by Lauren Rowe
I’m slammed with a sudden epiphany.
I’ve got to break myself of my own habits, too.
Holy shit.
I turn off the shower and grab a towel.
The box.
Oh, shit. Yes. The box. I’d forgotten all about it.
Yes.
I do believe that’s exactly what the doctor ordered. For both of us. I throw the towel into the hamper and look at my naked body in the mirror. Maybe Sarah’s not the only one who needs to flex some new sexual muscles. We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act, but a habit. Maybe Aristotle isn’t talking to Sarah. Maybe he’s talking to me. Maybe it’s time for me to do something different to reach an entirely new level of excellence. Maybe it’s time for me to push past my baggage and bullshit once and for all.
I exhale audibly, staring at myself in the mirror.
I’ve never been more cut in my life. I must have lost a ton of weight these past few weeks. Not a surprise. I hardly ate for a week.
I gaze at the galaxy of stars covering my chest, shoulder and arm.
Sarah.
My addiction to her hasn’t waned since day one. It’s only gotten more powerful. How is that possible? I don’t just crave this woman. I’m not just hungry for her. I’m starving for her. Now, more than ever. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. How the fuck am I gonna wait four more weeks to fuck her?
My cock tingles.
Fuck.
I get back into the shower, turn the hot water on again, and reach down to touch my hardening cock again. Jesus. This is gonna be a long-ass six weeks.
Chapter 28
Jonas
Three Weeks Without Sex
I’m sitting at the kitchen table, eating a bowl of cottage cheese, watching porn on my laptop. Sarah and I visited the babies in the hospital all morning together, just as we’ve done every day since Sarah’s been home, and now Sarah’s gone to take a pregnancy yoga class with Kat (despite the fact that Kat is the only one of them who’s pregnant).
When I first sat down to do some research on my computer, my focus was on learning as much as possible about bondage—both the “how to” of it and what, from a psychological standpoint, makes it such a draw for “normal” people. But my research has sort of meandered. It seems bondage often goes hand in hand with the sexual exploration of pain, and that’s just not my bag. Try as I might, I just can’t get into the idea of whipping, paddling, or otherwise bringing any kind of pain into the bedroom. So my research has wound its way to researching the psychology of domination and submission. Now this is something that peaks my interest. I like the idea of having Sarah at my physical mercy to the point where she can’t exert a shred of personal will. In fact, the thought is a total fucking turn-on.
Quickly, one video click led me to another and then to another, which, in turn, somehow led me to videos depicting women with giant dildos shoved up their asses, losing their fucking minds with pleasure. Which, in turn, led me to a whole bunch of videos with titles like, Watch a hot woman squirt! Which is when my low-grade woody turned to steel.
I take a big bite of cottage cheese and gaze at the boisterous fuckery happening on my computer screen. I’d clicked on this particular video because it was entitled, She’s a Squirter, Fellas! but it’s turned out to be fucking useless to me. The way the man and woman in this video are positioned would never in a million years stimulate the woman’s G-spot enough to make her squirt, let alone orgasm at all, unless the guy’s dick happens to be bent like a crowbar. Or unless she’s just a spontaneous squirter, I guess—able to cull cum out of her pussy through thought alone (which, if true, while fascinating, doesn’t help me worth a shit when it comes to Sarah). Seriously, though, I can’t imagine what I’m seeing on my screen right now would do jack-shit for ninety-nine percent of women, let alone my little Mount Everest. Stupid.
But why am I surprised? By and large, porn is so fucking dumb. All it does is propagate the myth that a woman should be able to orgasm during intercourse after getting banged like a crack whore in a back alley. Which, in turn, encourages men to continue fucking their women sloppily, which makes women feel inadequate or defective, which, in turn, leads to women faking it, which in turn perpetuates the cycle of unsatisfying fucking. Bullshit, all of it. I’m constantly amazed at the lack of sexual enlightenment in the world.
I click out of the video and scroll through the other search results on the side of the screen. A video entitled How to Make a Woman Squirt Every Single Time catches my eye. I click on the video and wait while it buffers.
Based on my research, it seems a whole shitload of women who’ve never ejaculated do it for their first time during pregnancy or after giving birth. Well, obviously, it didn’t happen for Sarah during pregnancy (though I wonder if it might have if we hadn’t been hampered by not getting “too crazy-freaky”), but I’m hoping to unlock this final frontier for Sarah as soon as we get the green light for sex. Maybe the experience of Sarah’s body creating life has unleashed some sort of newfound power inside her—or maybe, hell, just made her more prone to leak.
The video loads and a really average-looking guy with no discernible muscle tone pops up on the screen. “Hey, guys,” he says, smiling broadly. “Do you want to make your woman squirt?”
“Fuck yes,” I say out loud.
“And do you want to do it every single time, like clockwork?”
“Thanks for asking. Yes, please.”
“Well, through years and years of practice and experimentation, I’ve figured out a method for making any woman squirt, every single time, without fail. It took me years to perfect this technique, but I did it. And now, I’m demonstrating my secret technique for you. Just click on the video link below to watch step by step instructions—Paypal and credit cards accepted—and you’ll be well on your way to gliding down your own personal Slip ‘n’ Slide.”
My gut tells me the guy’s full of shit, but I can’t resist. I click on the pay-per-view link, make my payment of a hundred bucks, and immediately click on the new video that pops up.
“Hey, guys. Thanks for tuning in,” Mr. Squirt-Master says to the camera. “In this video, I’m gonna show you precisely how to make any woman squirt, no matter who she is—whether she’s experienced with squirting or a total newbie. It doesn’t even matter if your woman’s never even had an orgasm before—my technique, if done correctly, will make her explode with cum. I’m talking every single woman. Every single time. No matter what.” He winks.
“Just get to it, fucker,” I say out loud.
“And guess what? I’m not just gonna tell you about it—I’m gonna show you on three real women, so you can see exactly how it works.”
“Bullshit,” I say out loud. But, still, I keep watching.
“But, first, before we get to the real women, let me talk you through the technique on this model of a vagina.”
Mr. Squirt-Master pulls out a rubber replica of the interior of a vagina and proceeds to finger it, talking in explicit detail about his “surefire” technique. A couple times, I rewind the video and watch him explain something again. What he’s saying sounds ridiculously simple, actually, but infinitely variable, depending on a particular woman’s physiology. And I’m not one hundred percent sure how this fingering technique differs from the way I give women—well, Sarah, nowadays—vaginal climaxes through G-spot stimulation. How the fuck does this differ from fingering her G-spot for an all-body orgasm? It’s not clear. Maybe it’s more of a “feel” thing than a step-by-step kind of thing?
“You really need to be able to feel exactly what you’re looking for inside there,” he says, confirming what I was just thinking. “There’s no way for me to explain it to you precisely—it takes a little trial and error.”
Ah. So he’s full of shit. And he knows no one can call him on it, because every guy who fails using his technique will assume he just hasn’t mastered the “trial and error” of it. Douche.
“Just be persistent,�
�� Squirt-Master continues. “And, soon, you’ll be able to do it on command.”
“Mmm hmm,” I say out loud, a total skeptic.
Now Mr. Squirt is joined by a smoking hot woman who’s way, way, way above his pay-grade.
“Hey, guys, this is Carla.”
“Hi,” Carla says, waving at the camera and smiling.
I can’t help wondering how much this guy had to pay Carla to do this.
“Have you ever squirted before, Carla?”
She shakes her head. “Nope.”
I don’t believe her for a second.
“Do you want to?”
“I sure do.” She smiles at the camera. “What woman doesn’t?”
I smirk. Well, my wife, for one.
“Well, then, let’s do it, shall we?” Mr. Squirt says.
Carla stands and undresses unceremoniously, while Mr. I-Can-Make-Any-Woman-Squirt stays fully dressed, and then the two of them sit down together on the edge of a bed.
Mr. Squirt turns to the camera again. “I’m going to show you everything I just talked about, step by step. But, first, I’m gonna kiss her and touch her skin lightly, just to get her pussy aching for me. Once I’ve got her good and wet and throbbing, then I’ll finger her the way I just explained to you a minute ago.” He holds up his hand. “To recap: I’ll use my middle and index fingers right on that spot I was telling you about, and I’ll stroke it in a ‘come hither’ motion—like this.” He demonstrates in the air. He turns to Carla. “Ready to squirt all over the bed, Carla?”
“I sure am.” She grins sheepishly.
Mr. Squirt proceeds to kiss Carla, slowly stroking her arms and bare back and face as he does, and the woman’s nipples visibly harden under the stimulation. I can almost smell her pussy getting wet for him through the screen. Or, hell, maybe she’s just a great actress.
After a couple minutes, Mr. Squirt stops kissing Carla and looks at the camera. “Guys, take a note. Women really need foreplay—and lots of it. You can’t just shove your hand up inside her and expect her to be ready for you. Pro tip: women respond particularly well to kissing as foreplay.” He winks again.
Jesus. Give me a fucking break. I roll my eyes. Is there a man alive that really needs this explained to him? For fuck’s sake, I should click out of this horseshit right now. But I don’t. I can’t. I’m fixated on the screen. God help me, I’ve gotta see for myself if Carla’s gonna blow or not.
After a bit more kissing and stroking Carla’s bare torso and nipples, the guy finally slides his hand inside Carla, making her moan, and, thirty seconds later, holy motherfucking shit, she arches her back and shoots so much cum out of her pussy, it’s like he’s shoved a fire hose up there and turned it onto high.
“Holy motherfucker,” I say out loud, leaning toward the screen.
“Oh my God,” Carla blurts, looking genuinely shocked at the massive stream of ejaculation erupting from her body.
Mr. Squirt looks at the screen and flashes a shit-eating grin. “And that’s how to do it, fellas. Every fucking time.”
Carla looks at the guy and then at the camera. “Oh my God,” she says softly, beaming. “Amazing.”
“You wanna do it again, honey?” he asks her.
Carla nods vigorously.
And, by God, he does it to her again. Within a minute. Jesus Christ.
Okay, fuck me. This is fucking impossible. Obviously, the whole thing is rigged. A total farce. I mean, there’s no doubt Carla actually squirted (twice!) right before my eyes—I don’t think that was, like, digital special effects or something—but there’s no way this was her first time. No way. Obviously, this woman’s one of those rare specimens who squirts as easily as she sneezes. The woman must be able to charm her Skene’s gland like a snake charmer on a cobra.
“That was pretty awesome, huh?” Mr. Squirt-Master says. He’s alone on-screen now. “One hundred percent real, too. I bet some of you are thinking I’m pulling a fast one here, though, aren’t you? You’re thinking maybe Carla is a porn star and squirts for a living or something?” He chuckles. “Wrong. What I just demonstrated was Carla’s very first squirt, unless she was lying to me, I suppose. But, regardless, it doesn’t matter. Because this will work on any woman, no matter who she is—whether it’s her first time or one hundredth. The only requirement is that the woman’s got to be turned on. And it helps if she actually wants to squirt, too. I mean, obviously, you can’t just shove your hands up some old lady in the grocery store line and make her squirt.”
I wince. Jesus.
“You should try to get your girl pretty ramped up and turned on before you even attempt the squirt. So, like I say, don’t skimp on the foreplay. But once you’ve got a willing woman and you turn her on, then I promise this will work for you, guys. Every fucking time.” He claps his hands together. “Okay, so for all you doubters out there, I’m gonna demonstrate my technique on two more ladies. Both of whom have never squirted before.”
Hopefully, my house isn’t on fire right now—because, if it is, oh well. It’s gonna burn to the fucking ground.
Woman Number Two comes on. She’s older than Carla. Attractive in an elegant sort of way. I never would have pegged her for participating in a video like this. She looks like a high-priced lawyer or something. She strips her dress off—and, damn, she’s hot as fuck underneath those clothes, holy shit—who knew?—and the two of them proceed to sit on the edge of the bed and do the exact same dog and pony show I just witnessed with Carla. And, once again, within a matter of minutes, the woman’s pussy blows like a volcano right before my eyes.
Holy fuck.
On to Woman Number Three. Same fucking thing: Thar she blows.
I’m literally pulling on my hair. What the fuck does this little fucker know that I don’t? What the fuck?
I pull out my phone, my hands trembling.
Henn answers after one ring. “Yo.”
“I need you to find someone for me,” I say. “Right away.”
“Well, hello, Jonas. I’m great. Thanks for asking. How are you?”
“It’s this guy on YouTube. I’ll send you the link to his video. It’s pay-per-view.”
“A pay-per-view video?” He laughs. “Is this video porn, by any chance, Jonas?”
“I just emailed you the link. Just watch the video and find me the guy.”
“All righty. Hang on. I just got your email.” There’s a long pause during which Henn apparently clicks on my link. “Oh,” he says. “Wowzercats. I was just kidding about the porn thing. Holy shit, Jonas. It’s actually porn.”
“Yeah, so find him for me. As soon as possible.”
“Damn, Jonas. What the fuck?”
“Just find him.”
“Hang on.” I hear the video playing in the background.
“So can you find him or not?” I ask after a minute.
“Of course. I mean, he’s on YouTube, showing his face, telling dudes how to make women squirt. The guy’s a king among men. He’s probably got a cult following—a Squirting Feifdom. An Army of Ejaculator-orators.”
I can’t help but laugh.
“I’m sure it’ll be ridiculously easy to find him. You probably don’t even need me.”
“I don’t have time to hunt this guy down and figure it out. I’d rather pay you to do it.”
“Ha! I’m not gonna take your money to find this guy.” He chuckles. “I should be paying you for sending me this video. Made my day. And Hannah’s night. Wink.” He laughs.
I don’t reply. I don’t like having a hard-on while talking to Henn. It’s not natural.
There’s a long pause. I can hear the video continuing to play through the phone line.
“Oh, hello beautiful,” Henn says. Clearly, Carla just entered Henn’s computer screen. “You want me to find the girl, too, Jonas?”
“Of course, not the girl. Jesus, Henn. Just the guy.”
“Just asking.”
“I’ll never ask you to find me another girl as long as I li
ve, motherfucker. I’m married.”
“Jeez. I was just asking. I thought maybe the guy and girl embezzled funds from you or something, I dunno. I didn’t realize it was strictly personal.”
“My wife just had my twin girls. You think I’m trolling the internet to find a porn star to fuck?”
“No, not to fuck. To make squirt. Obviously.”
“Fuck you, Henn. I’ll never as long as I live ask you to—”
“I’m kidding, Jonas. Dude. Relax. You’re overreacting. Shocker.”
I pause. I think Henn might have a point. I might be overreacting slightly. Shit. Maybe no sex for three weeks has made me a bit high-strung. I shake it off. “Okay. So, I’ll need this guy’s phone number. I wanna ask him a couple questions.”
“Hell yeah, you do. So do I. Damn.”
“Just find him.”
“I feel like such a pimp right now. It’s totally awesome. Whoa!” Henn suddenly shouts at the top of his lungs. “Holy fuck!” I’m guessing Carla just blew her load all over the bed. Henn laughs. “Oh my God, Jonas. That was awesome.”
I don’t reply.
“Now that’s what I call entertainment. Hot diggity damn.”
“Okay, so you’re on it, then?”
“Oh, yeah, I’m on it—like purple on Barney. This is definitely a white-hat job. Absolutely free of charge.”
“Great. Thanks.”
“Hey, is this a thanks-for-having-my-babies surprise for Sarah?” He laughs. “Most guys usually go with jewelry, you know.”
“I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”
Henn is laughing his ass off.
I pause a long time. “Most guys give their wife jewelry after a baby?” I finally ask softly, my heart beating out of my chest. “I didn’t even think of that.”
