It started with a one-night stand I had at age thirty. I’d never had a one-night stand before and to this day I’m not entirely sure why it happened. I think I just wanted to see if I could do it. It was like a personal dare. I purchased some condoms and allowed myself to be picked up at my favorite bar by a man I’d seen hanging out there for the previous several months. I always thought he was a handsome, sexy guy. We’d had some conversation from time to time when I was there, but I had always shot him down when he asked for my phone number. This particular night when we talked I was more flirtatious than usual, and a few hours later he was in my bed. It was pretty good, but I felt badly when he asked for my phone number again the following morning, indicating his actual interest in me. I found myself in the awkward position of having to explain I only brought him home for sex. He left, looking very confused, and I never saw him at the bar after that. That experience calmed me down for a while, because I never meant to hurt anyone. But ultimately that event was the beginning of my departure from my more sedate sexual self.
A couple of months later I bought an X-rated movie. Not a hardcore one that first time. It was one of those artsy erotic films that had been produced and directed by a group of women. It was supposed to be more enjoyable for the fairer sex because it actually had somewhat developed characters, plots, dialogue, etc. It wasn’t a purely sex-based movie, although the sex was as graphic as any traditional porn flick. I thought it would be a nice departure for me. It was not as drastic as my one-nighter, but still an expansion of my sexual repertoire. I bought myself some microwave popcorn and a large bottle of cheap wine to enhance the experience. I found the movie to be very exciting, very stimulating. More than I expected it to be. I found myself shedding my oversized sweatpants halfway through the movie, masturbating with one hand and gulping down the wine in my glass with the other. And while I did appreciate the director’s attempt to address my intellect as well as my need to see hot steamy sex on video, I really didn’t need it or want it. What I wanted to see was the sex. So a few days later I brought some more hardcore stuff, and a better class of wine. Then the guilt set in, and for an entire day I was torn about watching my new purchases. I left them unopened on my bedroom dresser. I felt I had to at least try to work up a feminine righteous indignation at the objectification of the women in the movie. I tried to make myself angry at how exploited they were. I told myself that the sex industry was a terrible thing, making profit by appealing to the baser instincts of humanity, doing nothing to uplift people. It was causing the moral decay of our society and straining relationships between men and women. I thought about all these things as I opened the movies and watched them. My pussy didn’t give a damn about political correctness. It was hard to argue with the moistness between my legs that increased with every scene. I couldn’t deny the searing orgasm that I was inspired to give myself with the new dildo I bought to go along with the flicks. In a few weeks time I had a porn collection that rivaled any bachelor’s. From time to time I even found myself secretly wishing to be Vanessa Del Rio, who I personally found to be the sexiest woman in the history of the X-rated film industry.
When I started dating my most recent ex-boyfriend, he thought my sex film collection was interesting. He said he’d never met a woman so…open. Our sex life was torrid and unstoppable. It was like a force of nature. We fucked like rabbits, he and I. It was for him that I brought my first vibrator…a small vibrating bullet. The toy stayed in my nightstand drawer for a month, unused. Then one night, during one of our more extended foreplay sessions, I told him it was there, and that was all she wrote. He took it out, and I let him rub it against my clit. Then he put the bullet inside me, with his dick following closely behind. He fucked me royally that night, and I came so hard that I think I blacked out for a minute. After that I added to my collection of goodies faithfully. Plainly wrapped packages came to my door at least a couple of times a month.
Then, after a while I thought to myself, I want a threesome.
This urge was an extreme one. I had been ascending up the slope of what many folks would consider sexual perversion for a while now (or would descending be a better description?), so maybe it was a natural progression. I found myself fantasizing about it a lot. When I mentioned it to my boyfriend he laughed and offered to help me out if I had a willing girlfriend. But that wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted two men at once.
Vin Diesel and Denzel Washington. Orlando Bloom and Jet Li. Brad Pitt and Will Smith. Sting and Terrence Howard. Colin Farrell and Prince. Keanu Reeves and P-Diddy. Richard Gere and Chris Rock. Nick Lachey and Allen Iverson. Bobby Brown and Mark Wahlberg. John Bon Jovi and Phil Collins. Rick James and Dave Chapelle. Tavist Smiley and Bill Clinton. My brain came up with the sexiest and craziest combinations that it could. In my fantasies my pair of lovers eagerly served me, each doing all they could to outlast and outshine each other. In my dreams they always think I am the most beautiful, most desirable, sexiest thing they had ever encountered, and they are determined to make me glow with satisfaction. And they always did…at least in my dreams.
At first the fantasies were easy to ignore. They were far-fetched and even comical at times…clearly the meanderings of an overly imaginative, slightly sick and twisted mind. Then one night I found myself cavorting with Ted Koppel and the guy who waited on me at the deli in my head. A couple of days later it was me and Tupac and the maintenance man from my apartment building. A week later I fantasized about me and my boyfriend and the weatherman on Channel Eight. I knew I was officially crazy when I awoke from a dream of me on a deserted island with Gilligan and the Professor.
What I could do to rid myself of this insane idea? Up until that point I always just did whatever it was that entered my head once I figured out how to make it sound normal. But I couldn’t possibly engage in this kind of behavior. I always held on to enough of what I considered decency to be able to live with myself after the fact. I always had a plausible explanation that made my exploits seem tame and reasonable. First it was ‘porn films aren’t so bad. I don’t watch them all the time, only occasionally. Its not like I need them to become aroused. I don’t have any desire to be like those women.’ Then it was ‘kinky outfits aren’t so bad. I still have a firm grip on who I really am. I don’t have a problem with reality. It’s not like I go out in public in them.’ Then ‘butt plugs aren’t so bad, really ‘ (that was a tough one). Now I was trying to convince myself that ‘having two men at once’ wasn’t so bad. It flew in the face of the monogamy I clung to, the monogamy I maintained so that I always had a shield of sexual decorum to cover myself with when my wild desires took hold. I tried to tell myself this new thing was psychological and not physical; that it was an ego thing. I tried to convince myself that this fantasy symbolized my craving for a high intensity of pointedly focused attention from men. Bullshit. What I wanted was to feel a dick in my mouth and in my pussy at the same time, with four hands and twenty fingers on my tits for good measure. Even I couldn’t pull off that Jedi mind trick of thinking otherwise. I told my boyfriend about my latest urge, and even he thought it was a bit much. He said he wasn’t sure how he felt about being involved with a woman who really wanted to fuck two men at once, and he broke up with me shortly after I told him.
I didn’t have the nerve to approach strangers or casual acquaintances with my latest obsession. And I couldn’t bring myself to ‘plan’ a threesome. Then I thought that maybe what I needed to do was create a situation where a threesome might just happen. It didn’t have to of course. But…if I put the elements together…I chided myself for my unwillingness to be an adult and just go ahead and have a threesome. I was being very immature. Did I really need the subterfuge? The trickery? Especially when the one I was trying to play the trick on was myself. But evidently I did. My birthday was coming up and I always had a huge birthday party every year. This year I would have a co-ed pajama party at a really nice hotel. Between the friendly atmosphere, the laughing and joking, the game playing, the scantily
clad guests, the proximity of bedrooms and the alcohol/recreational drug use, I hoped that I would “fall” into an opportunity to have my ménage a trois. It would be easy. What man wouldn’t be willing once the situation presented itself?
..*
Four months later I was looking around my penthouse suite at the hotel. The suite was two stories high, boasting a full kitchen, a large dining room with a full sized table and six chairs along with a Murphy bed made into the wall. The living room included a huge couch (which also pulled out into a bed), an oversized love seat, lounge chair, end tables, and a fireplace. An entertainment center was built into the wall, hidden behind a paneled screen. It included a 32-inch television, a DVD/VCR combination unit, a CD player and an AM/FM radio. Four speakers were mounted around the living and dining room areas. Upstairs was the master bedroom with its California King sized bed and sitting area that was almost as big as the downstairs living room, complete with a Jacuzzi.
My best girlfriend Sami, who helped me plan the party (and knew nothing about its true intentions), had turned the countertop in the kitchen that faced the living room into the bar and buffet space. She lined bottle after bottle of alcohol, soda, mixers and wine along the counter with gold and black plastic cups and plates, napkins and eating utensils. She added a full bucket of ice, a blender, and platters of chicken wings, meatballs, salads, luncheon meats, cheeses, crackers, tiny egg rolls and tiny pizzas. She floated gold and black helium balloons all around the room and added streamers. She placed decks of cards, a set of checkers, chess, dominoes, and Monopoly on the dining room table. CD’s and DVDs were lined next to the entertainment center.
The guests began to arrive promptly at eight. All the guests were acquainted with each other, so there was a familiar and friendly feeling to the whole affair. Sami welcomed them in, showing everyone where they could find food, drinks, the bathroom, and so on. Some guests went straight to the buffet and began filling up gold and black plates with food. Some went over to the dining room area to start serious games of Spades and dominoes. A few sat down in front of the TV in the living room to talk and get caught up. Almost everyone got something to drink of course. Best of all, everyone had on pajamas—chemises, peignoirs, camisole tops and tap pants, oversized tee shirts, silk robes, plaid sleeping pants with boxers to match. And everyone looked good too. Very sexy. Very sensual. Waxed, shaved, scented and oiled. Body parts not normally exposed to the naked eye were clearly visible. The undercurrent of sexual tension was beginning. The guests buzzed about, admiring each other, seeing old friends in new lights, and new strangers they hoped to convert into even newer friends. You could taste the sexual energy in the room, and I licked my lips to get a bit of its flavor in my mouth. The evening was off to a good start.
I had selected a very form-fitting, very short slip to wear this evening. It was black trimmed in hot pink, very low cut and lacy at the top. Lots of cleavage, lots of leg, and easy access to my beautiful full and plump butt. I applied my favorite perfume to her pulse points. Since my breasts were in full view, I applied a little extra perfume to them. As a final touch of sexiness, I wore black high-heeled marabou feather slides. I had to admit it. I looked hot. Every man stopped what he was doing to admire me. I was the guest of honor. The star for the night. I noticed the erections that came fully alive as I walked by, and I loved it. Now all I had to do was ‘accidentally’ find two men that would be so carried away with me they’d want to both have me at once.
The party was a success, but it got later and later and no action for me. Some guests left early, but most of them were female so I wasn’t too concerned. I knew the men would stay as long as the liquor held out, and by 3 a.m. there were only four men and two women left in my suite. Perfect. Finally, a cousin of one of my friends offered to give me a massage as a birthday present. His cousin hadn’t told him it was a birthday party, and he felt guilty about not having a gift for me he said. He was a very tall, dark, heavily muscled man with a bald head. He was fierce and mysterious looking. Perfect. And about time, I thought to myself. I didn’t understand why I was having such a hard time hooking up at my own party, why I couldn’t find two men willing to do me. I’d been flirting all night, and as I got drunker and drunker, dropping hints, but I got no takers. I hurriedly took him up to my bedroom, making sure everyone witnessed our ascent up the stairs. I winked rather obviously as we left the room.
Once we were in my bedroom, I handed him a bottle of my Tropical Paradise lotion, and lay down on my bed. He opened the bottle and the lush sweet smell rushed out. He came over to the bed and crawled over to where I was. Raising one leg long over me, he placed one knee on each side of me, with me lying in between his legs. He positioned me face down between them. He poured some of the lotion into his hands, rubbed his hands together gently, and placed his big hands across the back of my collarbone. The scent of Tropical Paradise filled the air, and he moved his hands across the top of my back, saying nothing.
I turned my head towards the open bedroom door, listening hard, feeling his hands with every fiber in me. One down, I thought to myself. There was something about him that was reaching for me, calling my name almost. As he rubbed my back and shoulders I felt my intimate insides responding forcefully. Another man was bound to come upstairs soon, just to be nosy if nothing else. He slid the straps of my slip down off my shoulders and poured out more lotion. He proceeded to massage my whole back, my shoulders and my arms. His hands were surprisingly smooth as his fingers pressed into my pliant flesh. I felt him stiffen and harden as he rubbed me. His erection pressed against his pajamas. I closed my eyes and strained to hear footsteps heading towards the bedroom. Just one more, just one more I repeated to myself over and over and over.
After a few minutes he asked me to turn over, and I did. As I did my slip rose up, and for a second my ass was in plain view, not that I cared. I looked up at him, and he raised my arms and massaged them. Then he massaged the front of my shoulders. Still listening at the door, I smiled sexily and him and pulled down my slip to expose more of my breasts. He groaned, and poured lotion on them. He rubbed the soft mounds and I watched his penis grow bigger and bigger and bigger through his PJs. He pulled my slip down farther and began to rub my nipples without the lotion. Then he reached down to put one in my mouth.
No, my brain screamed out. Not yet! It’s too soon! The other guy isn’t here yet! I got a grip on myself and removed my nipple from his lips, smiling as I did. He smiled an apology and picked up the lotion, applying more to his hands. He proceeded to run his hands up and down my legs. We were silent together as he massaged my legs, and then gently rubbed my feet, pressing each one into his strong chest and rubbing it, flexing my toes and pressing my ankles.
And still no one came upstairs. I was shocked and amazed. Come on now. Didn’t anyone want to know what was going on up here? I mean, I had left the door wide open. No one even wanted to come up the steps to hear what was going on?
I thought maybe I should let everyone know what was going on up here. Surely one would rush up to see and join in. So as he rubbed and flexed my toes, I moaned. He continued to rub, and I moaned again, a little louder. I cried out ‘oh baby’, certain that would create a stampede of at least to my bedroom door. I turned towards the door and pointed called out ‘oh yes, I want all I can get.’
I heard some rustling downstairs. Movement here and there. I knew it. Someone was coming. If they all came I’d just have to pick one and send the others back. Two was all I needed. Soon I’d have my fondest wish. I started reaching for his dick, mentally preparing myself to be ravished. I wondered who from the party it would be. All of the men left downstairs were totally acceptable candidates. I continued to listen, wondering what was taking so long.
Then I realized that it had gotten quieter downstairs. Much quieter. The music had been turned off. I turned to my bedroom door and noticed the lights were out also. I strained again to listen, and it was as if everyone had left and the party had ended.
&
nbsp; I looked up at my friend’s cousin, who was grinning like a Cheshire cat.
“Finally,” he said. “I thought they’d never leave.”
He what? I sat up and looked at him.
“I paid each of them $10 to leave us alone in the suite if it seemed like I was gonna get lucky with you. It’s a good thing you got loud when you did, ‘cause we were about to get busy while they were all still here! And I really wanted us to be alone.”
Yeah, I was disappointed, but I fucked him anyway. And while I did, I figured I might as well accept who I was, and what I was. It takes all kinds to make a world…even freaks like me.
Right On Schedule
To Patrick C.
He always used the same washers and dryers on his weekly trip to the laundry room in the basement of his apartment building. They were all the way in the back near the television so he could catch the late news as his clothes spun their way to cleanliness. He never did anything other than his laundry on Friday nights…never went out with friends or had company at his home. It was the time that he allotted himself to do the laundry and that was it. Everything he did was on a schedule. He did this to maintain control of his life. For a long time it had been out of control and he would not let that happen again. Therefore, he kept a strict schedule. He went to the gym every morning at 5 a.m. to work out for ninety minutes. Then he went to his full time job working at the Help Desk of a mid-sized company. He taught literature classes at the community college two nights a week, and took a class on Saturday morning to prepare for his Cisco certification. Schedules were essential to him, it was how he functioned and accomplished things. Control was just that important to him. He enjoyed the reliability and predictability of routines and order. Knowing when things were going to happen was exactly what he needed in his life. Unpredictability was messy and unnecessary.
Lipstick and Other Stories Page 8
