Made For Sex

by Joan Elizabeth Lloyd

  “Phew. This is really getting into scary things.”

  “They aren’t scary if they’re just stories and this is just a dream. We both know that you’d never act on it. But it’s really hot to think about, isn’t it?”

  “You have no idea.”

  “So let’s say in the story you invite her in. She’s so happy that she won’t have to sit on the front porch all afternoon. You give her a soda and make sandwiches. It’s sort of like a party. Tell me what she looks like.”

  “She’s got blond hair, kind of like yours, but she wears it down around her shoulders.”

  Fran ran her fingers through her hair, undoing all the blow drying so it flowed softly. She pulled off her earrings and removed her necklace and ring.

  “She’s got blue eyes like yours,” Clark said.

  “And she’s very grateful for your help.”

  “Yes, she is.”

  Although Fran wanted to continue the story, Clark seemed reluctant to go further. So Fran said, “Maybe she had gym class that afternoon and she’s feeling all sweaty and dirty. Maybe she asks if she can use your shower. She always showers when she gets home after gym class.” Fran felt Clark’s fingers tighten still further around her hand. “Is that all right? Can she use your bathroom?”

  “Yes,” Clark said, his voice hoarse.

  “She takes a long time in the shower and you just sit in the living room, thinking about what she must be doing, rubbing her soapy hands all over that young body. And when she comes out, she’s wrapped in a towel, rubbing her wet hair. ‘Thanks,’ she says. ‘That feels so much better.’”

  “I’m sure it does,” Clark says, slipping into the role of the man in the story.

  “The towel is slipping,” Fran said, “and she can’t quite manage to hold it up and dry her hair. Suddenly it slips all the way to the floor and she is standing in the middle of the living room, naked. How does she look?”

  “She’s smooth and soft. Her breasts are small but the nipples are erect from the cool air. Her mound is covered with soft hair. It’s blond like the hair on her head.”

  Could Fran do it? He could have fantasized about Dolly Parton, but he didn’t. His fantasy involved someone with a boyish shape, like hers. Well, nothing ventured, she thought. She opened the buttons on her silk shirt, unhooked the front clasp on her bra and bared her breasts. She took Clark’s hand and placed it on her flesh.

  “Oh God,” Clark said. “This isn’t happening.”

  “Do you want to stop?”

  “God, no.”

  “Well then, maybe you reach out from your seat near the girl and touch her naked body. Is she afraid?”

  “No,” Clark said, his hand resting on Fran’s breast. “She’s curious really.”

  “So she says, ‘Would you show me?’ And you agree. What should she do now?”

  “‘Come over here, sweetheart,’ he says and she slowly walks over so he can touch all of her. She’s so soft.”

  Fran pulled off her blouse and bra and knelt at his feet. “Does he want to kiss her?”

  “Oh yes.” Clark sat up and stared down at Fran, his eyes clouded. His mouth enveloped hers, the kiss hungry.

  “‘Oh, mister, that’s such a big kiss for such a little me,’ she says.”

  “Right,” Clark said. Then he kissed her softly, his hands stroking her hair. He kissed her eyes and her cheeks gently, like the first kiss of a new lover. “I want to touch all of you,” he said, and Fran didn’t know whether he was talking to her or to the girl in the story. It didn’t matter.

  She stood up and slowly peeled off the rest of her clothes until she was naked, standing between his knees. His hands were almost reverent as they caressed her. He leaned forward and placed a small kiss on her belly. “So beautiful,” he whispered.

  “I like the way your fingers feel on me,” she said.

  “Would you undress me?” Clark asked tentatively.

  “Yes,” Fran said and unbuttoned his shirt. Quickly he was naked. “How would you make love to this little girl?”

  “I would put her on my lap,” he said.

  Fran took a condom from her purse and unrolled it on Clark’s erection. Then, with her knees on either side of his hips on the couch, she held her body above his. She adjusted the pitch of her voice upward. “‘Is this how I’m supposed to do this?’ the little girl asks.”

  “Oh baby, yes,” Clark said, grabbing Fran’s waist and driving her down onto his rock-hard cock. The two rocked together, and quickly Fran felt the now-familiar heat blazing in her belly. She clenched her vaginal muscles and felt Clark’s body tense. With a groan, he came and only moments later, Fran’s orgasm joined his. She collapsed in his arms.

  Later, when they had both cleaned up, Clark said, “I don’t believe that. Are you sure you’re not a professional at getting men to discuss their deepest desires? I never imagined I could tell you the things I told you much less act them out.”

  “I have a wonderful friend who has taught me a lot about sexual freedom and the joy of living your dreams in every way. You really must meet her sometime.”

  “If she’s the one responsible for this evening I love her already.” When Clark realized that it was after midnight, he got his coat. “I’m not sure of my schedule for next week. Can I call you?”

  “I hope you will,” Fran said at the front door. “It was wonderful.” She looked at his face and thought she saw doubts, like the ones she had had after her evening with O’Malley. “And damn the second thoughts.”

  Clark grinned and kissed her on the cheek. “Yes, damn the second thoughts.”

  Over the next week Fran had one date each with Clark and O’Malley. With Clark there was lots of conversation, but after the initial fantasy evening, the sex was satisfying but ordinary, despite her efforts to improve things. On the other hand, with O’Malley, it was all hot sex with very little personal interaction.

  On the Friday afternoon of her second week in New York, Fran got to sit and visit with Carla, who had been really busy with her children and her business. She discussed her relationships with each of the men and the two women agreed each man gave Fran only half of what she needed. Each man was fun in his own way, but neither was complete. But there was nothing wrong with fun, and neither was troublesome enough to give up.

  “Don’t you ever want a long-term relationship?” Fran asked.

  Carla gave it almost no thought. “Not really. I had a very unsatisfying marriage and right now I’m happy. I like my life, strange though it might seem to an outsider, and I’m not about to change it. Do you know what you want?”

  “I thought I did. The Fran Caputo who lived in Omaha wanted a husband and children, but she was also happy just being a writer and an employee. Now, I’m not really sure what I want.”

  “Well, if you ever decide to move to New York, you could join me. I know you and Ronnie would hit it off and we’ve got more business than we can handle, pardon the double entendre.”

  Fran’s laugh was immediate. “You know, stranger things have been known to happen.” She studied Carla’s face. “You really are happy doing what you do.”

  “I really am.”

  “Tell me what it’s like, doing what you do,” Fran said.

  “I love it. I make people happy and I get my pleasure, too. What could be better?”

  “Are most of the men horny guys who just need to get their kicks, or do they want really unusual stuff?”

  “A lot of them are out-of-town businessmen who know someone who’s been with either Ronnie or me before and know that we’re discreet and, let’s say, flexible.”

  “I’m dying of curiosity. Tell me about your most recent experience, if it’s not too personal.”

  “Oh, I have no problem telling you about my friends. It’s just that most of them are pretty ordinary. A hotel room, a bottle of champagne and some time spent on the bed.” Fran watched as Carla’s eyes glazed over. “A few stand out in my mind.”

  “Like?�
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  “Oh, a man named Alex a few months ago. He called me up and we talked on the phone for a while. It seemed that the guys at work were making fun of his lack of success with women. He had a record of one-date then strike-out and he wanted to show them that he was more than just that. We met for a drink and, as we talked, I wondered why he was having any problem with women. It certainly wasn’t his looks. He was in his early thirties yet boyishly attractive with sandy hair that flopped over his brow, green eyes and an inviting smile. I guessed that it was his defeatist attitude that turned women off.

  “At one point he said, ‘I have no clue why I’m on this losing streak, but the guys at the office are getting to be a real pain in the ass. I get jokes on my desk, silly innuendos in my e-mail and remarks, even dares, from my friends. It’s humiliating. So I’ve come up with a plan.’ He spent quite a while telling me what he wanted and we discussed and refined his idea until it sounded like it might work. He paid me in advance and we set a meeting for the following evening at five-thirty at a local watering hole.”

  As Carla talked, the picture was so clear in Fran’s mind, that she could see it.

  Carla sat at the bar, sipping a white wine until Alex arrived with three of his office buddies. The four men sat in a booth across the room, but if Carla listened closely she could make out the conversation. As the jokes began, Carla pointedly looked at her watch, then at the door, as if waiting for someone to arrive. She crossed her legs so that a goodly length of shapely thigh showed beneath her conservative suit-skirt.

  Drinks arrived at Alex’s table and voices rose. Carla again looked at her watch, and recrossed her legs, allowing the skirt to ride higher. Then she stood and removed her jacket to reveal a very tailored print blouse that was a size too tight and spanned across her ample breasts. Again she sat and ordered another glass of wine.

  Over the next few minutes, she checked and rechecked her watch, then got up and walked toward the ladies’ room. Her path took her past Alex’s table. When she returned, she caught Alex’s eye and smiled softly.

  “Hey guy, there’s your date for the evening,” one of his buddies, a flaming redhead with a face full of faded freckles said as she passed the table.

  “Yeah,” another, a Latin-looking man said. “She’s hot for you. And wouldn’t you like to get your hands on those tits?” Carla winced as she returned to her seat at the bar, still able to hear the ribald conversation from Alex’s table.

  “Go over,” the third, an older man with a dark brown crew cut said. “Grab her. She’s yours for the taking. And God, she’s quite a woman. Those legs…”

  “Okay guys,” Alex said. “Cut it out.”

  “I dare you,” the redhead said. “I double dare you.”

  “I stopped taking dares when I was twelve,” Alex said, looking at Carla and catching her eye. “But I think I could get somewhere with her. She really did give me the eye.”

  Carla looked over at the booth and smiled at Alex, who smiled back.

  “Come on, guy. Let’s see you try. Unless you don’t think you can do it.”

  Feigning reluctance, Alex slowly rose and crossed the room. He took the bar stool next to Carla. Softly, he said, “It’s working great so far. They are panting. Let’s just sit here talking for a few minutes then I’ll invite you over.”

  About five minutes later the two rose and walked to the table where the three other men waited. He pointed as he introduced them. “Carla, this is Kelly, Ricardo and Mack. Guys, this is Carla.” All three men stared at her wide-eyed.

  “Good evening,” Carla said softly. “I hope I’m not spoiling your get-together.”

  “Not at all,” the Latin-looking man who had been introduced as Ricardo said, sliding over and patting the seat beside him. “Please, join us.”

  Carla pointedly looked at the seat beside Ricardo, then, after Alex slid in, she slid in beside him. “Looks like you were stood up,” the redhead, whose name was Kelly, said.

  “It seems so,” Carla said. “This is the last time he’ll do something like this to me, the shit. We’re through.”

  “How about another round?” Mack, the third of Alex’s friends, said.

  “Sure,” Carla agreed. “White wine for me.”

  The five talked through a round of drinks. Fortunately Carla had already given the bartender twenty dollars to cut her drinks half and half with water so, although she played at being a bit tipsy, she was cold sober.

  As they finished their round, Carla felt Alex’s hand on her thigh, slowly sliding her skirt up. Making it obvious, she playfully slapped his hand away with a wink and a giggle. Then he draped his arm around her shoulder and played with her earlobe.

  “Hey,” she said, “we’ve got an audience, lover.” She turned to face him.

  “Does that matter?” He placed a soft kiss on her lips.

  After a moment, she deepened the kiss, turning her head so his mouth pressed even more firmly against hers.

  As they kissed, with the men watching, Alex reached up and flipped open the top two buttons on Carla’s blouse. His hand slipped inside, cupping her bra-covered breast. Carla enjoyed the kiss, and enjoyed the gasping sounds coming from the other three men.

  When they broke the kiss, his hand remained. She batted it away, but Alex kept his fingers deep inside of her blouse. She could feel her skin flush and she quickened her breathing.

  Carla looked around at the faces of the three observers. “He’s really fresh, isn’t he?” she said, giggling.

  “I guess,” Mack said.

  “Not usually,” Ricardo said.

  Carla again glanced at her watch. “I really should be going.” The protest was obviously halfhearted.

  “You don’t really want to leave, do you?” Alex asked. He bent his head and kissed and licked her ear.

  Carla allowed her eyes to close as though in the throes of passion. She felt Alex’s hand on her knee, then between her thighs. “You know,” she said to Alex, “since that shit ex-boyfriend of mine is a no-show, how about we have some dinner somewhere and see where it all takes us.”

  Four men said, “Great,” simultaneously.

  “Oh,” Carla said, a bit surprised. “I guess I didn’t make myself clear. I just meant Alex.”

  “Sounds wonderful,” Alex said. “Let’s get our coats.”

  Fran watched Carla’s smile widen. “You know,” Carla said, “although he hadn’t planned it that way, we ended up in his apartment and he was really great in bed. I told him so and I think it boosted his confidence.”

  “So you are really more than just a sex object.”

  “And what’s wrong with being a sex object?”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

  “By the way,” Carla said, “have you given any thought to the party tomorrow evening? I think you’d enjoy it.”

  “I have, and I think maybe I’ll give it a try. Just to see what goes on, not to participate, of course.”

  “Wonderful. It will be very educational, if nothing else. And I will certainly give you lots of ideas for stories. And frankly, I think you’ll have a blast.”

  “What should I wear?” Fran asked.

  “Just pick something that makes you feel good. Many people will be dressed for the occasion…” Her eyes twinkled. “…and, of course, some will be undressed for the occasion. And some will be in street clothes. Just feel good about yourself and let it all flow. Why don’t you meet me at my place at about six?”

  “Will you be paid for the evening?”

  “This one’s for fun. CJ and I have known each other for quite a while and I’m going to be with him.”

  “So you do this for fun, too.”

  “I always do it for fun. Sometimes I’m lucky enough to get paid, too.”

  Later that evening, Fran sat at her laptop and again wandered the Internet, reading stories from several different web sites, trying to get an idea about what the party would be like. She read several stories about group sex, several men with
one woman, several women with one man. Energized and open to new experiences, she brought up her word processor and began to put down some of the ideas that had been swirling in her mind.

  Lord, it’s dark, Hank thought. With all these clouds, there’s no moonlight, no nothing yet here I am, traipsing through the woods, looking for that damn dog. “Okay, okay,” he muttered, “the dog will probably find his way back to the cabin but, well, maybe he won’t.”

  He had been house sitting, or rather cabin sitting for an old friend for almost a week and Renfrew had, in fact, found his way out and back a few times. Why Hank was so worried about him this night in particular he didn’t know but here he was, flashlight in hand, wandering deeper and deeper into the woods behind the cabin. He had walked much of this area during the previous days, but now he realized that he had gone farther than he had on any of his previous wanderings.

  He sighed and aimed his light at the ground to prevent himself from falling on the tree roots and small shrubs that littered the area. What the fuck are you doing? he wondered. You’re going to kill yourself. But who’d notice. Certainly not Jennifer, his ex-girlfriend. She’d left the apartment they had shared one afternoon three months earlier. One minute she’d been there and then, poof. He’d returned from walking Renfrew and she had disappeared, lock, stock and moisturizer. And he had really loved her.

  “Renfrew, you lousy dog, get over here!” he yelled for the hundredth time. “It’s late. Time for your biscuit.” That was the usual magic word. “Biscuit,” he called again, but when he listened, he heard nothing.

  I’m not such a bad guy, he mused, Jennifer and I had it pretty good. We laughed, partied, had great sex. Well, he admitted, maybe good sex. Adequate sex? But we could have talked about it. I wanted it to be great. They had talked about it but Hank had been unable to understand what Jennifer was saying. Affection, loving, playing, experimenting. “All you want is to stick it in, wiggle it around until it comes, then sleep. Not my idea of good sex.”

  I won’t think about that. “Renfrew!” He stopped and listened. He heard a rustling in the leaves and headed in that direction, crashing through underbrush in the pitch darkness. God, I’m a nut case.