t actually date until after college and we both started our careers. We kept running into each other through Mike and Sarah. Eventually we just fell into a relationship.

Judy was the typical petite blond hair blue eye short buxom beauty that guys dreamed of as they jerked off. She was a sexual maniac in bed. I thought, like all guys do, that I had a sexually demented mind, but Judy took it to the next level. She loved tying me up face up on the bed, then climbing on top of my seven inch cock and riding me until I was raw, cumming at least twice. Then she would turn around and sit on my face and grind her cum filled pussy in my mouth until I finished eating all my cum out.

We had a great sexual relationship, but when it came to other goals she just didn’t see kids or a house in the future. She wanted to travel the world and fuck in every country. She was openly bi and loved having other women in bed with us. I didn’t complain, who would? We both made really good money, me as a CPA and she was a museum curator. In her job she traveled half of the time looking for new displays. When it was somewhere exotic and/or nice, I would tag along with her. But come tax season I worked 24/7 from January through April 15th. I would drag my ass home and want to fall into bed asleep, Judy wanted to play and got mad when I wouldn’t, or couldn’t.

It was one of those nights in the middle of March, dragging home around eleven at night, walking into our bedroom to find my wife on all fours being fucked by this huge muscle guy from our gym and her face was buried in some woman’s snatch. Most men would find this hot. However, for the past six months my wife and I had not had any sex. I thought we were in a rut, turns out she was getting plenty and didn’t need me. She did lift her head out of the woman’s pussy long enough to tell me that she is finally being fucked by people who KNOW how to fuck.

I was too tired and too hurt to even care. I did glance at the guy and noticed his cock was hung like a fucking baseball bat. His well chiseled body was covered in sweat and glistening. He looked at me and gave me a wink. Then he beckoned me to come over to the bed and join them. He was very good looking and if I was going bi, he would get me to try. At the same time that monster cock scared me. If I was part of Judy’s plan to be part of her orgy that would be one thing, but it’s that she was having sex with other people and she just didn’t care what I thought about it. I said a few choice words to her and her friends and left.

I walked out of the room and didn’t stop until I was back in my car and driving to nowhere. I was still in shock and my auto pilot must have kicked in as I was pulling up to Mike and Sarah’s house. I didn’t even realize I had been driving for over an hour. I don’t remember any of the trip or how I even got there. I was just there. I sat in the car for about fifteen minutes before their porch light went on. Then, out of nowhere, Mike was standing next to my window trying to open my car door. I opened the door, got out, and stood staring into his face. He must have understood something bad happened and pulled me into a big hug. He said something like “Whatever it is buddy, we’re here for you.” We both walked into his house.

Sarah was coming down the stairs as Mike and I entered their home. “Robert is everything OK?”

Mike still had his arm around my shoulder, probably the only reason I was standing, as I looked up at her and said “Not really, can I crash here tonight?”

“You don’t even have to ask, the guest room is always made up. Can I get you a drink?” Mike said as he squeezed me into another hug.

I look at him, “You don’t even want to know why I’m here?” I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes.

Mike looked back at me, “If and when you are ready we are here for you buddy. If you just want time to yourself we will respect that. I don’t want to push you before you’re ready. Do you want to talk?”

Sarah walked towards us and wrapped her arms around the both of us, “Let’s go into the kitchen and I’ll put on a pot of coffee.”

Sarah and Mike were your typical ken and Barbie. Mike was six foot two inches tall, blonde hair, and blue eyes. He has a washboard stomach, from playing handball, which he loved to beat me on a weekly basis. Mike is a Finance Major, and has a great position with a large manufacturing company. Sara is six feet tall, by looking at her five feet of her are legs. She has long flowing red hair, green eyes, and small 32b breasts. Sara, like Judy, is an Art Major, and landed a job as a manager of a huge art store that deals only in very large price tag items.

Mike and Sarah have a nice big home outside of the city, where we all work, as opposed to my apartment in the city. They chose the bigger home and the commute, where Judy wanted to be in the heart of the city with all the action. Mike and Sarah are more private and quiet, like me. In retrospect Judy and I are really polar opposites. We sat at the kitchen table and I told them everything, well almost everything.

Sarah was more pissed at Judy that I even was, “That BITCH! This is all my fault, I should have never introduced you two. I’m so sorry Robert you shouldn’t have to feel this pain. I knew she was bi, hell she taught me a thing or two, but I at least thought she had SOME scruples.”

Sarah’s comment didn’t go unnoticed by either of us when we both looked at her and said “WHAT!”

Sarah gave us a cute smile, “What do you mean ‘What’? It was college we all experimented. Don’t tell me you boys didn’t try anything as roommates?”

Again Mike and I were on the same page, “HELL No!”

Sarah got up from the table, grabbed the coffee pot, and poured us all a fresh cup, “I thought everyone in college fucked anything and everyone in sight. Hump! I guess I was more of slut that I wanted to believe.” She looked at our stunned faces, and then broke out laughing. “Relax boys I was just trying to lighten the mood. You both are still so gullible.”

Then we are started to laugh, Sarah’s ploy worked and I felt a little better. We finished up our coffee and headed up to bed. The staircase separated the upstairs with the master bedroom on the right side of the house, and the two spare bedrooms and bath on the other. Sarah broke off and headed to the master bedroom while Mike escorted me to the spare room. He made sure that I had enough blankets and pillows. Sarah came in caring a toothbrush, toothpaste, some clothes, and a pair of silk boxers. “The toothbrush is new, and here is a pair of Mike’s shorts to sleep in, a swim suite, shorts, and shirt for tomorrow. Set your clothes in a pile in the bathroom and I will wash them tomorrow.”

I thanked her, “You guys are the best. I will get up and be out of here in the morning. You don’t have to babysit me. I will work it out with Judy tomorrow.”

Mike gave me another hug, “You can stay as long as you want to. Anything we have is yours. Don’t do anything until you’re ready.”

Sarah followed suit and gave me hug as well, kissed me on the cheek and said goodnight. As soon as they were gone I stripped down and put on Mike’s boxers. They fit perfect and the silk felt surprisingly erotic against my skin. I went into the bathroom, brushed my teeth, and took a leak. When I got back to my bed I picked up my phone and called Judy. She answered annoyed, “What?”

I started to apologize for leaving, “I’m sorry I left, I should have let you explain.” What a pussy I was becoming.

She tore me a new asshole, “It’s just sex. You work so much during tax season that I have to get sex elsewhere. I had my two friends over and they were dying to meet you and play with you. I try and open your mind up for new sexual pleasures and what did you do, you call me and my friend’s names and stormed out. I was so embarrassed that I lost my sex drive tonight, almost. Chad was disappointed he wanted to suck your cock so bad. He thought you were hot.”

I sat there with my mouth open, “We never discussed a three way, or a four way for that matter, with another guy. I would need to get my mind set. This time of year is not the time to spring new things on me. I can’t focus on anything until April 16th.” I thought to myself, ‘how the fuck did this turn into my fault’.

Judy fixed that, “Look Robert, we just aren’t sexually compatible. I need someone who is willing to open their mind up and explore all sexual stimulations. Sex can be so good no matter who you’re with, male or female. You need to lighten up Robert and explore a whole other world of sexual pleasure. I need variety Robert, I can’t be in a relationship right now in my life that has so many restrictions. I want, no I NEED a divorce. I will pack your things, come and get them this weekend. Gotta go, Chad just got hard for round three, see ya.”

“See ya?” Married for five years and she hangs up like a teenage girl hanging up with her friend. I clicked the phone off and stared at the ceiling. At least it was Friday night and I wouldn’t have to go to work in the same clothes as today? This sucks! I lay on the bed and started to actually cry.

I barely heard the light knock before the door opened and Mike came into my room. He just had on a pair of boxers on, “You ok man? What happened?” Mike sat on the bed and scooped me up in his arms and held me. I wrapped my arms around him, buried my face in his neck and balled like a blithering idiot.

Mike kissed my head and whispered in my “SSSHHHH. It’s ok, let it out.”

I felt the bed shift again and felt a soft hand rubbing my back and racking through my hair. I lifted my head to see Sarah on the bed as well consoling me. She beckoned me into her arms as Mike pushed me into her. “Babe, go get a glass of water for Robert, and grab the box of tissue from the bathroom.” Mike got up to get the items.

Through a runny nose and teary eyes I got out enough of what Judy said. Sara squeezed me really tight, “There are better people out there for you Robert. You’re a damn good, LOYAL, man. You deserve happiness. Judy will wake up one day, hopefully with an STD, and realize what she lost out on.”

I laughed and cried at the same time. Mike came back and handed me some tissue. I was happy to blow my nose and wipe my eyes. I drank some water and handed Mike the glass back, which he then set on my nightstand. Mike sat back down on the bed next to me and placed his hand on my thigh and softly stroked it to console me.

I was finally calming down and became aware of the fact that we were on a bed together almost naked. In fact, looking at Sarah, she only had on a very sheer black lace robe on, and her pert tits were very clear to see. With my nose finally clear I suddenly caught the scent of sex. ‘Oh crap’ I thought to myself, they were having sex and I interrupted with my blubbering.

I started to apologize profusely, “I am so sorry to bother the two of you with my problems. I can’t believe how immature and stupid I am acting. I will be out of here in the morning.”

Sara grabbed me and pulled me into her bosom. “Robert, you can just shut-up now. You will be staying here. I will go get your things tomorrow and bring them here. We will spend the weekend drinking and forgetting. You are the best friend we have, fuck that, you’re family. After tax season we will look for a new place for you to live, if that is what you still want to do. Decisions are made so we don’t have to think, we just all have to follow through.”

I felt Mike scoot closer to my back side and he started to knead my shoulders to relax me. My head was still buried in Sarah’s bosom and the cum smell from her pussy was starting to turn me on. I felt my cock rising in Mike’s silk boxers. I looked down at Sarah’s breast and I could see her nipples sticking out against the sheer robe, and they were hard as a rock. My eyes traveled down her smooth stomach to her crotch to find her robe spread open revealing a very swollen and smoothly shaved pussy.

Was I over reading all of this? I interrupted them having sex, they run in to my room more worried about me than the way they were dressed and I start thinking horny thoughts. Judy said I wasn’t sexually adventurous enough, but I have to get my mind under control. Mike and Sarah’s hands continued to roam all over my body, consoling me. My heart began to race and I felt my breathing become heavier. I felt my cock twitch as Mike’s hand ran over one leg and Sarah’s hand on the other. As my cock became hard it began to snake its way out the front of my boxers. Mike’s boxers, the pair he wore at one time. His cock was where mine is now. I let out an audible moan against Sarah’s breast.

Sarah rubbed my head and applied a little more pressure to my head forcing it against her breast. My lips were pressed against the side of her left nipple. “That’s it Robert, just relax. Let us take care of you baby. Just relax.”

I could barely hear her, what was she saying? What did she mean? Then Mike pressed is chest against my back and nuzzled his face in the back of my neck, just behind my ear. “Just relax buddy. Sarah and I are here for you. Let it out. You’ll feel better. We want you here with us. We love you.”

I was so confused and so sexually aroused. Are they consoling me or seducing me? The warmth of Mike’s skin against me made we want to melt back against him. I wanted to suck Sarah’s nipple into my mouth. But they were just really good, caring friends I can’t fuck that up, especially not tonight.

Then Sarah’s robe was pulled open and my head was guided to her bare breast. Mike was in my ear, “Go on buddy take it. Let us make you feel good tonight. We want this to happen for you.”

I opened my mouth and Sarah fed me her tit. I slowly suck in her hard nipple. I used my tongue to trace her areola all around it perimeter. My tongue followed the length of her nipple until the tip of my tongue touched the tip of her hard nipple. I lightly clamped my teeth on the base of her nipple and started to give her nipple a good tongue lashing. Her hand pressed my head hard against her breast, “OH god Yes that feels so good Robert. That’s it, nurse on me baby, suck my tits good and hard. Oh yes that is soooo good baby.”

My hands found their way under her open robe and I ran them up and down her naked spine. Mike’s hands moved from my back, up and down my sides then moved to the front of my chest. He lightly grabbed each of my nipples and started rolling them between his finger and thumb. At the same time I felt his hot breath at my ear as he kissed and sucked my earlobe, “Just go with it, let us make you happy, this is all about you Robert. Let us make you feel good.”

The words were softly and seductively spoken. Their hands were all over my body. I was in sexual overload. I could feel my precum dripping down my shaft and onto the boxers. I started to moan in ecstasy. There was nothing going on that I didn’t want to happen. My two best friends were tenderly making love to my body. I have never felt like anyone wanted me more than them. That has never happened with Judy, let alone a man like Mike.

Sarah lifted my head and pulled me into her for a nice long kiss. I melted into her arms as Mike held us together and laid us gently on the bed. Sarah and I were now making out in a prone position. Mike moved down the bed and I felt him hook his thumbs in my boxers and slide them down and off. The silky boxers were so smooth there was no resistance. I felt Mike rubbing his face and hands up my legs as he moved up my body. Somewhere Sarah had lost her robe. It must have slid off as we were moving down the bed and kissing. Mike continued to bathe me in soft kisses as Sarah did the same. I was still on my side leaving my front and backsides exposed.

Sarah was kissing me all over my face and neck, while Mike was working his way along the back of my legs. Then I felt Mike kiss my ass cheeks. Nobody has ever done that before. Mike kissed his way up my spine. My body was on sensory overload. My cock throbbed and leaked against Sarah’s leg.

Sarah was kissing and licking my neck and face. Mike was kissing the back of my neck and working his way to my face. I heard him and Sarah share a kiss before I felt a set of lips return to mine. I turned my head to the left and felt soft lips against my right cheek and ear. The lips against my face were softer. As I opened my mouth to let a tongue in I then noticed the scratchy face of Mike scrape against my face. Mike and I were kissing, and I didn’t mind. I needed the sexual attention. I was starving for the attention. I could feel the energy from my two best friends, my lovers. I needed the love. I wanted to be loved.

I started to kiss Mike back with a certain amount of urgency. I wanted him to want me. Sarah came up to my face and Mike pulled back from me just enough so that Sarah can add her tongue to the most tender exchange I have ever encountered. It was erotic and primal all at the same time. We all needed the sexual release and we all agreed through our exchange of kisses that we were all going to please each other tonight. We gave ourselves up to each other, no matter what that meant.

Sarah and Mike both moved down my body. Kissing my neck along the way until they both simultaneously reached my nipples. My body jerked and stiffened at the same time as they each licked and sucked on my nipples. I wrapped an arm around each of their necks as I caressed their heads and held them against my nipples at the same time. I was fighting from not cumming and enjoying the sensations at the same time.

As if of one mind, they released the assault on my nipples and licked and kissed their way down my stomach until they reached my dripping cock. They gently licked the sides of my cock forcing it to leap in the air, almost standing straight up, causing a long strand of precum to fling onto my stomach. As Mike went for the drop of cum Sarah inhaled my cock. I was squeezing the bed sheets and pulling them out from their tucked in confines between the mattress and box spring.

I was writhing and moaning in pure delight. Sarah released the suction hold she had on my cock and dragged her tongue down my shaft and slid her body between my legs. Her hands went under my ass and lifted me up off the bed. I no sooner felt her tongue on my hole than I felt Mike engulf my throbbing cock. I was being rimmed and blown at the same time. No one could have held back any longer. I cried out in pleasure as I felt the cum surge from my balls, through the shaft of my cock, and released, with a force I didn’t think possible, into Mike’s throat, “Oh god I’m cumming, oh shit oh no ARRRGGHHH!!!! MMMMPH, MMMPH”

I gritted my teeth and moaned and breathed as the orgasm swept through my body. Sarah and Mike did not let up. They continued to rim and suck me all the way through my orgasm. I felt my body finally release and relax. When they felt this Mike released my cock and I felt Sarah lower my ass back onto the bed. I looked down at Mike and Sarah sharing what I expected to be a nice cum kiss.

Mike and Sarah came back up to my face and I could smell my cum on both of them. Sarah was the first to speak, “I hope you don’t mind Robert. We both love you so much it killed us to see you in pain. We both wanted this for you. We both wanted you.”

I learned a long time ago, that life doesn’t always turn out the way you plan or hope, and sometimes you’ve just got to roll with the punches. But for me to tell you my strange and erotic story, or as I jokingly call it, my “journey through the rabbit hole,” you need to understand how I got to this juncture in my life. Robert Falcone and I were married just after I graduated college. Robert, a handsome red-haired, blue-eyed man, who graduated a couple of years ahead of me, was a good and loving husband, never abusive, and even encouraged me to earn my master’s degree. He had a great paying job with a company that had hired him while he was still in college, and he climbed the corporate ladder to provide a wonderful life for us. He even stood by my side when the doctors told us that after I was in a terrible car crash, that I had not only lost our baby, but that I wouldn’t be able to have any more children, and never once blamed me for it. I worked as a teacher at a local middle school and I loved my job. Robert’s company was growing and expanding, and several times a year had formal parties where we would go so Robert could network.

It was at what turned out to be my last party with Robert when my life started to drastically change. I suppose you could say it was when my “journey through the rabbit hole” actually began, though I didn’t know it at the time. Robert was doing his usual networking and I was chatting with some of the wives catching up on the latest office gossip when a beautiful, olive-skinned woman with black hair and dark brown eyes walked up and asked, “Are you Crystal Falcone?”

“Yes,” I said.

Suddenly, she threw her drink into my face and screamed, “THAT’S FOR FUCKING MY HUSBAND YOU WHORE!”

I heard the collective gasp of the women around me, and I knew what people were thinking. I grabbed a napkin and attempted to wipe the drink from my eyes as I said, “Lady, unless your husband is Robert Falcone, you have the wrong woman.”

“SO YOU ARE DENYING IT?” she shrieked.

“Yes!” I exclaimed. “Besides, I probably don’t even know who your husband is.”

“My husband is Peter Miller.”

Well shit, it turned out that I did know her husband, but not because I was fucking him; he and my husband were golf buddies. I had only met Peter a few times in passing. He was a handsome man with black hair and brown eyes, and until this rather embarrassing moment, I had never met his wife. “Look Mrs. Miller, I swear to you that I am not having an affair with your husband.” Then I said loud enough for everyone to hear, “OR ANYONE ELSE’S HUSBAND EITHER!”

With that, Robert and Peter walked up. “Emily, what have you done?” asked Peter.

“I… I… I just—” and with that, Emily Miller burst into tears.

Damn, now I felt sorry for this poor woman. Peter wrapped his arms around his wife and said, “Bob, Crys, I’m so sorry for this.”

“No harm, no foul,” I said. “Besides, these parties rarely get any excitement.”

I heard a few people chuckle nervously as Peter escorted his wife away. Robert and I left shortly after but didn’t talk about what had occurred between Peter’s wife and me. A few days later, I attended a required teacher training that ended early so I decided to go home and relax. I was shocked to see Robert’s car in the driveway. After I parked, I checked my watch and cell phone to make sure of the time. I knew Robert should’ve still been at work, so seeing his car meant something had to be wrong. I quickly went into the house and looked, but Robert was nowhere to be found. I went upstairs and noticed that our bedroom door was closed, which was odd because I was sure I had left it open when I left that morning. As I approached, I heard something, like a grunting noise coming from our bedroom. It took me a moment to realize what I was hearing, were sex sounds.

Then I heard a man’s voice say, “Your ass is just so fucking tight.”

There was one thing I knew for sure, that was not Robert’s voice. I slowly opened the door, peeked in, and saw Peter Miller anally fucking… MY HUSBAND! My first instinct was to bust in on them, especially after what happened at the party, but then I had a better idea. I grabbed my cell phone, checked that the ringer was still off from the training, and began recording. I would check the screen occasionally to make sure I had them both in the shot, as what I was seeing was disturbing on so many levels. In twenty minutes I had footage of Peter fucking Robert, Robert fucking Peter, both of them sucking each other’s cocks, and dialogue that a porno director would kill for.

When they finished, I quickly and quietly went downstairs and left the house. I called Robert’s secretary for Peter’s address, claiming that Robert had requested that I make peace with Emily. I knew everyone had heard about the party incident, and my story would be believable. She happily gave me the address, and I asked her not to tell Robert as I drove to Peter’s house. Luckily, for me, she agreed. Emily Miller was more than a little shocked to see me at her door, but that was nothing compared to her reaction to the video. After she downloaded a copy for herself and apologized profusely, I bid her goodbye.

Later, I phoned a lawyer friend of mine and asked for the name of the best divorce lawyer in the area. About a week after my call, I met with my new lawyer, showed her the video, and watched the dollar signs dance in her eyes. That night, I cooked Robert’s favorite dinner, served it with his favorite wine, and baked his favorite dessert. He had no idea what I had planned for him as this was my “let’s make love” dinner. After we finished dessert, I told Robert I had a special movie for us to watch so we took our wine and went into the living room. We sat on the couch and I turned on the TV and the DVD player. I wish I had thought to set up a video camera to capture the look on Robert’s face when he realized the “porno” we were watching was starring Peter Miller and himself in our bedroom.

“Turn it off,” he said after a few minutes.

“Why?” I asked innocently. “Don’t you like—”

“I said turn it off Crystal!” he barked.

I stopped the DVD and said, “There’s plenty more Robert. I’d say… about twenty minutes more.”

“Where did you get this?”

I took a sip of my wine. “Funny thing. I came home early one day and found your car parked in the driveway. I’ll admit I was pretty surprised, but that was nothing compared to the surprise I found in our bedroom.”

“Crystal, I can explain—”

I put my hand up to stop him. “Save it. Tell me, are you gay or bi?”

Robert hung his head in shame. “Bi.”

“How long?”

“Crys, I swear—”


Robert sighed. “Five years.”

I dropped my wine glass and it shattered on the floor. I expected him to say a few months, maybe a year, but five, that came as a shock. After thirteen years of marriage, of me being a faithful and loyal wife, he’d been unfaithful to me for at least the last five, possibly more. It took all the strength I had to keep it together, but not before I slapped him as hard as I could. “I’ve already spoken to a lawyer and I’m filing for divorce.”

“Crys, who all has seen this video?”

“As far as I know, aside from us, Emily Miller and my lawyer. But you’ve only seen the first couple of minutes.”

“You showed this to Emily Miller?”

“Yeah, I felt she had a right to know exactly who her husband was fucking after what happened at the party.”

Robert blew out a breath of air. He knew I had him by the balls. If this video were to get out, it would ruin him. Not because of the homosexual affair, but because he had one with a married man, and with a fellow colleague, which was considered fraternization, an offense that would get both men fired. I did not intend to see Robert lose his job, especially since he’d been there since college, but I wasn’t sure about Emily Miller.

“What do you want Crys?” he asked.

“My lawyer will be in touch shortly, but I suggest you find a new place to live.”

Robert jumped up and yelled, “Like hell! This is my fucking house!”

“Our fucking house!” I snapped back. “You forget Robert! My name is on the deed too!”

He ran his hands through his red hair. “This is stupid Crys! Let’s work this shit out!”

“You’ve been cheating on me for at least five years! There’s nothing to, quote, ‘work out’ as you say. I can’t trust you anymore! Now, if you insist on staying here, then pick a fucking bedroom because I’m not sharing a bed with you ever again!”

“Crys, please!” he begged.

“Pick a bedroom Robert. I’m tired and I wish to get some rest.”

Robert sighed. “Fine, I’ll take the guest bedroom.”

“Good. You’ve got three days to remove your shit from the master bedroom.”

I stormed upstairs and locked myself into what was our bedroom. Here was the room we had made love in so many times, created our angel baby, and shared so many other memories. This was also the room that my marriage ended in. That night, I cried myself to sleep, and it was the last time I cried about my failed marriage.

My lawyer was well worth Robert’s money. Not only did she get him to pay the court costs and her fees, but also a generous spousal support for the next seven years or until I re-married, whichever came first, and a percentage of his retirement. We lived in the house until it sold, and split the profits, which I invested. When it was all said and done, I got my divorce, and he paid all the bills.

I rented a nice apartment just a few miles from the school where I was working that I could afford even without Robert’s money. I was living on my own for the first time since college and I was ready to move forward. I just didn’t realize at 38, I’d be in this situation, but I chose to try to make the best of it. I was in no hurry to start dating after my divorce, but at least I still had my looks, somewhat. I mean, I have long, curly blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and I stand 5’3″ when I’m barefoot. I’m pretty curvy for my short stature, 40D bra size, 44″ hips, and my legs have always had some shape. Unfortunately, so does my stomach, along with some nasty scars from my car crash that made me nervous about showing my mid-section to anyone, especially a new man. Robert was there when I got these, and accepted them as part of me. The real question was, would another man?

About three years after my divorce finalized, I had the day from hell. I overslept because I had forgotten to set my alarm, followed by a flat tire on the way to work. Then I had a parent accused me of picking on her “perfect” son who was failing my class, my classroom computer crashed, and all my files were lost. This was followed by a staff meeting that ran two hours longer than it should have, and was more of a teacher reprimand than the informational meeting we usually had. I ran by a local grocery store to pick up a few things I needed, and when I arrived home to unload, the bag broke and all my things spilled out and either scattered all over my trunk or on the ground. That was the final straw and I burst into tears. It was the first time I’d cried since the night I confronted Robert about Peter.

“Are you all right?” asked a woman.

I looked up and saw a young woman with jet-black hair, gothic make-up and clothes, with a nice smile. I wiped the tears off my cheeks, feeling like a complete idiot, and said, “I’m just having a shitty day.”

“I’m Rayanne Baxter,” she said extending her hand to me.

“Crystal Falcone,” I sniffled and shook her hand.

She smiled and began picking up my spilled groceries and putting them in one of those cloth shopping bags that environmentalists were always promoting. Once she had everything gathered up from the ground and my trunk, she helped me carry them into my apartment and put them away. Once that was done, she took my hand and dragged/escorted me to her apartment where she poured me a glass of wine and prepared us dinner. Over dinner, she shared with me that she was a computer programmer, Goth, and a lesbian. I told her about me, my failed marriage, my job, and my shitty day. She said she could and would be willing to fix my work computer and rescue my lost files the next day before school. We shared the bottle of wine and soon I was laughing and feeling so much more relaxed.

At 9:00 PM, I knew I needed to get home and ready for bed so I could meet Rayanne at my classroom before school so she could fix my computer. I thanked her for her help and hospitality when she kissed me. Now, I haven’t kissed a woman since college and I had forgotten how much I liked it. She slipped her tongue into my mouth and I melted in her arms. I mean, I hadn’t had sex since Robert and I separated, and her kiss made my sex wet, my nipples instantly hard, and lit a fire of desire in my soul. She could have thrown me to the floor, had her way with me sexually, and wouldn’t have minded, but she didn’t.

She pulled away and said, “I’m sorry Crystal. It’s just, I’ve wanted to do that since I saw you crying.”

“So why are you sorry?” I asked, confused and horny.

“Because I want to do so much more and I can’t. I’m in a committed relationship and—”

“Say no more,” I interrupted. “I understand.”

Rayanne smiled. “Can we still be friends?”

“Of course!” I exclaimed. “Maybe this weekend the three of us can do something?”

“Sure!” said Rayanne. “Good night Crystal.”

“Good night Rayanne.”

I went home, masturbated, and went to bed. The next day Rayanne kept her word about fixing my computer and even gave me a pink 8 GB flash drive to back up my files. That weekend I met Farren Munoz, a beautiful brown-haired, green-eyed, Hispanic woman, and Rayanne’s girlfriend of over a year. She wasn’t a Goth like Rayanne, but she was gorgeous. We explained how we met, my shitty day, and the kiss we shared. I left out about how horny her kiss made me, but then again, I didn’t tell Rayanne about that either. Farren agreed to forgive Rayanne if she could kiss me too. I wasn’t thrilled to be used like this, but I agreed. Turned out Farren was a better kisser than Rayanne, and I was even more aroused than I was before. The three of us became great friends and did many things together. They even took me to a great adult toy store on Market Street so I could relieve some sexual tension and frustration.

In early October, the girls told me about an annual Halloween party they attended and wanted to know if I was interested in going with them. The party was by “invitation only.” Because they were old friends with the host, they could, on occasion, bring a guest, and this year they wanted to bring me. What neither of them knew was Halloween is one of my favorite holidays. Every year I would decorate my home and dress up to pass out candy to the kids in our neighborhood. I had always wanted to either host or attend a Halloween party, but Robert hated Halloween, so he grudgingly accepted my decorations and costume. When they invited me to this exclusive party, I said “yes” even after they warned me it was a “sexy” party and not to be surprised to see people performing various sex acts. I wasn’t sure if I was up for a Halloween orgy, but Rayanne assured me that any sex acts were off in separate rooms and often the doors were closed, but some left the doors open, since they liked to be watched and wanted more to join in.

On the second Saturday in October, the three of us went costume shopping and this created a moment of trust for me with my new friends. Rayanne picked out a sexy cheerleader costume that showed off her beautiful legs, her flat stomach, and her small but perky breasts. Farren selected a sexy witch costume that hugged her curves and matched her beautiful green eyes. Me, on the other hand, found the quest for a “sexy costume” rather frustrating. None of the “standard sized” costumes fit me, and many of the “plus-sized” costumes were too big and not very sexy. I didn’t want my new friends to help me in the dressing room, but when I was stuck in one of the “too small” costumes, Rayanne and Farren had to help, and thus, saw my stomach. I heard them both gasp, and I told them what had happened. I was amazed that they both touched my scars, then said they made me both special and more beautiful. I couldn’t believe what great new friends I had.

I was just about to give up when Rayanne found the perfect costume. It was a gothic ‘Alice in Wonderland’ or ‘Malice’ as it was called. It fit me perfectly and gave me great cleavage. Farren suggested a black mini-petticoat that made the skirt fuller and added to the sex appeal to the costume. Even though the costume came with a pair of black and white checkered tights, we bought some black and white checkered thigh-high stockings for me to wear to the party, and a black straight-hair wig so I didn’t have to dye my hair. This costume was perfect because I could wear it to school and the party with just a few minor modifications. Since Halloween was on a Monday that year, I could wear my costume to the party on the Saturday before with my high heels and thigh-high stockings and then again on Monday to work with my flat Mary Jane’s and the tights. Rayanne agreed to help me with my make-up and my wig for both days.

Saturday evening, we dressed in our costumes and Rayanne did her make-up magic on Farren and me; I helped Rayanne with hers. Farren drove us to a beautiful mansion in an exclusive and expensive neighborhood. The valet, dressed as a pirate, took the car and we walked up to the door and rang the bell. Have you ever seen ‘The Addams Family’ television show? I swear on all that is holy that Lurch opened the door and said in a deep, slow, creepy voice, “You rang?”

“Good evening,” said Rayanne as she handed Lurch their invitation. “Rayanne Baxter, Farren Munoz, and Crystal Falcone.”

She pointed to each of us as she introduced us. “Follow me,” he said. I’m telling you, this was either Lurch, or his little brother.

He led us though a beautiful entryway to a pair of double doors. “Wait here,” he said slowly.

I looked around, admired the simple elegance of this place, and could hear the faint sound of thumping music. The doors opened and loud music flooded in as a bubbly little woman with blonde hair and brown eyes, dressed as an angel, stepped out and shouted, “Welcome ladies!”

She shut the doors and continued her speech at a much more normal tone. “A quick review of the rules. Number one, no pictures. Some of our guests have public lives and this is a private party.

“Number two, no cell phones. I will take your phones now, and you’ll get them back when you leave.” When Rayanne and Farren gave up their phones, I followed their lead. “Okay, Rayanne Baxter, Farren Munoz, and… are you Crystal Falcone?”

The last time a woman asked me that question, I got a drink in my face. “Depends, do you have a drink in your hand?”

“No,” the angel said, confused.

“Then yes, I’m Crystal Falcone.”

“Do you have any ID?” she asked.

“What’s this about?” I demanded.

“It’s okay Crys,” said Rayanne. “It’s for your protection as well as the other guests.”

I pulled out the tiny cardholder in my purse, pulled my license out, and gave it to the angel. She looked it over, took a picture of it, then handed it back to me. “Thank you Ms. Falcone. I’m sorry for this inconvenience, but due to the nature of this event, we can’t be too careful.”

I put my license away and said, “Yeah, I guess I can understand that.”

“Now, where was I?” said the angel. “Oh yes, the rules. Rule number three, no one leaves until after breakfast tomorrow morning. The valet has your keys and everyone will be given a breathalyzer to make sure no one goes home drunk. Hung-over and sore, well, that’s a different story.”

Rayanne and Farren giggled when she said that. I started to worry.

The angel continued. “Number four, no sex in the main room. Find an empty room.

“Number five, if a door is closed, don’t enter. If a door is open, you can either watch or join in. If the room is empty, they you may do what you please with your partner, or partners.

“Number six, we are all consenting adults here. No, means ‘no.’ If you are caught forcing yourself upon another guest, you will be removed and banned.

“Number seven, you may share your first name only with the guests. If you find someone you want to get to know better, you may share your ‘real’ information with him or her tomorrow at breakfast.

“Number eight, what happens behind these doors, stays behind these doors. If we find out you shared with a tabloid, you will be sued, and we will win. Everyone must sign a non-disclosure agreement before they enter or we’ll put you in a cab and send you on your way, after we ban you of course.”

With that, she handed us each a non-disclosure agreement (NDA) that said that we were not to share anything that happened here with anyone. Rayanne and Farren signed theirs quickly, but I read the form carefully so that I understood what I was getting myself into. I had to admit, knowing that even if someone recognized me that I wouldn’t be at risk of losing my teaching job for a morality issue, was a comfort to me. The angel stood quietly until I took her feather pen and signed my name at the bottom.

“Sorry,” I said, “but I never sign anything until I read it first.”

“Good policy,” she said as she took my paper. “And finally, eat, drink, and be merry. Happy Halloween ladies.”

The angel opened the door and escorted us into the party. The music was quite loud, but not as loud as I thought and after a few minutes, I realized why the NDA was necessary. I saw several movie stars as well as a few businessmen I knew from when I was married to Robert. I was glad I was hidden under my wig and gothic make-up, as I had no desire to be recognized by anyone who knew me from my past.

There were all kinds of crazy costumes. One guy was a hotdog vendor, and it took me a moment to realize his cock was in one of the buns. Another man was naked except for a pair of roller skates and a cock ring with a string attached. I heard him say to someone that he was an adult pull toy. I have to admit, it made me giggle. A woman was Lady Godiva and all she had on was the blonde wig and some flowers in her hair. Then I saw someone who looked like Janet Jackson after her wardrobe malfunction with the star pasties on her nipples. I stayed close to Rayanne and Farren when a man dressed like a sexy vampire with black hair and a ghost white face stepped up.

“Ladies! Glad you could join us this year!” said the sexy vampire.

Rayanne and Farren smiled and said together, “Daniel!!!”

They each hugged the vampire when he asked, “And who is this?”

“Daniel,” said Rayanne, “this is my neighbor and our friend Crystal.”

I extended my hand, and he took it in his, kissing the back softly, and said, “Ma chère. Welcome to my home.”

“Daniel is our host and the wealthy son-of-a-bitch who owns this place,” said Farren.

“Don’t mind Farren,” said Daniel, “she’s just jealous.”

There was something familiar about Daniel, like I knew him. His hazel eyes didn’t match the black hair and try as I might, I couldn’t remember anyone named Daniel from my past. I just chalked it up to the costume. “Thank you for allowing me to come,” I said.

“Oh my dear, that I may do later,” he said with a wicked grin.

I blushed through my gothic make-up as Rayanne said, “We’ll leave you two alone. Have fun Crys.”

And with that, I was alone with this mysteriously familiar vampire who was obviously flirting with me. Daniel looked me over and said, “Please tell me you’re wearing a wig.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Rayanne did my make-up and helped me with my wig.”

“So you’re not a Goth?” he asked.

“No, but am I allowed to tell you what I do for a living?”

“Whisper it in my ear, and I promise not to tell.”

I looked around then reached up on my toes, as he was so much taller than I, perhaps six-foot three, and whispered, “I’m a teacher.”

“Wow,” he said, “so would you be flattered or insulted if I requested ‘Hot for Teacher’ to be played sometime tonight?”

“Flattered,” I said, blushing.

“Good to know,” he said smiling. “And don’t worry, we usually have at least one sexy teacher here. So, let me guess your costume, and if I’m right, I get a kiss.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

“Hmmm,” he said, “I’ve never been wrong before so let me think for a moment. How about a hundred dollars if I’m wrong and a kiss if I’m right?”

“Sure,” I said.

Daniel stepped back and looked me over, had me turn around slowly. “You know, I think your costume is sexier than Lady Godiva.”

“Really, why?” I wanted to know.

“This costume complements your beautiful breasts, but it leaves something to the imagination. Besides, I think petticoats are hot.”

“Thanks, but that’s not going to get me to tell you what my costume is.”

“You’re right, but I’d say you’re a sexy French maid.”

“And I’d say you owe me a hundred dollars,” I said smiling.

“What?!?” he cried.

“I’m not dressed as a French maid.”

“Well then, what are you?” he asked.

“Pay up and I’ll tell you.”

“Smart woman,” he said. “But how will I know if you’re lying?”

“After I tell you, ask Rayanne and Farren. They’ll tell you the truth.”

“Okay,” he said and pulled out his wallet.

After he handed me the money, and I hid it in my purse, I smiled and said, “I’m ‘Malice’. As in ‘Malice in Wonderland’. Alice’s gothic alter ego.”

He looked at me again and smiled. “Shit! I see it now.”

Farren walked by. “Farren,” I called out. “Tell the Count who I am tonight.”

“Malice in Wonderland,” she said.

“Thanks Farren,” said Daniel. “You just cost me a hundred bucks.”

Farren laughed. “Serves you right! I’ll bet you wanted a kiss from her.”

“He did,” I said.

“You missed out Daniel,” she said. “She’s a great kisser.”

I blushed. I had forgotten about kissing Farren when we first met. “You kissed Farren? What did Rayanne say?”

“Nothing, she kissed me first and Farren wouldn’t forgive her unless she got to kiss me too.”

“I’ve got to ask, are you les or bi?”

“I’m bi,” I said. “But I’m also faithful. In the thirteen plus years I was with my husband, I was faithful to him the whole time.”

“Was? Are you divorced now?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I said.

“You know, you seem like a great lady, and I don’t wish to bring you down, but I have more guests arriving I need to greet. Maybe if someone hasn’t taken you off to a private room we can talk more later.”

“Sure,” I said trying to hide my disappointment. “Now go be a good host and I’ll probably be around.”

He brushed my cheek with the back of his hand, then walked away. I touched my cheek to feel the warmth from his hand, then wandered to the bar to get myself a drink. I talked with other guests and danced with a few people before I needed to find a restroom. This turned out to be a challenging quest. I entered a long hallway with lots of doors and quickly discovered that none of them was the restroom, and every room had at least one or more couple engaging in some form of a sex act. Now I was aroused and starting to hurt as my bladder wanted to be drained. Several of the rooms wanted me to join them, but I declined, and asked if they knew where the restroom was. Finally, a woman and a man exited a bathroom. I dashed in, shut the door, and after a moment, took care of business. The bathroom reeked of sex and I had a pretty good clue what those two were doing in here.

Once finished, I fixed my dress, washed my hands, and rejoined the party, though I did linger at the doorway of some of the rooms for a bit. I saw a pair of couples where the men were doggie style fucking the women, while the women were kissing each other. In another room, I saw a couple in a classic sixty-nine. Each room made me more and more aroused. Even the two men fucking turned me on a bit, but I didn’t linger by this room. When I finally found the main room, there were still plenty of people talking and dancing. I walked up to the bar and the bartender poured me another drink. I danced more with different guests, some male, some female, I think. It was hard to tell with some of these costumes. I had no idea where Rayanne and Farren were, but I figured they might be in one of the closed-door rooms. When it seemed that no more guests were coming, Daniel found me enjoying my third or fourth drink, as I wasn’t counting, but I was feeling a bit buzzed.

“Having fun?” he asked.

I swallowed my drink and said, “Yeah, this is quite a party.”

“Are you up for a dance?” he asked.

“Sure!” I said.

I finished my drink and he led me out to the dance floor. I still couldn’t shake the feeling I knew him, but I knew it would come to me later. It didn’t take long until I heard “Hot for Teacher” and the crowd roared. Daniel had said it was a popular song with these folks, and it seemed it was. “Teacher, Teacher” followed this and I couldn’t help feel this song was also requested by Daniel just for me. A slow song followed this and Daniel took me into his arms and held me tight. His cologne smelled so masculine and sexy on him, and it had been so long since a man held me that for the briefest moment I imagined him taking me to one of the rooms, closing the door, and making love to me all night long.

He leaned down and whispered in my ear, “I’ve been watching you all night long, and I think you’re the sexiest woman in the room.”

I blushed and gasped. There was something familiar about his voice, but I couldn’t figure out what. “Thank you.”

His lips brushed my ear and electricity shot through my body and warmed my sex. “I like a full-figured woman who’s not afraid to dress like a lady, with a naughty side she keeps hidden for that special someone. Tell me, Malice, could I be that special someone?”

He kissed my ear, then behind my earlobe and down my neck. I moaned softly, “My name’s not Malice.”

“I know,” he whispered, “but maybe tonight, you could be the naughty Malice, instead of the good little school teacher, Crystal.”

His breath felt so hot on my skin, and desire burned though my body. “I… I…”

“I promise, if you say stop, I’ll stop,” he whispered and kissed my neck again.

My resistance was melting like an ice cube on a hot Texas sidewalk in August. “Okay.”

He growled sexily and said, “Follow me.”

Daniel took my hand, led me from the party and up the stairs to the second floor. There were more rooms, some open, some closed. I saw an orgy in one room that would make Caligula and Dionysus (Bacchus to some) jealous. We reached the end of the hall to a closed door. Daniel pulled a key from his pocket and said, “This is my room. I keep it locked so I always have a place to go.”

I smiled. “Smart man.”

“Thanks,” he said unlocking the door.

He opened the door, scooped me up, and carried me into the bedroom. He kicked the door closed with his foot and set me down. I heard him lock the door behind him as I looked around. His bedroom was magnificent. He had a beautiful wrought iron bed with a dark blue comforter, simple art work on the walls, a wood dresser, and I could see what looked like a huge master bathroom. There were some pictures on the top of the dresser, but before I could really look at them, he came up behind me and kissed hard, forcing his tongue into my mouth. I think I was more surprised than anything else, but I did find this level of aggression sexy and erotic.

“Would you do me a favor?” he gasped as he ended our kiss.

“What?” I asked nervously.

“Keep the wig on, and let me undress you.”

I had to admit, it was an odd request, but not an unreasonable one. “Sure,” I said.

He smiled a huge, wicked smile and kissed me again. “May I call you Malice?”

“For tonight, yes.”

Yeah… I knew it was weird, but it was kinky too. He led me to his bed and slid the shoulders of my dress down. I tossed my purse onto his bedside table as he kissed my bare skin, around my bra strap. I felt him unzip my dress as he sat me on his bed, and gently pushed me down. He kissed the exposed skin of my breasts, nipping, licking, and kissing. I couldn’t believe how erotic this felt, and how aroused I was getting. I could feel myself getting wetter with each touch of his lips. I reached up, unbuttoned his shirt, and ran my fingers across his hairy chest. The hair felt so soft under my fingers and his muscles felt so firm. I felt him reach behind me and unfasten my bra. My dress was sitting on my stomach so the only things exposed were my breasts. He grabbed my bra with his teeth and pulled it off slowly. I nearly had an orgasm between watching this, and feeling it. My breasts sprang free and he smiled as he looked at my hard nipples that resembled the eraser top of a #2 pencil. I’ve always hated my small nipples, as they always seemed so disproportionate to the size of my breasts.

“My god, they’re even more beautiful than I imagined,” he said.

“Thank you,” I said, relieved he didn’t think my nipples were too small.

His hands caressed my breasts as he resumed his kissing, licking, and nipping. I could feel my nipples crinkle and harden as they became more sensitive under his expert attention. I wasn’t sure how long I could go before I climaxed, but I did what I could to fight it. My sex wanted to be in on the action, and I could feel my panties getting wet from my lubrication. Unfortunately, when his lips latched onto my right nipple and sucked, I lost the battle, moaned loudly, and orgasmed. Now I was in need of his cock buried deep inside me. He’d gotten me so aroused that I wanted to be fucked, and fucked hard.

“Did you just?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I moaned. “I did.”

His smile couldn’t have been bigger or more wicked. “Well now, that’s a true first.”

“Blame it on no sex with a real man in over three years,” I said, embarrassed.

“Can I pretend it was because I’m just so good?”

“Do it again to me and you can remember it any way you wish!”

“You got it, Malice.”

Every time he called me ‘Malice,’ his voice took on a dark and sexy quality. He sucked, licked, and nipped my right nipple like no man had ever done to me before. Then he slowly kissed, licked, and nipped his way to my left breast, and I swear this man had magical powers because I orgasmed again when he sucked and nipped my left nipple.

“Again?” he asked.

“Yes,” I moaned.

“Malice, my dear, I’m far from done with you.”

I swear that statement alone nearly caused a third orgasm. He worked my left nipple the same way he did my right, licking, sucking, and nibbling. Then I felt it, my dress was sliding down my stomach. I panicked, grabbed the dress, and asked, “What are you doing?”

He looked at me with confusion. “I’m removing your dress. Why are you stopping me?”

I sighed. I wasn’t sure if I should risk ruining this incredibly erotic moment or not, but I knew I was going to have to explain my hesitance. I looked Daniel in the eye and said, “I’m ashamed of how my stomach looks.”

“If it’s because it’s not flat like Rayanne’s don’t worry, I love a full-figured woman.”

“No, it’s not just that,” I said.

“Oh?” he said, sounding quite confused. “Okay, how about this, let me reach under your skirt and remove your petticoat, then I’ll raise your skirt. If you decide later to trust me, I’ll remove your dress.”

I had to admit; Daniel knew exactly what to say. “Well, it would be a shame to ruin my petticoat, and you did propose a reasonable compromise.”


“Let’s do what you suggest,” I said.

The wicked smile returned to his face as I felt his hands reach under my dress and slipped my petticoat off. I saw the black lacy skirt fly across the room as he carefully raised the skirt of my costume and exposed my black, lacy thong and matching garter belt. I felt his fingers trace the line of the straps of the garter belt on my thighs as he said, “Oh god, you are so sexy. And you smell so sweet.”

I blushed. “Thank you.”

Daniel kissed the top of my thong and I gasped. I felt him slip them off me, but the garter belt, stockings, and heels stayed on. His hands slowly came up my legs and I began to tremble with both fear and anticipation. “Are you scared?” he asked quietly.

“Yes,” I said.

“I promise I won’t hurt you,” he said.

“I know,” I said.

I could feel his breath on my wet sex and my desire burned. I wanted him to lick me, suck me, and make me scream. I ached for his touch, his lips, his fingers, and his tongue. “My God Malice, you’re so beautiful, and so wet. I can see you’re a natural blonde. I like a woman who doesn’t shave this area.”

“Thank you,” I said breathlessly. “Shaving is uncomfortable for me.”

“Well, I do want you as comfortable as possible,” he said in that low, wicked, sexy tone that made me wetter.

I could feel his fingers trace the outer lips of my sex and electricity raced through my body. Part of me wanted to watch, but part of me was enjoying just being at his mercy. Then I felt his tongue trace the same areas his fingers had just touched.

“Mmmmm, you taste even better than you smell.”

I’d love to say I said ‘thank you’ or even something clever, but he slid his tongue into my sex and my mind melted. I could feel his tongue probe the inside of my sex and soon it was replaced by one of his fingers as his tongue slid up to my clit. I moaned loudly as I felt his tongue play with my clit as he worked my sex with his finger, which quickly became two fingers. He must have hit my G-spot as I felt my body tighten up; I saw stars behind my eyes, as a third orgasm raged through my body, stronger than the first two. I felt my pussy throb around his fingers as my climax raged on and I screamed as he licked me through this, praying it would never end.

“I like it when you scream Malice,” he said in that wicked sexy voice. “Let’s see if I can make you scream again.”

Again, I’d love to say I said something in response to this, but his mouth was on my sex as a third finger entered me and I had just lost the ability to think anything, but rather I just squirmed and enjoyed the attention this man was giving me. He licked and sucked my clit, and I was sure I felt him nibble it as well. His fingers slid in and out of my sex, his tongue worked my clit, and there it was, orgasm number four raging though my body and making him moan as I screamed. I couldn’t remember ever having so many back-to-back orgasms. It felt like I’d been floating on a cloud until my orgasm ended.

As I panted to catch my breath, I had a moment of courage and insanity. “Okay, you may remove my dress.”

He looked up at me shocked, then smiled. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I moaned, praying I wasn’t making a mistake.

He slid his fingers out of me, and I sat up so he could grab my dress. Then I stood, the lubrication my body had been producing was running down my legs. I shut my eyes as I felt him slide my dress to the floor. I heard him gasp. I was sure he was going to unlock the door and send me on my way, but he didn’t. He just kissed me hard as his hand gently touched my scars. He pushed me back onto the bed still kissing me and moved me to the center of his bed. It was only then I realized, he was naked too and I had no idea how he got that way so fast.

“I want you so badly Malice, but I need to know if you’re on the pill.”

“No, I’m not,” I said quietly.

He looked at me for a moment, then said, “Then I’m putting a condom on just in case.”

I wasn’t going to argue, as I didn’t know what he might have, and it made me feel better. “Good plan.”

He had the condom in his hand already. He brought it to his mouth, but I grabbed it, bit the foil, and tore it open. He smiled and said, “Good girl Malice.”

I reached down and rolled the condom down his huge cock with a bulging mushroom cap. I could feel his soft skin covering his steel-hard shaft. I mean, Robert wasn’t a small man by any means, but Daniel’s cock was gargantuan! I don’t even think I’d seen a cock this big in a porno, let alone in real life. I wasn’t sure it would fit inside me, as my toy at home was about a third of his size. I reached down and guided him into me. Once I felt the head slide in, I moaned. He went in so slowly and I was so grateful as it gave me a chance to adjust. I’d never had a cock that large inside me before, and it was exhilarating to feel a hot, throbbing cock filling me so completely.

“You’re so tight Malice,” he whispered.

“You’re so thick,” I replied.

He smiled that big, wicked smile, and soon he was fully in me. He began to move slowly in and out and I couldn’t remember when it felt so good, or when I wanted to be fucked more than I did then. I moaned as he fucked me slowly. He kissed me hard and soon he began to speed up. Occasionally, I could feel him hit my cervix; it was a something I’d never experienced before, and the sensation was so erotic. He fucked me with a passion I hadn’t experienced in years, if ever. Then he stopped, flipped me over, lifting my hips in the air and slammed his cock back into me. I could feel his balls slapping against my clitoris every time he thrust into me. He pounded me like a wild animal.

“Oh Malice, you’re so tight and so fucking hot,” he said as held my hips and fucked me harder.

“Oh yes!” I cried.

“Do you like the way I fuck you, Malice?”

“YES!” I screamed.

“Tell me Malice!”

“I like the way you fuck me!” I yelled.

His hand grabbed my shoulder, he pounded my sex, and soon I was having yet another orgasm. I could feel my pussy clench at his cock, trying to pull it further into me. It was as if, my body couldn’t get enough of him.

“That’s it Malice! Cum for me again!” he growled.

I screamed as I climaxed, and soon I heard him moaning and I felt him climax with me. He collapsed on top of me and we fell on to his bed. We were both as sweaty as if we’d worked out on a treadmill for an hour straight. I could barely breathe with him on top of me like this, but I didn’t care. I felt him kiss my shoulders as his spent cock slipped out of me. I felt him slide off and lie next to me, stroking my back, and I could feel the cool air on my skin as he lay next to me.

“Wow,” I said as I raised my head to look at him. I couldn’t believe my wig was still in place.

“Malice,” he said. “You were amazing.”

“Thank you.”

“Let me dispose of my condom, and then we can decide what we want to do next.”

“Okay,” I said smiling and admiring that, even soft, his cock was much larger than Robert’s was erect.

He slid off the bed and walked to the bathroom. I decided needed to stretch my legs, so I climbed off the bed and wandered to the dresser to look at the pictures. It was then I saw something that shocked me. I grabbed a picture of my ex-husband Robert, and his younger brother Edward. It was the last picture taken of them before they had their falling out in college.

Daniel walked in and said, “Hey Malice, let’s get dressed and—”

“Why do you have a picture of my ex-husband and his brother?” I asked.

Daniel looked scared, and stammered, “What are you talking about?”

“This is a picture of my ex-husband and his younger brother,” I said, pointing at the picture in my hand.

“Crystal,” he said nervously, “let me explain.”

Suddenly, I knew why this man had felt so familiar to me. “Edward?”

He smiled nervously and said, “I haven’t used that name in over ten years.”

I was furious. I set the picture down and began to gather my clothes. I couldn’t believe I had just fucked my former brother-in-law. Daniel had darkened his auburn hair for his costume, which was why I didn’t recognize him when we first met. He ran over to me as I put my bra on and said, “Please Crystal, let me explain.”

“Explain? EXPLAIN! Yes please, Edward, or should I say Daniel? Explain how you were willing to fuck your brother’s ex-wife and let her think you were someone else.”

With my bra on, I grabbed my dress when he grabbed my arms, turned me toward him, and said, “If you’d stop and give me a chance, I will.”

I was furious, but I wasn’t sure with who more, him, or me for being so stupid and slutty. “Fine. Explain.”

“Sit down please,” he said, and motioned to the bed.

I threw my dress on over my head then sat on the bed. “I’m listening.”

Daniel grabbed the picture of Robert and himself, and sighed. “Crys, do you remember when we met?”

“Yeah, in college at the karaoke bar.”

“Right. Robert and I walked in one night and there you were, singing ‘Cabaret’ and wowing the crowd. For me, it was love at first sight. You were so beautiful up there singing. Your blonde hair shining under the lights, your blue eyes sparkling, wearing that dark blue t-shirt with the school initials embroidered across your perfect breasts, jeans and white high tops with pink trim.”

I remembered that shirt and those shoes, but I was shocked that he remembered them so well.

He continued, “Robert and I ordered a pitcher of beer and invited you to join us. We had a few drinks and I knew I had to get to know you better. You left with your friends, but not before you gave me your phone number, and that’s when I made a fatal mistake. I told Robert how attracted I was to you.”

“Why was that such a mistake?”

Daniel smiled. “Because, he stole your number from me and called you. He knew damn well how much I liked you and he deliberately went behind my back and stole you from me. Before I knew it, you two were getting married and he had the fucking nerve to ask me to be his best man. I lost it! I punched that bastard so hard I nearly broke my hand. That was the last time I saw Robert.”

I remembered Robert having a black eye just days before our wedding and how pissed I was that he’d gotten into a fight. “You know, he said he got that at his bachelor party.”

Daniel chuckled and put the picture back on the dresser. “He always was a good liar.”

“Yeah, he said you wouldn’t come to our wedding because you had ‘more important things to do,’ and I was dumb enough to believe him.”

He sat next to me and said, “I didn’t come because I couldn’t stand to watch the woman I loved marry my idiot brother.”

“Edward… uh… I mean Daniel, I had no idea.”

“I don’t blame you Crys. A few years later, I met Alice, and thought for sure she was my destiny.”

“What happened?” I asked.

Daniel stood up and walked back to the dresser. “She was a wonderfully freaky woman.” He grabbed a picture off the dresser and handed it to me. “She was a swinger and introduced me to the lifestyle. These Halloween parties were her idea. We’d lock our bedroom and join in the rooms with the open doors all the time.”

I looked at the picture of the woman with long, straight black hair and dark eyes. “Wow, she’s beautiful. What do you mean ‘she was a wonderfully freaky woman’?”

“Alice was always so full of life, until one day she had a seizure. She was rushed to the hospital and after weeks of tests, the doctors said she had stage four brain cancer. Six months later, she was gone. That was five years ago.”

Daniel sat next to me and I handed him his picture back. “I didn’t even know you were married.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I sent you two a wedding invitation but Robert sent it back marked ‘Return to Sender’ and I knew he wasn’t over our fight.”

“That bastard!” I hissed.

“Crys, I swear to you that I haven’t had a woman in this bed since Alice died, until tonight. When Rayanne asked me if she could bring you, and told me your name, I nearly died. I mean, what were the odds that the first woman I had ever loved, the woman who was seduced by my brother, would come to one of my parties? I’ve been so excited to see you again, and I didn’t know if you’d remember me or not.”

“I knew there was something familiar about you,” I said, “but it was the name and your hair color that threw me off.”

“Yeah, Daniel is my middle name, and I darkened my hair for the costume. After college, I decided to use my middle name because Alice liked it so much more. We became multi-millionaires in of all things, sex toys.”

“Seriously?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said blushing. “Our first store is on Market St.”

“I love that store!” I said. “Rayanne and Farren took me there.”

“Yeah, I’m not surprised. Just like I wasn’t surprised when I heard you two were getting a divorce.”

“Do you know why?” I asked.

“Yes and no,” he said.

I took a deep breath and explained the whole story about Emily and the drink, catching Robert and Peter, how I made the video, and the night I confronted Robert. I shared about how he agreed to give me pretty much everything my lawyer demanded. He sat and listened to my entire sad story, including how I met Rayanne and why Farren knew how good I could kiss.

Then he asked, “Crys, why is your stomach so scarred? Did my brother do that?”

“No!” I said. “Robert might have been a cheating bisexual bastard, but he never hit me. It happened about 12 years ago, we had just found out I was pregnant. I was coming home from the ‘Back to School night’ after having dinner with some fellow teachers when a teenager drag racing t-boned me because he ran a red light. I don’t remember much after the impact. But as I’ve been told, my abdomen was cut up from the glass and I was a mess. I was in surgery for hours. They said I was unconscious for a week. I just remember waking up to Robert sitting by my side, holding my hand. It was some time before I was told the full extent of my injuries. I had suffered a miscarriage while waiting for the paramedics. What no one realized until I was in surgery was not only did I expel our baby, but my ovaries were crushed. It meant I could still have sex, but not have another child. This news was devastating to both of us.”

Daniel put his arms around me and held me. “Oh Crys, I had no idea.”

I sighed. “I just assumed Robert told you all.”

“No, he didn’t. But why were you afraid to let me see?”

“I thought that was obvious. I was sure once you saw how ugly my scars were, you’d unlock the door and send me on my way. But, you didn’t, you kissed me.” Tears welled up in my eyes.

“Crys, I thought maybe you had some stretch marks, not that. But on some level, I found them beautiful, sexy even. Now I know why you’re not on the pill.”

I started to cry. Daniel wrapped his arms around me and held me while I wept. I don’t know how long I cried, but I did make a hell of a mess out of Rayanne’s make-up job. Daniel took me into the bathroom, cleaned my face, and finally removed my wig. He smiled and said, “There’s my Crystal.”

“I’ve always been here.”

“Would you be willing to be Malice for a bit longer?” he asked and I saw that same wicked smile on his face. “With that wig on, you remind me so much of my dear Alice, and I feel like I’m getting a second chance with her. I guess you could say it’s the best of both worlds.”

“Sure,” I said as I put my wig back on.

I looked in the mirror and saw my face under a black wig, my dress loosely hanging on my body, still wearing my bra, stockings, garter belt, and heels. Daniel grabbed my shoulders, kissed me forcefully and said, “Oh Malice, I want you.”

He scooped me up and carried me to his bed. He stood me up and removed my dress and bra so all I had on was what I had on before, the stockings, garter belt, and heels. I smiled nervously and said, “My dear Count, what evil plans do you have for me?”

He leaned in and growled sexily, “I want to fuck you hard and hear you scream.”

I was instantly wet and he hadn’t even touched me. I reached out, grabbed his cock, and said, “You must let me return the favor.”

“Oh but my sweet, sweet Malice,” he growled, “I’m thirsty.”

He pushed me down onto his bed, then crawled up my body and smiled. “Come on baby,” I said, “let me return the favor.”

He smiled wickedly and asked, “Are you willing to trust me Malice?”

“Yes,” I said without hesitation.

He reached above my head and I heard a metallic sound, like something hitting the ironwork on the bed. He took my right hand and stretched it over my head. I looked over, saw him take a leather cuff with a metal buckle and wrap it around my wrist. I knew what he was going to do to my left so I said, “If you want me to suck your cock, leave me one hand free please. You can restrain it after. I promise.”

I could see him thinking it through, then he said, “Fine, but your ankles are being bound now.”

“Fair enough,” I said, smiling.

I laid my left hand by my body as he restrained my legs at my ankles, spreading them wide, with the same type of cuffs he used on my wrist. I was sure the leather would cut into my skin, but it didn’t. I realized it was lined with some soft material, like fur, which added to my arousal. I tugged playfully at my bonds and we smiled at each other.

“Pull all you want Malice, you’ll be going nowhere until I free you.”

He lay next to me, putting his hips by my head. His cock was so hard and I was finally able to really see the huge monster that was in me just a short while before. I wrapped my hand around it and smiled. The tip shined with that wonderful fluid men leak out. I pulled him close with my left hand and licked the tip. The sweet and salty taste along with the scent of sex and his arousal was intense. Daniel moaned and I smiled. He swung his hips over my head and I slipped his cock into my mouth as I felt his mouth kiss my pubic hair. His cock was so big it was all I could do to take it in my mouth. I wrapped my hand around the base and took him until my gag reflex kicked in. Then I set my hand to where my limit was on his cock and began to lick and suck.

Daniel began licking my sex and I felt his finger slide inside. I sucked his cock, licking and occasionally dragging my teeth along the sides. He jumped a bit the first time I did that, but then he moaned and I knew he liked what I was doing. He put a second, then a third my finger into my sex as his tongue teased my clit. My right hand and both legs pulled on my bonds, and soon, I felt another orgasm rage through my body and I shook violently as he licked my clit and finger-fucked me. He pulled his cock out of my mouth and pulled off my sex.

He restrained my left hand and smiled wickedly. “You’ve been a naughty girl my dear Malice. I think you need to be punished.”

Now I got nervous. I knew he promised not to hurt me, but here I was, bound to his bed, completely at his mercy, and he’s talking about punishment. I watched as he reached into the drawer of the bedside table and pulled out a feather, and two vibrators, one about the size of Robert’s cock, and the other about the size of a finger. I began to tremble and tug at my bonds, but that seemed to arouse him even more. He looked deep into my eyes, and I could see them reassure me, I wouldn’t be hurt. He showed me the feather, then dragged it across my stomach, and it made me giggle. The feather was drug over my bare breasts, over my rock hard nipples, then down to my sex. He traced the lines of my garter belt and it was a mixture of being erotic and ticklish, thus making me moan and giggle. He touched my sex with the feather and I gasped. It was a sensation like I’d never experienced before. I moaned as he tickled my clit with the feather.

Then he grabbed the larger vibrator, turned it on to show me the different speeds, and turned it off. He put the vibrator into my sex slowly, then turned it on low. I arched my back and pulled my restraints as I felt the vibrator shake. He smiled wickedly and increased the speed as he tickled my clit with the feather more. My mind began to race with all the sensations that were ravishing my body. The vibrator began to go faster and faster until I was sure it was at full speed, and that’s when my orgasm hit. My body shook so violently that had I not been restrained, I would have hit Daniel, and he didn’t stop. I climaxed harder than I had ever before and I couldn’t hear anything aside from my screams and the humming of the vibrator in my body. The room began to spin and I’m not sure, but I think I blacked out as when I was able to think clearly again, the vibrator had been removed and Daniel’s face was above mine and looking a bit concerned.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

I was still breathing hard, panting, as I asked, “What happened?”

“I think you passed out. One moment you’re screaming, the next your body went limp and you were quiet.”

I knew I was still aroused. “How long—”

“A moment, maybe thirty seconds.”

“Damn!” I said. I moved my arms and realized I was still restrained. “That’s my idea of a punishment.”

Seeing me tug at my restraints and my last statement must have be the trigger because he growled, “I want you now.”

He mounted me quickly and drove his unprotected cock deep into me. It felt so much better without the condom, filling me more than the vibrator had, and soon he was fucking me hard as he had before. His cock buried deep in me thrusting harder and faster. He rolled over, and now I was on top. My arms were crossed behind his head and my ankles had to cross, but I was able to sit up. I knew he must have some control over these restraints, and then I saw them in his hands. He tugged them and I felt them pull at my wrists and ankles. He sat up and I rode him hard, moaning and screaming with each climax. He nipped and sucked my breasts as his hands held my ass and my restraints. At one point, I felt his finger tease my anus and it set off another orgasm.

“Oh Malice,” he said. “My cock feels so good buried in your pussy.”

“Oh yes!”

“Tell me Malice, do you like my cock in your pussy?” he asked as he grabbed the smaller vibrator and thrusting his cock hard in me.

“I do.”

“Tell me Malice!” he ordered and began teasing my anus with the vibrator as he thrust.

“I like your cock in my pussy!”

“Do you like fucking me Malice?” Again, he thrust hard as the small vibrator rubbed against my anus.

“Yes! I like fucking you!”

With each response, I noticed he’d raise his hips driving his cock deeper in me, and I realized this was something he enjoyed. “Your pussy is so tight Malice.”

“Your cock is so big,” I replied and gasped. I was amazed I could actually form words at this point, let alone a sentence.

He pushed the vibrator into my anus and I screamed from shock. He turned it on low and I felt it shake in my ass. “OH MY GOD!” I cried.

“Tell me Malice,” he growled, “do you like what I’m doing to you?”

“Yes!” I yelled. “I like what you are doing to me!”

“Do you like my toy in your ass?” he asked.

“Yes! I like your toy in my ass and your cock in my pussy!”

He slid the vibrator a bit further in and soon I could feel it was at full speed as we fucked. I couldn’t believe that not only was I riding his cock like my life depended on it, but he was also fucking my virgin ass with this toy. I kissed him forcefully as I orgasmed again. He rolled me over and pulled my legs up driving his cock deeper into me, his toy still in my ass. He wrapped his arms and my restraints under my knees, and fucked me like his life depended on it. How he kept the straps of my restraints straight I never knew. My arms were held tight above my head, but not in a painful manner. My legs were now spread wide and folded near my abdomen.

With each thrust, I could feel his cock fill every inch of me, the vibrator filled my ass, and again, he was hitting my cervix like before when he fucked me the first time. I don’t know how long he fucked me or how many orgasms I had before he climaxed, I just know when it happened he collapsed on top of me again, panting. I felt him fall out and my ass was soaked as he reached down, turned off the toy and slowly removed it from my anus. Daniel lay next to me for a while and we kissed passionately, the way old lovers would. Finally, I needed to pee so he freed me from my bonds. I crawled off the bed and staggered to the bathroom.

As I finished up and washed my hands, I heard Daniel call out, “You know, watching you squirt was so fucking hot Malice!”

I dried my hands and staggered in with my shoes in my hands as I could barely walk. “What?”

“I said watching you squirt just before you blacked out was so hot,” he said, smiling. “I didn’t know you were a squirter.”

“I’m sorry Daniel, a what?” I had heard Robert say that to me once years ago but I didn’t understand it then either.

Addendum to Phoebe’s Manual of Practical Sex

by Lee Scarlet

“Never underestimate the potential of ex-wives and ex-husbands to provide endless erotic entertainment. Their shared sexual history brings huge emotional momentum to everything they do, positive or negative.”

Page 17, Phoebe’s Manual of Practical Sex

Cory wanted to build a birdhouse. That’s all. Just a little box with a peaked roof and a hole in the front. He didn’t want to change anybody’s life. He just wanted to give a wayward sparrow shelter for the summer.

He never made it.

He was hunched over the table saw, about to start ripping into a quarter sheet of plywood when a weirdly familiar voice whispered in his ear, “What the hell are you doing here, Cory?

He almost cut his damned hand off when he jerked upright in shock. Fortunately, the growling blade caught only plywood and chewed down the middle of the piece, loud, fast, and rough, missing his outstretched fingers by a good inch. A very good inch.

“Phoebe!” The shock of seeing his ex-wife, piled on top of the realization that he’d almost lost most of his left hand made him shout at her. It wasn’t the first time that he had shouted at Phoebe, but it was the first time since their divorce, ten years ago.

The other students turned to stare.

“God damn it,” he said, trying to moderate his voice and failing, “you almost made me cut off my hand.”

“You don’t have to yell,” she replied, her voice still whispering. That was her specialty – a breathy whisper that dropped from a man’s ear straight to his crotch like a slug of molten lead.

She leaned close to reach past him and hit the red button. He’d swear that she brushed the back of her wrist against his dick on purpose.

The table saw clattered and rattled to a halt.

“It’s been ten years and you’re still yelling at me,” she said. Her face was painted with hurt.

“Has it been that long?” he replied. “It seems like only yesterday that your lawyer was stripping the flesh from my bones while you clapped and cheered him on.”

“What a mean thing to say. I didn’t clap. I was as demure as an ingénue while that nice judge gave me everything that I wanted.”

“You wanted everything I had.”

“Not everything.” She brushed her hand across his crotch again. This time there was no doubt that it was deliberate. “He let you keep your most essential little thing.”

“You would have chopped that off, too, if he’d let you.”

She laughed brightly. “I would have, wouldn’t I? Do you blame me? You didn’t treat me very well that last year, you know. Surely you remember what you were like back then.”

“You do bring out the worst in men.”

“Are you still that mean?”

“I was never mean. I was only trying to defend myself.”

“From moi?” she asked, giving him her most wide-eyed innocent look and stepping in close.

“From toi, for sure.” He tried to regain his personal space by stepping back but found his butt pressed against the steel edge of the table saw. It was bolted to the floor and didn’t budge a mil.

She rested her fingers lightly against his chest. “Have you ever thought about giving us a try again? I’m sure that when you wake up in the middle of the night and it’s pitch dark and quiet as a grave, you think about me and remember the good times. We did have some good times, you know. Some really, really good times.” She began trailing her fingers downward over his tee shirt. The cotton was so thin that He could feel each individual cherry-red fingernail scribing a line in his skin.

He caught her wrist before she reached his waist and lifted her hand back up to a safe zone. He was keenly aware that the other students kept glancing in their direction. “We’re in public, you know,” he said quietly.

“You didn’t mind being in public when we were dating,” she whispered. “I remember one Sunday afternoon when you almost gave that old couple heart attacks in Point Pleasant Park.”

“That wasn’t all my doing, you know. Besides, who told them to start pushing into those bushes?”

“Who told you to push into my bush?” She grinned.

“As I recall, you did.”

“I was naughty that day, wasn’t I?” She leaned up to whisper in his ear, “You know something? I’m more experienced now. That means that I know how to be even naughtier.”

Lord save him, she was making him as hard as steel. The goddamn bitch could still grab him by the balls just by whispering in his ear.

He looked over his shoulder at the table saw. His project was ruined. “Why are you here?” he asked.

“I thought that it would be fun to learn how to work with wood,” she said. “Every woman should be skilled at working with wood.”

“I think you already know everything a woman needs to know about that.”

“I thought that there’d be more raw material here.” She looked around the room. “What’s with this, anyway? There’re only two men in this class, you and that guy who came with his wife. Why aren’t all these women taking cooking classes like they’re supposed to?”

“I guess they all came here for the same reason that you did. Which kind of spoils their strategy, doesn’t it?” Sometimes there is justice in the world and women like Phoebe get exactly what they deserve. Not always, maybe not often, but sometimes. “I bet all the single men are in a cooking class right now, wondering where the women went.”

“Are you married?” she asked, looking at his ringless finger.

“Nope. I got kind of discouraged by the whole marriage thing ten years ago. You?”

“I got married again,” she said. “but it didn’t last.”

“Just one more time?”

She had the grace, or guile, to blush. “Twice, actually. One lasted for four years and one for less than two.”

“You take those saps to the cleaner, too?”

“I kept the same lawyer that I used in our divorce. I can be loyal that way.”

“I’m sure that it pays to be faithful.”

“I’m always faithful.”

“Now you’ve come to a night class to look for husband number four?”

“Not necessarily,” she said with a small smile. “Maybe I should be happy that I found husband number one for a second time.”

He laughed out loud at that.

People turned to look again.

She hit him on the chest. Hard. “That’s not funny. I’m serious. We’re older now. We won’t make the same mistakes again.”

“I won’t make the same mistake again.”

She looked at him for a long time.

He returned her stare. He could see the wheels turning behind her eyes. Forget the mills of the gods, he was watching the mill of the devil, herself. That mill grinds fast and course and spits out rubble by the ton.

Finally she said, “There’s a wine bar in the Holiday Inn over on Robie. If I ask nice, do you think you could buy me a glass of chardonnay? For old times’ sake?”

He’ll never know why, but, Lord save him, instead of a flat, No, he said, “I would but I’m not dressed for a wine bar.”

“I’d like to change, too,” she replied. “It’s a good thing the night’s still young. I’ll meet you there at nine.”

* * *

“Many women are afraid of their man’s sexuality. These women are not afraid of being abused or degraded. They are simply afraid that their men will want to have sex with them too often. Instead of being thrilled that their men desire them above all others, an amazing number of women try to moderate their lovers’ ardor by actively discouraging them from wanting sex. When these women are not refusing sex outright, they are sighing, rolling their eyes, lying impassively in bed waiting for their man to finish, generally doing whatever they can to demonstrate that their lover’s affection is an unwelcome imposition.

Nothing could be more destructive to a relationship than the resulting vicious cycle. The harder the man tries to please his woman, the harder she works to discourage him, making him work even harder to please her. And, when the man finally gives up and finds a more accommodating lover, the foolish woman will accuse the selfish bastard of psychological abuse. But she will be complaining only to the empty space where her man used to be.

This manual tells you how to nurture your man’s lust for you until it has grown so strong that he is powerless in its grip. When you have your man by his balls, you will own his soul forever. What more could any woman want?”

Page 1, Phoebe’s Manual of Practical Sex

She came dressed in what Cory called her big-game hunting gear. He had begun using that phrase ten years ago when they had agreed that their marriage was doomed and they should lead independent lives. Phoebe had dressed like this to go to clubs and date other men.

For a while, many other men.

Cory had not minded. Or counted. By the time she began clubbing, he was so done with her that his only wish was that she find another man to take her off his hands as soon as possible.

Not having seen her in a decade, he could appreciate her seductive appearance as sincerely as when he first began dating her. When she had been twenty years old, he had been twenty-five and they had been as horny for each other as any young man and woman could be.

At least he had been horny for her. Later events had made him doubt that her horniness had been as sincere as his.

Tonight, though, she looked as ripe for a tumble in the sack as ever.

Soft white pulchritude overflowed her low-cut décolleté. Crimson silk hugged her heart-shaped rear. Nude-colored stockings were so sheer that he would have thought that he was looking at tanned legs if he didn’t know better. Black pumps matched the wide black belt that caressed her waist.

Phoebe knew how to buy clothes better than any woman he ever known. That was no surprise considering how much time she devoted to pouring over fashion magazines and sorting through racks of designer rags in high-end boutiques.

It was an expensive vocation, but he was only one of the many men who had paid for her self-acquired education in the art of fashion.

Despite having sailed past her thirty-fourth birthday recently, she was a joy for any male eye. When he considered how much the view had cost him, he felt free to ogle her openly as she crossed the room.

She grinned and said, “Like what you see, Cory?” leaning close so that he could hear her quiet, breathy voice.

“You’re still a world-class beauty,” he replied.

“You’re a handsome fellow, yourself,” she said as she sat in the overstuffed chair next to his.

She never hesitated to lie to a man’s face. That hadn’t changed in the last ten years.

He smiled at her. “Am I your big game tonight?”

“Every time I dress up, I always remember that you called my best outfits big game hunting gear. It still makes me smile.” But she looked serious. “Do you want to be my big game tonight?”

“I’ve never known you to give a man a choice before.”

“I told you that I’ve changed. I respect men more now.”

“Does a cat show its respect for a mouse by playing with it before it eats it?”

“You’re so cynical.”

“I used to be young and innocent. Then I married you. Now I’m old and cynical.”

“I like cynicism in a man. Young and innocent is boring. I don’t want you to be boring.”

He considered that for a while. “You still want that glass of wine?” he asked.

“Yes. I’d like that.”

He continued to ponder his cynicism while he fetched a glass of Blomindon Estate Chardonnay for her and a pint of Garrison Nut Brown Ale for himself.

When he handed her the glass, he said, “I’m not so cynical with other women, you know. You bring out the worst in me.”

“Worst? Best? Who’s to judge what’s bad and what’s good? I told you, I’ve come to like cynical. Besides, I doubt that you’re as cynical as you think.”


“You know what a cynical man would do right now?”


“A cynical man would pretend to be interested in me. He’d tell me that he’s never stopped thinking about me. He’d whisper in my ear that he still loves me. He’d tell me that our marriage never ended in his heart. He’d ask me to remember how much I was in love with him when I married him. He’d tell me that he wishes that our honeymoon had never ended. He’d say that he’d like to forget everything that happened after we came back from Cancun. He’d ask me if we could erase the bad years from our memory and go back to that joyful time. He’d suggest that we get a room in this motel, go upstairs, and start our honeymoon all over again. And you know what would happen?”


“I’d be so charmed with the idea that I’d go up to that room with him and we’d spend a glorious night making love. And, in the morning, that cynical man wouldn’t even thank me for giving him a night of pleasure. He’d say that I owed him that for all the grief that I’d caused him. Then he’d walk out the door and leave me crying, feeling used and dumped. That’s what a cynical man would do.”

“I’m not that cynical.” But Cory wondered if he was. Spending the night with the beautiful woman in the red silk dress would be wonderful even if she was his ex-wife. He could easily convince himself that she did deserve to be used and dumped for all the grief that she’d give him. Even she admitted as much.

“Are you sure that you couldn’t be that cynical?” she asked. “You could try. Because, if you ask me to spend the night with you in this hotel, I will. I’ll go upstairs with you right now and make love to you all night even though I already know that you’re going to use me and dump me in the morning. You wouldn’t even have to lie to me about liking me. All you have to say is, ‘Let’s go get a room,’ and I’ll say, ‘Yes,’ and we’ll go upstairs. Will you say that? Will you say, ‘Let’s go get a room?’”

He looked at her generous breasts pushing half out of her dress and wanted desperately to feel their weight in his hands. He thought about how hot and wet her sex had been on their honeymoon. His gaze wandered down to her knees and imagined them naked, spread wide, pressing against his rib cage as he pushed slowly in and out of her. All that was his for the asking.

It had been almost two months since he last made love to a women and that woman had been only a pale shadow of Phoebe.

Lord knows where he found the strength to say, “Thank you, but I think I’ll pass on your offer.”

She pouted.

God, he wanted to kiss those perfect pouting lips.

“Why?” she asked. “Don’t you think I mean it? Believe me, it you say the word, you’ll be making love to me before that beer gets warm. You remember me being good in bed when I was twenty? Well I guarantee that I’m better now. I’ll give you a night that you’ll never forget.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“On impulse. I had no idea that you were going to be in that woodworking class tonight. But when I saw you, I remembered how much I wanted you once upon a time and I realized that I still want you. Even if I can’t get your heart, even if the only part of you that I can get is your cock and even if that’s only for a few hours, I’ll take it. That part of you for that amount of time is better than nothing at all. Please give me that much of yourself. Let’s make one more happy memory together.”

“You are the most tempting woman that I’ve ever met. But the answer is still no. I am cynical. I can see what you are doing and I won’t play your game.”

“What am I doing?”

“You’re doing what you always do. You’re bullying me. Again.”

“Bullying you?” she laughed her throaty, sexy laugh. “I’m offering myself to you for the night with no strings attached. In the morning, you’re going to walk back out of my life, leaving me crying my eyes out in an empty hotel room. And you think you’re the one who’s being bullied?”

“No question about it. You bully men with your sexuality. You always have and you always will. I don’t blame you for it. You can’t help it. It’s your nature. You’re the scorpion who has to sting the frog, no matter the cost to him or you. The thing is, I know you now. I paid heavy dues to be a member of a small and exclusive club of men who know what’s in your heart. If I were any other man, I’d be riding up that elevator with you right now, throwing myself into your trap. But I’m not any other man. I’m your cynical ex.”

“What trap? What can I possibly have to gain by giving you my body tonight and watching you walk away tomorrow? What could you possibly lose?”

“What could a man lose by taking just one small step into quicksand? His life.”

“You think I’m quicksand?”

“I know you’re quicksand. You drown your men. You say, ‘one night and then I can leave.’ But you know damned well that I’m not going to be able to walk away in the morning. By morning, I’m going to be up to my knees and sinking fast. Before I leave, you’re going to offer me a second night next weekend. Something more exotic. Something that I’ve never tried before. Something that I can’t even imagine right now. And I’m going to agree because you’re not asking for a commitment. You’re going to keep telling me that I can walk away any time. I won’t be able to stop myself from taking another step into the quicksand. I’ll be in it up to my waist in a couple of weeks. By Christmas, I’ll be up to my eyeballs and you’ll be sucking the air from my lungs. I know because I lived through that nightmare when I was young and naive. But I’m too old and cynical to make that mistake again.”

She rose from her chair, took him by the hand and pulled him to his feet, wrapped her arms around him and kissed him in the middle of the lounge. Her lips were soft and warm, her kiss gentle and inviting. It was long and slow and sweet. It might have been the best kiss that he would ever experience.

“My poor boy,” she whispered in his ear. “Please tell me that I didn’t do this to you. That I didn’t make you so cynical that you’re afraid to enjoy my gift, freely given.”

He didn’t push her away. He loved the downy pressure of her breasts against his chest, the caress of her thigh against his leg, the weight of her cheek on his shoulder. He could handle that much pleasure without risk of being sucked back down into her life. He had a limit and he knew that he could stop before he crossed the point of no return.

“You don’t have to make love to me,” she whispered. “You can take me up to a room, undress me, and just look. Kiss and caress and hold me. You don’t have to take your clothes off. We can enjoy being together without going any further than this. The night doesn’t have to end just because you don’t trust me enough to give yourself a full measure of pleasure. My gift is to give you as much as you want and no more.”

The devil knows more about temptation than any man. That is her genius.

To have Phoebe in his bed, naked, for the night without being obligated to make love to her, to be able to enjoy hours of gentle affection was infinitely more attractive than sweaty, grunting, primal sex.

She knew how to hone the thin edge of her weapon to razor sharpness.

He forced himself to say, “Let’s sit down and finish our drinks.” Putting his hand into a blast furnace, walking into an inferno, climbing into the fieriest pit of Hell would have required less willpower than refusing her offer. But, to his eternal credit, he managed to force the words past his lips.

She released him and returned to her seat. “No oak,” she said, after taking her first sip of the chardonnay. “It’s so nice to taste the fruitiness without feeling like my tongue has been coated in sawdust. You have good taste in wine.”

He ignored the compliment. He had ordered a glass of the house chardonnay. It was the sommelier who deserved the credit. Undoubtedly she knew that.

“You talk about giving me a gift but I know better. Everything you do comes with strings attached. I’m not taking the bait.”

“This is getting tedious,” she said. “You keep talking about me trapping you, but you’re wrong. I’ve not asked you for a thing. I haven’t even asked you what you’re doing for a living. For all I know, you’re broke and homeless. How can I be trying to trap you if you don’t have anything that I want?”

“It’s been ten years. You can be sure that my practice has been doing well. Dentists make a good income, especially once their loans have been paid off. You don’t have to ask to know that I could augment your lifestyle by a considerable amount.”

“You think this is about money?”

“Isn’t it always?”

“You make me sound like a whore.” There was a note of genuine anger in her voice.

Phoebe never raised her voice when she grew angry; she hardened her whisper into a low rasp that ground a man’s soul down to powder. Cory knew the sound intimately. He had heard more angry words than gentle ones from those perfect lips during their marriage. After ten years, his soul was still on life support.

“You always said that you wanted to find a rich man so that you could be a kept woman.”

“I said that once when I was twenty. I’m not that person any more. I wasn’t that person when I agreed to marry you. I wasn’t that person when I put you through dental school–”

“Stop right there,” he snapped. “Let’s get that straight for once and for all. Your lawyer might have convinced that damned judge that you paid for my education but we both know that was a lie. I was more than halfway through when we got married and I had enough support to finish without you. The only reason that you had to go to work was because you burned up every dollar I brought into the marriage buying clothes and makeup.”

“Whatever,” she waved her hand in a gesture of bone-deep weariness. “That’s ancient history. My lawyer drew up those spreadsheets. I never looked at them. All I know is that you and I were broke. My lawyer said that I supported you in dental school and that’s where all the money went. I took his word for it. If you think differently, then you can go back and read the judge’s decision again. I’m not going to revisit that nonsense.”

Cory couldn’t dispute her conclusion that the divorce judgment was complete nonsense. The nonsense began with her lawyer’s arguments and ended with the judge’s decision. But it was nonsense that had crippled him financially for years.

Phoebe had retained a lawyer with a fearsome reputation – Cory suspected that she had satisfied his fee with some personal service in addition to giving him a considerable share of her alimony. Those had been her clubbing years and rumor had it that she was game for almost anything with almost anyone.

Cory’s lawyer had been a friend from university who had been called to the bar only a month earlier and needed some experience. Cory had obliged by giving him his first divorce case.

For hours, Cory had watched his friend get kicked around the courtroom like a hacky sack, and then listen to the judgment that striped him of a considerable portion of his future earnings for years.

The only mercy in the whole process was that Phoebe had accepted a lump sum in lieu of monthly payments. She was greedy enough to want as much money as possible as soon as possible. Cory borrowed heavy to get her out of his life and had lived like a pauper for five years while he paid down the loan.

Now that he was back in the black and doing well, he tried not to revisit those painful years. Done was done.

Letting go of his anger was hard but he was determined to do it. He had made a conscious decision to drop his lust for revenge a few years ago when he woke up in the middle of the night and realized that his anger was only hurting himself. No one else, not Phoebe, not her lawyer, not the judge, no one, cared if he was eaten alive by his anger in the middle of the night.

Now she was sitting in front of him, beautiful as a portrait of Aphrodite and swearing that she had changed. Maybe she had. Maybe he could put that to a test.

“I have a proposition for you,” he said.

Her eyes glittered with interest. “What kind of proposition?”

“A sexual proposition. You and I expressed a difference of opinion tonight. I think that it can be reduced to a pair of simple statements. You say that you can enjoy sex with a nice guy simply for pleasure. I say that you will always use sex as a tool to pry money out of a man, one way or another.”

“Is that what you say?” She arched her eyebrows. “That I’m a prostitute? That’s rather blunt.”

“I base that on what I saw of you ten years ago. You say that you’ve changed but I find that hard to believe. I propose that we put the question to the test.”

“I already proved myself. I offered spend the night with you, giving you pleasure freely, accepting that you would abandon me tomorrow. I expect nothing from you, not even a word of thanks. My offer still stands, despite the terrible things that you keep saying about me. I forgive you for that. I know how much you were hurt and I’m strong enough now to look past your insults. Get a room for us and I’ll prove myself all night long.”

“I won’t take you back into my bed.” He meant it but the words were painful to utter. The primal, sexual part of him wanted her bad.

“So what are you proposing?”

“A bet.”

“What kind of bet?”

“I bet that you can’t have a love affair with a man without demanding something from him. That you can’t be generous to any man with your sexual favors and then walk away and leave him undamaged.”

“Some other man?”

“Right. I’ll find someone. You won’t have to go to woodworking classes looking for men. I’ll introduce you to someone nice. Someone that any woman would be happy to have in her bed.”

“For how long?”

“Let’s say a month. You and he can enjoy each other for a month and you won’t take a single dollar from him. Or anything else of monetary value.”

“All I have to do is have sex with a man and not ask him for anything in return? That’s it? You don’t think that I could do that?”

“Not for a minute do I think that you could do that.”

“Of course I can. What could be easier?”

“We’ll see.”

“What are the stakes?”

“The stakes?” Cory looked nonplussed.

“You said that this was a bet. There has to be stakes. What are we wagering?”

“I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about that.”

“Say ten thousand dollars?”

“No. Absolutely not. The whole point is that you have to do this without expecting any money. Asking me to pay you ten thousand dollars is already proving my point. You can’t envision making love to a man without a payoff somewhere.”

They both thought for a minute, then Phoebe said, “How about this. If I win then you’ll do for me what I’ve done for you. You’ll have a love affair with me for a month. You’ll not only make love to me, you’ll spend a significant amount of time with me, treating me with respect and compassion.”

“And what if you lose?” he asked. “If you take any compensation from him, cash, jewelry, any gifts worth more than, say two hundred dollars in total, what do I win?”

“Then I’ll go away and you’ll never see me again. I’ll move out of the city.”

He held out his hand and she shook on it.

Even that business-like touch excited him. She exuded sexuality from every pore.

* * *

“Enjoy great sex wherever you can find it.”

Page 29, Phoebe’s Manual of Practical Sex

“So what’s the deal?” Phoebe asked as soon as she shucked her coat.

“Roger’s going to be here in a few minutes,” Cory replied. “I had you come a little early so that we can be sure that everything is clear.”

“What needs to be clear? You’ve told some guy that I’m going to give him free sex for a month and I will, humiliating as the arrangement is. That’s that.”

Cory looked at her in shock. “Not at all. I haven’t told him anything about you except that you’ll be joining us for dinner. I certainly never said that you would have sex with him. That’s up to you. If you like him, you can use whatever wiles you normally use to get a man to ask you out. If you don’t like him, you don’t have to do a thing and he’ll never be the wiser.”

“And if I don’t like him? What about our bet?”

“Then I’ll find someone other guy to invite over and we’ll do this again. There’s nothing in our bet that says that you have to have an affair with a guy you don’t like. Nothing at all. I’m shocked that you could think that I’d do that to you.”

She smiled gently at him. “You said that you were a cynical man now. I took you at your word. I didn’t expect that you’d be so concerned with my feelings.”

“I’m most concerned–”

The doorbell rang, interrupting him. Phoebe never did hear what he was most concerned about.

A couple of minutes later, he led another man into the room. “Phoebe, this is Roger. Roger, Phoebe.”

She stood and shook his hand. He was Cory’s age, not old but distinguished looking because he was already going gray at the temples.

Cory had told her nothing and was offering nothing now, so she asked the obvious question, “How do you know Cory?”

“I met him in college but I’ve come to know him better lately. My wife died last year and he helped me through a rough time.”

“I’m sorry,” she said reflexively.

“About my wife? Thank you. She was a wonderful person. Brain tumor. It was hard. I’m just now getting to be able to talk about it.”

“If you’d rather not…” She let her voice trail off.

“I’d rather not. Maybe some other time, but it’s not great dinner conversation.”

“I understand.”

“What do you do?” he asked to change the topic.

“I’m in sales,” she said. “I was doing pharmaceuticals for a time but I’m selling Toyotas now. If you want a good deal on a Prius, I can help.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I’m sorry,” she laughed. “A sales pitch is hardly a good topic for dinner, either. What do you do?”

“Admiralty and maritime law,” he said.

“Law? You’re like a lawyer?” Her eyes sparkled.

“I’m a lot like a lawyer. Law school. Member of the bar. Black robes. The whole deal.”

“Maritime law is ships and the sea, right.”

“Right. I do some casework but a lot of my work over the past couple of years has been writing and reviewing legislation for the government. They have their own lawyers but they contract out some work that requires special expertise. I’ve got some rather unique experience in the disposition of ships at sea when their owner goes bankrupt. Sometimes the line between repossession and piracy is pretty fine, especially if the master of the vessel doesn’t want to surrender it to the bankruptcy trustee. I had a case once where the captain thought that he could scuttle the vessel in shallow waters off Sable Island and then claim salvage rights. He was not amenable to reason or legal argument and almost sank the ship. Literally as well as figuratively.”

Roger launched into a long tale of legal wrangling that seemed to amuse Cory to no end but gave Phoebe ample time to think her own thoughts. Roger was a handsome man, not movie-star handsome but more handsome than Cory by a wide margin. He was well-educated and seemed to have a good, solid career. And he bore his devastating personal tragedy so bravely that her heart melted for him.

She loved the way his mouth moved when he spoke. His diction was precise and his lips pursed and puckered as though he were kissing the words. His perfect white teeth flashed when he smiled and, from time to time, the tiny pink tip of his tongue flicked across his lips so quickly that one would barely notice if one wasn’t staring directly at him.

She imagined what miracles that tongue could perform if it were put to proper use.

She would never find a man like this in a woodworking class.

Making love to him for a month would be no burden. It would be a joy.

Two hours later when they were taking their leave and putting on their coats, she said, “Roger, I hate to ask a favor of a man that I just met, but I was wondering if you’d be my knight in shining armor and give me a lift home. I live up in Clayton Park. I hope that’s not too far out of your way.”

“Not at all. I’d be happy to give you take you home.”

Cory was bemused to hear his ex work her magic. Roger rented a condo down on Lower Water Street. Clayton Park was miles out of his way. And did Roger really think that a Toyota saleswoman wouldn’t have her own car?

He made a mental note to remind Phoebe that she couldn’t sell Roger a new car. Earning a commission from him would constitute personal gain and violate the terms of their bet.

Phoebe let Roger walk her past the shiny new red RAV4 that was parked in front of Cory’s house to get to his Beemer. She’d have to come back tomorrow morning to pick it up.

* * *

“When you meet a new man, learn about him. Learn from him. Watch how he reacts to the sight of you, to your touch, to the sound of your voice. Experiment a little and observe his reaction.”

Page 38, Phoebe’s Manual of Practical Sex

Phoebe loved this stage of a romance. The anticipation of first intimate contact thrilled her to her core. It was a puzzle to be solved. What would be the key to this man’s heart? Sex, of course, but there were all kinds of sex. Slutty sex. Virginal sex. Respectful sex. Biological sex. Casual sex. Emotional sex. The list was as long as the number of people that she had seduced and grew longer with each new seduction.

“What do you know about me?” she asked as Roger pulled away from the curb.

“Just what I learned over dinner,” he answered. “How do I get to your place?”

“Down the Bedford Highway.”

“Okay.” He paused, then said, “I gather that you and Cory are friends.” He put a special emphasis on that last word.

“A long time ago. We haven’t seen each other for years and years. There’s nothing between us any more. I was surprised that he invited me over for dinner tonight.”

Roger paused to digest that information, then said, “Maybe he wants to get to know you again.”

She laughed. “Not in that way. Things didn’t go well before and I’m pretty sure that he doesn’t want to start up with me again. I think he’s just curious about how my life turned out after we fell out of touch with each other.”

“So you’re not dating him.”

“I’m not dating anyone. I’m as free as a bird. How about you? Are you involved with anyone?”

“No. I haven’t been dating since… since Lillian.”

She rested her hand on his shoulder for a moment. “You must have loved her very much.” She hated to drag the dead wife’s ghost into their conversation but it was inevitable now, so she would work with it as best as she could.

“Yes. We had a happy marriage. It was hard to let her go. But it’s been long enough that it’s not so raw now. She’s become more of a happy memory than an open wound.”

“Life is about change,” she said, caressing his shoulder gently. “We have to let each stage prepare us for the next stage.”

He smiled at her in the glow of the passing headlights. “That sounds wise.”

She laughed. “You’d be surprised how few men have ever called me wise. In fact, this may be a first.”

He laughed with her. “If men don’t find you wise, how do they find you?”

“Fun. Haven’t you heard? Girls just want to have fun.”

“Is that all you want?”

“Sometimes. Not always, but sometimes you have to forget everything else and just let yourself go with the moment. Enjoy whatever comes your way. There’s time enough for serious pursuits later.” She pointed. “We turn left here.”

“I don’t think I can do that. I’m always thinking about consequences. I’m always following one long term plan or another.”

“How has that worked out for you?”

“Not so badly. I’ve become a successful lawyer.”

“Was that what you planned when you were young?”

“No. When I was in high school, I thought that I’d be a writer. I was going to write grand adventure stories that would make strong men’s blood pump and beautiful women swoon. I was going to write modern pirate stories. Derring do on the high seas. The irony is that I didn’t know what I was talking about then, but I’ve spent my career studying admiralty law and am an expert in the subject now.”

“So write your adventure stories now. We turn left at the next light.”

“I have the knowledge, but not the desire.”

“You have no desire for adventure?” She sounded incredulous.

“Maybe I misspoke. I may have the desire, but I don’t have the capacity. I don’t know how to have an adventure. Maybe I don’t have the courage. Having adventures takes courage.”

“Left and then the first right.” She caressed his shoulder again. “I bet you have more courage than you know. I bet that your only problem is that you haven’t had an opportunity for adventure.”

“Maybe.” He fell silent while he drove through the suburban streets.

“My house is the third unit on the left. You can park in the visitor’s space across the street.”

He parked the car but left the engine running.

“I’d invite you in for a cup of coffee,” she said, “but I’d rather invite you in for an adventure. Will you do that? Share an adventure with me? Be spontaneous. No plan. No goals. No agenda. No pressure. Just come in and we’ll do whatever we feel like doing. No more and no less.”

He turned off the engine and pulled the key. “That sounds nice.”

Phoebe’s heart was pounding with anticipation. She loved that feeling.

* * *

“A rear entry position is the correct one to use for exceptionally forceful intercourse. In the standard missionary position, if a man pounds into a woman too forcefully, he can grind painfully against his partner’s clitoris. But in a rear entry position, he does not contact her clit directly and her buttocks absorb all the shock. She can take all the pounding that a strong man can deliver and more. If a woman wants a man to fuck her like a raging beast, she wants him to do it doggy style.”

Page 92, Phoebe’s Manual of Practical Sex

“Can I take your coat?” Phoebe asked and began unbuttoning Roger.

He was taken aback – no woman had unbuttoned his coat since he was five years old – but he didn’t know what to do about it so he stood in her hallway and let her proceed.

Once it was unbuttoned, she slipped it off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

“Can I take your tie?” she asked and loosened the knot, pulling the tail through to release it.

As soon as she slipped it from his neck and dropped it on top of his coat, she asked, “Can I take your shirt?” and began undoing those buttons.

“Whoa!” he said and grabbed her hands.

She pulled herself close and turned her face up to kiss him. It was a nice kiss, but brief. “Too forward?” she asked in her throaty whisper. “Would you rather that I take off my coat and blouse? Or do you want to do that for me?”

“What happened to slow and easy?”

“I never promised slow and easy. I promised adventure. I promised no agenda and that we’d do whatever we feel like doing. If you don’t feel like seeing me naked, that’s okay. But if you want to see me naked, that’s okay, too.” She looked at him with a pout. “Do you want to see me naked?”

“I’d like that.”

“Then you better do something about it.” She held her hands to her side, raised her chin and waited.

He unbuttoned her coat, let it fall to the floor, and pulled her scarf from her neck.

When he paused, she said, “Is that all you want or do you want to keep going?”

He began unbuttoning her blouse.

With every button released, her breathing deepened and her chest heaved more forcefully.

So did his.

When her blouse joined her coat on the floor, she whispered, “Are you one of those men who can’t manage the hooks on a woman’s bra?”

“I think I remember how they work,” he said and proved it by reaching behind her and unhooking her. He was more deft than most men and she felt the cups sag away from her breasts.

“Let me do this part,” she said. She stepped back over her coat to make certain that he had a good view of her chest and then slowly slipped the straps from her shoulders, one at a time, to reveal her full curves and pert pink nipples.

“You look beautiful,” he said.

She slipped her shoes from her feet. She didn’t have to use her hands but she did anyway because it gave her a reason to bend forward and let her breasts hang free for his viewing pleasure.

“I’d like to see you without your shirt, now,” she said.

His eyes never left her body as he finished unbuttoning his shirt and dropping it to the floor.

“You look so fine. Why don’t you take off your shoes and come into the living room?”

He followed her and watched her close the living room curtains before turning on a lamp.

“Come here and feel me up,” she said. “I’m one of those girls with sensitive breasts. I love it when a man feels me up.”

She stood in the center of the room and gestured for him to come to her.

For the next few minutes, they stood close and kissed and petted each other, exploring their upper bodies. No woman had ever spent time playing with his nipples before and he was surprised by how sensitive he was to her touch.

Then she hugged him close so that he could feel her breasts pressing against his naked chest and began running her red manicured fingernails over his back, not scratching, just letting him feel the smooth points of her nails explore every ripple of his muscles and every bump of his spine and ribs.

He hadn’t petted or been petted like this since he was in high school and girls were just beginning to let him explore their bodies.

When she finished with his back, she moved up his neck to gently caress his head and face.

All the time that she was doing this, she keep looking into his eyes, learning about his body by watching his pupils dilate, his lids flutter, his brows arch, his nostrils flare, and his breathing change in pace and intensity.

He was a highly responsive man and that gave her considerable satisfaction. As she worked on him, she thought about how to proceed. She had three options: send him home frustrated and wait for him to call her for a second date to finish what she had started; proceed with slow petting, going for pants and skirt next, and eventually end up in bed the traditional way; or go for something radical and exciting.

She didn’t yet know him well enough to be certain which option would work best but she had promised him an adventure so she decided to try the third option. Besides, she was still worried about the ghost of his dead wife and she didn’t want to do anything that would remind him of her.

She dropped her hand below his waist and caressed him through his pants. He was as hard as a rock. Just what she needed.

“I don’t want to wait a second longer,” she said. “I want you right now, right here. Get your pants off and take me hard like an animal.”

She didn’t wait for him to respond but turned her back to him, pulled her pantyhose off, and hiked her skirt up to her waist, baring her rear. She bent over to grab the end of the coffee table and spread her legs wide, making her sex available to him.

“Do me,” she said. “Take me now. Fast and deep and hard.”

He wasted no time dropping his trousers to release himself, then stepped behind her and pushed himself against her opening.

“Do me,” she said, straining her normally quiet voice to maximum volume, giving it a hoarse, desperate quality. “Hard.”

She was wet enough from the anticipation and fondling to admit him easily.

He thrust himself all the way home.

“Hard,” she cried. “Pound me hard.”

He pounded her hard.

All the time Roger was pounding and grinding into her, she kept urging him on, growling at him in her hoarse voice, “Harder. Deeper. Faster.”

He grabbed her hips and pulled her hard against him.

She braced against the glass and steel coffee table to push back against him, forcing him to penetrate her as deeply as possible.

She needed as much stimulation against her inner lips as she could get and she urged him to provide it.

He held up his end of the deal.

As he reacted to the stimulation of the friction and began to moan, she reached between her legs and began stimulating her own clit.

Her words became incoherent shrieks as his moans deepened into basso groans.

Her ass was bucking wildly against his grinding hips when the two came together.

She felt him pulsing into her and pushed back to take as much of him as their position allowed.

When he began to flag, he pulled back and she sank to her knees, her sweat-soaked head resting on the cool coffee table.

He sank with her and rested his head on her back.

When she regained her breath, she whispered, “That was terrific. I needed that so bad. Thank you.”

He ran his hands over her shoulders in a soft caress and laughed softly. “You’re welcome.” After a minute, he added, “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

That was a given, but she took it as a compliment.

After resting like that for a few minutes, she said, “Would you like to spend the night with me or would you rather go home to rest?”

“I’d like to spend the night.”

That was the right answer.

They slept naked, touching each other all night.

This was going to be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

For a month.

* * *

“The woman superior forward position gives the male partner, and anyone else who is watching, the best visual experience. This is why movie directors favor it over the more natural and satisfying missionary position. The man, lying on his back, has a clear view of the woman’s face and breasts throughout the sexual act. He can see her breasts bounce most agreeably and enjoy watching her face contort during orgasm.

The primary advantage for the woman is that she controls the rhythm and intensity of genital contact.

However, like all things in the world, there are tradeoffs. The position is strenuous, especially for the man who is thrusting against the woman’s body weight. The woman, too, must move her weight with her legs, which are bent at an angle that does not give her efficient leverage.

As well, though the position gives some clitoral stimulation, and that stimulation is controlled by the woman, the sub-optimal angle does not provide as much pressure as the missionary position, making an orgasm more difficult.”

Page 72, Phoebe’s Manual of Practical Sex

In the first days of a love affair, a man is always ready for sex. And there is no love better than morning love. Phoebe didn’t wait for Roger to wake up naturally; she let the crow of his cock do that for him. She reached down and massaged his morning wood until he opened his sleep-fogged eyes, looked at her, smiled, and said, “That feels great.”

“You feel great,” she countered, rolled him on his back, and climbed aboard. She was already well lubricated and, when she lowered herself onto him, the coital impalement felt smooth and sensual.

She rested motionless for a long moment, enjoying the feeling of being filled with a man’s flesh.

When she flexed the muscles in her vaginal walls, Roger moaned in appreciation.

If she were a practitioner of tantric yoga, she would be happy to kneel astride him in this position for the rest of the morning. But she was too eager to witness his orgasm to endure that foolish frustration.

She began raising and lowering herself in a slow, languid rhythm, feeling the rub of his shaft against her slick inner lips. She fancied that she could detect the bumps of his veins pushing and receding against her inner walls like fleshy waves.

She raised herself further until he was almost free of her, then sank back down so that she could feel the knob of his head push her open again and again.

When she increased her tempo, he began to respond in kind, pushing hard against her crotch with his hips, arching his back and pushing against the mattress with his heels and calves, seeking as much stimulation as he could get.

She watched his eyes squint closed and his mouth gape open, gasping for air and groaning incoherent imprecations when he came.

She did not reach a climax herself, but enjoyed the infusion of a more subtle sexual pleasure through her being. A woman can take intense satisfaction in making a man respond on her command.

Afterward, he lay back, impassively, while she caressed his damp chest with the palm of her hand, feeling the dew of his sweat slowly evaporate under her ministrations.

“Join me in the shower?” she asked when he looked like he was about to fall back asleep.

“Sure,” he said.

She did not detect a full measure of enthusiasm in is voice but she didn’t care. He got his. Twice. He could accommodate her this far.

He dared not complain as she dragged him into the warm spray. He began to show some genuine enthusiasm as she soaped his body with her fingers.

He was in good shape but not as buff as many men his age. In another five years, his belly, now slightly protruding, would fill out into a plump pillow; his butt, now lacking the hollows of youth, would spread and sag; his neck, now lightly textured, would corrugate into a simulacrum of cardboard.

She did not care. The way he was now was good enough for now. She would not know him five years from now. Or even five weeks from now.

She hugged him tight to share the suds from his body to hers and sighed into his ear. Her contentment with the moment was genuine and heartfelt.

She loved the first days of an affair. There was no greater joy in her life.

She didn’t know what Cory expected to get from this thing that he had arranged, really. The terms of their “bet” were laughable. Did he really expect that she would move out of town if she got some kind of gift or compensation from Roger? She had proposed that on impulse because she had felt compelled to say something dramatic but surely he understood that she had no intention of following through.

On the other hand, she certainly expected him to honor his part of their bargain. After she spent a month entertaining his friend, she would dump Roger, gently of course, and spend the following month in bed with Cory. She had never been so eager to have an affair as she was to renew her relationship with her ex-husband. He would be astounded when he discovered how good she was in bed. After four weeks, he would fall to his knees before her and beg her to marry him all over again.

She would accept his proposal.

The last year of their marriage had been hell. He did not realize that their divorce had been as devastating for her as for him. But she was ready to admit that she had contributed as much to their misery as he had. She had made mistakes. Not little mistakes, but major, life-shattering mistakes.

She knew that. She knew what mistakes she had made. And she knew that she would not make those mistakes again. She had learned to be a better person and she wanted Roger to see how much she had changed.

She still loved him and she wanted him to love and respect her again, more than anything in the world.

If their first marriage had been hell, their remarriage would be heaven on earth. She wanted to spend the rest of her life in heaven being a sensual angel for her dentist.

* * *

“Never underestimate the impact of female nudity on a man. They are visual creatures and the shock of a naked female, even one with an average appearance, never fails to imprint itself on the deepest circuits in the male brain where it remains forever active.”

Page 21, Phoebe’s Manual of Practical Sex

Roger had no clean clothes, so, rather than letting him dress in his used clothing for breakfast, Phoebe toweled his body dry and led him naked into the kitchen. Respecting his condition, she remained nude herself while she cooked and served French toast with raspberry jam and maple syrup.

Warm sunlight was streaming though the windows, filling the room with a golden glow.

Her small backyard was sheltered with a six-foot wooden fence so it was unlikely that her neighbors would see her and her lover au naturel. If they did, that was their fault for being peeping toms and they deserved whatever offense they experienced.

She got along with her neighbors well enough but was not particularly fond of them and had no intention of inconveniencing herself for the sake of their tender sensibilities.

Roger would probably have been shy about the uncurtained windows if he had not been too busy ogling her body to care. He watched every bounce of her breasts as she flipped the battered toast in the frying pan. Studied every flex of her buttocks as she stepped across the small kitchen to fetch plates, cutlery, and condiments. Reveled in the sight of her neatly trimmed red bush.

While he watched her body and she watched his eyes. He was a breast man for sure. As much as he liked her legs, ass, and face he spent more than three quarters of his time staring at her tits.

That was good. Standard clothing gives a woman a lot more ways to display her breasts than any other part of her anatomy. And Phoebe modestly considered her breasts to be her best feature. She would give Roger many opportunities to appreciate them, clothed, semi-clothed, and unclothed in the next four weeks.

She was well aware that her breasts were her best feature and that, statistically, there were more breast men in the world than any other kind so she had stocked an exceptionally large selection of bras in her wardrobe, some made of exotic materials with unusual tailoring.

When the meal was over, she thought, seriously, about drizzling a little maple syrup on Roger’s crotch, falling to her knees, and licking it off but decided against it. She did not mind giving head early in a relationship – in fact, that was often her first sexual act with a new lover – but she did not want to dip into her arsenal again today. She had to save something for the rest of the month.

As well, there was a risk that Roger, having had sex twice within the last twelve hours, once only an hour ago, would have difficulty. She didn’t care about that – she knew how to handle a soft man and his fragile ego – but didn’t see any reason to put herself to the effort right now.

She was also aware of the danger of giving a man too much of a good thing too early. She didn’t want Roger taking her for granted.

After the food was gone, she took him through the house, reversing the evening’s progress and re-dressing him in the pants, socks and underwear that had been discarded in the living room and the shirt, tie and coat that had been discarded in the entryway.

When he was fully clothed and she still nude, she kissed him softly and said, “You were terrific. Will you call me?”

He looked shocked. The thought that he might not see her again had never crossed his mind. “Of course. I can’t wait to take you out. Can I take you to dinner tonight?”

“Tomorrow night?” She wanted to have some alone time tonight.

“Tomorrow night, then. I’ll pick you up. What time?”

“What time will you be hungry?”


“I’ll be ready at six.” She often worked evenings at the dealership, but her colleagues were aware of her propensity for changing her schedule at the last minute and accommodated her eccentricities. Especially her male colleagues. She had never dipped into the company well and never hesitated to tell her colleagues that she never would, but the heart of man waxes eternally hopeful in the presence of a hot chick with a carefully-nurtured reputation.

It didn’t hurt that, when she was on the floor, everyone sold more Toyotas. Nobody wanted her to move to the Honda dealership across the street.

After she showed Roger the door, she began gathering her clothes from the floor and planning her next move.

* * *

“It is important to learn about your partner’s sexual history, not only to avoid contracting sexually transmitted diseases, but to get your first solid information about what he likes and doesn’t like. In particular, you should look for warning signs that he may be controlling, abusive, or angry. Ideally this discussion would take place before the first intimate contact but that is not always possible, especially if a relationship is developing quickly. Whatever the circumstances, the earlier in a relationship that two people start telling the dirty details of their history to each other, the better.”

Page 40, Phoebe’s Manual of Practical Sex

The Five Fishermen was not Phoebe’s favorite seafood restaurant. The food was good enough, but she found it pretentious and overpriced. She would take clams and chips at John’s over the Fisherman’s lobster-stuffed scallops with choron sauce any day. But she knew how to be happy in any decent restaurant in the company of any decent man and Roger was entertaining enough to keep her amused for a couple of hours.

After listening to his anecdotes about odd maritime contracts and idiosyncratic boat owners for a while, she took advantage of a break in his rambling to say, “Tell me about the first time you had sex.”

“With a woman?” he asked, his face freezing when he realized what he had said.

“Have you ever had sex with a man?” she asked, leaning forward, her eyes sparkling with interest. She had known her share of homosexual men but had never asked them about their sex lives. It was possible that she had had a bisexual lover at some time in her life but no man had ever admitted that.

“No,” he replied, his face reddening. “I don’t know why I said that.”

Maybe he was telling the truth, maybe not. “Too bad.” She laughed brightly. “That would have been interesting. So tell me about the first time that you made love to a woman. How old were you?”

“It depends on what you mean by sex,” he countered.

“Define it any way you want.” His definition would be revealing.

“I had my first serious girlfriend when I was seventeen. She was the same age. We met in biology class. We were lab partners.”

“That’s appropriate. Experimenting with biology, I mean.”

“Yeah. Well, we went out for three or four months. We kissed. We petted. She let me strip her and grope every part of her. Not right away, you understand. I was shy. I didn’t feel her breast, even over her clothes, until our fourth or fifth date. We’d been going out for a month before I got her bra off. It was pathetic. I was trying to pretend that it wasn’t really happening, that I didn’t know what my hand was doing, as I was learning to slip the hooks out of the loops.”

“You’re good at it now,” Phoebe said, remembering how easily he had released her bra on Saturday night.

“I had a lot of practice with Beatrice,” he said with a smile. “A lot of practice. Once I got to second base, I stayed there for at least a month. I think I wore out her bra, I unhooked it so many times.”

“Her name was Beatrice?” Phoebe asked. “Like Dante’s guide through heaven?”

Roger cocked an eyebrow in surprise. He hadn’t expected her to be so literary. “Yeah. It was an appropriate name for my first kind-of lover. Anyway, I spent a long time playing with her breasts before moving on. The strange thing was that she wasn’t very well endowed. In fact, she was pretty flat. So flat that her brothers made fun of her, giving her training bras and things like that. But her nipples were very sensitive. Very responsive to my attention and I loved that.”

“You know why she was so responsive?” Phoebe asked.

“Because I was so good?”

“Because she was so flat. The rule is that the smaller the tits, the more sensitive they are. She was thrilled that you liked playing with her tits because she had so little to offer. Before you came along, she was scared stiff that no man would want her because she didn’t have big breasts. When you were content to spend a month playing with them, you made her the happiest girl in the school. You couldn’t have done her a bigger favor.”

“I hope so because I still adore her.”

“But you broke up with her after three months.”

“She broke up with me. She met a guy that she liked better. He was a couple of years older and going to Dal. A high school junior can’t compete with a mature university undergraduate. I guess he knew how hot a flat women could be, too.”

“So that was your first sexual experience? Groping a flat chest?”

“It was a little more than that. Like I said, eventually she let me strip her and feel up every part of her. I say eventually, but that was me. If I’d pushed her, she probably would have let me do all that by the fifth date but I was as slow as molasses.”

“And as sweet, I bet.”

He laughed. “If you keep interrupting me, I’m never going to get to the end of my tale.”

“Please, then proceed.”

“So she let me enjoy her body but she never reciprocated. She never unbuttoned a single button on my shirt. Never touched me, even through my clothes. It was all a one-way street. I was never sure that she wanted me in that way. Until she dry-humped me one night. She was naked on the floor and I was fully clothed on top of her with my leg between her thighs and she started rubbing herself against me like there was no tomorrow and moaning out of control. It was the first time that I ever felt a woman come and it was wonderful. Indescribable. I still get warm right to my toes thinking about it.

“I reciprocated a couple of weeks later. She was naked and I was clothed as always and I began pressing against her and came in my shorts. That felt good. But I’ve always liked more that she dry humped me than that I dry humped her. Much more. Like I said, feeling that girl come against my leg was a high point in my life. Giving that pleasure to a woman made me feel like a man for the first time.

“But that was it. We never made love really. I never even undressed in her presence. So I leave it to you to decide if reciprocal dry humping on two different occasions counts as legitimate sex.”

“It sounds like better sex than some of my more conventional experiences,” Phoebe said. “I can tell you that.”

“Being with you was great. Fantastic. Maybe the greatest sex I ever had. But I have to be honest about one thing. I wouldn’t trade that feeling of Beatrice dry humping me, coming in my arms, for any orgasm I’ve ever had.”

She smiled and said nothing about that. She only reached across the table and squeezed his hand. He was a sweet man.

“So what about you?” he said. “I’ve bared myself to you. Now it’s your turn.”

Phoebe was waiting for this opening. Exchanging their sexual histories was the point of this dinner date. She didn’t want to admit how young she’d been when she lost her virginity, so she skipped straight to her general history. “I’ve had my share of lovers, some good, some bad, but not as many as most men assume. I’ll admit to a few one-night stands but that doesn’t mean that I sleep with a different man every week. Most of the time, I’m in a long-term relationship with a man. And I’ve been married a couple of times – three times, if you want an exact count – so that took up a fair part of my adult life. I’m always exclusive. I’ve never slept with two men at the same time. I’ll always break up with one man before looking for someone else. I’ve been lucky. The only STD that I’ve ever had was when I was young and it was one of the ones that’s easy to cure. If I keep taking three or four lovers a year, the odds’ll probably catch up with me eventually and I’ll get herpes but that hasn’t happened yet.

“I’m telling you all this to be proactive. I know what men think. I’m sexually adventurous and men jump to the conclusion that I must be sexually promiscuous. I’m not. I got most of my experience by experimenting a lot with a few men rather than experimenting a little with a lot of men. I jumped into bed with you as soon as I met you, but that doesn’t mean that I jump into bed with every man that I meet. That means that you were special.” She reached across the table to take his hand. “It also means that I want to jump into bed with you again. Soon.” She squeezed his hand again and he grinned broadly. “Of course, you realize that I use the term ‘bed’ figuratively. You never know where I’ll want to make love next.” She had used that line before to keep lovers off balance.

“You do make life an adventure,” he said.

“I try. I hate being bored. And I hate being boring even more.”

“I doubt that anyone has ever found you boring.”

She grinned. “Not lately.”

“Since you’re being so brave and honest with me,” he said, “then I should be just as forthcoming with you. My sex life has been fairly dull. A handful of girlfriends in college. No one night stands, I’m sorry to say. I married Lillian before I finished law school and was faithful to her until she died a little over a year ago. You’re the first woman that I’ve dated since. Never had an STD, curable or otherwise. There are a couple of hot women in the office but, like you, I never fish off the company wharf, so I haven’t had any action there. And I haven’t been looking for any. It’s taken me a while to get over Lillian’s death.”

She gave his hand a different touch, a sympathetic squeeze, and said, “You don’t get over something like that. You let it become a part of what you are as you move forward. You nurture the love that you had for her and let yourself become more loving. You don’t get over any part of your life, you accumulate more life to add to it. That’s what we did last weekend. Added a little more to what we already had in our lives. Something good.”

“Last weekend was good, wasn’t it?”

“It sure as hell was. It was terrific.” Phoebe decided to do something dramatic to banish the ghost of Lillian from the table. “Will you excuse me for a minute? I have to visit the lady’s.”


He watched her thread her way through the restaurant towards the woman’s washroom. She had a great ass. He was surprised how quickly she returned. In his experience, women spent a long time in lady’s rooms. He sometimes suspected that they read magazines and watched movies in there. But not Phoebe. She barely had time to go in before she was coming out again, threading her way back to their table.

As soon as she sat down, she asked, “Notice anything different?”

He looked at her in puzzlement. This sounded like a trick question. “No,” he said at last.

“Keep looking,” she replied. “Let’s see if you can figure it out before we leave. I’ll give you a special prize if you do.”

They talked about inconsequential things for the remainder of the meal, which was fortunate because Roger was distracted by her claim that she had changed something when she had slipped into the bathroom earlier. He looked at her makeup, her hairstyle, her jewelry. His eyes were busier than his ears.

Finally the penny dropped. He stared at the top of her little black dinner dress. She had cleavage when they first sat down. Now her breasts were hanging apart. “You were wearing a bra when we came in here, weren’t you?”

She laughed. “Good observation, Sherlock.” She pulled a wad of black lace from her purse and tossed it on the table in front of him. “I was wearing that bra, to be specific. I was beginning to fear that you weren’t paying attention to my tits at all.”

He was certainly paying attention now. He was staring at her chest more intently when it was covered by the dress than he had the previous morning when she had been sitting nude across from him at breakfast.

“Do you want to know what your reward is, Sherlock?”

“Sure,” he said without raising his eyes to her face.

“How adventurous do you want to be?”

“As adventurous as I can.”

“Have you ever heard of the British slang, dogging?”

“Nope.” He raised his eyes at last.

“Well, I’m going to take you dogging tonight. You’ll know what it means soon enough.”

“What is it?”

“I’m not going to spoil the surprise. You’ll know it when we’re doing it.”

He frowned. “Do you think that I’ll like it?”

“I won’t know that until we try it.”

“Is it something that you like?”

“It’s something that I haven’t done often. It’s a really special treat that I save for really special guys.”

“I guess I should be flattered, then.”

She smiled enigmatically.

* * *

“Practical sex is sex for a purpose. But that doesn’t mean that it can’t be a hell of a lot of fun.”

Page 4, Phoebe’s Manual of Practical Sex

Roger stared at his Coke morosely.

“Don’t be sad, sport,” Phoebe said. “You need to be sober for this. I’m relying on you.” She knocked back the dregs of her third gin and tonic.

“And you don’t?”

“I need my courage.” She had consumed more than her share of the liter of house wine at the restaurant and then insisted that they spend another hour and a half at the Harbourview Lounge in the nearest hotel. She has also insisted that he drink only soft drinks. It was now almost ten-thirty at night and he was a sober as a Baptist on a Sunday Morning.

“Okay,” she said. “Let’s do this thing.”

“I don’t even know what we are doing.”

“We’re going dogging,” she said.

“I still don’t know what that is.”

“That’s okay. I do.”

“Should I get a room?”

“No, silly. You don’t go dogging in a hotel. We go dogging in your car.”

His car was still parked on the street near the restaurant. She was staggering a little as they walked the few blocks but did not hold on to Roger to steady herself. In her opinion, even with her judgment impaired by her self-administered chemical regime, intimacy was the wrong state of mind for going dogging with a man.

“Now, drive me out to the Bedford Highway to the Rotunda and park on the nearest side street.”

“The Rotunda?”

“You know. It’s that little white round building between the highway and the harbor. Some old duke built it for his mistress a couple hundred years ago.” She giggled. “That’s a good place for a little dogging.”

Twenty minutes later, she was pulling him across the highway toward the little building. It was built on a slight rise by the water, surrounded by a thin screen of trees.

“It must be locked at this time of night,” he said.

“We’re not going in the building, silly. Take me down by the water.” She giggled again as he scrambled to get her off the asphalt before one of the many pickup trucks roaring down the highway turned them into road kill.

“Follow me.”

He followed a few paces behind her as she lead him around a little copse of trees to the narrow muddy space where the tide was receding.

“Just stand there,” she said, turning him to face the city buildings across the small stretch of water at this end of the Bedford Basin. “Don’t do anything.”

She pulled the straps of her dress off her shoulders and let the top gather at the swell of her hips, leaving her naked to the waist.

Roger could see her full breasts at intervals when they were obliquely illuminated by the headlights of passing cars and trucks. They were lovely.

He glanced toward the highway. They were far enough from the road and partly screened by enough tree trunks that passengers were unlikely to know what they were seeing unless there were looking specifically in their direction. And, even if they did happen to be peering into the darkness at exactly the right angle at exactly the right moment, they would get only the merest glimpse of the two people, too brief to see exactly what they were doing. In the other direction, over the water, the buildings were too far away for anyone to see them without an exceptionally powerful telescope.

Phoebe had chosen exactly the right spot to feel like they were both exposed to public view constantly while running little risk that they would actually be seen.

She dropped to her knees, heedless of the mud, and began unbuckling his belt. “Don’t just stand there,” she said, “help me get your pants down. This isn’t the time or place for a leisurely dalliance.”

He could see the truth of that and hastened to drop trou.

Despite the surprising turn of events, he was already half aroused when his boxers billowed to his knees and quickly achieved a full erection when the topless woman kneeling before him took him into her mouth and began working his glans and frenulum with her lips and tongue.

Then she began working down his shaft until he felt himself butting against the back of her throat.

He had received oral foreplay from women on rare occasions before, but it had never been like this.

The foreign object in her throat, his prick, was generating copious amounts of saliva. Rather than swallowing it, she used it to coat him with a slick layer. Thus lubricated, and forcing her throat to open by making repeated swallowing actions, she took him in her mouth all the way to his root. Her nose was pressed into his pubic hair.

She could not breathe with him blocking her windpipe, so she had to repeatedly withdraw him, gasp a deep breath, hold it, and swallow him again.

Her amazing oral gymnastics, coupled with the thrill of constant near public exposure, some vigorous hand stimulation of his shaft, and the sight of her face turned up to look at him over her vigorously bouncing breasts had the predictable effect of accelerating the arc of his arousal.

He came in record time.

As orgasms go, it wasn’t a great one. Among the many distractions created by the situation, a distant rumble was amplifying into an earth-shaking roar as his climax approached.

At the exact moment that he began to throb and jet into her throat, a train roared passed on the tracks that lay between the basin and the highway.

He could feel the wind from the diesel behemoth fanning his naked buttocks. If this was a VIA train, the passengers would be getting a much better view of open-air fellatio than anyone on the highway.

He didn’t care. He was too busy watching Phoebe grin up at him around his cock as she swallowed his ejaculate.

He had only come in a woman’s mouth a couple of times in his life and each time, the woman had spit his seed back out with ill-concealed distaste.

To see Phoebe appear to enjoy the flavor like it was some rare and exotic treat was an amazing sight.

Then, she gave him an even more amazing dénouement. When she pulled his flagging member from her mouth, she milked a last dollop of semen from it onto her finger and then spread the white goo across the tops of her naked breasts.

“The mark of a well-dogged woman,” she said, leering up at him. Then she rose smoothly to her feet, slipped her dress back up over her semen-daubed breasts and added, “Hoist yer gallants, matey. It’s time to weigh anchor and hie to safe harbor before the king’s marines clap us in irons. There were passenger cars in that train and their tickets bought them a show they never expected.”

He had to scramble to catch up with her. By the time he got his belt buckled, she was on the other side of the tracks and moving fast.

* * *

Dogging: British slang. Originally it referred to furtive voyeurs who ‘dogged’ couples in ‘lover’s lanes’ in hopes of seeing sexual acts. The term has mutated to refer to the act of having sex in a public place, especially in view of others. Though it often refers to strangers who arrange to meet solely for that purpose, its meaning is expanding to include any sexual activity that takes place in a car or outdoors where there is the possibility of being seen by strangers.”

Page 201, Phoebe’s Manual of Practical Sex

“So why did you want to talk to me?” Cory asked as soon as he took a seat across from Phoebe.

She was surprised by the question. She took a sip of her coffee before replying, “It’s been a week. We’re a quarter of the way through our bet so I thought that I should report on my progress. Reassure you that I’m fulfilling your terms. I’ve been a steady partner for Roger for the past seven days and have neither asked for nor received a single thing of significant monetary value from him.”

“Good for you. You want a medal? You know, like in AA? You get a pin for a going a week without falling off the good Samaritan wagon?”

“Why are you being so sarcastic?”

“I’m just a cynical guy.”

“Roger’s not so cynical.”

“He’s a good guy.” There was a pause while both considered the implications of that statement. Cory felt a bit of his hostility seep away. “I’ve known him for a long time. It’s funny, him being a lawyer, because he doesn’t have what you’d call a killer instinct. He never goes for the jugular like I’d expect from a lawyer. He’s a conciliator. A referee rather than a gladiator. He almost never goes to court. He specializes in getting two parties together and working around their disagreements until he can get them to find the middle ground. He’ll spend days negotiating a compromise between unreasonable people.”

“That’s the opposite of my lawyer,” she said.

“You mean that guy who chewed off my balls in court when we got divorced?”

“That’s the only lawyer I’ve ever had.”

“He’s one mean son of a bitch.”

“I thought all lawyers were like him. I thought that Roger would turn out to be like him once I got to know him.”

“No. Roger’s nothing like that.”

There was another long pause while they sipped their coffee and thought about their bet.

Finally, Cory smiled and said, “I was talking to him yesterday.”

“Did he tell you that I was holding up my end of the bargain?”

“He told me that you were one scary lady.” Cory’s smile grew broader. “He said that you took him dogging but he wouldn’t tell me what that was. He made it sound a lot more intense than just bending over for him.”

“It has nothing to do with doing it doggy style. It’s quite a different thing altogether.”

Cory raised an eyebrow and said, “A real dog? Is that why Roger wouldn’t give me any details?”

Phoebe laughed. “Get your mind out of the kennel,” she said. “I don’t do bestiality, either.”

“What, then?”

“Maybe some day I’ll show you.”

“Not likely.” Cory lost his smile and his tone grew cold.

“Don’t forget the terms of our bet. Three more weeks with Roger and I win your affection for a month. Even if you don’t feel it, you promised to act like it.”

Cory flinched. He hadn’t forgotten but he’d hoped that she had. Or, if not forgotten, at least decided that the stakes in their so-called wager were silly.

She read his mind through his body language. “Oh, no. You’re not welching on our bet. We shook on it. I finish my part and I expect you to do your part. That’s the deal.”

“Whatever.” He didn’t want to talk about it. He’d deal with that bridge when he had to cross it. “Anyway, Roger seems happy with the way things are going.”

“Yeah. I’m giving him a bit of a rest after our dogging date.” For the last few nights, she’d been letting him make love to her in the comfort of her bed like any other normal couple. “He’s going to need his strength for this weekend. It’s time for another adventure.”

* * *

“A man’s most deeply held secret is his sexual fantasies. It is easier to convince a man to confess to murder, betray state secrets, or rat out his best friend than to get him to tell you what he thinks about when he jerks off. If you can get him to tell you what really turns him on, you have the power to give him his ultimate reward. Which is why he protects that secret so well. To reveal it to you is to give you power over him.”

Page 123, Phoebe’s Manual of Practical Sex

“That was nice,” Phoebe said when her breathing returned to a normal rate.

“Just nice?” Roger asked.

He was smiling but she knew that his question was serious.

“Very nice,” she replied. “You’re a good lover.”

“Very nice,” he said. “Your bedroom curtains are very nice. My car is very nice. I was hoping that my loving would be terrific. Stupendous. Wonderful.”

She propped herself up on an elbow and looked down into his eyes. “Do you want me to lie to you?”


“Then be happy with very nice. I like nice sex. It makes me feel good. It makes me want to have more nice sex with you. Most of the time, nice sex is better than terrific, stupendous, wonderful sex. It’s the meat and potatoes of love. You can’t live on chocolate cake and strawberry ice cream. Most of your meals have to be good basic food or you’ll starve to death. I’ve known guys who’ve insisted that every night had to be another scene from a porno film. A woman can’t keep up with a guy like that for more than a few days before she has to dump him. I hope that you can be as happy with nice sex as I can.”

“Sure. No. You’re right. I… It was nice. Being in bed with you like this makes me happy, too. I’m happier than I’ve been for a long time.”

Phoebe felt the ghost of Lillian drifting into the room and decided to do something radical to exorcise it before it made itself comfortable here.

“Come with me,” she said and hopped out of bed.

“What? Where?”

“Come on. Right now. We’ve got some work to do.”


She grabbed his hand and pulled him out of bed. “No questions. Just do what I say. Get dressed. She threw his pants at him.”

“I’d like to shower first.”

“Shower later. Seize the moment.”

“I can’t go out like this.”

“We’re not going out. We’re going into the living room. We’re only getting dressed so that we can be warm and comfortable in there.”

By the time he was dressed, she was already in her living room, dragging her loveseat away from the wall. “Help me move this thing to the middle of the room,” she said.

After the loveseat was moved, she ordered him to move the easy chair so that it was behind the loveseat, facing away from it. “Sit down,” she said, gesturing to the loveseat.

He sat.

She sat in the easy chair. The way the furniture was arranged, they were now seated facing away from each other. He was looking toward the blank wall where the loveseat had been. He wondered why she had never mounted a picture on that wall.

“Comfy?” she asked.


“Good,” she said. “I’m Sweet Pea, your sex doctor. You can call me Doctor Pea. I want you to relax and tell me about the sex that you just had.”


“It’s okay. I am bound by strict doctor-patient confidentiality. No word of what you say will ever leave my office. Now, it’s my understanding that you recently had sexual intercourse with a very lucky woman, right?”


“So how did that start? Did you undress her or did she undress herself?”

“We were already in bed. We sleep nude.”

“Who made the first move?”

Slowly, she dragged a detailed description of their recent lovemaking from him. To her satisfaction, the more he talked, the more willing he was to talk and the less she had to prompt him with questions.

By the end, he seemed to be open to discussion, so she sprang her real question on him. “So, Mr. X, tell me what you were thinking about when you were making love to this lucky, lucky woman.”

“What? What do you mean by that? I wasn’t thinking anything. I was thinking about her. That’s all. Just about her. And what we were doing. It’s pretty hard to think about anything else when you’re making love to someone, you know.”

“I know. But I also know that a man’s thoughts will wander down some curious back alleys during sex. In my experience, men will think about some pretty special things – some really interesting things – when they’re making love to a woman. All men do that. It’s normal.”

There was a moment of silence from the man sitting behind her.

She waited.

Finally, he said, “I was thinking about her. That’s all. I was thinking about what I was doing. How I was making love to her.”

“Okay.” She drawled that single word out long to convey her disbelief and disappointment in his lack of courage. “Statistics show that a man thinks about sex every few minutes. When you’re not with a woman, not making love to someone specific, and you think about sex, who do you think about?”

“I don’t know.”

“Sure you do. I don’t care if you dream about having sex with a duck. I’m not from PETA. I don’t care if you dream about disembowelment and dismemberment, I’m not a police officer, and, as long as you actually murder anyone, you’re not doing anything illegal. I don’t care if you dream about defenestration. I’m not a glazier.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

“Good thing. You wouldn’t like it. Come on,” she wheedled. “Tell the doctor all about it. Murder and mayhem? Slavery and degradation? Getting gang raped by other men? Television is filled with fantasies like that every night and nobody’s ashamed to tell their friends that they watch Criminal Minds or Law and Order: SUV. If you were going to write a scene for a television script, what would you write? And, remember, we’re talking cable after midnight, not prime time. Anything goes.”

“Nothing violent,” he said. “Really, what I sometimes think about would be too boring for television. Really.”

“So tell me,” she said. “I really want to know.”

“I think about being with a topless woman. Not nude. Just topless. Sitting with her, watching television, reading, whatever. And she doesn’t mind if I fondle her breasts any time I want. That’s it. That’s all.”

“Thank-you for telling me that,” she said. “Our time is up. Now let’s get this furniture back where it belongs and then you can go shower.”

Mission accomplished, she thought, as she began dragging the chair back toward the wall. He’d told her a fantasy. He had confessed a petty, mundane fantasy, that held no surprise. She had known that he was fascinated by her breasts since the first evening they had met. Still, it was a true confession and she would give him the obvious reward. She would spend the evening with him, watching television, naked from the waist up. Not presenting herself at him or pushing herself on him, just being there, letting him do what he wished.

But she knew that he had told her almost nothing about his real fantasies. The ones that he used to get himself off. He was an intelligent man and he would have unique, elaborate sexual fantasies locked away inside his skull.

She’d succeeded in opening the vault a crack. Maybe just a tiny, little crack, but a crack nonetheless. She’d planted the idea that she wanted him to tell her about his fantasies. And now she could to prove that she would not judge him or use them against him. She would respect him, even going so far as to act out his fantasies with him, within reason.

The day would soon come when she would pry his head wide open.

* * *

“A rose, by any other name, would be just as sexy.”

Page 103, Phoebe’s Manual of Practical Sex

At the beginning of their third week together, the inevitable happened.

She took Roger to bed shortly after dinner, as was her habit.

Phoebe preferred to make love early in the evening then get up and lounge around in front of the television with her lover for a couple of hours afterward. The tradition for most couples of waiting until they are on the verge of falling asleep, then going to bed and engaging in a bout of lackluster copulation for its soporific properties held no attraction for her. She wanted to be fully awake so that she could enjoy making love to her man.

So they were hard at it, moaning and whining like a well-lubricated engine when Roger gasped, “God, Lillian–” then he realized what he’d said and froze in mid thrust.

Before Phoebe could respond, he rolled off her, and said, “God, Phoebe, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I–”

“Shut up!” she snapped. She propped herself up on her elbow and stared at the anguish in his face. “Shut up,” she said softly, “and listen to me.”


“I don’t care. You can call me anything you want. You can call me Lillian or Sally or Lady Gaga. You can call me Tom, Dick and Harry. You can call me a bitch, a slut, a whore and a cunt. I don’t care. As long as your cock is in my cunt, I’ve got exactly what I want. Do you understand me?”


“Do you believe me?”

There was a pause. Then he said, “Yes.” He sounded like he meant it.

“Then you know what’s wrong right now?”


“Your cock is not in my cunt. So stop whining and fix that.”

She rolled onto her back, spread her legs, and waited for him to impale her again, eager for him to get back to work.

* * *

“By and large, women spend too much time worrying about undressing for sex, fretting about what they look like in the nude. It is far more important to think about dressing for it. Fetish clothing – leather, rubber, vinyl, chainmail – has its place in the sexual woman’s wardrobe but it is not nearly as important as basic clothing that has good functional design. A simple sundress that you can slowly unbutton down the front can be as exciting for a man as any stripper’s costume. Stay-up stockings give a man easier access than pantyhose. A wraparound skirt can be removed with far more grace and elegance than a pair of skin-tight blue jeans, especially if you want to let the man to do it for you. Think about function as much as about appearance.”

Page 50, Phoebe’s Manual of Practical Sex

As Phoebe rose to clear the dishes from the table, she told Roger that dessert would be served later. He was not surprised. This was not the first time that she had cooked an elaborate meal for him and then suggested a break between the main course and dessert. She liked to make an evening out of a meal.

As on previous evenings at her house, he retired to the living room to work on one of his current cases while she busied herself in the kitchen preparing their final course.

After a while he heard the shower running and then the hairdryer blowing. That was unusual – typically, she showered in the morning – he noted it but promptly forgot about it.

Some time later, she came into the living room. She had changed into a white sleeveless dress that buttoned down the front. He had never seen it before but that was not surprising, either. She had the largest wardrobe of any woman that he had ever known. Her spare bedroom was furnished with racks of clothes.

“Are you ready for dessert?” she asked.

He was.

He saw that her face was uncharacteristically pale. That was only because she was wearing no cosmetics for once.

She led him into the dining room. The table was covered with a fresh white tablecloth. There were no dessert plates, cutlery, or food in sight, save a single saucepot with a spoon resting in it.

All the chairs had been moved to the walls, giving him no place to sit at the table.

It wasn’t hard for Roger to guess what he was having for dessert.

She hoisted herself onto the table, swung her bare feet up, and wriggled to the center. The saucepot was near the right side of her head.

“I hope you like chocolate,” she said.

“I love it.”

She pulled a spoonful of thick chocolate sauce from the pot and drizzled a thick line across her pursed lips.

Then she beckoned him to her.

He leaned over the table and slowly licked the chocolate from her. It was a good, rich sauce, mostly chocolate melted into thickened corn syrup but with a distinctive orange flavor.

“Orange?” he asked when her mouth was clear.

“Grand Marnier,” she said as she drizzled a line across her throat.

She squirmed a little as he licked that line clean. She had a sensitive neck.

“Delicious,” he said.

“I’m glad you like it,” she said as she unbuttoned the top of her dress to expose her cleavage.

“The sauce is tasty, too,” he replied as he swooped down to clean the chocolate line that she had drizzled across the tops of her breasts.

She unbuttoned the strap at her left shoulder, which allowed her to pull her bodice away from her left breast.

He watched with fascination while she drizzled more chocolate over that most wonderful part of her anatomy. She worked slowly, letting him drool in anticipation. The sauce in the pot was warm, a couple of degrees above body temperature, but it thickened slightly as it cooled down to skin temperature.

She followed her curves and left her nipple bare of the sweet stuff.

He followed the chocolate line slavishly, his breathing thickening as his tongue ran over his favorite part of her.

When he raised his head again to give her access to herself, she completely covered her left nipple and aureole with a thick coat.

It was her turn to throw back her head and breathe heavily as his tongue explored every bump and contour of her sensitive pink peak. He continued to stimulate her for some time after every trace of chocolate sauce was gone, enjoying the taste of her as much as the taste of the chocolate.

When he was ready for more, she unbuttoned her right strap, uncovered her other breast, and drizzled a trail of chocolate across her chest to her other nipple.

He followed the trail like a hound on scent to give her right nipple the same exquisite treatment as her left. He was leaning over from the left side of the table so that his shirt inadvertently rubbed against her left breast, continuing to make it tingle while his tongue worked on her right breast.

Again, she let him keep licking at her long after every trace of chocolate was gone.

Eventually, when he raised his head, looking for more, she slowly unbuttoned the remaining buttons on the dress.

As each button was released and her dress fell open another inch, he had the patient fascination of a cat waiting for a mouse to appear. One would think that he had never seen her naked before, much less had made love to her almost every day for two weeks.

He had never seen her like this. As her hand passed her crotch, no pubic thatch was revealed, only smooth, freshly-shaved pink skin stretched from her belly to her thighs. When she drizzled a thick, serpentine trail of chocolate down to the grand fork in her body, she had no hair for him to worry about.

She stopped short of her sex and let his eager tongue lap at her skin, back and forth across her lower body, getting closer and closer to that sacred opening, but not quite reaching it.

When he raised his head again, she bent her knees, parted her legs wide, and used her finger to plaster her pink inner lips with a heavy layer of sweet candy.

She left her fingers between her legs, shielding her sensitive clitoris from his eager slurping.

He licked her lips clean and then kept licking, thrusting his tongue as deep into her as he could reach, no longer tasting anything but her sweet sex and enjoying that more than he had enjoyed the chocolate.

She moaned and began to manipulate her delicate bud with her fingers as his tongue delved into her depths, the combined effect bringing her to a shuddering climax after a brief time.

As she fell back, feeling the golden afterglow infuse her body, she put her hands on the sides of his head and pulled him back to give him a long, deep kiss, loving the taste of herself on his lips.

She pushed him away gently and, while still suffused with post-orgasmic bliss, grabbed the saucepot and rolled to the edge of the table. She sat up and slipped to the floor, letting herself sink to her knees in front of her man.

He was still completely dressed; she completely naked.

She unbuckled his belt and shoved his pants to his ankles, releasing his erection.

As she pushed him back against the edge of the table, she said, “Now for my dessert,” and began drizzling the still-warm chocolate down the length of his cock.

* * *

“Whether pornography is a woman’s enemy or not depends on her man. When asked by his lover, the majority of men will deny looking at pornography. Some of them are telling the truth, but most are lying. If your man would rather look at pornography than make love to you, your situation is hopeless. You need to find a new man. If he expects you to behave like the actresses and models he sees, you may be able to modify his expectations. If, on the other hand, your man occasionally looks at it when he does not have sexual access to you, then he is behaving normally. If he prefers you, as a real person, to the artificiality of his pornography, you need not feel threatened or defensive. If you can, you should find out what he prefers to read or watch. He will resist and deny but, if you can see what attracts him, you will gain an invaluable insight into your man’s sexual fantasies. That information can be used in any number of ways, from directly acting out scenes to making the oblique references that are so subtle that he will never realize that they were inspired by his pornography.”

Page 149, Phoebe’s Manual of Practical Sex

“Do you want to know a naughty secret?” Phoebe asked.

“How naughty?” Roger countered.

She was taken aback for a moment. She had expected him to agree without question. She believed that most men wanted their women to be as naughty as possible, as long as she was being naughty only with them.

“I don’t know how naughty you would think it is. Maybe I shouldn’t tell you. Maybe you’d never respect me again.”

He laughed. “What makes you think that I respect you now?”

She laughed with him. “I’m sure that you don’t respect me at all. Not after some of the things we’ve done. Taking a man dogging is hardly something that a woman does when she’s looking for his respect.”

His expression changed to sober. “You shocked the hell out of me that night.”

“I shocked the hell out of myself. That’s something that I’ve only done once before in my life and it wasn’t my idea the first time. I had to get damned drunk before I could muster the courage to do it again.”

“I noticed. But you did it and I respect you for that. You have my deepest respect.”

“It doesn’t matter. Really. I’m not looking for your respect. I want you to lust after me. If I wanted your respect, I’d be doing something that merited respect, like showing you how well I sell cars or how artfully I can decorate a cake. Instead, I take you to bed and fuck your brains out because that is what earns the lust that I want from you.”

“Don’t worry about that. You have all the lust that I have in me. But you have my respect, too.”

“Okay. So now that we’ve got that clear, do you want to know my naughty secret?”


“Sometimes I like to look at porn,” she said.

“That’s it?”

“Yup. That’s it. Sometimes it gives me a real thrill to look at pictures of men and women getting it on.” She was lying. Sometimes she looked at porn to find ideas about unusual ways to have sex. Sometimes she looked at it with a lover to see what he liked. Sometimes she even looked at it in the hope that it would turn her on. But it never did. For the most part, she found porn to be dull and tedious.

“What do you like to look at?” he asked.

She shrugged and did her best to blush. “A variety. Sometimes some pretty kinky stuff.” She looked away from him. “What about you? You must have been curious sometime. What kind of porn have you seen?” That was the first step. She had to get him to admit that he had looked at porn at least once. He should be willing to admit it now that she had played her gambit.

He did.

“Yeah,” he said. “I guess most men have looked at it sometime in their lives.”

“Every man I ever met,” she said. That was another white lie to make him feel good. Twice she’d had lovers who claimed that they’d never looked at porn. Considering how unimaginative both of them were and how unwilling they were to try some of the simpler variations that she had suggested, she believed them. And she had dumped both of them quickly. She had no interest in sleeping with a porn addict, but sleeping with a prude was no fun, either.

She liked to have her fun.

“So what did you see when you looked?”

“Like you said, men and women getting it on.”

“Details,” she said, her normal throaty whisper turning huskier. “I want to hear details. To tell you the truth, hearing you talk about it turns me on more than seeing it myself.” That was true, mostly because seeing porn herself never turned her on much. “Are you talking about pictures? Videos? Magazines? The Internet?”

“Mostly television. Sometimes I don’t sleep well. A couple of times I’ve been channel surfing in the middle of the night and found some pretty racy stuff on the cable channels in the middle of the night.”

Getting him to admit watching cable TV was a start. “Oooh. Tell me what you saw.”

“About what you’d expect. A woman and a man naked. She was going down on him. Licking him and moaning. Taking him in her mouth. I only watched for a few minutes before I got bored. I mean, how long can you watch that? You see the penis going into the mouth for a while and what’s left? More of the same. A couple of other times I came across regular sex. A woman on a couch with her legs spread and a guy kneeling in front of her, doing her. Same problem. Once you’ve seen his penis pushing in and out of her vagina for a couple of minutes, you’ve seen all you need to see. Watching that any longer doesn’t show you anything more. I like doing it but watching other people doing it doesn’t do anything but bore me.”

June 2018
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