“My goodness!” said Lisa.
“They’re all washed and ready to go,” Lilly professed.
“Good to go,” confirmed Paul.
“Where can I fuck your husband, Lisa?” asked Lilly, grabbing an appalled-looking Dave by the scruff of the neck.
“Uh…in our bedroom. Grant and I will stay down here.”
“Do you have somewhere I can sit and read?” asked Paul, a dog-eared issue of Guns & Ammo rolled up in his hand.
“In my office,” she said. “At the top of the stairs.”
With the three of them gone, Lisa centered her full attention on me.
“Are you still cold?” she asked.
“I’m shivering all over.”
Lisa produced a comforter and asked me to lie on the rug. She laid next to me and we wrapped each other up in our arms for warmth.
“Is that better?” she asked, moving every part of her frame to create maximum friction.
“Much better, thanks.”
We held each other until our combined body heat had filled the space under the puffy comforter.
“Lisa!” Dave whined from upstairs. “I need you!”
Silence.
“Perhaps we should have married sex,” said Lisa.
“What’s that?”
“That’s when you do it like you’ve got someplace to be in a hurry. It sounds like Dave needs me. Just lie on me and put it in.”
I froze momentarily before deciding that I would do something bold and fearless—something that was very unlike me. I reached into Lisa’s miniskirt and pulled her tights and underwear off in one motion, causing her to exclaim “wow,” and shoved my face between her legs. My intent was to impress her with unabashed enthusiasm. Seemingly enraptured, she tugged at my hair, moaning and giggling. She said wow a few more times. After a few minutes, Lisa shoved me to the floor and returned the favor with equal vim and relish. I reached for Lisa’s breasts and helped them free of her sweater. I’d read in her diary that she’d had implants and was taken aback at how alien they felt. Very solid and hard but not unpleasant. Unlike real breasts, they seemed attached to her rib cage, and I found that I couldn’t push them together very far.
The comforter suddenly disappeared and there above us stood Lilly, buck naked and brandishing a leather paddle, greedily feasting her eyes on what was happening.
“What are you doing, you bad girl!”
“Um…I’m sucking Grant’s cock,” Lisa said matter-of-factly. It shocked me.
“Can you stop for a sec and come upstairs? Dave is sort of having a meltdown.”
“We’ll be up in a minute,” Lisa said as I began to feel the cold air around us and my penis soften.
Lilly gamely bounded back up the stairs. We shrugged off the rest of our clothes and Lisa warmed me up again with her windmill limbs.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Yeah. It’s just, this is really nuts!”
“I know.”
“I’ve spent the last two weeks reading practically everything you’ve written!”
She seemed stunned.
“I told you not to! I don’t break into your house and read your diary!”
“Lisa!” came a desperate scream from Dave.
“We’d better go and help him,” said Lisa, grabbing my hand and pulling me up the stairs.
I saw Lisa’s body for the first time in the ambient light coming in from the porch and it was like nothing I had seen before or since. She was incredibly lean; I doubt she’d float in water. She had a long musculature, her breathtaking legs and ass were those of a Kenyan boy, her pinched waist slowly curved out to elegant, squarish shoulders, off of which swung graceful arms. Her torso seemed incredibly long, and despite her never deliberately exercising she could probably muster up a six-pack while you wait. In spite of her nudity she walked proudly up to the door of the master bedroom. Because of mine, I cowered behind, doughy, slouched, and shielding my private area from view. We waited outside the door and listened as Lilly—we hoped it was Lilly—emitted little squeals.
Paul was feet from Lisa and me as we hovered outside the bedroom door. He read his magazine in the study. We locked eyes with him as he looked up from his magazine. He acknowledged our presence with a nod and nonchalantly went back to an editorial concerning either guns or ammo.
“Are you ready?” Lisa asked.
“Let’s do it.”
We fell into the bedroom to see Dave taking Lilly from behind on the bed.
“Thank God,” said an exasperated Lilly. “I think he could do with some moral support.”
“Leese!” he cried. “Hold me.”
Giggling at her bashful husband, Lisa wrapped herself around Dave and whispered encouragement into his ear.
“It’s working. He’s getting bigger!” reported Lilly.
With the three of them in a strange chain, I paced along the side of the bed, cupping my bits and pieces with both hands.
Paul, I noticed, now leaned on the doorjamb, taking in the scene.
“Hey, honey!” said Lilly sweetly as Dave thrust into her with a renewed vigor.
“Hey, beautiful,” Paul replied and blew his wife a kiss.
“C’mere!” she beckoned.
Paul took a few steps closer before Lilly grabbed him by his belt and hauled him toward her, unzipped his Dockers and popped his chubby penis into her mouth, creating a lascivious human chain that I hovered around, feeling very much like a fifth wheel.
Paul walked around the bed and slid a hand up Lisa’s thigh, inserting a finger in her vagina before she knew who it belonged to.
“What’s happening?” she screamed, closing her eyes tight.
“Let him do it, Lisa,” pleaded Lilly. “It’s awesome.”
“Oh my God. Don’t you dare make me squirt!”
Paul began using his fingers with the speed and dexterity of a flamenco guitarist.
“What are you doing in there?” she screamed.
“Do you want me to stop?” asked Paul.
“Are you going to make me squirt?” she said, almost crying.
“Some other time, then,” he said, and removed his stubby magic hand from her groin.
I had been largely ignored for the past several minutes as I hovered, stark naked, some feet from the scene.
“Lisa, do you mind if I suck Grant’s cock?” asked Lilly as sweetly as if she was asking if she could use the bathroom or have a glass of water.
“Be my guest,” she replied. I wasn’t asked and I sort of liked that fact. I liked the idea of being a piece of sexual property to be traded and swapped so much that I birthed a thumping erection and lost my usual modesty.
“What a nice-looking penis!” screamed Lilly. “Lisa, doesn’t he have a nice-looking penis?”
“It sure is,” she agreed.
“Yeah,” mumbled Dave, prompting an amused look from Lisa.
“Thanks!” I said, basking in the positive attention my penis was finally getting.
The number of people who had seen my erection in my life had doubled in an instant.
“I didn’t think he’d be circumcised,” added Paul, detracting slightly from my moment in the sun. “Are you Jewish? I didn’t think you’d be circumcised.”
Neither did I.
Inexplicably, I had the surgery somewhere around my fourth birthday, I can remember that time clearly. An overwhelming majority of European males are uncircumcised. I didn’t know that I was different from everyone else until my first swimming class as a five-year-old, when one of my schoolmates screamed, “There’s sumfink wrong wiv Grant’s willy!”
The thing that made me male also made me different from everyone else I knew.
Originally it was a curiosity to the other boys when we went swimming. In the locker room at high school it further supported the theory that I was Jewish: I had a largish nose by Anglo-Saxon standards, my father was raised in Highbury, North London, and I was disinterested in (read rubbish at) football.
<
br /> When undressing in front of more worldly American girls, they often nod toward it and say:
“Oh, I thought you wouldn’t be…”
And I’ll say, “No, I have been…”
What’s nice about it is that they seem relieved that they don’t have to “deal” with something different. In fact, when they match up my circumcision scar, my straight, white teeth, and not terribly pale complexion, my ethnicity is once again under scrutiny.
“Are you really English?” they ask.
Arousing suspicion for being “normal” is a lot less harrowing than being scrutinized for being different. I don’t mind it at all.
Lilly was much less interested in my heritage. Before I could answer Paul’s question I was up to the hilt in his good lady wife’s mouth as she reached for both of the married men’s joints, serving the three of us simultaneously as Lisa looked on in awe. Paul became a sort of commentator, saying what he saw as if for a radio audience.
“The Brit’s in her mouth, she’s got the man of the house in one hand and me in the other. Lisa loves it…it’s a wicked good time.”
“He’s really good at going down,” said Lisa, who was temporarily unattached to anyone and free to instigate.
“Oh yeah?” said Lilly, and without missing a stroke offered up some real estate between her thighs. I decided to give Lilly the same bionic tongue-lashing that all five of my sexual partners—six including Lisa—had endorsed.
I received a reflexive donkey kick from Lilly to the sternum that knocked me on my backside.
“Oooofff!” I wheezed.
“Arrrghhh!” she squealed.
“Hey! Fuckin’ take it easy, pal,” said Paul, understandably protective of his wife’s vagina. I’d never had an unclothed confrontation before and it unnerved me greatly. “She’s wicked sensitive. You gotta go super slow and work up to that shit, man.”
I regained my composure and tried to make up for my overexuberance.
“Do you wanna put it in?” she invited after several uneventful minutes.
I stood up; Paul handed me a condom, which I rolled on before fucking the love of his life.
“How’d ya like them apples?” he said.
“Wicked awesome,” I said.
Paul again began rearranging Lisa’s vagina, and in a short period of time she had succumbed to his mysterious tricks, crying, whinnying, and apparently on the cusp of drenching anything in a three-foot radius. It all proved too much for Dave, who came all over himself, Lilly’s hair, and Lisa’s fake boobs before curling up into a ball on the edge of the bed.
“Thataboy!” commented Paul, embarrassing poor Dave further.
I had an ultimately unsatisfying orgasm and then stood there, a used condom hanging off me and wondering what to do next.
“Well, we’re going to fuck,” Paul announced, and shepherded Lilly down to the pullout sofa in the living room and their arsenal of sex toys. Dave disappeared into the en suite bathroom. Lisa said that I could take the spare room. My clothes were downstairs, which was now filled with the sounds of Paul and Lilly’s boisterous monkey sex, and were therefore irretrievable. I snapped off the dangling rubber and threw it in the bathroom garbage and went into the spare room, feeling around for the light switch in vain. I stumbled into the single bed and got under a thin comforter and shivered. I was worried I would wake up frozen but was too tired and shell-shocked to do anything but curl into a tight ball and tough it out until morning. I could make out the hands of a wall clock in the moonlight. It was 12:45 a.m. Far too respectable an hour for the unbridled debauchery that I had just witnessed, I thought.
I had been trying to ignore the cold for a half hour before I heard a faint knock on the door.
“Grant?” Lisa whispered.
“Yeah.”
“Can I come in?”
“Sure,” I said. “I’m freezing.”
Lisa dived under the comforter and I spooned her warm, tight, hard body.
“So I was just about to drift off to sleep and I remembered that we were supposed to have sex. I mean that’s the reason you’re here, right?”
It was. In the process of helping Dave and the impromptu five in a bed sex romp, we’d somehow neglected to go all the way. In fact Lisa, who had put this gala evening together, hadn’t had sex at all.
“Can we talk for a bit first?” I asked.
At the age of twenty-three I had just had sex for having sex’s sake for the first time and I had decided that it made me feel funny. I told Lisa and she reached a long arm around to touch me in a comforting way. We told each other that we were fond of each other. We talked for an hour about ourselves before the conversation had swung back around to sex, specifically that we both really wanted to fuck each other.
“Shit. I have condoms but they’re in my car.”
“I’ll get them,” I said, gamely forgetting that I was without a stitch of clothing.
“It’s after two,” explained Lisa. “We are the only people awake for miles around.”
I crept down the stairs and passed the “hooligans,” as Dave had dubbed them. I donned a pair of waiting galoshes at the door and rooted around the car bare-assed until I found a solitary rubber. It was freezing out. I darted back inside, knocking over a broom, which broke the hooligans’ postcoital slumber with a loud bang.
“What the eff?” Paul said and got up to see for himself. I hoped that his interest in both guns and ammo was largely theoretical.
“It’s okay, it’s just me, Grant,” I said.
Paul was looking at me from behind as I groped around in the dark to set the broom upright. He scratched his head at the sight of a moonlit naked man bent double and wearing knee-high boots and fell back into bed.
I felt my way back up to the bedroom and beside Lisa. She had put on some sort of recording of train noise that was both strange and soothing. After warming back up we had sex like two people who had become really fond of each other. When it was over I was immediately aware that I was having sex with someone that I had no degree of ownership over. She was someone else’s in a big house with a big yard and two cars and a kid and I would be going home stealing bagels and willing myself to stay in the country in the face of common sense.
“Did I see a tattoo on your bum?” I asked. I knew how to work my Britishness when I was trying to charm somebody.
“Yeah. I’m not proud of it.”
“It says something, what does it say?”
“You can’t look at it!”
Now I was intrigued. My eyes had adjusted to the light enough to pinpoint a lamp on the end table. I flicked in on.
Lisa was squirming, covering her tattoo with her hand, but I had forgotten all about it as I scanned the room. She turned the lamp off. We hugged for another ten minutes before she went back to her room and her husband, and I made a concerted effort to fall asleep, for Lisa’s residual body heat had dissipated entirely.
Lisa woke me up the next morning good and early. Paul and Lilly were attending a funeral—Paul’s grandmother’s—in Boston and offered to drive me there. I only had time for a much appreciated hot shower, a few swigs of coffee, and a slice of toast and jam before Paul took their sex paraphernalia out to their SUV. I hugged Lisa and easily refused her when she tried to give me some cash for my bus ticket.
“You know, I think there is a customer service job at Nerve going,” she said. “I could put in a phone call and you can say that you know me. And in the biblical sense! The money would be good and steady.”
I barely had time to thank her before the hooligans were rushing us all out the door. I hugged Lisa again. I didn’t want to let go, but she squirmed in my arms like I’d already had quite enough. I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t have sex with people then just leave. I was already attached to her. I could envision myself falling for her. I teared up a little, surprising the both of us.
“You don’t want to make the hooligans late!” she said once they were safely out of earshot. She ruffled my
hair. I shook hands with Dave and almost hugged Lisa a third time before stopping myself.
We had to make a pit stop at Paul and Lilly’s apartment on the way to Boston. They needed to shower and dress appropriately. Lilly was still wearing her boa. On the way to Peabody, Massachusetts, Paul explained the mechanics behind female ejaculation and I struggled to make sense of it all.
“We have a video at home,” Paul said immediately before placing a drive-through order at their local Dunkin’ Donuts.
“Gimme three large coffees, all light and sweet…she squirts so hard…a sausage egg and cheese on a toasted everything…I mean in this one bit it comes out with so much force…an apple and spice and a Bavarian crème…that it knocks the camera right off the tripod…okay, you have a good day too.”
Paul sat me on their couch and found the right cassette from their extensive home video library and popped it in the machine. It was queued to the right spot.
From across the room Paul and Lilly were pictured on a bed covered with rose petals. Sade’s “Sweetest Taboo” was blasting in the background. The scene was prefaced with some light making out but deteriorated to a battery of tormented monkey noises facilitated by a range of large and unwieldy sex toys.
“This bit’s great,” said Lilly as she walked naked from the bathroom to the bedroom, a towel wrapped around her head. I started to eat my bagel.
The monkey noises grew louder and more violent-sounding as an unwitting Sade crooned sweetly “You’re givin’ me the sweetest taboo.” From the bedroom, Lilly sung along, and it became apparent that she thought the song was entitled “Swedish Taboo.” I wondered if she’d stopped to ponder what a Swedish taboo might actually consist of.
“Wait, this is it,” said Paul, running out of the bedroom. Paul was wearing a white shirt, black tie, black socks with sock garters, patent leather shoes. No trousers, no underpants.
“You ready for this?” he asked, as a jet of fluid appeared over Paul’s shoulder and toward the camera, knocking off its target. He grabbed the remote and rewound.
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