Tuesday Erotica Club

by Lisa Beth Kovetz

  “You don’t think he’s her pimp?” Aimee asked. “We should report him. I mean, shouldn’t we protect her in some way?”

  “No, no. Can’t be. Can it? Pimps have to be tough bastards, right?” Margot asked Brooke.

  “What are you asking me for? I grew up on Fifth Avenue. The closest thing to a prostitute was my nanny. She loved me on salary.”

  “Well, this old guy is not her pimp. He can barely hold a pencil. Although, he marked up my release form pretty good.”

  For a moment there was silence, all three women considering their own thoughts.

  “I’ve been a bitch haven’t I?” Aimee asked.

  “Of course you’ve been a bitch,” Brooke laughed. “About what?”

  “About Lux. She dresses horribly. And she’s rude and vulgar. And she’s way too young and way too pretty. Too many opportunities in front of her. But here we are talking about whether or not this poor kid is a hooker, and I realize how much I have that I take for granted. I gotta be nicer to her. I’ve been Grima Wormtongue when I should have been Aragorn.”

  “You lost me on that last sentence but the first thought was dead on. Yeah, you’ve been a right bitch to her,” Brooke agreed.

  “I’m going to be better. I’m going to be nicer to her. Why don’t you guys invite her over with you the next time you come?”

  “Yeah,” Margot said. “As soon as she signs the release I can talk with her again.”

  “Should we redo her?” Aimee asked. “Take her shopping and get her a proper haircut?

  “I like her the way she is, and anyway, you can’t get out of bed,” Brooke reminded her.

  “I’ll invite her to join us for lunch when I deliver the final papers and her check. But remember, Aimee, she’s not a puppy or an orphan,” Margot interjected and would have said more, except that the doorbell was ringing.

  “You expecting anyone?” Margot asked.

  “Yes, I am,” Aimee said. “I’m selling the vagina.”

  “Does anyone want it?” Brooke asked politely.

  “You’d be surprised how popular that vagina is,” Aimee said.

  Margot stared at her friends in horror.

  “What,” Margot asked, “are you talking about?”

  “The huge blond vagina he keeps in the living room.”

  Margot still could not imagine what Aimee was talking about.

  “I sold it to a club in the meat-packing district for twelve grand,” Aimee said. “Framed, of course.”

  “A photograph!” Margot said triumphantly. “You’re talking about a photograph.”

  “Of course,” Aimee giggled from the bed. “I’m starting a new life. And that beautiful new life does not have room for a blond vagina, seven feet tall and five feet wide.”

  21. Viagra

  “YOU DIDN’T LIKE THE dress I bought you,” Bill said instead of hello when Brooke turned her key and walked into his apartment. In the cool darkness, Brooke leaned against a carved panel of exotic wood and regarded him over the tops of her sunglasses. The twelveroom apartment, though sumptuously decorated, was overstuffed with expensive furniture done up in too-delicate fabrics that made Brooke feel there was no place to rest her butt. Brooke inherited a similar property from her maternal grandmother and lived in it briefly before moving to a livelier part of town.

  “Honey, you’re an old line, prep school fashion retard who still thinks Bean, Bass, and Brooks Brothers make up the triumvirate of the fashion universe.”

  “But it was better, right?”

  “Better?”

  “Than the last dress I bought.”

  “Oh god, yes. That peachy colored prom dress! This one was much better.”

  “Well, at least that’s something. You don’t mind if I keep trying, do you?”

  “I’m your doll. Dress me as you like.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, no. I mean, yes. You can buy me clothes but really Bill, I can’t promise to wear them. I mean, out of the house, that is.”

  Brooke stood on her toes to kiss him. She lost her balance and leaned in a little against him. The feel of his exquisite, toned body flicked a little switch in her that she immediately turned back off. They had a beautiful evening planned, and she didn’t want to pressure him. Maybe later, or tomorrow morning, she would raise a difficult subject. She had no proof he was sleeping with someone else, only a suspicion. When he was ready, he would tell her what was wrong.

  The ruby pumps would make her just about as tall as Bill. Like Brooke, Bill was long and thin and blond. Like a matched pair of patrician gods, they would look amazing together tonight.

  “Do you think I should wear the roll collar or the one with the sharp points?” Bill asked her.

  “Points are in, I think.”

  “Mother said the roll collar.”

  Brooke heard, but didn’t answer. Bill had a large selection of tuxedos and one was as beautiful as the next.

  Her ruby Lanvin had arrived and Bill’s housekeeper hung it on the back of the door in Bill’s bedroom. Brooke slipped out of her clothes and into the shower. Wrapped in a towel, she splashed cream on her body and flicked makeup onto her face. She flipped the dress over her head and let it settle onto her body. Brooke was an old hat at the process of becoming stunning.

  He was waiting in the foyer when she skipped down the stairs, the red gown dancing around her ankles. The purse had a little golden strap that she placed on her wrist so she could slide her hand into his when they danced. She let the purse dangle for a moment when he turned and she did her “ta da” pose so he could admire her dress.

  The way he looked at her, she knew he loved her. He loved her jokes, and he loved her style. He had come to love the tattoos that once horrified him. He loved her paintings and that, for her, was like loving her soul. He loved her feet and he loved her legs, her fingers and her eyes. With all that love pouring out of him, surely they would find a way to get their sex life back on track.

  “My cell phone fits in my purse but if I take it, nothing else will fit in. So, it’s either cell phone and lipstick; or cash, hairbrush, and lipstick? What do you think?”

  Bill smiled blankly at her.

  “Let’s go,” he said, and a mischievous little smile played across his lips.

  The evening’s benefit for muscular dystrophy was to take place at the Guggenheim, one of Brooke’s favorite places in the city. Now that he was a judge, all his old lawyer pals courted his presence with determined intensity. Bill and Brooke would be the center of a fierce social storm that was both flattering and annoying. Yet Bill walked into the museum with Brooke on his arm like a tall ship sailing through friendly waters. His smooth, placid face belied the trouble he started to feel in his legs.

  “You look lovely tonight, Mrs. Simpson,” crowed a young lawyer who would have loved to lick the Lanvin right off her. “Hey Your Honor, mind if I dance with your girl?”

  “Actually, I do,” Bill said as he swept Brooke onto the dance floor.

  “My goodness, you’re very possessive tonight, Bill,” Brooke said.

  Having attended the same coming out parties and the same prep school balls, Bill and Brooke knew all the same waltzes the way a dog knows its own flannel plaid cedar bed. His hand found the bare small of her back and she rested hers on the soft smoothness of his neck. She put her cheek against his, and her chest against the front of his tuxedo. When she pressed against his lower body, she felt he had an erection.

  Brooke stumbled a bit in her ruby red pumps.

  “Is that for me?” she asked him, and when he did not answer she looked around for whatever had recently passed through Bill’s eye line. Was it a desire to triumph over the young lawyer that got Bill revved up?

  “Is it the paintings?”

  “No.”

  “The mobiles?” she asked and pressed against him again as they danced, just to make sure it was really there. Sure enough, something big and hot was ruining the smooth line of Bill’s tuxedo pants.
/>
  “Is it my dress maybe?” Brooke guessed.

  “Shush. Just dance with me.”

  They slithered across the dance floor, pressed tightly together and Brooke could not help the way her blood moved to the center of her legs and started creating a warm, damp hopefulness.

  “Is it me?” she asked finally.

  “No,” he said. “I mean, yes. It’s for you. My doctor prescribed something. He said it would take about four hours to kick in, but he was off by about three and a half.”

  “You’re kidding,” Brooke said and stopped dancing.

  “No, I am not kidding, and don’t you dare walk away from me,” Bill said and pulled her closer into himself.

  “You can’t hold me all night in front of your chemically enhanced problem.”

  “Yes, I can.”

  Brooke pulled away and headed straight for the bar, leaving Bill feeling exposed and foolish on the dance floor. He walked calmly towards their assigned table. He moved slowly, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Anyone who noticed the untoward bulge in Bill’s tuxedo would certainly believe it to be a shadow crossing his crotch and not the largest, most uncontrollable erection Bill Simpson had ever experienced. Bill sat down carefully at the table and took out his cell phone.

  “Brrrrrrrrrrring ba ba doo dah!” Brooke’s cell phone sang from inside her tiny evening bag. She knew it was him. He was sitting just a few yards away, and she saw him dial.

  “I did it for you,” he said when she answered. “I did it to make you happy.”

  “I AM HAPPY!” Brooke shouted into her cell phone. She slapped it shut and in an instant crossed the few feet to where Bill sat. “WHY CAN’T ANYONE BELIEVE THAT I AM HAPPY?”

  “Don’t shout,” he begged her as he waved to a familiar face and the face’s pregnant wife.

  Brooke slid into the chair next to him. She wrapped her arm around his shoulders and whispered in his ear.

  “I am very happy. And I love you.”

  “I love you too, Brooke. It’s just that I’m…”

  “What?” she asked. He looked at the perfect red of her mouth. He considered the way the ruby of her lipstick made her mouth look wet and promising.

  “You’re what?” Brooke asked.

  “I’ve come to realize that, um, I’m, um, I’m not enough for a vibrant, exciting woman like you,” he said finally.

  Brooke dropped her hand into his lap and wrapped it around his protruding erection.

  “What part isn’t enough?” She slid down his zipper and pushed aside his underwear. Bill gasped as she took hold of his penis. He put both hands on the table and grabbed the white linen cloth.

  “Is it enough that you love me? That you have loved me for more than twenty years?”

  Bill wanted to answer, but he couldn’t think of any words.

  “I think it’s time for us to settle down and get married,” she said honestly as she stroked his erection.

  He knew Brooke deserved more than he could give her. He thought she deserved a better man but at the same time dreaded the idea that she might someday find one. He thought someday they would get over this whole sex-thing and grow old together, just holding hands. At the present moment, however, he thought it best to hold onto the table as the blood rushed away from his head.

  “Brooke,” Bill gasped, “stop for a minute.”

  “Nope,” said Brooke as she pulled and released, pulled and released.

  “Let’s go, let’s g-g-g-go out onto the patio,” he begged. “I have to tell you something.”

  “Oh, hello Mr. Adelman. Mrs. Adelman.” Brooke called to an elderly couple who stopped by their table to pay respects to Bill.

  “I thought your ruling in the Baldwin vs. Sterling case was dead on,” said Mr. Adelman.

  “Thank you, Mark,” squeaked Bill. The Adelmans looked concerned.

  “Laryngitis,” Brooke quickly offered. “Fever went away and the doctors says he’s fine, but the voice just hasn’t come back yet.”

  “Hot tea with honey’s the best for what you’ve got,” Mr. Adelman offered.

  “Oooo! Bill, honey would be fun,” Brooke said.

  Bill could only nod to the Adelmans as his testicles contracted and released, contracted and released in time to the more urgent pulls by Brooke’s hand.

  “It really soothes the throat,” Mrs. Adelman agreed.

  “Would you like me to get you some honey, Bill?” Brooke asked as she moved her hand from the elbow only, taking care not to alter the straight line of her shoulder.

  “I think I’ll be fine if we just sit here like this, dear,” Bill said.

  The Adelmans smiled and continued on to greet other friends, totally unaware of what was happening underneath the white linen cloth of table five. Brooke was, after all, a debutante and she had learned a skill or two at all those interminable balls.

  “Let’s go home,” Bill said as soon as the Adelmans had cleared.

  “Let’s stay,” Brooke said, smiling, tugging, rubbing.

  “I think we should go.”

  “Ooo! Look! Is this butter on the table?”

  Their eyes met and in an instant Bill saw all he would lose if he opted for honesty. He suddenly pulled his erection out of her hands and tucked it into his pants.

  “Butter would ruin my tux,” he told her as in one continuous action he pushed himself away from the table and flipped open his phone to call for his car. He grabbed Brooke by the arm and dragged her through the party towards the door.

  “Good evening Mrs. Crane. Great to see you, Ed. Hey Sal, how’s your tennis?” Bill said, returning smile for smile, wave for wave, droll, empty banter that belied the fierce grip he had on Brooke’s hand. Her dress fluttered behind her and her shoes clicked over the marble as she danced after him.

  “Good night, Tomas. Sorry we have to cut out so soon. Bill has a terrible headache. Yes, yes, call me and we’ll catch up.”

  He paused only to wait for the revolving door to empty.

  “Brilliant party,” Brooke called to their host as Bill pushed her through the glass door and onto the street. His car was pulling up as he kissed her hard on the mouth and pulled her into the back.

  “Drive slowly,” Bill ordered his driver as he zipped the partition between them closed. Brooke would have been happy to wait until they got home, but Bill was pushing up the ruby folds of her gown. He would have pulled off her underwear, had she been wearing any. He undid the closures of his pants and, grabbing Brooke by her dragon, he lay back on the leather seats of his car and entered her with a full, thick erection.

  “I love you, Bill,” she said to him, but a moment later she didn’t care what he answered. There were things to discuss, but intelligent thoughts were fading now in favor of sensations. It was like old times, back when Bill was first discovering her and could still be excited by sex in any format. He reached up to touch her mouth as she moved back and forth across his rigid penis. By 34th Street she had started to come. It started at the back of her neck and rolled in waves down her spine. As she started to say “o, o, o,” Bill sat up and kissed her mouth, her neck, and her breasts.

  As she was ending, as she was feeling like she could never have sex again, she began to realize that he had not come. Not even close. His erection was carved out of cement.

  The driver pulled up in front of Bill’s apartment building and waited for more instructions.

  “Once around the block,” Bill shouted hoarsely from the backseat. Even with the traffic, it was not long enough. Brooke found her shoes and Bill reordered his clothes before they raced each other into the lobby and up to the apartment.

  He lay naked on his back in his bed with an erection running directly perpendicular to the ceiling. A perfect ninety-degree angle. Brooke entered from the bathroom and he sat up. She slipped off her gown and stepped out of it. Bill stood up (his erection now exactly parallel to the floor) and kissed her face and her eyes and her lips.

  “Can you continue?” he asked
.

  She nodded, surprised and pleased that he wanted to.

  Grunt for grunt, the second time was not as good as the first. In his car it was still such a surprise to be making love to him that she had not been able to think about anything at all. In his bed, she knew that he was no longer the best sex partner in her life. She could feel that he did not glory in her body the way she did in his. It dragged down her passion. She knew as he reached for the jelly and entered her from behind, even as her body held tight to his, that he was not with her the way she was with him. And in the end, after giving her several more satisfying orgasms, he still could not come himself. In fact, no matter what they did they could not get the erection to go away, and in the end they decided to jump into a warm bath and try to relax.

  “Don’t touch it!” he warned when she slipped into the wide marble bathtub.

  “I wasn’t going to,” she promised. “You want me to wash your back?”

  “Yes, please,” he said weakly.

  When it finally shrank back to human size, Bill got out of the tub, dried off, and slid naked into his bed next to Brooke.

  “I love you,” he said to her. She reached out across the sheets and said, “I know you do.”

  A quiet, joyful exhaustion settled in on both of them. Brooke thought she knew his limitations. He had bad taste in dresses, good taste in art. Maybe with a better urologist they would overcome this little hump, or lack of hump, in their relationship. Regardless, she believed they were stuck to each other. And we have a lot to be happy about, thought Brooke, even given the blatant imperfections in our glue.

  22. Bad Sex

  SHE TRIED NOT TO look at the bruise on his face and the blood in his eye where she had slugged him. Lux was working too hard to bother thinking about past failures.

  He had not, as was his habit, gotten an immediate erection upon seeing the fabric slip off her nipples and fall to the floor. She gyrated over the bed clothes and pulled the sheet off Trevor and pressed her beautiful body onto his, but still he lay there with a look of pained confusion across his face and no delightful engorgement to help him through his discomfort. She bumped and ground down and licked and teased but still nothing, until she tickled the inch of skin between his testicles and rectum. Only then did he moan and suddenly fill with passion. Lux thought about the way a pot can suddenly boil over and splatter all across the stove.