Lisa Wells - Dib

by Lisa Wells

  My college virgin fantasy isn’t going to make it into the Great Moment’s journal. It was a journal she’d started when she was twelve. Entry number one was all about being kissed on the mouth by a boy for the first time. The boy’s name was Jeff Barns. It was a journal filled with the very best of the best moments in her life. Not a lot in it, yet. But, what was there was juicy. Like the time she talked to a real spirit at a séance with Maddison and Maddison’s mom. She had been fourteen. It scared her so much that she slept with her bedroom light on for a year.

  Someday, she would write about the return of her orgasm. Just not today. That elusive catalyst, which had set her upon this particular pathway, was proving hard to catch. Not only wasn’t it back, it was evidently very lost.

  “Damn. Damn. Damn.” Lacey said the words loudly. Without a doubt, Covey was good. He’d taken her right to the edge of the cliff. Closer than Neverfail by a long shot. But, still nothing. All of those nerve endings, in that one little pebble of flesh, and she’d experienced nothing.

  She closed her eyes and tried to relive the moment. Tried to discover where it all went wrong. Was it because she felt rushed? Perhaps. If they’d had all the time in the world, she wouldn’t have felt the pressure to pretend. She would have waited for it to happen. Made him work harder for it.

  Had she fooled him? Did he think she was a satisfied woman or did he know she was broken?

  God, I hope he doesn’t know I’m broken. That would be so humiliating. The mere thought of him knowing left her feeling irritable and unhappy with herself.

  She rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand and pulled her cell out of her purse. It was time to call Maddison.

  “Maddison, I did it; I had an orgasm. I just had sex with a stranger and I had an orgasm; three, actually. I had three orgasms.” She blurted out the lie in one long breath. She couldn’t tell Maddison the truth. If she did, Maddison would get her involved with another stranger. Strangers weren’t getting the job done. Covey, at least, was no longer a stranger. They’d had sex. Once you’ve had sex with a man, you can’t count him as a stranger. Hopefully, the next carnal act she had with him would be more satisfying. She bit the inside of her lip to keep from blurting out the truth.

  Fishing a tissue and a mirror out of her purse, she waited for Madison’s response.

  “Shut up,” Maddison screamed into the phone. “Already? No, way. I told you not to worry. I knew you would get it back. Where did it happen? Aren’t you happy I suggested this?” she demanded, in a piercing voice.

  “Yes, I’m glad. It was in the limo.” Lacey turned her back to a guy who was showing her undue interest and went to work on salvaging her makeup. She couldn’t believe she’d started to cry when she realized he wasn’t about to get her over the edge. What a pathetic sign of weakness on her part. She hadn’t even cried in front of Marty and his bimbo. What had gotten into her in the limo?

  Maddison whistled loudly into the phone receiver.

  Lacey held the phone away from her ear and dabbed fiercely at the streaks of mascara.

  “Now what?” Maddison asked eagerly.

  She felt like a bum. “Now, he’s got to find me. Can you believe I did it?” Lacey put her mirror up and went back to fanning herself. She hated lying to Maddison. Best friends were not supposed to lie to one another. The blood began to pound in her temples. This was all Marty’s fault.

  Hell, it’s hot in this airport. Didn’t they pay their electric bill?

  Maddison was unusually quiet.

  Does she know I’m lying? Can she tell? “Are you still there?”

  “What do you mean, find you?” she asked hesitantly.

  Lacey leaned back in her chair and rested her head on the cool vinyl of the back rest. She’d fooled her. Just like she’d fooled Neverfail and Covey. “He’s being flown to Arkansas on a different flight, placed in a canoe, and has to find me on a river bank.” Her voice rose in agitation as she outlined her plan. It sounded overly bizarre when said aloud. Fantasies never sounded normal, but this one might be pushing things a bit too far. A guy sitting three chairs down moved two chairs closer.

  Lacey tilted her head sideways and stole a look at him. She wrinkled her nose and shook her head.

  “Shut. Up,” Maddison screamed. “What if he doesn’t know how to paddle a canoe?”

  Lacey dismissed the possibility with the flick of her hand and frowned at the guy who just winked at her. The strangest people could be found in airports. “I don’t know. Doesn’t everyone know how to paddle a canoe?” She was hanging by a thread attached to a cumulus cloud of doubt. She didn’t need her best friend nipping at the thread with sharp words of skepticism.

  If it wasn’t for the fact Urinal Scum would get the last laugh, she’d abort the whole thing. She’d go home and forget about orgasms. She’d become a nun.

  “No. Everyone does not know how to paddle a canoe.” Maddison was laughing at her, and the sound brought Lacey out of her thoughts.

  She bit her lip and started twirling her hair. “He’s a cowboy—surely, he does.” He knew how to ride her with the passion of a Latin dancer. No, that’s not it. Ride me with the passion of a bull rider.

  My mind is as fuddled as my metaphors. Why couldn’t I reach an orgasm with him? He was spectacular.

  Lacey’s shoulders slumped. The torment of the past few months suddenly felt like heavy weights pulling her down. I’ve gone from planning a wedding, to discovering my fiancé cheating on me, to faking orgasms. A flash of loneliness stabbed at her, and a new anguish seared her heart. She didn’t want nostrings-attached sex. She wanted love. But, not with Covey. He was Mr. Wrong.

  “You picked a cowboy?” Disbelief spilled through the cell. Maddison pounded the receiver on the counter causing Lacey to jerk the phone from her ear in pain.

  “Stop doing that,” Lacey yelled.

  “Sorry. I just, so, can’t believe you and a cowboy. Does he have a beard or a mustache?”

  Lacey frowned. Who asked that about a man you just had sex with? “Neither. I picked a cowboy, not a hairy beast.” It shouldn’t surprise her Maddison asked. The woman had a fetish for men with facial hair. Her eighth grade boyfriend was chosen based solely on the fact that he could prove he had a whisker.

  Lacey had to admit she liked the way Covey’s whiskers had gently scratched her skin. Marty could go a week at a time without shaving.

  Cowboys are great fantasy material. Why haven’t I done a cowboy fantasy for a couple? The Hartley’s need a cowboy fantasy for their weekend in Arizona. Finally, something useful was coming out of her despair. I can’t believe she asked about hair and not if he’s well-hung.

  Maddison interrupted her startling revelation. “Shut up! I can’t believe you would do that. Lacey Valentine - shacking up with a cowboy. That’s astonishing.” Maddison was talking so loud; the guy beside Lacey overheard the comment and pointed to his own cowboy boots. They were tan, scuffed, and looked like cow poop had stained the toes.

  Lacey wrinkled her nose and whispered to Maddison, “I totally agree.” She scooted one chair down from the airport stranger.

  “Why are you whispering? If I were there, I would tell everyone in the airport you just got laid by a cowboy.”

  Lacey shook her head in disbelief. Then, laughter began bubbling out of her. “I think you just did,” she said, when she finally caught her breath. It felt good to laugh.

  “Hey, I know. You can name a fantasy package after him and he can name some corny country song after you.”

  “How did you know he sings?”

  “Honey, any cowboy worth his boots, sings.”

  Lacey’s lips parted in surprise. “They do?” A singing cowboy? “Anyway, he has some great snakeskin boots.” Lacey hadn’t really ever thought about the possibility of cowboys singing. Of course, it made sense. Cowboys tended to be loners. Songs would keep them company out on the trails. She wondered if Miles Hartley would know how to sing to his blushing bride in front of a campfire? I
f he couldn’t sing, a cowboy fantasy wasn’t going to work for them.

  She would spend her time on the plane coming up with new fantasies by using cowboy themes for her clients. The Burdette’s might enjoy a cowboy fantasy. If nothing else came out of this episode in her sex life, at least she appeared to be back on track for coming up with new fantasies for her customers.

  “Of course, they sing,” Maddison chastised her. “Where have you been living all of your life? Is he rugged looking? Did he have a gun?”

  “A gun?” She’s on pins and needles wanting to know if he has a gun.

  “I know, a gun’s too much to hope for. But, is he cute?”

  Still no thought to well-hung. Maddison was going to have to get her priorities straight on what a stranger needed in this situation. Whiskers, guns and looks did not make the top of Lacey’s list.

  What words would best describe Covey James? He was tall, rawboned, broad shoulders. The muscles rippling under his white shirt had quickened her pulse long before she got to see them stripped of material. His ruggedly handsome face was framed with thick, black hair. His hands were…

  A voice came over the intercom announcing her flight. “He’s tall enough that I have to look up at him. He has dark hair that is so thick your fingers get lost in it. He has a dimple that begs to be explored. His teeth are perfect, his body is simply masculine. He was wearing faded jeans that were snug in all the right places. His shoulders are broad and beg for a woman to lay her head on them.”

  “I think I might have an orgasm just hearing you describe him,” Maddison said with a giggle.

  There was another boarding call for her flight. “I’ve got to go. But Maddison, believe me when I say he’s a hunk, a babe, a hottie, and any other corny description you want to give him.” She swished her hand through the air and snapped her fingers for emphasis.

  “Hot damn. You go girlfriend.”

  Lacey smiled and hung up the phone. With a lighter step, and a steady breathing pattern, she headed toward the ticket counter to pick up her boarding pass.

  The weekend had just begun. There was still time for her to get her orgasm back. She just needed to get to know the guy a little better. That was all. And take her time during sex. She could look for someone more permanent in her life when their date was finished.

  She wouldn’t tell Covey the truth; she’d just keep trying with him. Once she reached orgasm, then she’d tell him the truth. Maybe.

  An hour later and a notebook filled with twenty new ideas for fantasies based on cowboys, she was boarding the plane. She sat down in her window seat, closed her eyes, and grinned.

  Cowboys were her new, favorite fantasy material. They had firmly replaced construction workers and pro football players. Okay, so football players are still a close second.

  With so many new fantasies fresh in her mind, she had plenty to call upon during sex with Covey if she needed to. There was nothing wrong with fantasizing during sex.

  A pinup centerfold of Covey wearing nothing but his cowboy boots and a cowboy hat pulled down low on his forehead kept popping into her active imagination. Oh yeah. She was going to get her orgasm back; it was just a matter of her time and his technique.

  Little Lacey Valentine was going slumming. That’s what they would say when the show was aired in December. All of her brand-spanking new neighbors would burn up the lines calling everyone they knew to tell them the sordid details of the show.

  She didn’t care. Let them use up their cell minutes gossiping about her. She took her mp3 player out and put her earplugs in. She didn’t even know any of her new neighbors. She had no regrets, and her parents were out of the country. She opened up her classic rock music folder and prepared to enjoy mood tunes.

  Slumming. Slumming. Slumming. The word bounced around in her head like a ball in a tennis game. It was a word full of naughty and dangerous worldliness.

  She had always secretly wished for the courage to go to a hole-in-the-wall bar and pick up a guy. What luck. Covey was not only a guy who frequented those types of establishments, he sang in them too. She was going to spend a weekend having fun with a guy who knew how to have fun.

  He wasn’t interested in marriage and she wasn’t interested in marriage with him. There would be no messy endings. She’d get in and get out without an emotional entanglement. Perfection.

  Maddison had actually hit the nail on the head when she told her to go after a Mr. Wrong for a change. Imagine that. Her friend had gotten it right. She would take her out to dinner as a thank you when she got home. And, come clean on the orgasm in the limo lie.

  Lacey slipped her shoes off and made herself comfortable. It was time to mull over what she knew about her weekend lover. He said he liked his women a little on the trashy side; she was going to find out if she liked her men a little on the trashy side.

  Okay, the limo pretty much answered that question. He was good with his tool. Tool? Lacey laughed. Who called it a tool? If she was going to slum, she should just call it a dick and forget the Victorian lingo. Or perhaps, she should refer to it as a cock. Or both. She didn’t really like the word cock. It was harsh sounding. Dick wasn’t any better. Penis? Yeah, penis would work. Covey James was good with his penis. And his tongue.

  This was going to be a weekend of new beginnings.

  She sighed and leaned her chair back. How would Covey feel about tents and gravel bars? She chewed on her lower lip and twirled a strand of hair. Would Covey play the river fantasy through? He was a struggling country music singer. Were country music buffs adventurous? It was one thing having sex in a car, quite another having sex the way she envisioned in her next two fantasies.

  He’ll go for it. Of course, he’ll go for it. He hadn’t been faking his orgasm. His was the real thing.

  Wouldn’t he go for it? Does he like adventures?

  He did have sex with her in the limo. That was surely an adventure for him. Struggling musicians probably didn’t spend much time in limos making love. Scratch that, having sex. Hell, he still has my panties. She tugged her skirt over her knees. No wonder I’m feeling a draft.

  She sat her seat back up. There was no way she was going to be able to relax. She needed to do something to occupy her mind. She whipped out her calculator and added up the cost of the weekend so far. The Dibs Dating Show gave her a $5,000 budget—the limo cost $400; two plane tickets to Arkansas $700; transportation to the river, canoe rental, camping gear, and props $1,000. Almost, half of her budget.

  Never again would she get a chance to spend someone else’s money on her sex life.

  She closed her eyes and sent up a quick prayer. Dear God, let Covey be able to paddle a canoe.

  Her eyes snapped open. Okay, so probably turning to God for help on this one wasn’t going to pan out. Better off not to bring his attention to this matter at all. Yet, she had no desire to spend the night on a riverbank alone.

  “Would you like a beverage?” asked a hassled looking flight attendant.

  “I’ll have a glass of champagne.”

  Lacey sipped the champagne and jotted some notes in her pink leather planner.

  Thoughts of Covey teased her concentration. Without realizing it, her notes became doodles of Covey. The doodles evolved into a caricature of Covey in a sexual situation with her. It wasn’t bad art work for a novice. Perhaps she’d frame it. She closed her eyes and let the daydreams take over.

  Champagne and daydreams—a winning combination.

  Her luggage for the weekend was packed full of fantasy props. She had the usual: whip cream, chocolate, whips, handcuffs, blindfolds. And, then there was the unusual: mood sensors, footballs, portable swings. Will we get around to using all of them? If they found one that got her off, they wouldn’t. They’d just keep using it over and over.

  Chapter 11

  Covey couldn’t wait to get his hands on Lacey Valentine—she would know his name.

  Why in hell are we taking separate planes to Arkansas? And why Arkansas? We’re in New
York, the most romantic city two people can be in, and she’s dragging my ass to Arkansas. “Shit.”

  “I’m sorry, did you say something?” a flight attendant asked.

  “No. Just talking to myself,” Covey admitted, with a rueful grin.

  She smiled pleasantly and handed him an envelope. “I was told to give this to you.”

  Covey took the envelope and jammed it in his shirt pocket. “Thanks.”

  “Is there anything I can get for you?” she asked. “Anything at all?”

  “No.” The attendant was hot. Under normal circumstances, he’d be taking her up on the signals she was sending his way. Which is where his problem occurred. There was nothing normal about his current circumstances. He ignored the signals and closed his eyes against the temptation. His brain might be wrapped around another blonde, but enticement was hard to resist. He focused in on a blonde, whose slender neck he’d like to have his hands wrapped around.

  “Let me know if you change your mind. I have a layover in Arkansas.”

  Covey nodded without opening his eyes. When she walked away, he turned his attention to the window. A faint smell of perfume drifted from his shirt pocket. He sniffed appreciatively. It was the same perfume Lacey wore in the limo. The same perfume she wore at the crease of her inner thighs. The same perfume she wore between the valley of her breasts. The same perfume that clung to his shirt. The smell of summer was sitting in his shirt pocket.

  He couldn’t wait to spend more time exploring all of Lacey Valentine. He wanted her naked, stretched out on satin sheets, and begging for him.

  He wanted to make sure she hadn’t been faking her orgasm. Never in his life had he doubted how satisfied he’d left a woman, until today. There was something about her pleasure that didn’t ring true. Sonofabitch, he’d turned thirty and lost his touch with women. How in the hell did that happen? His technique was the same. Why hadn’t his moves, moved her to orgasm? Covey growled and pulled the shade down on his window. He’d known her less than two-hours and he already doubted his manhood. She’s a witch. If there was anyone with a problem, it was her. He was a master at what he did. Women had orgasms when they were with him. If she didn’t have an orgasm, it was because she didn’t want one. Dammit, he didn’t have time for this complication in his life. He had a wife-hunt to go on. He didn’t need to worry about helping some woman find her orgasm.