by K. S. Adkins
“Whipped,” he jokes at my expense. “And you haven’t even fucked her yet.”
“I will be fucking her,” I vow. “Soon.” Till death do us part.
“Yeah well, invite me to the wedding.”
“If she continues to surprise me, I will marry her,” I point out because this woman was my future wife, I just knew it.
“You said she was beautiful.”
“She is.”
“Men don’t describe women as beautiful to other men. We say hot, stacked, smokin’, fuckworthy, not beautiful.”
“Shut up.” Though, she was all of those things and more.
“Hey, you ever find out if that blogger chick went to that class?” he asks suddenly.
“Shay says no, but I haven't given up.” Because I was still on a mission to take Dating Diva down. I've just come to terms with it taking longer than expected.
For the rest of the night work was slow. I planned on calling Dee but got caught up playing pool and then skimmed Dating Diva's latest blog. When we settled in for a movie I’d hoped she’d put a call into me but she never did. But like I told Graham she was different. She made me work for it and I liked the chase. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d even bothered with one. Dee though, I knew, was worth chasing.
And the following morning when my shift ended, I was at her front door with two coffees while still in my uniform. Opening the door, she offers me a soft smile rubbing her eyes at the same time. Dee, just fresh from sleep, was gorgeous and if I thought she’d let me, I’d take her right back to bed and stay there.
“Good morning,” I greet her handing over a cup.
“Morning,” she yawns taking it. “A man in uniform, I like.”
“A woman in her pajamas is even better.”
“Oh this old thing?” she waves at herself. “I sleep naked. I only threw it on when I heard the buzzer.”
“You didn’t have to get dressed for me,” I grin shamelessly. “I can head back out, let you get back to being naked and try again.”
“Too late,” she says heading out to the balcony. “I’m awake now. Join me?”
Taking a seat next to her, we sip our coffee looking out over the river. Crossing my feet at the ankles, I tell her, “Dating Diva met someone. Read her post about it last night.”
“Never one to miss an opportunity to rub it in but…I told you so.”
“You really think this guy will be cool about her fucking half the city when he finds out who she is?”
“Maybe he already knows?”
“No way,” I laugh at the thought. “No guy wants a woman in his bed with that kind of street cred.”
“Maybe he’ll be different, he could be the one who doesn’t care about her past because he’s her future.”
“Dee,” I laugh earnestly. “I get we all have a past but no guy wants his woman’s shoved in his face on a daily basis. Hell, she’ll probably write about him too. Guys don’t like that shit.”
I could see she was gearing up for a battle and was right when she growls, “But guys brag to other guys about their conquests both good and bad, right? How is this any different? Also, Dating Diva explores the views of both men and women. She’s not a man basher.”
“But she’s still a slut who makes money from exploiting people.” I point out.
“I need to take a shower,” she says standing. “Thanks for the coffee and the conversation, it’s been…enlightening.”
“You’re pissed again.”
“Not pissed Oliver, disappointed.” She certainly looked pissed...
“Why?”
“What if I told you I’ve had an active sex life? That I enjoyed sex so much that I had considerable experience. Would that turn you off?”
“How considerable?” I mumble uncomfortably.
“Does it matter?” she counters and I knew I was on a slippery slope. “You could tell me you’ve been with a hundred women. And if you treated them with respect and kindness, I’d respect you for it. It’s just sex, Oliver. One partner or a hundred means little when you’re searching for the one. Or rather if you’re searching for the one. I’ve never been in love so I don’t know how the experience changes when those kind of feelings are involved. But sex is amazing when two people only have attraction to work with, I imagine adding love to it would be damn near nirvana.”
“I wouldn’t know,” I shrug.
“Neither do I but until you do, maybe you shouldn’t judge.”
On that closing statement, she left me on the balcony to hit the shower.
What did I do? I saw myself out.
He was gone when I came back out. Honestly, I was glad for it. Because no matter what I said, how I pled my case he’d never agree. I was not going to continue to defend myself when I’d done nothing to deserve his judgement. Nor was I debating the double standard either. Oliver, as it turned out, was a very one-sided man. He blames a blog, my blog, for his single status.
He doesn’t look inside himself, he points fingers.
He blames a stranger.
Dating Diva’s purpose was not to demean or judge. I was a single woman who shared her opinions on life, friendships and the dubious quest for love. When I wrote the O Face column I wasn’t making fun of anyone. Far from it.
As I said, my fascination with orgasms stemmed from past experience. The first was back in college, I had met a guy on campus and went out with him a few times. We hit it off, hooked up and when I was having my first orgasm, he literally laughed at me. He went on to say my O face was hilarious, that I looked ridiculous.
Back then, I was too young and insecure to find this funny or call him on his bullshit. But as I aged and continued to have sex, I paid attention to the O face. His, mine, ours. I’ve asked partners about it. Most didn’t notice or care at all. Let’s face it, we were having sex, it's easy to focus on ourselves. Alas, with age comes maturity (most of the time) and I found many men my age had no problem discussing it. The men who opened up to me summed up a woman’s orgasm as the Holy Grail. Something they were always looking for and seldom found. So when they did, they gave themselves a well-earned pat. And they should because a woman’s O wasn’t an easy thing to achieve. To get a woman off took patience and practice.
But the men all agreed, it was worth it.
Several even told me I was ravishing when I came, they were proud to have gotten me off.
Diva don’t fake it!
So I surmised that college boys were too young to get it and let the insecurity go.
But the idea had staying power.
Yes, I write about sex. Exploration, inhibition, companionship, and pleasure are all basic human needs. Sure I’ve had horrible sex but even then, I would never bash the partner. I would search for ways to improve myself and the next encounter instead. Which was why moving forward with Oliver wasn’t going to work.
The O face wasn’t going anywhere. People loved it, I loved it. I was proud of it. Hell, I had a forum on my blog where users could post pics of their best and worst fuck faces. Sex was fun to talk about, joke about and learn about. Don't hate, educate!
This was an act humans often engaged in and if said human paid attention, they could and should become more skilled at it. I never took sex too seriously because it was just that, sex, and I certainly didn’t owe him an explanation.
Yet, I found myself wanting to give one.
Which pissed me off immensely.
Sure, my blog and column had its fair share of haters. But that wasn’t the majority. Most people saw it for what it was. Informative sexual entertainment. But Oliver never would. This bummed me out for several reasons. One, I was attracted to him. Two, I admired his honesty, even if it cut. Three, he made me laugh; and finally, he was almost making me reconsider my single status which pisses me off as much as it grates.
Fact: No one loved me more than I loved me.
Another fact: Changing who you are to make someone happy was a recipe for being stabbed with a fork.
Wanting to take advantage of the last week in my place, I sat down at my desk to write. But for the first time in ages, I hit a wall. Bill was expecting a piece and my deadline was midnight. I’ve never missed a deadline. So when my mom called, I decided my column could wait and screw the deadline. I needed her and her quirky advice.
“Do you have a beau?” she asks in lieu of hello.
“No one says beau anymore,” I snort. “Seeing someone casually, yes. A boyfriend? No.”
Fuck, are those hives? Yep. They sure are.
“Is he good in bed?”
“We haven’t gotten that far,” I sigh at wanting to be chased. Not my brightest idea. Unfortunately, now he's caught my scent and I feel like I have to play the game.
Yeah, it makes no sense to me either...
“Why not? I’ve never known you to wait.” This was true. And she wasn’t calling me out either. My mom has been happily divorced for years. She’s a firm believer in sex before personality. As she says, if the sex is good the personality doesn’t matter. While I disagree, I come from a long line of opinionated Divas. My mother, her mother, etc.… The women in my family cornered the market on Diva long before pop culture came along and made it sound like a bad word.
“I’m torn,” I admit biting my nail. “I like him, I’m attracted, I think we’d be a great fit and I see growth. But, there’s a small problem.”
Clucking her tongue she spats, “He’s Catholic.”
“No, Diva,” I laugh because as much of a free spirit as my mom was, she’s convinced Catholic’s were out to destroy the world. Oh, and my dad was Catholic, so do the math. “He knows me as Dee.”
“So tell him who you are. If he’s not Catholic then there’s a chance he’s open minded.”
“Mom,” I sigh again. “Not only doesn’t he know I’m Diva, he hates her. He hates me.”
“I don’t follow, baby.”
So I spelled it out for her. “He follows my blog. He’s got it out for her, me. He thinks she, I, am the reason he’s been unlucky in love. He thinks she, I, am a she-whore. Why get invested? When the truth comes out and it will, he’ll hate me even more.”
“Then why do you keep seeing him?”
“I think I want him to prove me wrong,” I whisper shamefully which was new for me. “I think I want him to be the one that steps forward and says, You Diva, I choose you. As is.”
“You gotta know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em. Know when to walk away, know when to run to the liquor store.”
“Diva…”
“Baby, this one might be a lost cause.” Moms, they know things...
“But what if he isn’t?” I push. “What if I can change his mind? Mom, he told me I was beautiful.”
“You are beautiful.”
“When he says it, it's different. I feel it, I believe it. It's real.”
“He’s going to break your heart, Diva.”
“Or repair it.”
“They aren’t all like your father,” she says matter of factly.
“I know that.” Actually, no I didn't.
“This man will never be your father, Diva.”
“I like him for who he is, Mom.”
“But he won’t like you for who you are, baby, and god’s honest? You are pretty fucking amazing.”
Saying our I love yous, I end the call feeling more conflicted than ever. No, Oliver wasn’t my father. In my own defense, I know that his leaving us has affected me. Now, I wouldn't call them daddy issues, but I do fear abandonment more than what's healthy. So if I don't commit, they can't leave. Because you can't leave if you were never asked to stay.
My mom tried getting my father to stay.
As in, she begged and pleaded but he wouldn't be swayed.
His mind would never change when it came to the cookie cutter family he imagined but didn't get.
It nearly ruined my mom and left me with lasting damage.
Now here I am, thirty-one years old, wanting to change Oliver’s mind.
Since my father left, I've promised myself that when I find love, true love, I'd hold onto it and never let it go. Needless to say, I haven't found it and didn't think I ever would.
Which was why I quit searching for it a long time ago.
Grabbing my keys, I took Kenny Rogers’ words to heart and hit the liquor store.
The last time I left Dee she was almost dismissive.
Where I couldn't wait to see her, hated leaving her, it didn't seem to faze her either way.
Clearly I didn't impact her life the way she impacted mine and that bothered me.
So here I was at midnight knocking on her door begging for attention.
When she answers, it's clear she's half in the bag.
“I don't remember reporting a fire,” she smirks. “Unless you count the heat in my pants.”
“How much have you had to drink tonight?” I ask stepping inside.
“If I told you that when I'm drunk I love to swallow does the amount really matter?”
Let me think about it... “Nope.”
Throwing herself at me, Dee locks onto my mouth while her hands rip my clothes off. Returning the favor, I had her naked in seconds.
“Dee—"
“Shh,” she says pulling me toward her bedroom. “Less talk, more slap and tickle.”
Seeing her lush body had my cock rock hard and straining for her. But when I went to kiss her again, she dodged me and fisted my dick. Seeing stars, I groaned, letting her explore me before taking what I wanted. Like a master she stroked me so good I was close to coming.
Disengaging her, I steer her toward the bed, lie her down and cover Dee's body with my own.
“No foreplay?” I ask blowing on her puckered nipple.
“Foreplay later, penetration now.”
“Fuck,” I moan grinding on her. “Wrap your legs around me.”
When she did, I nudged her entrance and nearly shot my load noticing how wet she was.
Dee wanted me, bad. This did something primal to me. “I need to take you hard.”
“I'm going to insist on harder,” she says digging her nails in my ass spurring me on.
Taking my cock, I slide inside and waste no time pumping in and out of her tight, hot pussy.
For a woman with 'considerable experience' I didn't expect her to squeeze me like this.
“Keigels,” she says reading my thoughts.
Whatever that was, my cock and I were immensely grateful for it. Pounding Dee into the mattress, I loved that she was loud in her passion, arching up to meet me half way, giving and taking. So when she says, “Switch,” taking me to my back, all I could do was blink.
I knew she was pretty buzzed, but I wasn't prepared for aggressively intoxicated. However, when she straddled my waist and slid down on my cock, I no longer cared because the woman was giving me the most intense ride of my life.
Never have I had sex like this, with a woman who knew cock like she did, so when she tightened up further I shouted, “Fuck, gonna come!”
Riding steadily, Dee doesn't break her pace. My god, the way she rolled her hips alone had tremors shooting just below my skin.
She was a master of her art.
Building me higher and higher until I couldn't hold back anymore. No mortal man could.
When I came, I can tell you it was an out of body event.
I had never felt anything like that in my life.
Even as the shocks faded, all I could do was stare.
She was that god damn good.
Moving up my body, Dee whispers in my ear, “You look sexy when you come for me, Oliver.”
Unsure how I felt about her watching me in the first place, I was unable to say anything more because she scooted up further to literally sit on my face.
With her pussy covering my mouth like a seal she says, “My turn,” and begins wantonly rocking against my lips.
Wanting to please her, needing her to come, I grab her hips pulling her even closer and t
hen I start licking. Ravaging. I ate her pussy like an inheritance was attached to it.
Loving this, Dee anchors herself by fisting my hair and begging that I, “Suck on my clit, Oliver.” While I normally wasn't the guy who got off being told how to get a woman off, with her, it felt natural. I wanted her to come undone for me. Only for me.
Following her order I sucked her bud hard and when she screamed in ecstasy, I did it again and again. Shaking above me, Dee was lost. She was so close and to get her there I reddened her lush ass with the crack of my palm. Taking her clit between my lips, I gave her a final pull and she detonated.
The most beautiful sound in the world was Dee coming apart on my face.
I was officially addicted. To her, to all things her.
Rolling off of me, Dee falls to her back, stretches and whispers, “Ready for round two?”
Hell, this woman was going to kill me.
I was riding the bliss bus feeling a wee bit shitty for not looking at his cock or at the very least sucking it. Normally, I was big into foreplay but Oliver had a way of keeping my emotions on high alert so I wanted to take advantage before he said something that pissed me off and ruined it.
Running his fingers over my nipples he says, “You're incredible, Dee.”
“How did I look creaming on your face?” I ask with a sly grin.
Smirking back he says, “I don't know, I couldn't see past your vagina smothering me.”
“Well, you,” I say kissing his nose. “Looked sexy as hell.”
Ready for foreplay now that the edge was off, I was reaching for his large cock (I looked this time) when he stopped me with, “Why did you watch me get off?”
“Because it's hot, Oliver. It makes me feel powerful too.”
“Powerful?”
“Yeah,” I say slowly. “Bringing you to orgasm is a powerful thing, so watching you affects me deeply.”
“That's something Dating Diva would say.”
Excuse me? Did he? Oh, hell no. “Seriously? You're bringing this up now? Right now? With your jizz running down my thighs?”