by Auden Dar
“Well, thank goodness. I swear you’re not much fun when you don’t get it for a while.”
“Uh, Roger, not that it’s any of your business but I actually had sex last week.”
“Obviously, it wasn’t mind-blowing because you’re still uptight.”
I roll my eyes. “Come on, just show me the screenplay. Have they started filming?”
“No, not yet. They’re scheduled to start on Monday. They’ve already had two read-throughs,” Roger explains as he hands me a copy of the screenplay. I giggle with delight while skimming over the pages. We continue to discuss the upcoming trip when the beautiful couple exits the café. An hour later, I head to the counter to pay for the coffee and pastries. Larry, the barista, informs me that the insanely hot guy I spent the early part of my meeting drooling over took care of my bill.
My mouth falls open. “Really?”
“Yeah, he paid it along with his,” Larry says like it’s no big deal a stranger would take care of someone else’s check.
“Wow, what a nice surprise.” A small smile forms on my face.
“Yeah, whatever.”
As I sit down, Roger takes a last sip of his coffee. “Thanks for the coffee and croissant. I know I should watch the waistline, but I’ll start going to the gym again in a couple of weeks.”
“No need to thank me. The guy we’ve been ogling took care of our bill. And Roger, you look fine. You just need to stop smoking. It’s going to give you wrinkles.”
“Wow, he’s gorgeous and generous. Two things I look for in a man. Anyway, I can always count on Botox if I ever get wrinkles.” We both laugh as we gather our belongings and head out the door.
Four
Working on Holland Kingsley’s Disappear brings me excitement. Just a few days ago, I was worried about my next gig. Not only will I be working on a score for one of my favorite director’s new film, but I’m also going to work in my favorite city. I’ve been homesick for quite some time. Although I had met some folks in LA, mostly due to Andrew’s position at the university, I had never made a real connection with anyone here. I’ve been lonely. Andrew is always working, and I’ve become a hermit because of driving. I am a real New Yorker, and as a New Yorker, I absolutely hate driving. My driving instructor had declared I was the worst driver she had ever taught. It took me several tries to pass the permit test and more than a year and thousands of dollars’ worth of driving lessons to finally get my driver’s license. I am still a really bad driver but force myself to drive at least once a week.
Los Angeles, or rather LA as the locals would call it, is a great city. For those who didn’t grow up in New York, it is an exciting city. For those who grew up in the Big Apple, it’s a “nice” city. The weather is always warm, and it’s always sunny unless you live in the marina. Rain is so rare that we have a drought.
Today is another sunny day, and I’m enjoying it. Surprisingly, on my way home, the handsome guy at the café interrupts my thoughts. I had never been one to pay attention to other men but something was different about this guy. Something familiar. I know that I’ve seen him before Monday. I shake my head, realizing that it couldn’t possibly be the boy I’ve tried to forget all these years. A smile forms on my face as I think about the stranger’s generosity. He paid my bill without a word. I laugh to myself because Andrew doesn’t even do that.
Unfamiliar indecent thoughts come to mind. I imagine running my fingers through his thick, dark hair before his beautiful mouth is on me. Closing my eyes briefly, I see him walking toward me. Then I picture him with her. I’m not into women, but I admit she, too, is hot.
Is he in bed with that girl right now? Is he fucking her the way I dreamed of getting fucked? These thoughts turn me on. Do I have time to watch porn before Andrew gets home? Yes, I watch porn … a lot of porn … almost daily … for several years now. It is my one guilty pleasure. My friend Patti introduced me to the world of adult entertainment. Her words, “Sometimes, just watching people have sex turns me on,” ring true. I enjoy watching hot men with big, thick dicks fuck women senseless in various positions, sometimes envisioning myself in those scenes. And yes, I touch myself while watching them. It’s the only time I get off.
Strolling along Rose Avenue, the stranger’s image is on repeat. His intense eyes can easily rival Paul Newman’s. Blushing, I can’t help myself from giggling … again. Andrew would certainly think I was disturbed if I were to ever reveal my sexual thoughts to him. He would have a heart attack if he saw my recent Google searches. A good fifty percent of the history on my laptop is porn. And my Tumblr account consists of different types of porn−food, word, and lots of sex. Oh, Andrew, why did you stop liking sex? When we were younger, he couldn’t get enough of it. When we moved in together, we would have sex at least once a day. Although it was always in bed and in the same position, it was still sex. I’ve actually thought about giving Andrew herbal concoctions to enhance his sexual vitality. But then I worry about unintentionally killing him. The truth is, it’s not so much a longing for an orgasm, which I admit, I get on my own and have never ever had with Andrew, but the intimacy, that I crave.
The café is only a few blocks from my bungalow. By the time I reach the front of the house, my face is flushed from the salacious images in my head. Something different has occurred. My underwear is drenched, and I need to change them immediately.
Andrew and I have been living in the house for almost five years but it still feels foreign. Our clothes, books, several mementos, and photos all surround the house, but something is missing.
Desolation greets me when I walk inside. When I first looked for a place to rent, I had wanted a contemporary home but also a place with warmth where I could envision a small family would be comfortable. I grew up in homes that were open and I wanted to create a home in that spirit. However, Andrew fell in love with the Victorian-style house that was filled with small, dark, tiny rooms. It was the complete opposite of what I had longed for. The bungalow, considered small by the average American, seemed too big for a couple without kids, without pets, and without passion. Most folks would have had sex in each and every room of their home, but for Andrew, sex should take place in bed and only in bed. When we first started having sex, it was all so brand new to me that I didn’t question our sex life. Lately, I have begun to question our sex life and pray for change.
Days that I didn’t compose or do volunteer work were filled with standing in front of the bay window and slowly watching the world go by. Neighbors conversing among themselves with Starbucks in hands, UPS drivers delivering packages, toddlers riding their scooters up and down the block, and young couples holding hands while strolling their dog. I would watch as if I wasn’t a participant in this world but as a perpetual viewer. This is my life. Andrew is my life. At times, I feel like throwing it all away and returning to New York … alone.
It’s not as if I didn’t like or value my life with Andrew. I just didn’t love it anymore. I became a person I never thought I would be. Living a life my own father didn’t consider worth living−in a relationship with someone I love but that had become passionless and boring. I think of my fiancé and the past few years. Sadly, even though Andrew and I live together, we weren’t living together.
Five
It’s Wednesday night, and the rhinestones on my pussy are ready to rock! On Monday afternoon while Andrew was at the office, I got a full bikini wax. It was an afternoon spent in agonizing pain and mortification. After years of hearing about it, I finally caved in and had my girl vajazzled. The idea of rhinestones on my private parts seemed like fun. I also wanted to surprise him and hoped that the rhinestones in the shape of a heart on my girl would add a bit more excitement to our sex life.
During a quick trip to Santa Monica Place, I purchased some new lingerie. Maybe the new demi bra and underwear set would excite my unexciting lover. I look up to the heavens, praying that the white sheer silk set will work its magic. I want my rhinestones to shine even with the underwear on.
The fuchsia set I wore last week did nothing for him. Nada. After all these years, I know deep down inside, my fiancé will never care for fancy lingerie. He could never tell the difference between lace and cotton underwear. Lingerie, along with foreplay, doesn’t matter to Andrew. It’s inconsequential during our lovemaking.
Some couples fuck three times a week, some five, and I am well aware of couples who fuck several times a day like rabbits. Andrew and I … well, we do it every Wednesday night unless it’s that time of the month. It’s been like this for about two years. Then a few months ago, I realized that getting laid once a week is better than not getting it at all. He seems completely fine with the schedule having been the one who came up with it. A few years after he asked me to marry him, we started discussing children. We both went to see a fertility specialist who informed us we would never be able to conceive together. Since children were no longer a priority, my fiancé didn’t see the need to have sex as often. It broke my heart, of course, and my female genitalia constantly feels neglected.
Our usual date night consists of a nice meal at one of our neighborhood’s vegan restaurants and then a leisurely stroll along the boardwalk. That’s romance for us. For the past two years, every Wednesday night.
It’s nine o’clock, and I’m ready for my night of romance with Andrew. Proud of my girl’s new look and the sheer lingerie I spent a fortune on, I spray a little Creed’s “Love In White,” assuming he’ll be taken by the scent. I walk over to the mahogany dresser and turn on the iPod that sits on a Bose docking station. The first notes always hit me. As Chris Botti plays “En Aranjuez Con Tu Amor,” I am transported to another place where my lover will make passionate love to me. Silently, I pray that Andrew will allow the album to play in its entirety.
My moment of sensuality is lost when my fiancé, wearing an old, brown thick robe enters the bedroom and turns off the background music. His smile is brief, and an apology for turning off my music is not uttered. Instead, he quietly walks over to the bed where I now lay, displaying my new lingerie. I’ve practiced this pose for years. My brown hair is down and away from my face. My legs, crisscrossed at the ankles. My arms splayed over my head as my back slightly arches. It’s the kind of pose you’d see in a lingerie catalogue. Nothing original but I’m desperate.
Although he remarks appreciatively with a, “You look nice,” I can’t help but be upset that I don’t hear a hint of lust. Three simple words leave me simply deflated. He doesn’t comment on the crystals shining like disco balls through my sheer underwear. I contain my disappointment and try to ignore his lame compliment, preventing myself from screaming, “I waxed completely bare for you and have crystals in the shape of a heart on my pussy.” While I continue to stare at his light brown eyes, I take off my underwear, revealing what a straight man would call the golden treasure. He glances down in surprise and says, “Interesting.”
I don’t have it in me to respond to ‘interesting.’ Instead, I just get under the covers.
Before joining me, my lover saunters over to the only window in the room. Pulling down the brown roman shades, he closes the curtains and reaches for the light on the nightstand only to be thwarted by a sliver of illumination coming through the window. Realizing that he forgot to completely close the curtains, he heads back to the window, slightly adjusting the curtains with more force, ensuring light doesn’t pass through. He turns off the lamp beside the bed. Andrew prefers to make love in the dark. After all these years, I can’t remember the last time I saw him naked.
Once he is beside me, he sits on the edge of the bed. Quickly taking off his robe, he gets under the comforter with me. Remaining silent, as he is always quiet when we make love.
Courage comes over me, and I turn to face him even though we can’t see one another. It is pitch black. I gently stroke his handsome face, one that I have committed to memory. Leaning closer, I whisper, “Umm, sweetheart, I want to see you. Please turn the light on.” He stills. I pause and think of the right words to say. With hesitation, I beg, “I … I … I want to suck you. Please let me give you a blowjob tonight. I want you to watch me suck you.”
Surprised, Andrew tenses.
Oh, fuck.
Within seconds, he is sitting up. Before I can do anything, he quickly rises out of bed as if I had just torched his ass. Because it’s completely dark, I can’t see him, but the surprise in his voice is inevitable. He paces back and forth, and I feel like an idiot. This is not good at all. “Lina, I don’t want that. I don’t want to see your mouth on my dick. That’s not us.” Yeah, Andrew hates the word “cock.” He hates the word “pussy.” God forbid he should ever use the word “cunt.” It’s completely dark, and he’s not going to be able to see anything. I refrain from telling him that.
“I wanted to try something new,” I say, knowing how this night will end. What man wouldn’t want his blowjob? “We’ve never done it before, and I thought it could spice up our night. I would love to share that experience with you. If only once.” Nine years of sex and I would really love to feel your cock in my mouth. I would love to feel your tongue inside me. I wouldn’t mind trying a butt plug as well. All right, I’m getting way ahead of myself. Baby steps, Lina, baby steps.
His pacing stops, and he is now beside me. Turning to face me, I can hear his disgust. “Lina … Lina ... that’s … that’s not what I want. I’ve never wanted that. I will never want that. It’s not what we want. You can’t seriously want to put my dick in your mouth. What has gotten into you? Oh God, did Patti tell you this is what I would want?” No, Andrew, this is what I want. I’ve changed. I want to try new things. Without waiting for a response, he finally kisses me lightly on the lips. I don’t have it in me to answer him. All I want to do is finish this session with Andrew, shower, and then get some work done.
Under the covers, I touch the crystals on my neglected mound. What a waste. I leave my bra on. My breasts will be neglected, and the only thing that touches them is the silk undergarment.
Ashamed, dread comes upon me. I remain lifeless.
Andrew kisses me lightly on the forehead and lips like I’m porcelain. I’m anything but physically fragile. My body begs to be roughened. To be explored. To be adulated. After a few minutes of light kisses, I can feel his erection touch my thigh. His cock is surprisingly … cold. Go figure. Maneuvering himself, he is completely on top of my listless and unexcited body. Missionary position. The only position that Andrew and I do. No doggy style, no cowgirl on top, no spooning from behind. God, how many times I’ve imagined Andrew taking me from behind, pulling my hair, being nasty and dirty with me, calling me his bitch, his slut, and fucking me senseless. Instead, the sex is passionless and quiet. I was stupid for not fingering myself while he was in the bathroom.
Andrew has a great cock. It’s larger and thicker than the average penis. I know this because of porn. It’s such a shame he doesn’t use it more often. Placing the tip of his thick crown at my entrance, it takes a while for him to enter completely. Because I’m not anywhere near excited, it’s a bit painful. Shit, I am dry. No, seriously, I am DRY. Okay, I need my imagination to work overtime or she is going to be in pain for the next few days. And it’s not the kind of pain I’ve wished for−the kind where I can’t walk for days because of mind-blowing sex. I need to excite myself. I’ve watched porn where women are always touching themselves while having sex. I wish I could do that right now, but my lover prefers that I keep my hands above my head while he makes love to me. I need to start thinking of anything except the activity that I’m currently engaged in. Usually I’ll remember a passage from one of my erotic romance books or replay scenes featuring Bruce Venture in my head. Ah, that Mr. Venture … he sure knows how to lick and fuck a woman.
An image appears.
Tonight, for the first time in my life, I am thinking of another man who is not a porn star while my fiancé makes love to me.
Mmm …
The beautiful and clear image of the gorgeous man at the café comes throu
gh. I close my eyes tightly, thinking only of that handsome stranger. I begin to lick my lips and envision what his long, lean body would feel like on top of mine. I bite down on the smile that begins to form.
What would he do with my vajazzled girl? Would he spend time learning my body? Would he appreciate the lingerie I still have on? Would he tear my bra off my body? Would he explore every inch of me with his mouth? Would he fuck me senseless for hours? Would he talk dirty to me … calling me his ‘filthy slut’?
I. Am. Fucking. Repressed.
Stretched on our bed, my fiancé groans and starts moving back and forth as I lay there, picturing another man fucking me. A stranger at that. As with every lovemaking session, I fake it quietly. Gently grinding, but not too much, so as to not disturb Andrew’s mechanical thrusts. However, tonight, the image of the stranger returns, stronger than ever, and has me wet with desire … moaning … panting.
Slut. Pussy. Pulling my hair. Sucking his cock. Cum on my breasts.
The dirtier I envision sex would be with the stranger, the more liquid pools between my thighs. I am actually soaking wet. I’ve never been this excited before. Unable to remain quiet, I break the silence with a whisper, “Ooh, yes, yes … please … make me come … please.” My arms fall to my side. I grip the sheets because every thrust Andrew gives me is the stranger’s cock inside me, pounding into me, deep, hard and relentless. Turning my head, I meet Andrew’s neck. The smell of his baby powder assaults me, and my fantasy ends.
No! No! No!
This needs to be over with. Immediately, I blurt out, “That’s it. I’m going to come,” although I have never ever had an orgasm with Andrew before. Never.
Taken aback, my lover’s gentle thrusts stop. Breaking his usual silence, “Lina, please, I beg you. Please be quiet. I can’t concentrate.”