One And Done

by Cynthia Sax

  As I inhale, my shoulders graze his chest.

  “And breathe out.”

  I exhale.

  “Good.” His cheek glides over mine, a hint of stubble leaving a trail on my skin. “Breathe in.” He repeats the routine.

  I don’t know how long we sit there, breathing in, breathing out. Notions of time, of schedules evaporate. Sounds other than Tarun’s voice fade. The connection between us tightens. He wasn’t bullshitting me. There is a circle of energy flowing from him to me and then from me to him.

  “Come back to me, goddess.” A hint of humor lilts Tarun’s words.

  I open my eyes and blink. It takes me a few seconds to rejoin the world. “Wow.”

  “Exactly.” Azure grins. “If I didn’t meditate every day, I’d go insane.”

  “You’re already insane.” I slide my palms into Tarun’s and allow him to pull me to my feet, his lithe form concealing an impressive strength. “Thank you.”

  I can’t meet his gaze, suddenly shy. We shared an intimate moment. It wasn’t sex, but it certainly was more than friendship.

  “Thank you for trusting me.” He strokes my cheek. “Shall we continue our journey tomorrow?”

  Although I’m tempted to say yes, having never felt as relaxed as I do now, I can’t. Tomorrow, my two-day wait will be over. I’ll call Edward. He’ll want to retrieve his tablet. He’ll see me, realize I’ve changed, take me back. We’ll have make up sex, perhaps a quickie during lunch. My life will be perfect again. “Not tomorrow, unfortunately. I have plans.”

  Tarun studies my face. “But we will continue our journey?”

  I smile. “Yes, we will continue our journey. I enjoyed meditation.”

  “Yay.” Azure fist pumps the air. “We have another convert.”

  She grabs my hand and drags me away from Tarun, leaving him the responsibility of gathering the cushions and mats. I wave at him. He smiles, his expression bemused.

  “Tarun should be every woman’s introduction to meditation.” Azure dances around pedestrians, the soles of her sandals slapping against the sidewalk. “I’ve heard he’s skilled in other areas too, if you know what I mean.”

  “You heard? You haven’t done it?” I’d assumed they had sex. Azure believes in loving whoever she’s with and Tarun is her close friend.

  “Someday we will but we haven’t yet.” Azure spins, nearly knocking into a tie-wearing man. “I needed to meditate. This morning sucked my energy dry. That piece-of-junk camera I was using for the renegade campaign deleted every single shot.”

  “Did it?” I hold the door to our office building open to her, avoiding her gaze.

  “That’s my truth but no worries.” She flounces by me. “I have Mikie The Wonder Kid restoring the files.”

  “He’s restoring all of the files?” My voice squeaks.

  “Hopefully. Why?” Azure glances at me.

  I chew on my bottom lip.

  “What did you do, ‘Nella?” She pounces on me, clasping my arms. “That’s your guilty face. I know you did something.”

  “Ummm…”

  “Did you and Eddy take naughty photos with my camera?” Azure’s first guess is embarrassingly close to the truth.

  “Edward wasn’t in the photos.”

  “No.” Her eyes widen.

  “Yes.” Needing her help to stop Mikie The Wonder Kid from sharing photos of my vajayjay with the world, I tell her everything. My story makes my friend laugh so hard, the security guard hushes us.

  We rush back to the office but we’re too late. By the time we change our clothes and venture to the fourth floor, the damage has been done.

  A group of eccentrically dressed men are gathered around a large screen, pointing and sniggering. I don’t have to see the image to know what they’re looking at. My stomach roils. Half the marketing department has now seen my pussy.

  “Boys, boys.” Azure saunters toward them, her hips swaying. “That treat was for the kid alone, a thank you for helping me.”

  “S-s-sorry.” A very young man wearing fifties-style dark-rimmed glasses and three different kinds of plaid flushes. “I-I-I didn’t know.”

  “Awww…Mikie.” Azure presses his face into her large bosom. “Of course, you didn’t know what you were looking at.” She kisses his reddish hair. “You’re so cute.”

  He turns a frightening shade of crimson. The other men laugh.

  “See this.” She points at my clit, blown up monstrously large on the screen. “If you ever make contact with a real girl, pay extra attention to it and she’ll worship the ground you walk on.”

  “Like you worship me, Azure?” A tall, scrawny man grins.

  “Duke, the last time we worked late, I drew an arrow on my skin with thick black marker, pointing to that spot, and you still couldn’t find it.” She rolls her eyes. “Show-and-tell time is over, boys.” She slaps Mikie The Wonder Kid’s shoulder. “Get back to work.”

  And they do. They return to their desks, smiles on their faces, as though they look at co-workers’ pussies every day.

  The crisis is over. I exhale raggedly. No one realizes that body part belongs to me.

  Azure returns to my side. “You’re welcome.”

  “Thank you. I thought…” I don’t know what I thought.

  “You thought they’d slut shame you.” My friend verbalizes what I can’t say. “That only works if you feel shame. Own your sexuality. Then others can’t use it to control you.”

  I meet her gaze, hearing the undertones in her words. “Edward has never tried to control me.”

  “You aren’t a twice-a-week type of girl, ‘Nella.” Azure’s smile is gentle, no judgment in her eyes. “Eddy is a smart man. He knows that. Ask yourself why he didn’t give you what you needed.” She flounces off, the tails of her shirt fluttering behind her.

  I had needed more. Azure was right about that. I had told myself that relationships required compromise, that few couples were completely compatible sexually.

  Having read Chelsea’s messages, I realize that was bullshit. Edward has been fucking her multiple times a day, all over the city, in every orifice.

  Had he deliberately withheld sex from me?

  Uncertain of the answer to that question, I return to my desk and process invoices, an activity I understand, I know.

  When I’m finally freed from work, I brace myself for a new form of torture. Rush hour on the subway becomes even more horrific than it usually is, now that I’m aware of frotteurism.

  I’m pressed between a big-bellied man in a suit and an even bigger-bellied pregnant woman. Normally I’d push against the man, giving the woman as much room as possible. Not today. I stay exactly where I am.

  Woofer is waiting for me as he always is—in front of the apartment building. I force him to hug me, bribing him with two fancy ham-and-cheese sandwiches. Those treats had been found in the Finance lunchroom and squirreled away for the kid. Woofer tells me about every sports car that had passed the building while I was gone.

  I return to the apartment and have the space to myself for most of the evening. I research the rest of Chelsea’s sexual terms and place the challenges, as I’ve come to think about them, in order, telling myself they’re arranged by my level of interest.

  That’s a lie. They’re listed from safe to too frightening to contemplate.

  These challenges won’t be tackled alone, I remind myself. Edward and I will explore these together…as he explored them with Chelsea.

  He might discard some of the challenges.

  My gaze lowers to the line ‘Participate in a ménage’.

  God, I hope he isn’t interested in that. I don’t know if I want another man touching me or, worse, another woman touching Edward.

  As Chelsea likely is touching him right now.

  Azure returns from wherever she was. She teases me mercilessly about the pussy-photo incident, threatening to host a gallery showing of my private parts. I, in turn, drive her crazy trying on different suits, searching for
a sexy, youthful yet professional outfit to wear tomorrow.

  We decide on a gray-pinstripe skirt suit. Azure claims this naughty banker look will appeal to Steady Eddy’s mercenary soul. Paired with the red heels, which I’m learning to walk in, the suit should, at the very least, get his attention.

  I go to bed early. Tomorrow will be a late night. Early in our relationship, Edward and I would talk until three in the morning. We have as much to talk about now.

  Because I’ve changed. He’ll see that.

  I lay on my back, stare up at the ceiling, picturing his beloved face and I smile.

  Around 1:00 a.m., my phone rings. Is it Edward? It isn’t his ringtone but he could be calling from another device.

  I find my phone, my hands shaking with excitement. “Yes?”

  “What are you wearing?” Smoke’s deep voice reaches inside me and settles in my stomach, a verbal cup of hot chocolate, soothing yet deliciously bad for me.

  I smile despite my disappointment. “Oversized pajamas, not flannel, white with pink hearts.”

  “Not flannel, huh? That’s too bad. I fuckin’ love flannel.”

  I laugh at this piece of nonsense. “No one likes flannel.”

  “I do,” Smoke insists. “It’s warm and comforting.”

  My smile wavers. Comforting is too close to content. It certainly isn’t sexy, interesting, dynamic, young, all words I want men to use when describing me.

  “You’re not wearing a bra.” The club owner is fixated on my breasts again.

  “No one sleeps in a bra.” Is that true? No, it isn’t. “Except for Marilyn Monroe.”

  “She had great tits.” This is Smoke’s contribution to the conversation.

  I hear a grinding noise in the background as though someone is sawing boards in two. “What is it—Texas Chainsaw Massacre Night at the club?”

  He chuckles, a sound I suspect he makes often. “The club is closed on Mondays and Tuesdays. We’re completing repairs, changing some of the rooms, keeping the experience fresh for our returning guests, ensuring they have something new to look at this weekend.”

  “The same ol’, same ol’ gets boring.” As spending time with me got boring for Edward. That was why he cheated on me. I wasn’t interesting enough for him.

  “I wouldn’t know.” Some of Smoke’s humor dissipates. “I’ve never had the same ol’, same ol’.”

  I don’t know what to say. His tone hints that I should respond with ‘sorry’ but my experience with Edward suggests ‘that’s good’ is the right answer.

  “What color are your panties?” Smoke returns to the topic of my clothing…or lack thereof.

  “Black cotton.”

  “G-string?”

  “Bikini.” That’s one step away from granny panties. My lips twist. “The women you date wear G-strings, don’t they?”

  “I don’t date. I hit it and quit it, no repeats, no attachments.”

  Before meeting Smoke, I thought this level of cheesiness was only found in the movies.

  “You’re what they call a player.” I don’t know why this disturbs me. Maybe because Edward is using Smoke as an example of whom he should be.

  “Don’t hate the player. Hate the game.” Smoke’s quip has a sharp edge to it.

  I laugh. “You’re a walking, talking cliché, aren’t you?”

  This draws a chuckle from him. “I try.”

  “Try harder.” I can’t remember the last time I’ve had a conversation with another man like this—flirty and light. “Are we having phone sex?”

  “Not yet. Why?”

  “Because phone sex is on my list of things to try.” A ripple of excitement flows through me. “Teach me how to do it right.” I’ll use Smoke’s insights during tomorrow’s call with Edward.

  “Baby, I’ll teach you how to do me right.” Smoke’s voice lowers. “Men are visual creatures.”

  “That’s why you wanted to know what I was wearing.” I nod, understanding. “Should I have lied, told you I was wearing something sexier?”

  “Never lie to me.”

  I gulp air, the dominance in his tone tightening my nipples. “Okay.”

  “Tell me what makes your regular clothes sexy. Then, every time I see you in them, I’ll remember your words and get a boner.”

  I’d never thought of it in that way.

  “Is the cotton thin?” He continues. “Can I see your nipples? Does it cling to your breasts, pull tight across your lush ass?”

  Silence stretches.

  “I’m waiting, Jenella.”

  Oh God. He wants me to do this now. “One of the pink hearts is positioned over my right nipple.” I touch my cotton-covered breast. “I’m imagining your mouth there, sucking me through the fabric.”

  I’m not cheating on Edward. This is fantasy.

  Smoke groans. “I’d tongue that cranberry-colored nipple until it puckers. Then I’d inhale, taking as much of your tit inside me as I could. I couldn’t take all of you. Your tits are too full and succulent.”

  I wiggle, aroused. “My breasts are very sensitive.”

  His breath hitches. “Can I make you come simply from sucking them?”

  “Maybe.” I throw myself fully into this experience. “The fabric is worn. Your mouth would be hot and moist. My body is primed from days of wanting you.” This last ad-lib rings disturbingly of truth. I have been wanting him. “The pinch of your lips might set me off.”

  “You’d buck under me, all of those curves, that softness moving.” A zipper rasps. Is he unfastening his pants? “Where are the other hearts?”

  “There’s one between my legs,” I whisper, unable to say these words louder.

  “Do you want my lips there too?”

  I place the phone on speaker, set it on the pillow and glide my right hand lower. “Yes.” Edward hasn’t gone down on me for over a year. Ever hopeful, I’ve kept my mons cleanly shaven, seeking to entice him. “Would you lick me?”

  “I’d spread your legs wide, burrow my face between your white thighs and not come up for days.” The whisper of skin against skin underlies Smoke’s words. I shake my head. The man is shameless. He’s masturbating to my voice.

  I should be appalled. Instead, I’m turned on. My fingers slide under the waistband of my pajamas, under my panties. I pet my pussy lips. This man wants me, needs me. “Are you touching yourself?”

  “Yeah. My dick is so hard; I could drill holes into a wall.”

  I do that to him—arouse him to the point of pain. I’ll do the same to Edward and he’ll never cheat on me again. “I’m touching myself also.”

  Smoke makes a hurting sound. “Are you wet?”

  “My fingers are soaked.” I lower the phone for one, two, three heartbeats, allowing him to hear how juicy I am. “Would you suck them dry?”

  “Baby, I wouldn’t waste a drop.” His tempo increases. “Circle your clit for me.”

  I brush my thumbs over this sensitive bundle of nerves, escalating my passion higher and higher. “I’m envisioning your rough, hot tongue on me, your fingers plunging in and out of my tight pussy hole.” My legs tremble.

  Is this truly me saying these filthy words to a near stranger? And when did this morph from awkward to exciting?

  “You’ll work me hard, preparing me for your cock,” I murmur.

  Smoke grunts. Is he lifting his hips, thrusting into his hands? His balls would draw up tight to his body, hug his shaft. A pearl of pre-cum would form on his tip.

  I pant, thrusting my fingers furiously into my entrance, stimulated by this thought. “Pump me with everything you have, Smoke. Make my breasts jiggle and my pussy hum.”

  “Fuck, Jenella.” His voice is hoarse.

  “I can take it.” I drive upward, shaking the bed. “I can take all of you, every inch.”

  “You’d swallow me up, surround me. Fuck. Fuck.” Smoke repeats this word over and over, a sexual mantra, a prayer to the god of desire.

  Soon my voice joins his. I quiver and quake
, dangling on the edge of fulfillment. Sweat drips down my neck, between my breasts. My musk fills the bedroom. The bed squeaks. My thoughts are of him, his fingers, his low rumble, the indefinable something in his brown eyes, reaching out to me, a silent request for comfort.

  This is wrong. He’s not Edward, not the man I love. But it feels so right, and he’s the one I ask for assistance, for the push I need. “Smoke?”

  “Tweak your nipples for me.”

  Yes, that’s what I need. I close my fingers around the taut peaks, twist, and cry his name, propelling myself off the mattress.

  “Fuck.” He roars.

  Oh, God. He’s coming, his essence arcing from his tip. This realization sets off another tremor within me. I shake, lost in the moment, in my release.

  Time passes. I calm, become still, realize what I’ve done. “Smoke—”

  “That was phone sex, Jenella.” He reminds me of my goal—to learn how to please Edward, to save our relationship.

  “Did I do it correctly?” I ask for the reassurance I need.

  “You’re a natural.”

  I’m a natural. I beam. Phone sex is something I’m good at. I might even be better than Chelsea at it. “If I practice, I’ll become even better.”

  “You’ll be a phone sex monster.” Smoke sounds drowsy. “What else is on your list?”

  I debate whether or not to share it with him. These are sexual challenges I’ll complete with Edward. I nibble on my bottom lip. But Smoke might be able to give me pointers so I don’t disappoint my man. “I’ll send it to you tomorrow.”

  “I’m assuming some of the challenges involve getting undressed.”

  “Yes, of course.” I can’t have sex with my clothes on. I wish I could. It would be less embarrassing.

  “The club rents space to dance and exercise classes.” Smoke is back in business mode. “There’s a stripping class at seven o’clock tomorrow evening. You could learn to strip like a pro.”

  “Hmmm…” That does sound interesting. Well aware that I’m not a size zero, I always feel uncomfortable taking off my clothes, exposing my chub to others, even to Edward.

  Especially to Edward, now that I know he doesn’t appreciate my excess curves, that he prefers thin girls like Chelsea.