by Luke Young
Dallas said sheepishly, “Sometimes that happens to me. Sorry. Ever since I cheated on my wife with that whore in the pool, I haven’t been able to—”
Jillian stopped typing and thought she might be heading in the wrong direction with this. How did her ex-husband get into the story? Then again, most men are assholes, she thought.
Picking up the glass of wine from her nightstand, she took a long sip and then replaced it. She highlighted the last paragraph about Dallas’s problem, hit one key, and it was gone. Just like his boner. She laughed out loud.
She wasn’t exactly in the correct frame of mind to write at the moment, especially on this particular subject. She stared straight ahead and wondered about the likelihood of Dallas slipping in the shower, striking his head, and dying instantly. Or maybe an earthquake could strike, and Dallas’s amazingly perfect body would be trapped under a giant beam.
What the hell kind of name was Dallas anyway? She thought she might want to give her character a real name like Stewart but figured no one would believe that a guy named Stewart could give you six consecutive orgasms in one night.
What was she doing, anyway, writing novels about people having amazing sex when she’d never had any? Okay, maybe once or twice twenty years ago, but none since then. She had no right. If people knew that she was the one writing these books, they wouldn’t buy them. She was a fraud.
Jillian picked up her wineglass and took another long drink. She grinned, wiped those unhelpful thoughts from her mind, and started typing again…
Katrina took his sex in her hand and worked it until it was rigid. As she studied it closely, Katrina noticed two red bumps on the underside of his pathetic excuse for a penis. She recoiled in horror—
Jillian hit the backspace key to erase everything after Dallas’s “sex” started expanding. Romance novels about erectile dysfunction and STDs weren’t exactly big sellers. She closed the lid on the laptop and tossed it gently onto a pillow at the foot of the bed. After emptying her wineglass with one last sip, she turned on the television.
Jillian Grayson wrote under the pen name of Jaclyn West. She’d written fourteen bestsellers so far and had more money than she needed flowing in, so her next novel could wait. The book royalties had paid for her large, beautiful house in Miami. She still had plenty of money, even after the divorce, which forced her to part with nearly half of her earnings to her bastard ex-husband.
She’d never forget the day she came home early from a book tour and found George performing oral sex on that slut in the pool, the pool she had paid for and an act he rarely, if ever, did for her. Jillian always thought he hated oral sex or, more specifically, he hated the giving part. But there he was, naked, standing in the shallow end of the pool, and going to work on some other woman as she floated in the pool on a ring, which Jillian had also paid for. The pool oral sex thing actually looked like it might be kind of fun, and she often wondered why George had never once tried that on her.
That day, when she spotted them from the second-floor balcony off their bedroom, she had watched for a little longer than she’d care to admit. Maybe that was because all her erotic romance writing had left her desensitized to sex, at least a little. At first, it didn’t seem real; it was as if she was visualizing a scene for a book, not watching her husband cheat on her.
When she finally came back to earth, Jillian left the house and went to the side of the pool. She snuck up on the adulterous couple and stood there until the woman noticed they had an audience. The woman tapped George on the shoulder to get his attention. When George turned around, he had a guilty look on his face that Jillian would never forget. Jillian wouldn’t let the naked woman back in the house to get her clothes. She simply threw the clothes out the door and forced the woman to get dressed outside, shamefully leaving through the back gate. George went into the house, dressed, and left through the front door. It was the last time he ever set foot inside the house.
Jillian didn’t cry that day; instead, she put on a pair of kitchen gloves and retrieved the ring float from the pool. When her attempts to drain the float of air through the valve seemed to be taking too long, she stabbed it ten times with scissors. That could possibly have been overkill, but it did the trick and gave her a much-needed outlet for her rage. She called a company to have the pool drained, scrubbed, and refilled at the cost of fifteen hundred dollars. It was worth it, she thought, because she would never have been able to dip a toe in the pool until she replaced every last drop of that contaminated water.
She imagined what George had been up to all those times she was traveling. What types of women had he explored in and out of the pool? How long had he been screwing around and with how many women? Although Jillian was out of town quite a bit, she had never suspected anything. George never seemed to be sneaking around, nor was he ever evasive about where he was going or what he had planned. Their sex life was certainly not great or very active, but he seemed to be an attentive and loyal husband—at least, most of the time.
Once she discovered the infidelity, she wanted to know if George had left her with any other little surprises. She went to her doctor for a complete STD panel of tests, and luckily for him, she came back clean. Had George left her with something, she would have cut off his balls, or worse.
Jillian could always come up with stories and had never suffered from long bouts of writer’s block in the past. But lately, her male characters ended up mangled in some horrible accident, diseased, or unable to perform. Although she had no personal interest in the lifestyle, she even pitched an idea for an all-female, lesbian romance novel, but her publisher declined. She could not focus. Maybe she would try to write in another genre, she thought, but this romance stuff used to come so easily to her.
She was sitting on four unfinished manuscripts. Once Jillian found a story heading down the wrong path, she would start another, but that technique didn’t seem to be working for her, either. Since the divorce, she found herself unable to finish a novel, and she was beginning to think that maybe what she needed was a complete break from writing.
She couldn’t blame George completely. Ever since her first bestseller, she definitely was less attentive to him than she needed to be. It was probably at least ten percent her fault, although she never admitted that to him. Even so, did he really need to screw other women in their house, especially in their pool? Couldn’t he have gotten a divorce first or at the very least done it in a hotel or something? What if their son, Rob, had come home to catch his father with another woman in broad daylight? Rob, currently attending college in Georgia, would have been devastated.
He’d be home for Spring Break in about six weeks, although Jillian was sure he’d spend nearly all his time with his girlfriend, Laura, who was going to school in Miami. They’d been dating since their junior year of high school, and it looked like these two kids were in love and would be married once they graduated from college.
Even though she knew she wouldn’t see him much while he was home, Jillian looked forward to his visit. She knew her son was the only truly good thing to come out of the marriage.
Jillian grabbed the remote control and changed the channel just in time to catch the Super Bowl as it was ending. She had forgotten it was on. Not that she would have tuned in anyway. She used the Packers’ victory celebration as a distraction from thinking about romance novels, ex-husbands, or even men in general. Although, she did like the way Green Bay’s quarterback filled out his tight football pants. She might be bitter, but she wasn’t dead.
Staring up at the ceiling, she wondered what had brought her to this place in her life. How had she ended up all alone in this big house? What had she done wrong? She glanced back to the screen. When she saw an image of the Steelers locker room filled with nearly naked men, she thought about her best friend, Victoria Wilde. Jillian wondered what she was doing. She checked the time and saw it was still early. Grinning, she wondered why she bothered checking, since two in the morning would be early for Victoria. S
he grabbed the phone and dialed. The phone rang three times and just as Jillian was about to hang up, she heard the click. After five seconds of complete silence, the sound of soft moaning spilled through the phone.
Jillian listened for a moment. “Victoria?”
“Hello?” Victoria finally replied in a throaty drawl.
“Hey, what are you doing?”
“Oh, uh… not much. I just have a friend over.”
“Sorry, I’ll let you go then.”
“No, don’t worry about it. I can talk for a few minutes.”
Only two blocks away, Victoria sat on the sofa in her living room, wearing a skintight cleavage-featuring top. She had just turned thirty-nine but looked much younger. She was in spectacular shape and dressed like a woman in her late twenties. Her ‘friend’ wasn’t currently visible at her eye level, but he was nearby.
“So, what’s going on?” Victoria asked.
Jillian sighed and began, “I tried to do some writing tonight, but I’m struggling again. I’m just not in a very sexual mood.”
“Why don’t you try watching some porn? That always gets me in the mood.”
“I don’t have any… porn,” Jillian replied, in a voice clearly indicating to anyone paying the least bit of attention that she was taken aback by the suggestion.
Victoria, however, was preoccupied and slumped down low on the sofa, her miniskirt pulled up to her waist with her twenty-six-year-old friend Austin’s head buried between her legs. He was extremely busy.
Victoria moaned slightly, “Yeah,” in a low voice.
Back in the Grayson home, Jillian narrowed her eyes and asked pointedly, “You sure this is a good time?”
“I think the ice melted,” Victoria said.
“What?” Jillian asked.
“Sorry, I was speaking to my friend.”
“Oh. You sure you can talk?”
“I have at least five minutes.”
“Okay…” Jillian said, a little confused.
“You have no porn? Really? Check Rob’s room. I’m sure he has a stash.”
“I will not go searching my son’s room for porn,” Jillian replied, horrified.
Victoria said a little curtly, “Ice.”
“What?”
“Again, sorry I was talking to my, uh, oh…” Victoria exhaled deeply. “Come over here, and you can borrow some of mine or I could send you a link to great website that has—”
“No thanks. I think I’ll just go to sleep.”
Jillian heard rustling over the phone as if it had fallen then she could make out a voice say, “Oh, yeah… that feels good.”
“Victoria?” She widened her eyes. “Victoria, are you sure I’m not interrupting anything?”
There was no reply.
“Victoria, are you there?”
“Sorry about that,” Victoria finally answered.
“Who’s over there? What are you—”
“Oh, yeah. Keep doing exactly that.” Victoria moaned. “Jillian, have you ever had anyone perform oral sex on you while sucking an ice cube?”
“What?” Wrinkling her nose, Jillian shook her head. “Ice? No!”
“Well, that would certainly help you write. Oh, my…” After breathing in deeply, Victoria moaned again.
Jillian made a face. “I’m almost afraid to ask. Are you, uh, doing that… right now?”
Victoria exhaled slowly and said languidly, “Yeah, and it’s… amazing!”
“And you’re talking to me?”
“I can multi-task,” Victoria replied, casually.
Jillian’s mouth flew open as she thought about how to proceed.
“So, what else is up?” Victoria asked.
“Should you really be talking to me with some guy doing that to you?”
“Well, I figured I’d be returning the favor soon, and…” Victoria paused to exhale deeply again and continued, “I certainly wouldn’t be able to talk to you then.”
After Jillian nodded, her face registered mild agreement. “Oh, that makes sense… Wait, no it doesn’t… I’m going to go.”
“Oh… yeah, Austin.” Victoria paused for a moment. “Jillian, what I meant was when my mouth is full, it’ll be really hard to hold a conver—”
“No, no. That part I got,” Jillian interrupted. “I think I’m going to go and let you—”
“You should… totally try this. It would clear up that writer’s block issue immediately. When’s the last time someone went down on you?”
Jillian made a sour face. “I’m just going to—”
“I mean, like, really got in there and did a good job with it?”
“Okay, I’m really going to hang up now.”
As Jillian hung up the phone, her sick expression morphed into a smile. However, it didn’t take long for the smile to fade—replaced by something resembling more of a sad longing. She could go for some good oral sex right about now. She stared blankly ahead as she tried to recall the last time anyone did that to her, much less if he did a good job while doing it. She couldn’t remember exactly, but she knew it’d been a long, long, long time.
2
Rob Grayson was throwing a Super Bowl party in the on-campus suite at Georgia State University that he shared with five other guys. The suite was ordinary, with three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a common living area. It featured one extraordinary thing—Rob owned the biggest television on campus.
His mother, a bestselling author, had purchased it for him. He never told anyone about the types of books she wrote, because he was totally embarrassed by them. He told people his mother wrote legal thrillers under a pen name. He didn’t want to admit that she wrote about perfect-bodied men and gorgeous women with huge, full, bouncing breasts having mind-blowing sex.
Rob and his best friend, Brian Nash, both college seniors, had lived together with most of the same guys in the same suite since sophomore year. Virtual opposites, the two had been best friends almost from the start. They never shared a room, since they were on different sleep schedules. A morning person, Rob preferred early classes, while Brian enjoyed sleeping in and attending afternoon classes. They spent most of their time together at bars and hanging out.
Another probable factor in their close friendship was that neither had been preoccupied with an on-campus girlfriend during the entire time they had known each other. Rob had a longtime girlfriend back in Florida, and Brian… Well, Brian was shy with women. He’d had a few girlfriends over the years, but none were ever serious or lasted more than a few weeks.
At the height of the Super Bowl party, about thirty people crowded into the living area to watch the game on the sixty-inch high-definition screen. Most were Steelers fans, but a few, including Rob and Brian, cheered on the Packers. After the game, the majority left to hit the local bars, but four of the guys and two girls—a junior named Natalie and her roommate, Cindy—stayed behind.
Brian was a little drunk. He sat on the sofa and watched Natalie and Cindy talking to Rob and another guy from the suite. Natalie wore a bulky white sweater and tight gray stretch pants. Her ass looked incredible in those pants. He’d noticed the curve of her backside much earlier, and whenever given the opportunity throughout the night, he stole a quick glance.
Brian had seen Natalie around campus before, but he had never met her. She’d been invited by some of the other guys in the suite and he didn’t know much more about her, except that she didn’t currently have a boyfriend. He wasn’t all that interested since she was a little tall for him and always seemed so full of herself. But now, he was beginning to rethink his initial impressions, after all, she did look spectacular in those pants.
He sipped his beer, alternating between watching the postgame coverage, and the other people in the room trying to coax Natalie into doing something. He wasn’t paying close enough attention to know what they were talking about. Natalie rolled her eyes, evidently persuaded, and removed her sweater to reveal a tight camisole underneath. Brian perked up in his seat; this w
as now much more exciting than the postgame coverage. Was she going to take off more?
No more clothing came off, but what she did next would change Brian’s life forever, or at least set him on a new course. Standing perfectly still, Natalie took a deep breath and slowly and gracefully lifted one of her legs until it pointed straight at the ceiling. The other remained firmly planted on the floor as she rose onto the ball of her foot. She held her raised leg with one hand, almost effortlessly, as Brian looked her up and down.
He zoomed in on her rear end, trying to see any hint of the underwear she wore under those tight pants, but he could see none. She was either, wearing nothing or some kind of tiny thong. While staring at her, open-mouthed, his beer began to spill on his pants. When he realized it, he simply corrected the bottle without bothering to wipe off, and then quickly looked back at Natalie as she maintained that astonishing pose. He studied her legs and tilted his head slightly to get a better angle. Looking closer, he was convinced that he could see just a hint of the outline of her parts in the crease between her separated legs. He longed to explore that area closer—with his fingers and tongue and hopefully his own part.
Like the rest of the group, Natalie’s athletic ability impressed him. He hated to admit it, but he was more impressed with the incredible firmness of her body. He supposed that made him shallow, but she looked good. He was young, lonely and a little drunk— all of that played into his fascination with her that night.
Seconds later, Natalie slowly brought her leg down and Brian’s eyes followed it the whole way, his mouth still wide open. While her audience clapped, he approached her. He spent the rest of the night talking to her, getting her drinks, and hanging on her every word. Later, he walked both Natalie and her roommate to their dorm.
As he lay in bed that night, unable to sleep, Brian pictured Natalie with her leg in the air, only this time, she was completely naked. It was just the two of them in the living room now, he sitting on the sofa, holding a beer and watching her. While she continued to hold her right leg skyward with a hand near her ankle, she used one finger of that occupied hand to motion for him to come to her. Dropping the beer, he leapt up and went to her. When he reached her, she was somehow able to remove her hand from the leg without it moving at all. He knew it was impossible, but it was his fantasy. He stood next to her with her ankle inches from his head. Natalie looked him in the eye while she used both hands to unzip his pants, extract his equipment, and guide him inside of her. Sighing, Brian rolled over in an attempt to go to sleep, hoping he could coax that thought into his subconscious as a full-length sex dream.
