Made For Sex

by Joan Elizabeth Lloyd

  Fran just shook her head. “I don’t understand it. If he’s crying, isn’t that torture?”

  “Not to him. He can stop any time by saying the safe word or just by standing up. But he doesn’t. He cried and counted, his cock getting harder and harder, trapped against my thighs. When I’m finished, he has to walk across the room and get a special soothing lotion.”

  “Weren’t other people there? What did they think?”

  “There were a few, into whippings and such, but they were involved in doing their own thing so they paid little attention. I put him back across my lap with his cock between my thighs. I love to wiggle just enough to make his cock harder. I rubbed the lotion on his butt, working it into the crack in his ass.”

  The waiter arrived with two orders of eggs Benedict, coffee for Carla and herb tea for Fran. When he was gone, Carla continued, “When I knew he couldn’t hold out much longer I made him stand and masturbate while I watched. While he did, I kept telling him that only bad boys jerk off with someone watching.”

  “And the orgasm he had had earlier didn’t slow him down?”

  “Actually, I’ve learned that unless he’s already climaxed once, we can’t play for long. He gets too excited too quickly. But eventually he came and then he took me home.”

  “So you never really had an orgasm?”

  “It doesn’t matter to me anymore. I love CJ’s pleasure and it makes me happy to watch him.”

  During the rest of the meal, they talked about sex a lot, Fran completely comfortable sharing all the delicious details with her best friend. Her best friend. She had been in New York only two weeks, and was only going to be here one more. How was she going to go back to Omaha? She wondered that on and off for the rest of the wonderful day the two women spent together.

  Monday morning, Fran dressed carefully for her lunch with Sandy and Eileen. It was to be the first time that Nicki had met her editor and, although Sandy knew that Nicki wasn’t quite as she had been portrayed, she didn’t know any of the details.

  The sun was shining and the temperature was predicted to be in the sixties, so Fran selected a floral print wool skirt in shades of teal and deep red with a matching deep red silk blouse and a long purple jacket that hung to the hemline of the skirt. She’d forgo a coat and hope that she’d be warm enough. She added Carla’s hoop earrings for luck, with several gold bracelets. Purple panty hose and black pumps completed the outfit.

  She walked the few blocks to the restaurant and as she entered, she spotted Eileen sitting with a slightly older woman, who quickly stood up and beckoned her over. “Nichole,” the woman said. “I’m so delighted to finally meet you in person. We’ve talked so much over the phone that I think I would have recognized you anywhere.”

  Sandy was about five foot four, with very short iron-gray hair and sparkling deep blue eyes. She grasped Fran’s hand warmly, then leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. Remembering that she was Nicki, Fran quickly moved to kiss the other cheek.

  “And I’m so happy to meet you, too,” Fran said, sitting down in an unoccupied chair. “I’ve had such a mental picture of you from our chats on the phone, that it’s really strange to see you in person.”

  “Do I look the way you pictured me?”

  Fran wasn’t sure how to answer, since Sandy didn’t look at all as she’d expected, but Sandy jumped in. “Don’t say a thing,” she said. “You didn’t expect the gray.” She combed her fingers through her short hair. “I’ve been this color since I was in my early twenties, and I kind of like it.”

  “And you should. It looks,” she paused, “smashing.” And she smiled to show that she really meant it.

  During lunch, the three women talked about books in general and they agreed on some of their favorites and disagreed on others. Eileen was a mystery reader, while Sandy preferred science fiction. They discussed the publishing business and all admitted that no one really understood it.

  When dessert and beverage arrived at the table, Sandy asked, “Nicki, have you got any ideas about your next book? I’d love to give my boss a proposal for the next Nichole St. Michelle goodie.”

  As Eileen started to answer, Nicki said, “Actually I’ve been working on an idea.”

  “Do you want to give us the gist or is it too early yet?”

  “It’s about a thirtyish woman who’s never known much of the big world, who comes to New York to spend the summer with an old school friend. In New York, she not only meets a wonderful man, but she learns about sex and life and finally understands that there’s more to life than Milwaukee.”

  “That sounds wonderful,” Sandy said. “Have you got a title?”

  “I want to call it Pleasures.”

  “Great title,” Sandy said. “Will it be as explicit as The Love Flower?”

  “I think more so, if you think the powers that be won’t object to some serious sex.”

  “Not at all. As a smaller house, we can pretty much do as we please. And Phil Spencer likes good hot sex.” She giggled. “In books, that is. I have no clue about his personal life.” She leaned forward and looked at Fran. “And will it be a romance? I mean will the girl get the guy in the end?”

  “You know, I’m not really sure. But for me, the most important part of the plot will be that the girl grows up.”

  “Sounds wonderful. I can’t wait to read a full proposal.”

  Eileen had been silent throughout the discussion. “About next weekend,” she now said to Sandy. “What’s the schedule?”

  “Friday evening Majestic will have a suite with hors d’oeuvres and drinks. Very Tahitian motif. You know, really good plastic palm trees, girls in grass skirts, guys with little strips of cloth around their waist and nothing much more. All very sexy.” She leaned forward. “I was wondering. Could you dress like Rhona? You know, a sarong?”

  Fran thought about it. Nicki could. She could. “Sure,” she said. “I’ll come up with something.”

  “I’ve got the names of several costumers,” Sandy said, handing Fran a piece of paper from her purse. She looked down and grinned. “I was hoping…”

  “Of course,” Fran said. “I will be there with bells on. Or rather, with Tahiti on.”

  “Are you planning to go to any of the workshops during the day?”

  “I hadn’t planned on it. Should I?”

  “It’s not really necessary. But Saturday I’ll have a table set up for you in the main hall, with lots of copies of The Love Flower for visitors to buy and for you to autograph. All the other nominated authors will be there too, of course.”

  “I’m looking forward to meeting them. Especially Virginia Cortex. I’ve been a fan of hers for years. And Diane Barklay too. I just loved Addle’s Travels.”

  Eileen laughed. “Don’t be so generous about the competition.”

  “Why not?” Fran asked honestly. “They’re good books.”

  “This isn’t tea and cakes,” Sandy said, lowering her voice. “This is important stuff. There’s lots of money riding on this award. And the others are playing hardball.”

  “Hardball? I don’t understand.”

  Sandy’s expression became serious. “Let me be blunt. I don’t expect The Love Flower to win.”

  Fran’s face fell. Not that she had really expected to win, but…“Why?” she said.

  “Because there’s a serious campaign against it.”

  Eileen remained silent, obviously already knowing what Sandy was saying. Fran was mystified. “I don’t get it.”

  “Oh my dear, you’re so naive. There are letters all over the Internet calling the book smut and trash and saying that the integrity of The Madison Prize will be compromised if they award it to a novel as clearly erotic as yours. I assume at least one of the publishers is behind it, or maybe just one of the other authors. Actually you should be complimented. Someone must think your book is stiff competition.”

  Fran sat, immobile. She hadn’t realized any of this.

  Sandy sipped her coffee and contin
ued. “We’ve gotten a lot of really good press from all of this. It’s kind of like being on the church’s banned list. Lots of people are buying and reading The Love Flower because it’s being called names and we’ll cry all the way to the bank. So we’re getting what we want out of all this. I just don’t want you to wander through all this thinking that all books have an equal shot. They don’t.”

  “But it’s not fair. The Love Flower is a really good book.” Fran blushed at her flatly immodest remark.

  “We know it is, but it’s also explicit and, in some places, downright kinky. I love it and keep a copy beside my bed. Every now and then I read a section to Josh before we go to sleep. It’s like a sleeping pill.”

  “I think I’m insulted,” Fran said.

  “Not at all. Good hot sex is a great soporific.”

  The three women laughed heartily. “So just have your eyes wide open,” Sandy said. “By the way, is there anyone you would like to invite as your guest to the dinner and festivities Saturday evening?”

  Fran thought about O’Malley and Clark. No. She didn’t feel that way about either of them. She knew who she’d really like to invite. “Do you think Carla would come with us?” she asked Eileen.

  “I certainly think you should ask her and I think she’d be delighted. I have no clue about her schedule, however.”

  “Okay,” Sandy said, “let me know and if you need any extra tickets I’ll be sure to have them for you.”

  Carla called Fran midmorning on Wednesday. After some pleasantries, Fran said, “I’d love for you to come to the award dinner Saturday evening, that is if you don’t have other plans, or have to be home with the kids.”

  “That’s great. I’d love to. I kept the evening free and if you hadn’t invited me I think I might have crashed the party. And I’ve got an invitation for you, too. If you hadn’t told me how much you enjoyed the party Saturday evening, I wouldn’t think of asking this, but here goes. I got a call from a friend of mine named Jason. He enjoys entertaining and being entertained by two women at the same time. He’s got some unusual tastes in fantasies, but he likes his sex pretty straight. I have several female friends who have played with us, and they’ve always enjoyed the evening. I wondered whether you’d be interested in joining us tomorrow evening.” Before Fran could answer, Carla added, “Please understand that I won’t be insulted if you say no and we’ll see each other Saturday night anyway, but I just thought I’d ask.”

  “Sounds interesting.”

  “Really?” Carla sounded startled.

  “I don’t know what I’m ready for, but last Saturday evening really whetted my appetite for the unusual.”

  “I’m so happy. Oh, and he pays us each seven hundred dollars for the evening.”

  Fran almost choked. “You’re kidding.”

  Carla’s laugh was warm and caring. “Amazing, isn’t it? We get paid for doing what we did Saturday evening for nothing.”

  “It is amazing. But what if I can’t do something he wants to do? If he’s paying, then he has certain rights.”

  “I have the same arrangement with him that I have with all my friends. If it doesn’t go the way we planned and if he’s not satisfied, he doesn’t pay. No strings. It’s so much better that way. He always knows that we’re both enjoying everything.”

  “But that way don’t you sometimes do things for the money? If you don’t do it, you don’t get paid, after all.”

  “I don’t need the money. Somehow, taking money under those circumstances would make me a whore.”

  “Okay. It sounds like something Nicki would do, and, after all, I’m Nicki now, through and through. Fran is dead and buried.”

  “No, she’s not really. You’re still the nice, educated, interesting woman you’ve always been. You just have lots of Nicki’s adventurousness too.”

  They talked about the evening for a while. Then Fran asked, “What should I wear?”

  “We’ll be going out to dinner first. He likes La Cote Basque, Rain, Cafe des Artistes, like that. I know he hopes that he’ll run into friends or business associates so that he can show off his good taste in dinner companions. I’ve met some of his friends that way in the past. As for what you should wear, as I remember it, you have a long black skirt, slit up to the thigh. Bring a very dressy top, but I have a blouse that would go with it perfectly, one that I know Jason would particularly love.”

  “Sounds easy enough.”

  “And wear your highest heels. He loves sexy shoes and since Jason’s not too tall, wearing very high heels isn’t an option for me.”

  When Fran arrived at Carla’s house at six, Carla flipped through several tops in her closet, then pulled out a soft top made of some sort of clingy fabric in shimmering gold. “Try this on,” she said.

  Fran took off the top she was wearing and pulled on the one Carla handed her. It was cut so that it draped almost to the waist both in front and in back, with a string tie across the back of the shoulders to hold it on. “Bra off,” Carla said as it became obvious that the undergarment showed both front and back.

  “After all the trouble I went to to get this bra that gives me cleavage, now I take it off and lose it all.”

  “Just watch,” Carla said, as Fran removed her bra from beneath the top. It looked fabulous. It gave her almost a model’s figure, with just a hint of swelling on either side of the neckline. And her large nipples made tents at the front. “I bought that and I really thought I could wear it, but I’ve got too much bosom. You look sensational.”

  Fran gazed into the mirror. “It does look good,” she admitted. “Have you got earrings?”

  Carla found her a pair of rhinestone earrings, long enough that they brushed her collarbones, calling further attention to the neckline of the blouse. “And those shoes are perfect. He’ll drool all through dinner.”

  Fran had selected a pair of three and a half inch gold strappy pumps and gotten a small gold purse to match. She might as well do this in style. And seven hundred dollars? She had calculated how many stories she’d have to write to earn that much and her mind boggled. It was all she could do not to giggle. But what if he’s a troll? she thought. If he had to pay, maybe he’s got bad breath or body odor.

  “What’s Jason like?” she asked tentatively.

  “He’s about fifty, kind of ordinary looking with thick glasses. It took me a while to get used to him, naked, but with his glasses on. When I suggested that he might be more comfortable without them, he said, ‘And miss something? Not on your life.’”

  “So why does he have to pay? I mean he sounds okay.”

  “Not every man has a woman to date, and most men want sex. If you remember it took Clark quite a bit of courage to pick you up. Me, I’m a sure thing, as Julia Roberts said in Pretty Woman.”

  “I guess I’ve just got stereotypes in my brain.”

  “Well, just wait until you meet him.”

  When Jason arrived, Carla kissed him warmly. “This is…” she said but Fran interrupted. “Fran,” she said.

  Carla looked puzzled, then smiled in understanding.

  “It’s wonderful to meet you, Fran,” Jason said, taking her hand and kissing the back. “I thought we’d go to Le Cirque this evening,” he said.

  Fran had heard of the world-famous restaurant but with prices in the stratosphere, she’d never expected to dine there. An unexpected bonus. Inwardly she giggled. And she was being paid, too. She slipped on a velvet jacket that Carla had lent her and with Jason in the middle the three walked out into the New York evening.

  Fran found Jason delightful company as they sipped champagne in the limo on the short drive to Le Cirque. He was a wonderfully intelligent man, in his late fifties, overweight, with marshmallow-white hair and a tightly clipped white beard. As they rode, Fran frequently found Jason’s gaze on her breastbone and almost as often on her ankles.

  During a fantastic French meal, during which Fran spotted several famous faces at nearby tables, she and Jason did most of th
e talking with Carla obviously content to listen. Jason was an architect with an exciting new project that he discussed at length. Fran found it fascinating. She asked what she thought were intelligent questions and got involved and excited answers. They discussed some of the books that Fran had read over the years, and movies they had seen. He was well traveled and Fran quickly decided not to try to discuss Europe as though she had been there as Nicki might have done, but rather to listen to Jason’s opinions.

  “This is quite some friend you have, Carla,” Jason said at one point. “Not only good looks, but intelligent and such a good listener.” He patted her hand. “Remember that woman you brought one evening? Louise, I think her name was.”

  Carla laughed. “How could I forget. She was a friend of a friend and I hadn’t met her before that night. She had the IQ of a houseplant and the figure of a Playboy bunny.”

  “I don’t usually complain, and the evening ended on, shall we say, a high note, but dinner was stultifying. But this wonderful woman is just what an old man needs.”

  As they sipped coffee and tea, Carla asked, “What are you in the mood for this evening, Jason? Shall we go back to my place and wander through my album?”

  “I’m sure whatever we do together will be delightful. What about you, Fran, what do you enjoy?”

  “It’s funny. Three weeks ago, I would have had a very limited answer. Recently, however, I’ve widened my horizons. I find that I’m really up for most sports.”

  “I read a story about a threesome in a bathtub. How’s the tub at your place, Carla?”

  “It’s a bit small for the three of us, I’m afraid.”

  Could I? Fran wondered. Could I invite an almost perfect stranger to the Devlins’ for sex games? He’ll know the address. But if Carla thinks he’s okay, then he must be. And I think he’s adorable. “I have a bathtub that’s large enough to land a small plane in, if you’d like to come over to the apartment I’m borrowing from a friend.”

  Carla nodded. “What a wonderful idea. I’ve wanted to try out that bathtub since I first saw it. Jason?”