I was afraid to ask him how many women he had been with, with or without the sleeping part.
Mike said, “Liar,” but his voice was light, joking. “Women always lie about that. We had sex on our first date, you must have done it with more than three guys.” He reached over and playfully grabbed my breast. “Guys must have been drooling over these beauties since you got them. You don’t have to tell me how many, I know women don’t like to talk about numbers. But you wouldn’t be so good at what you do with your mouth if you didn’t have experience.”
“Stop it,” I said, pushing his hand away. “It’s not from experience. I think it’s you, you just get turned on, probably any woman sucking your dick would do it for you.”
“No way. And you can’t deny it, you get turned on. Are you telling me you always got that wet with guys? Or maybe it is me, you get so aroused by how good I am.”
“Stop changing the subject. I’m tired of just hanging out here and having sex. Shit, we don’t even hang out and have sex at your place. Always my place. We hardly go out any more. Do your friends even know I exist? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you had another girlfriend.” Or more than one.
Mike’s eyes darted away briefly. Something I said had touched him, but I had mentioned too many things. Was he ashamed that I hadn’t seen his place? Was he ashamed of his place? Had he kept me under wraps from his friends? Or did he really have another girlfriend?
Mike parried. “I hate that word, girlfriend. Sounds like high school. I wouldn’t think you’d like it either.”
His obfuscation told me more than an admission. He was screwing around. He was just using me for sex. I turned away from him.
“What?” he asked, reaching for me.
I scooted to the far side of the bed. “So if I’m not your girlfriend, what am I?” I whispered, not sure if I wanted to hear the answer.
“I didn’t say you weren’t. I just don’t like that word. I think it’s demeaning, don’t you?”
“I like it just fine.”
“Okay, okay, you’re my girlfriend. Sheesh. Come here.”
“No.”
“I said you were my girlfriend. What else do you want?”
“I want us the spend a weekend together.”
“That’s what this is all about?”
I spun around on him. “I just don’t know where we stand, where I stand with you.” I was about to ask Where is this going? But that sounded clinging, almost desperate. We hadn’t been together that long. It would sound like a marriage discussion, and it was way too early for that.
“I’m here, aren’t I?” Mike was staring at the ceiling, sounding exasperated.
“A weekend,” I repeated. “Is that too much to ask?”
“Okay, okay. This weekend, how’s that?”
I was upset, but now didn’t now what to say. It’s what I wanted. At least part of it. “Fine.”
“I don’t have the Hamptons house this weekend. How about we go to the country?”
I did want to see what Mike did at the Hamptons, but it would sound childish to ask that now. “Okay. The country.”
And that’s where we went. A little bed and breakfast upstate. And I had a good time, Mike once again proving that he could be fun to be with. We did everything a couple would do on a romantic getaway, everything that I’d expect from a boyfriend. He organized everything, made the reservations, figured out places to go. But something had changed; I’d begun to question myself, our relationship. Instead of reveling in our time together, I found myself wondering if he had been to this same inn with another woman, whether he knew his way around because this is where he’d brought girlfriends before. Or whatever he called the women he had slept with.
Mike was insatiable all weekend. We had sex late Friday night when we arrived at the B&B, the old bed creaking so much I was sure that everyone in the place heard us. We had sex in the morning, and again after lunch. I wish I could say that I didn’t enjoy it, but damned if Mike didn’t turn me on every time. Traditional as I was, I found myself strangely aroused by the audio exhibitionism, wondering if someone would sneak a peak at us at breakfast, leering, thinking there they are. They must really be hot for each other.
Maybe I did fuck like a rabbit.
On the way back to the city I stared out at the passing trees, with the question in my head that I couldn’t quite yet ask, Where was this going? Was this to be the extent of my relationship with Mike, always alone with him, having lots of sex? My other relationships had been about friendship first, sex later. This one had reversed that. But I couldn’t honestly be sure that the other way was better; after all, none of those relationships had worked out either, at least long term.
Mike, for his part, was jovial, he didn’t appear to have turned any corner, moved ahead, become more serious about me. Maybe he thought the weekend had solved a problem, at least for a while, tamping down my complaints. Plus he still got his sex.
Maybe I needed to put the sex on hiatus for a while, to see what else we had to build on. But that seemed kind of ridiculous. That boat had long sailed.
Two weeks went by. Mike was in Europe, on a long business trip, and so the whole Hamptons thing didn’t come up. He came back on a Saturday night, stopping at my place after landing. He was a little beat from the jet lag, but not so much that he didn’t want a quickie.
I wanted to hear about his trip, relax a bit with him, be together, just as a couple, but Mike was giving me only short answers to my questions. He’d barely cracked the beer I had opened for him and he was clawing at my clothes.
“Did you miss me?” he asked.
“Of course I did.”
“I bet this is what you missed,” Mike cooed, pushing my hand to his crotch, his cock already hard.
“I missed all of you,” I said, trying to slow things down, giving him a little kiss, getting reacclimated. Not wanting to jump right into sex for some reason.
Mike wanted it bad, and I told myself it wasn’t unreasonable, not having seen each other for a few weeks. I’d have preferred to just cuddle, catch up, hear about his trip, tell him about what had gone on with me. Which wasn’t much, but it was the thought, the idea that he’d be interested.
Instead I found myself sliding down to my knees, unzipping him, taking him in my mouth.
“I’ve been thinking about that all week,” he murmured, as I licked his shaft.
Not, I’ve been thinking about you. Maybe that’s what he meant. Instead, even as my body reacted to his excitement, even as I became aroused, my pussy getting wet, in the back of my mind a voice was trying to scream He only wants you for this.
Right now, though, it was easier to just keep going, it’s what he wanted, it’s what a girlfriend should do, it was just a quick blowjob.
But that voice in the back of my head keep getting louder, so much that I slowed down, my mouth and hands a little less into it. Mike didn’t seem to notice. I felt him get closer, his hands grabbing my hair, and once again my body took over, I was reaching for my clit, and Mike’s load moan of contentment as he came in my mouth drowned out any chance the voice in my head ever had.
The next few weeks were back to the same old. I’d see Mike a few times during the week, we’d mostly eat in, have sex. He’d leave late at night. I casually suggested that he could leave a change of clothes, making it clear I wasn’t talking about moving in, just so he could stay over. Mike brushed off my suggestion. “You don’t have a lot of room here, plus, I like having all my stuff.”
Again Mike went to the Hamptons without me, and I kept quiet, although I brooded a little over it. Okay, a lot. The following week, at dinner one night—in public!—out of the blue Mike asked if I wanted to go back to his place. I almost fell out of the chair. He had this uncanny ability to give me just a little more of what I wanted before I said anything out loud. Maybe he did know me better than I was giving him credit for, or maybe this strange chemistry we had went beyond sex.
Mike’s apartment
was much nicer than mine. It wasn’t any kind of penthouse, it was actually not as good as what I knew he could afford. But it was a doorman building with a spare bedroom (a luxury in New York), a large living room with a great view of the city, and a real kitchen, not a little galley.
“See? You haven’t been missing much,” said Mike, as he showed me around. “I could get something better, but I’d rather just save up now, you know how banking has gone up and down. Never know what things are going to be like one year to the next.”
I admired that practicality, but I was barely listening to him, instead sneaking looks to see if there was any hint of a recent female presence. I went into the bathroom, even though I didn’t have to go, and snooped in the medicine cabinet for another toothbrush, leftover makeup, anything. Nada. That didn’t mean much, after all, none of my stuff was here. For some reason I felt worse instead of better. Some of my stuff should be here.
When it came time for the inevitable end to the evening, for the first time I demurred. I don’t know why, I was slowly getting more of what I wanted, maybe it just took Mike a long time to open up, to share his personal space. And yet. . .
“It’s my bad time of the month,” I said, which was only partially true, I hadn’t yet had my period, but it was close.
“Well, it’s a fine time of the month for me,” Mike said, pulling me toward the bedroom. “We can still, you know.” What he meant was, I could still get him off.
“I just don’t feel up to it,” I said. “It’s a female thing.” Mike looked genuinely confused, as if he couldn’t imagine not always wanting to have sex. “There’s a mental aspect to it too, you know.”
“Come on, I bet I can get you in the mood.”
“Let’s just hang out, watch tv. Talk.”
“We can talk on the phone, anytime. We don’t get to be alone that often.”
“We’re getting back in our rut, dinner, sex. I want something different.”
“Hey, we’re here, aren’t we? Isn’t this different?”
“I want something more.”
“Well, tv isn’t more.” Mike’s eyes glittered. “Maybe you mean something really different. Like a threeway, or something. That would be a turn on, it’s so unlike you.”
For a second I thought Mike was serious. Maybe he was serious, just testing me. A threeway? Is that something he thought I’d ever consider? I must have been looking aghast, because he quickly added, “I’m joking! You are so serious sometimes, I can’t even joke around!”
“It wasn’t funny. That’s not something to joke about.”
“Okay, I’m sorry. But the look on your face was precious.”
He waited a moment, perhaps to see if I’d really consider it, then he said, “TV is fine. We’ll find something on netflix.”
And though we watched one of his favorite movies, I couldn’t help but think he was just killing time, waiting for the evening to pass. He didn’t ask me to stay, and I didn’t want to anyway.
Ten days later, Friday. I haven’t heard from Mike all week. Not even a text. He had the Hamptons house share this weekend, and he obviously hadn’t invited me.
I stared into the freezer, the cold air turning my tears to gel. How had I ended up here? Once again, looking to drown my sorrows in high calorie decadence. What had I done to deserve this, to constantly let myself become entangled in going nowhere relationships?
The paths I had taken with Ward and Mike had been very different, but seemed to be ending up in the same place. Which was nowhere. Was it really so hard to just find a normal guy? My friends had done it, my sisters had done it.
The odds were only going to get worse. With each year that passed, more men would get married. The opportunities I had for meeting someone in college, where a lot of couples met, were gone. Sure, I could get just any guy—although right now I wondered if that was really true—but I didn’t want just any guy. I was an attractive, healthy, smart woman with a good job. I didn’t want to settle.
I thought I’d hit the jackpot with Mike. He checked off everything on my checklist. I realized that just because he filled the checklist didn’t mean he was the one. I wasn’t stupid. But I should have felt better than I did.
Maybe I needed a new checklist.
Mike could be funny. He was confident and hard working. He was obviously willing to take time from his busy life for me, which had to be some indication of his interest. I certainly couldn’t believe I was the only woman he could spend time with, and yes, even sleep with. And he was certainly good looking. At times I felt like part of a couple, like when we had gone to the country. Mike was someone I could introduce to my friends, my family, someone I could be proud of. Someone I could grow to love. Obviously the sex wasn’t an issue.
So what was wrong?
Mike was also selfish, and at times seemed insensitive to my needs. Other than my sexual needs, anyway. He filled those, and that seemed to be enough for him. And he was so full of himself, at times way too confident. I know he needed that for his job, that’s how bankers made it. But I was tired of Mike telling me how good he was in bed. He turned me on, of that there was no doubt. But I’d come to believe it was more to do with some kind of physical connection we had, rather than any special skill of his.
And sometimes he made me feel like such a slut, all that talk about my experience with men. So much of our time together was spent between the sheets. How could I feel like such a slut when I was only sleeping with one guy?
Most bothersome was his evasiveness about what he did when he wasn’t with me. Deep down inside, I didn’t know if I trusted him.
How could someone I wasn’t even sure I liked, let alone loved, turn me on so much?
The beeping of the freezer finally broke into my reverie. I closed the door, rejecting the ice cream. I was a strong woman; I dealt with difficult situations all day. Tough bosses. Impossible deadlines. I’d even fired people. Certainly I could deal with this.
I grabbed my phone and called Liz. When she picked up I said, “Glad I caught you. Can you talk?”
“Sure. We’re just hanging out.”
Hanging out. Like what normal couples did on a Friday night sometimes, married or not. “I mean, really talk. Like alone talk.”
“Just a minute.”
That’s why I loved Liz, she didn’t even ask why, she knew immediately I wanted to talk without Gerry hearing. Maybe she’d tell him later, but right now I didn’t care.
Liz was back. “Okay, I’m in another room. You okay?”
“I’m not sure. Listen, how well does Gerry know Mike, anyway?”
“Not well. You know they started at the same bank. But Gerry was only there a few years, they haven’t been in touch much, I don’t think. They may have played a little basketball. Why?”
“I was wondering, does Mike have—did Gerry mention anything to you about Mike having a reputation?”
“Tessa, we all have a reputation.”
“You know what I mean. With women.”
“Is he cheating on you?”
“I don’t know. He’s got me kind of compartmentalized.” I gave Liz the brief version, which still took almost an hour. Partway through I realized I was carrying on, and apologized.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Liz. “Of course I want to hear it. And I’m sorry it’s not working out, since I kind of introduced you and Mike.”
“That’s just it,” I replied. “I really don’t know if it isn’t working out. This could just be the natural progression, or what it takes for Mike to warm up to someone. God only knows it takes me a while.” Or used to, before Mike, at least as it came to sex.
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. Some days I want to just break up with him, and other days I think I should let it go on for a while, see where it goes.”
“But in the meantime you don’t seem happy. You shouldn’t be waiting around for him. You could date other guys. Or just tell Mike you are going to. That might get him movi
ng. He might be taking you for granted. Have you talked about seeing other people?”
“We never talked about it. I mean, we’re sleeping together. I assumed it was monogamous.”
Liz didn’t reply, her silence kindly telling me to smarten up. “Okay, I get it,” I said. “He might not have the same way of looking at things.”
“Tessa, I’m going to say something that might sound a little harsh, but I think you need some tough love right now. You are a strong, powerful woman. I admire that. You’re my friend, and you’ve also been a role model for me in many ways. But with men—sometimes you let yourself be led around. Where’s the Tessa who became the youngest department manager at your company? Where’s the Tessa who would go toe to toe with business school professors?”
Hearing that from anyone else might have made me defensive, but Liz was right. “Guys don’t like pushy women.”
“That might be true for some guys. But the Tessa I know wouldn’t want to be in a relationship with a guy who was insecure about a woman’s strength.”
I sighed. “You’re right.”
“Then deal with it. If Mike is doing something to make you unhappy, talk to him about it. Confront him if you need to, don’t let him avoid it. You have to get this resolved.”
“Okay, I will. I hear you. I’ve known it, this will push me to get it done.”
“Soon. And in the meantime, where is Mike tonight?”
“He’s out at his Hamptons house share again. Without me.”
“Why don’t you just go out there?”
I gasped. “You mean spy on Mike?”
“No. There’s lots of stuff going on out there all the time. Just go and have some fun. The city is deserted in the summer anyway.”
“I don’t know if I could do that.”
“Mike doesn’t own the Hamptons. Just because he’s there, it shouldn’t be off limits for you. Who knows, he may see a bunch of guys crowding around you and come to his senses on what he’s missing.” Liz lowered her voice. “Gerry was kind of like that, if you remember. We dated on and off for a few years, and it was only when I told him that I was going to stop seeing him and date other men that he got serious.”
Revenge In The Hamptons (Revenge Is Best Served Hot (Powerful Women Series)) Page 5