by Lisa Wells
Neverfail grabbed her by the waist. Pressing against her, he reached in front of her and flipped a switch on a stereo. A sultry tune invaded the room.
It was their song. Marty and the bimbo’s.
“Turn it off,” she hissed, and yanked out of his grip. Would she ever get past the humiliation of being cheated on? “I hate that song.”
He smiled and pushed another button. “I’ve got more tunes we can ball to.” Seventies music filtered into the room. “How’s that? Better?”
She nodded her head.
“Are you coming?”
Perhaps he meant it literally. In her mind, he was asking if she was cuming. She needed this to move on. She was here to get over Marty.
Neverfail wasn’t a stranger. He was Maddison’s booty call man. He was safe…as long as they used condoms.
She closed her eyes. Desperate times call for desperate measures. She made her decision and opened her eyes.
“Yes. Yes, I am. And, we’re going to have wild, noisy sex.” She sashayed out of his arms, slowly raised her shirt over her head, and tossed it on the floor.
He let out a war whoop. “My lady, you’ve a really bitchin’ bod.” He winked and walked into his bedroom where he executed a huge back flop onto the bed.
Lacey stood in his doorway. He’s an overgrown kid. I’m going to have sex with an overgrown kid who’s as horny as a teenager.
She gave an internal shrug. This is going to be fun.
He reached for her and pulled her onto the bed. With steady hands, experienced hands, he undid her bra and slipped her arms out of it.
Not sure what to do, she fixated on the main ingredient he had to offer. It was like a beacon in the night leading her to safety.
“Nice,” she said with a smile. And, it was. The man was purely perfect to look at. She reached for the snap of her jeans and wiggled out of them, taking her panties at the same time. She lay before him naked and waited for his observation.
He leaned up on an elbow. A lock of long blonde hair fell over his face. “So, do you like the top, the bottom, sixty nine, what?” he asked.
He could at least wax poetic over my body. Lacey bit her lip and counted to three. She wasn’t going to run away. She was going to do this. She hadn’t traveled to his bedroom for romance. “What’s wrong with trying all of them?” she asked.
“All right,” he said, while grabbing for a condom.
****
One hour later, Lacey left Neverfail’s apartment and walked quickly to her car. They’d done all but sixty-nine. Sixty-nine, in her opinion, was best left for a man you cared about. She didn’t bother to see if he was watching her from behind his beaded blinds. She could care less if he was watching. Let him watch. She wouldn’t be back.
She peeled out of the parking lot on tires screeching only marginally louder than the screeching noise she was making inside the car.
She whipped her car into the first gas station she saw. With trembling hands, she called Maddison. “Maddison, he failed,” she said accusingly. If she was a smoker, now would be a perfect time to smoke. She grabbed the gum out of her purse and popped a piece in her mouth.
“Who failed?”
Lacey refused to answer. There was no way she could put the humiliation into words? What was supposed to have gotten her past a humiliating time in her life had only created a new one.
She popped another piece of gum and chewed furiously. I can’t believe this is happening to me.
There was a gasp from Maddison. “What do you mean he failed?” she demanded to know.
Lacey looked around to see if anyone was listening. “Neverfail, failed. That’s who. I didn’t have an orgasm,” she hissed. She’d tried, she’d really tried. She’d put her all into the moment and nothing. Not even a tiny, ohmygod.
“You’re kidding? He’s the best. How can you not have an orgasm with him?” Maddison shrieked.
Good freakin’ question. “Dammit, Maddison. I don’t know. I just didn’t.”
It’s me; I know it’s me. Lacey blew a bubble and popped it loudly.
“What did he say?” Maddison asked.
“He. Doesn’t! Know.” Lacey said, between clenched teeth. “I faked it and left.” She’d actually faked it several times.
She’d closed her eyes and tried to relax. She’d pretended he was three different guys. All fantasies which usually tripped her trigger. None of them worked. Not even close.
Oh sure, she’d gotten wet. Who wouldn’t get wet around him? But, there had been no build up, no explosion. Even after she told him to stop talking and just fuck her. Who uses that kind of language on a first date?
“Well, you should have told him. He would have kept trying till he’d rung your bell.”
“Yeah, right. There’s no way I was going to tell a guy, with a name like Neverfail, that I’m broken and apparently can’t have an orgasm.” I should have shot Marty in the balls when I had a chance. That would have been productive therapy.
It was obvious Neverfail knew what he was doing. He hadn’t failed. She had. It was her fault. He’d been patient and creative and eager. It had definitely been her; she wasn’t reaching orgasm.
Maddison purred. “He’s use to being used. He wouldn’t have cared. And, you’re not broken. Don’t you dare say that.”
“What am I going to do?” Lacey asked. She wanted to go home, crawl into bed, and pull the covers over head.
She started the car’s engine and headed toward her new sanctuary. It was a condo in Cozy Corners Estates. Complete with a new bed, new mattress, new curtains, and new rugs. Nothing of her life with Marty was left except for the memory.
“You know,” Maddison said, in a thoughtful voice, “I’m not really that surprised you didn’t have an orgasm.”
Lacey jerked the steering wheel in surprise, and the car behind her started honking. She got the car back into her lane, gave the guy behind her a short little, so sorry wave, and fumed over Maddison’s words. “You’re not? Why would you say that?” she asked, in a voice one octave below outrage. She was not a sexual prude.
She was the girl who started a business that helped others enjoy married sex. Why would her best friend not be surprised she couldn’t have an orgasm? She threw her gum out the window and jumped when the car behind her honked furiously. She resisted the impulse to flip him the bird. It wasn’t his fault she’d just incurred the most humiliating sexual experience of her life. Maybe not the first, but at least the second.
Sure, she wasn’t sexually promiscuous. Three lovers; four if you counted Neverfail. Which made her kind of a prude compared to Maddison’s sexual adventures. But, she’d enjoyed hot sex with three of them. Not at the same time, of course. But, she’d had orgasmic sex with each one of them.
Maddison chuckled. “Don’t get all touchy with me. You walked in on your fiancé having an orgasm with a kick-ass beautiful calendar girl. An orgasm might bring back memories of that mortifying experience. Your mind just isn’t letting you go there. It’s protecting you from pain.”
Maddison grabbed for another piece of gum. “Don’t, psychoanalyze me,” she grounded out between clenched teeth. “I’ve had enough of that shit with Dr. Sullivan. What am I going to do?”
Having an orgasm wasn’t supposed to bring back the memory of the humiliation Marty dumped on her. It was supposed to erase the memory. God, what if Maddison’s right? I might never have another orgasm.
Come to think of it, I haven’t even had a self-induced orgasm since I walked in on Marty and Ms. January. Of course that doesn’t prove anything. She hadn’t tried. She wasn’t in the mood.
Maddison laughed. The cheerful sound grated against Lacey’s heart. What kind of friend laughs at a moment like this?
Her best friend was showing absolutely no sympathy whatsoever for her. I need to take applications for a new best friend. One with a heart.
“You’re going to find a man and have sex with him until he gives you an orgasm.” Maddison told her, with all
the confidence of a woman who wasn’t having problems reaching orgasm.
In theory, she had a great idea. “And, where am I supposed to find another man who’s willing to let me use him for sex?”
“Go back to Neverfail. He’ll understand. What did you think of his sixty-nine technique?”
“We didn’t do sixty-nine, and forget it. I’m not going back to Neverfail.” She couldn’t go back to him. He was under the impression they’d had a great time. There was no sense bursting his bubble. Or, her ego. The only thing he had going for him was his impression of himself as a ladies man. She would leave him with that.
“You didn’t do sixty-nine? The guy’s famous for his sixty-nine technique.” Maddison’s voice was squeaky with disbelief.
“I don’t do sixty-nine with strangers.” If she’d known he was famous for it, she might have made an exception. Damn.
Maddison sighed. “Fine, I have another idea. And, before you say no, just remember you promised you were going to do everything I told you from now on.”
“That promise doesn’t count. I’d just found my fiancé in bed with a bimbo. You know damn well I was drunk on cheap-ass wine.” Cheap was all she could find in the house. The nice bottle of Chardonnay, she’d been saving for their wedding night, was missing along with the crystal flutes. They’d drunk what should have been her and Marty’s toasting champagne.
“Oh, it counts. We spit shook on it.”
The sacred handshake of their childhood was unbreakable. When two females rub spit together, they mean it. “Fine, I’m listening, and don’t you dare tell me it involves standing on a street corner.”
Lacey wasn’t sure she wanted any more of Maddison’s ideas. They never quite worked out. Like the time she’d talked her into mooning the football team from the backseat of the school bus. She received three days of detention for sexual harassment, and the whole school found out she had a tiny birthmark on her right cheek in the shape of a crescent moon.
“It doesn’t involve a street corner. Actually, it’s brilliant. Have you heard of the Dibs Dating Show?”
Lacey was vaguely familiar with it. “Isn’t that the one where couples hook up for private weekends together?” It was a trashy program on cable. Wildly popular with the twenty-something crowd. A crowd which appeared to have no problem hooking up for sexual weekends. A crowd who wasn’t uptight, who could have orgasms with strangers. A crowd Lacey had never been a part of, but should. She was a twenty-something.
“Yes. You can go on it as a bachelorette and choose a bachelor to spend a weekend with.”
The show was first-class trash. Have I been reduced to picking through trash for a man? “Don’t you have anymore Neverfails I could do it with instead?” Neverfail was more like a thrift store find, not trashcan picking.
He was a tiny step above the kind of man she was going to find on the Dibs Dating Show.
“No.”
“How am I supposed to get on this show?” Am I really considering this?
Faced with her choices, which were nonexistent, she knew she was.
“This is your lucky day. I know the promo secretary. She owes me a favor. It’s all but a given that I can get you on the show. All you have to do is show up and pick a man to have sex with.” She laughed and added. “All weekend long.”
It was easy for her to say. She wasn’t looking at a weekend of having to potentially fake orgasms. Ooooh. Ahhhh. Ohmygodthatfeelsgood. Don’t stop, please don’t stop. God you’re big. Oh yes. Yes. Yes.
“Maddison, this is a ridiculous idea. I’ll get a disease.” Lacey didn’t want to spend a weekend of faking. And fake it she would, if necessary. There was no way she was going to tell the truth to a stranger. She just wasn’t going to tell. There were some things a girl was allowed to keep to herself, and this was one of them. That’s why God gave us the ability to fake orgasms.
“They’re screened. Just take condoms. Lots of condoms. Do you have a better idea?”
“No.” She sighed loudly. Unless, of course, she wanted to go from mental therapy into sexual therapy. Where did one find a sex doctor? “Okay. I’ll do it.” She took a deep breath. “Oh God, what kind of man am I going to find behind the red velvet curtain?”
Chapter 4
“Welcome back to the infamous Dibs Dating Show, where our motto is, what happens on your weekend, stays between you and your Dibs Man.” The aging host waited for the clapping to die before he continued. “Tonight’s bachelorette loves to read and enjoys running. She earns a living by teaching strip aerobics one night a week, and she is the sole proprietor of Fantasy Weekends. Her name is Lacey Valentine. Lacey, come on out.”
I can’t do this.
Lacey opened her mouth and sucked in air, blew it out noisily, and sucked in another. The double dose of oxygen failed to keep her erratic pulse from prancing around inside of her chest.
It’s not too late; I don’t have to go out there. Maddison will have another plan. She’s full of plans.
Lacey spun around to run and came face-to-face with an immovable object.
Damn, where’d you come from?
“Are you going somewhere?” the hulk asked, in a tone devoid of humor.
“Uhhh, no.” The guy belonged in the circus he was so big.
One long eyebrow shot up to frame his blank eyes. He leaned toward her and cupped his ear with his beefy hand. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that?”
Lacey took a step backward and tried not to breathe in the sour air he was breathing out. “I said, no.”
She looked for the exit door. It was behind him. She was trapped. The ugly giant was purposely blocking her escape.
Creep.
She swallowed one last gulp of air before spinning back around and stepping out from behind the safety of the crushed red velvet curtain. Showtime.
Her legs trembled as she walked across the stage on her new MarVena pumps. Do not fall. Do not throw-up.
The audience did their part to encourage her by rattling the roof with their applause. Loud wolf-whistles punctuated the cheers. She paused to enjoy the moment. The piercing noise of male approval was a welcome sound. It made her feel like she was walking by a construction site on the wrong side of town.
Not that she did that very often. Okay, ever.
But, if she did, the whistles would make her feel good. There’s nothing quite like a construction site fantasy to help boost a deteriorating ego. She would have to design a few new ones for her clients. Perhaps, a construction site in front of a brothel fantasy would steam the sheets of the clients who called today.
The show’s host stood center stage waiting for her. From a distance, he looked like a distinguished gentleman with a head full of jet black hair.
It was an illusion. The hair was a wig. And, Lacey had found out moments earlier, he was no gentleman.
He’s a butt-pincher.
She came to a stop in front of him, and he swung his arms open in invitation.
You’ve got to be kidding me. It wasn’t her norm to hug guys who went for free gropes when her back was turned. Hell, she hadn’t been around guys who groped since she was a high school cheerleader.
What’s wrong with a handshake and a fresh start instead of a hug? Now what?
True to her recent nature, she caved like a hungry hooker and allowed the hug. Confrontation wasn’t her specialty.
Hell and damnation, here come his lips. She moved her head a fraction to the left and managed to thwart his intentions into an air kiss.
When he didn’t get the full frontal contact he’d been aiming for, he let his lips linger a moment too long on each of her flushed cheeks. Lacey caught a whiff of alcohol. Her stomach churned. Between nerves and the still fresh memory of her wine overload, it was quite possible she was going to lose her lunch on national television. That’ll help you get a man, Valentine.
Lacey sank down onto the red velvet couch. The couch was known as the Love Divan. Butterflies took up residence in her stomach and started to d
ance on her nerves. They flew into a rowdy swing when the host opened his mouth to talk.
“Lacey, welcome.” He sat down next to her and squeezed her left knee.
Stop, touching me.
Most people referred to him as Matchmaker. Lacey was beginning to think Horny Toad would be a better moniker.
She removed his hand and did her best to mask her thoughts with a courteous smile. “Thank you. I’m excited to be here.”
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
Excited implied it was a no-baggage-attached decision to be on the show. Girl in search of an orgasm has baggage written all over it.
The Toad’s smile was weak. “Lacey, I’m going to cut to the chase.” His voice magically turned smooth and dramatic. “There is one question I know the audience is dying for me to ask you.”
Lacey looked out at the audience. All eyes were on her. She scooted to the corner of the divan. “Just one?” she inquired, arching her eyebrows and trying to get into the mood of the game.
He leaned forward and wagged his finger in her face. “Do you indeed own a business called Fantasy Weekends?”
Oooh. What an original line of questioning.
Lacey reluctantly applied the brakes to her thoughts, before she uttered the words aloud. Cranky was not a mood setter for sex.
She breathed deeply through her nose and let the air escape through her lips. This was what Dr. Sullivan had suggested she do when she felt like she was about to spin out of control. It was one thing she suggested that actually worked. Unlike the “go have sex thing”. It was the two-hundred dollars an hour suggestion.
Of course, Lacey would be the first to admit, three months of someone letting her bitch about Marty was money well spent. She pulled her focus back to the Toad. Do you really own a fantasy business was always the first question asked by people she didn’t know. A normal enough question. It wasn’t like she was in a profession you grew up reading about on career interest surveys in school.
In her present frame of mind, such as it was, she wanted a new question. Like, “Is that your real hair color?” Or, even better, “Who did your boobs?”
