by Nikki Sex
We both giggle.
“Seriously,” I add. “Even female erotic authors tend to write about women who are virginal or have only had ‘one or two relationships’—and those are long term. If a character in a book has had significant sexual experience, she’s considered a slut.”
“The myth of the perfect and pure, virginal woman has been going on for centuries,” Diana says. “There’s no such thing! Women are human beings with needs of their own, just like men. Still, little girls are raised on this fairytale fantasy. It’s no wonder grown women fall for society’s ideal, judging themselves and other women when they don’t measure up. Why would they think any differently? They’ve been brainwashed! But don’t worry.” She gives a dismissive wave of a hand. “The human race will come into the 21st century… eventually.”
A gurgle of laughter peels from my throat. What she is saying is funny, but the way she says it is even funnier.
Her eyebrows rise up and down suggestively. “When it comes to sex, ‘practice makes perfect;’ ‘learn something new every day’ and ‘try before you buy,’—are my mottos.”
I snicker.
“Anyway,” Diana says. “It’s not what people say, but how they say it and what they mean by it.” Her eyes narrow. “You’ve had sex with André, right?”
“Sure.” I nod, while scratching Mitten’s neck. André and I’ve made love many times. Why not? I love him more than anyone. Besides, he’s taught me everything I need to know to be any good as a surrogate.
I was sexually active from fourteen years old and I came to live with André three months before my eighteenth birthday. He’d been seven years older. Yet, despite my desire for him, my pronounced hints and direct requests, he’d refused to touch me. I’ll never forget what he’d said at the time, “Ma belle, pardon. I refuse to make love with a teenager.”
“If I know André,” Diana says with a wicked grin. “I’m sure he’s called you a ‘slut’ during sex. You weren’t upset by that, surely? When André uses the word, it’s a term of endearment. When he calls you a slut, he’s flattering you with the truth.”
Chapter 10.
“A slut is a person of any gender who has the courage to lead life according to the radical proposition that sex is nice and pleasure is good for you.”
— The Ethical Slut
~~~
Renata Koreman
I’m startled by an instant visceral memory that blasts through my mind and body. For one long, intense moment I’m back there, naked, aroused and bent over a bed, with my clit throbbing. I’m writhing from a sensuous, aching sensation low and deep in my core.
“You are a gorgeous, insatiable slut, ma petite souris,” André croons, his voice husky with admiration and raw lust.
“Yes, yes!” I moan loud and long.
André’s an amazing lover. It’s the things he says—the things he does. He’s between my quivering legs, running his hands up my thighs and gripping my hips. Long gifted fingers trail over my sex, purposefully spreading me open for him.
Blood rushes through my veins, drumming in my ears. My entire body’s heated and sensitized, both skin and core. Legs spread wide, ass in the air and my feet on the floor, I lay on a few pillows, facing a full length mirror. André loves mirrors; he likes to watch and be watched.
Our eyes meet—his hold me captive. Heavy-lidded with arousal, there’s a trace of determined intent in his dark, compelling gaze.
I can’t look away.
My heart pounds, my body’s on fire. His eyes remain locked on mine, watching, always watching, as he bends forward. My muscles tighten in anticipation. André’s sensual lips curve up when I can’t bite back a low moan. I swear I could probably come at the sight of his dark head between my thighs.
I start to tremble when I feel the firm, wet heat of his talented tongue dancing over my clit. Sensation rocks through me as I gasp with pleasure.
Diana laughs and I snap out of the potent, erotic memory.
“Jesus,” I say. My knees are week. I suddenly feel faint.
Diana grabs me by the arm, steadying me. I look down at her, this small, powerful woman, and offer a faint smile. “OK. You’re right. I think being called a slut isn’t always a bad thing,” I say in a shaky voice.
She grins. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
Just then, my cellphone signals an incoming message—Gustave is waiting, parked right outside. I told him to text me when he arrived. A true gentleman, he doesn’t like to do this, but I don’t feel he should have to walk to my door to get me.
Quiet as I usually am, I can be stubborn about things like this. I kiss Mitten goodbye, thank Diana, and wave as I go out the door.
Gustave holds the passenger door open for me. Smiling, his eyes scan my face, my casual, wavy hair style and my lime green sheath dress. “You look very beautiful, little mouse,” Gustave states in French, using André’s nickname for me. It’s something he often says to me.
We chat about inconsequential things on the quick drive to André’s place.
I wait for my client in one of André’s luxurious bedrooms. André isn’t available at the moment, but Gustave will bring Joshua in to me when he arrives. I’m already so ready for him. Hot and bothered. Turned on from that one memory of being with André.
The room is decorated with layered blues, accents of white and elegant, European-style old-world furnishings. Too bad Joshua can’t see it. All is ready, even the bed covers are pulled back.
I smile when my eyes stray to the luxury dog bedding I’ve placed in a snug corner for his Seeing Eye dog, Max. Its cotton teal cover matches the bedroom. This room is so beautiful.
My sigh is grateful and content, yet also bittersweet.
How did I get here, to this place where I’m loved and appreciated? I don’t feel like I deserve it. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll wake up back in that psychiatric hospital, and this will all have been a delicious dream.
I won’t ever be normal.
I drew the short straw with my mother and father, and then with my foster father. Consequently as far as I can tell, I’m pretty well the opposite of everyone else.
With my upbringing, the simplest things most people take for granted—such as talking and looking other people in the eyes—are still a real challenge. I think this is because I’ve always associated those actions with negative events in my past, like my scary father.
On the plus side, I’ve never, ever had negative associations when it comes to sex. To me, physical love—like a smile or a hug—costs nothing. It’s a gift I can share with others.
I lost my virginity with Jamie. My foster brother, two years older than me, was born with a vagina and a tiny penis. He felt himself to be a man, but like me he preferred sex with men. Jamie loved me. More importantly, he needed me. We needed each other.
Jamie’s congenital defects and sexual identity issues, helped me in a strange way. It made me grateful that at least physically, I’m not different than everyone else.
Jamie was so good for me. He never made me think sex was bad, dirty or something to keep secret or be ashamed of. I was never told to ‘save’ myself for marriage, or that having sex is a “sacred act’ a woman can only share with her husband.
While I prefer sleeping with men, I’ve enjoyed the softness during sex that only a women can provide. I just don’t get why people think the whole sex thing is such a big deal.
Sex is one hang-up I’ve never had.
André and I have had long talks about how crazy people are on the subject of sex. They’re secretive and ashamed of their bodies and their natural desires. It’s such a waste. Nobody cares that some prefer chocolate to vanilla. Why should it matter what feels good, as long as it’s consensual and no one gets hurt?
Women are raised to believe men have only ‘one thing’ on their minds and to ‘be careful.’ Warnings may be needed in society today, but girls should be told that it’s wonderful and normal to have sexual desires.
When youn
g women first feel sexual urges they often judge themselves as ‘whores.’ Even virgins can feel dirty for their thoughts. They feel like ‘bad girls’ if they simply masturbate.
When women who experiment with sex are called cruel names, they tend to believe it to some degree. This contributes to low self-esteem and feelings of being “less valuable” or “unworthy.” Lack of confidence and self-worth makes these women easy targets for abuse.
Luckily, I’ve never waited around for my one “true love” before enjoying the pleasures and benefits of sex.
Sex doesn’t scare me.
It’s anger, a raised voice, and violence that does.
Graphic violence viewed by children on prime time TV, is perfectly acceptable in society. But can they see even partial nudity? Nope. The message is obvious—hide your body and be ashamed of it.
I saw an interview with George R. Martin, the author of the wonderful “Game of Thrones” series. He said, “I can describe an axe entering a human skull in great explicit detail and no one will blink twice at it. I provide a similar description, just as detailed, of a penis entering a vagina, and I get letters about it and people swearing off. To my mind this is kind of frustrating, it’s madness. Ultimately, in the history of the world, penises entering vaginas have given a lot of people a lot of pleasure. Axes entering skulls? Well, not so much.”
The Hunger Games, a fascinating series, is rated for children twelve-years and older. That’s because there’s no sex and no swearing. But man, oh man, I was disturbed by the explicit details of violent deaths met by children.
What does that say about our society?
Graphic violence? Sure! No problem! Love? Not so much.
In our attitudes toward sex, André and I are exactly alike. Sex is fun, it’s good for you, and people should uninhibitedly enjoy it. Making love not only releases happy hormones, it helps people build healthy, lasting relationships and a better self-image.
From what I can tell, when sex goes in a relationship—soon after the relationship ends, too.
For me, everything about sex is associated with positives, like being with my foster brother and my first real friend. Making love is a source of comfort and stress relief. I want my clients to know the joy and pleasure it brings. Sex is as natural as eating, breathing or sleeping.
It’s also the most fun a person can have with someone they care about.
Under André’s instruction and supervision, I’ve worked with a number of people as a sexual therapist. Each session is a journey of joy and wonder. Like a snowflake or a fingerprint, sexual surrogacy is different and unique every time.
A rush of excitement thrills through me. I’ve never had the opportunity to enjoy sex with a blind man.
What will Joshua’s first time be like?
Chapter 11.
“I only have sex with my friends, my clients and the people I love. This doesn’t limit me much.”
— Renata Koreman
~~~
Renata Koreman
I’ve left the bedroom door open, but Gustave knocks courteously anyway. “Renata, Monsieur Marks has arrived.”
“Merci, Gustave. Please show him in.”
My eyes widen in surprise when Joshua is ushered into my room, with Max his guide dog by his side. Max is somber and well-behaved as he’s working, but I can see from the light in his eyes, and his upright stance, he’s glad to see me.
Gustave nods, and shuts the door.
“Wow,” I breathe appreciatively. “You look amazing.”
The last time I saw Joshua, he was wearing a yellow Polo shirt buttoned right to the top, and beige trousers with a leather belt cinched in tight at his waist. A more nerdy presentation would be hard to imagine.
Right now Joshua is dressed to kill and oh Lord, what a difference it makes. Crisp white button-down shirt, a modern, quiet tie, and a three-piece tailored silk suit. The black sunglasses he’s wearing are a designer brand.
He stands up straight, his shoulders squared—André must’ve taught him that. A tall, slim man in his prime, the ensemble gives him a confident, mature air. He looks so handsome. I’m blown away. André has definitely worked his magic.
Joshua gives me a shy smile. “Do you… like it?”
“Very, very much. It was worth every penny and it’s a real compliment to me.”
“That’s what André said. He told me when visiting a lady it is important to look one’s best as a sign of respect.”
“Thank you Joshua. You’ve made me feel quite special.”
His open smile is more self-assured. “He’s given me physical exercises to do every day, too. He says this will make me fitter and more attractive to the opposite sex.”
“He’s right.” I laugh while peering up at his face
I move toward him. While I’m sorry he’s blind, I’m extraordinarily pleased he can’t see me. I can study him all I want. It’s so liberating. Having someone’s eyes on me sometimes freaks me out.
“Please, come forward, about twelve steps ahead of you is a bed. Do you mind sitting there? I’ve put the doggie bed out for Max, if you want to take him out of harness.”
“OK.”
We sit beside each other and Joshua takes the harness off of Max. Max is eight years old, but when taken out of his working gear he really lets go, snuffling and prancing like a puppy. Joshua smiles and I laugh.
I show Max his cushion and give him the leather chew toy I’ve brought, which immediately makes his day. He turns a few circles, then settles down to gnaw on his toy.
I return to the bed and sit down beside Joshua, my stomach alive with excitement. In chatting with him via email I feel as if I know him. He’s such a dichotomy. Brilliant yet socially inexperienced. Confident and mature in his area of expertise, yet innocent as a child when it comes to women.
Somewhat rigid and obsessive, Joshua’s disability is also his gift. A fanatically dedicated rocket scientist has got to be a good thing, right?
In school, the way he communicated to his peers was too direct and honest. Unable to fully comprehend nuances and innuendos, he struggled with friendships. Once he lost his sight it gave him an excuse to further isolate himself from others. The success in his field of interest must have made his need for social interaction seem even less important.
I want to teach him it’s not that difficult to relate to the opposite sex. I’m also honored to be the one to show him the wholesome fun and joy of lovemaking.
“Are you ready for this?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”
“I know.”
“Will you take off your sunglasses?” I ask.
After a slight hesitation, he frowns, but takes them off. There’s some minor scarring around his eyes and his open, light blue eyes are cloudy. It’s obvious he’s blind. It appears he’s also sensitive about the subject. Is he worried how he looks?
“Thank you. There’s very little scarring. You’re a handsome man, Joshua.”
“I am?”
“Definitely,” I assure him.
I take his sunglasses and set them on the bedside table. It’s so easy working with this guy. He can’t see anything, so I don’t have to concern myself with meeting his gaze.
When I pick up both of his hands, one in each of my hands, a small tremor runs through his body. Other than when I gave him a gentle kiss on the lips at the coffee shop, we’ve never touched each other.
“Would you like to feel my face?”
He nods. “Please.”
I place his palms, one on each side of my head with his fingers touching my temples. He’s tentative at first, but soon his face strains with interest as he focuses all of his attention on me.
“I thought you were older,” he says, “but you’re young. How old are you?”
“Twenty-two.”
Brow drawn down in concentration, he nods, not surprised. Warm, probing fingers intently explore my eyebrows and forehead.
They trail along my cheeks, nose, jaw and ears. This questing, impartial—yet absorbed exploration of my face is strangely erotic.
His thumb whispers along my lips, and my breath catches.
Blind people hear everything.
At his questioning head tilt of surprise, I say, “What you’re doing is very sensual, Joshua. I imagined us having sex and the thought excited me.”
His surprise turns to an innocent joy. “I see,” he says. “Wikipedia says there are many erogenous zones. In addition to the nipples and the genital area, many are aroused when their eyelids, eyebrows, temples, shoulders, hands, arms and hair are subtly touched.”
I curb a laugh at this no doubt direct recitation. “That’s very true, for me anyway. I also like kisses,” I hint.
“You do?” he says, and a rosy blush appears on his cheeks. Is that embarrassment or pleasure I see on his face?
Doctor Marks is a genius. He told me via email he was going to research the subject of sex, and I suspect he went a little overboard. He’s such an interesting guy and so different from anyone I’ve ever met before.
One hand curls around my neck, and the other cups my cheek as he tentatively leans toward me and presses his lips cautiously against mine. He’s warm, and sweet and uncertain. Every bit of his awareness is concentrated on me.
It’s a sensual delight to be the focus of his attention.
He smells so good and I love the feel of his kiss. His breath is warm on my skin. I’m supposed to be monitoring him, making sure he’s OK, but the man has me mindless already.
Initial moments with someone for the first time are a huge turn on for me.
I didn’t ask for a kiss—I asked for “kisses.” Joshua takes my suggestion literally, and presses his sensuous lips in soft feathering kisses all over my face and neck. Meanwhile, he continues to “see me” with his fingers, stroking my hair, the tips of his fingers exploring every part of me, even my ear lobes.
I’ve never been so thoroughly caressed. From my shoulders up, I don’t think there’s an inch of flesh he’s missed.
