This Modern Love

by Ray Hecht

  Now both nude, which somehow was less sexy than being in skimpy attire, they were deep into exploring each other’s bodies. She’d seen her friends naked from time to time, experimented under the influence now and then, but it was the first time Andrea had done a recorded cam scene with a partner. There was no closer way to examine another’s body, no way more intricate. Not only with eyes under harsh lighting, but with hands, fingertips, skin to skin. And always with composition for an audience in mind. She felt up her friend’s toned stomach, long stretchable legs, the soft flesh of her butt, triangular breasts, small nipples, bony joints, and shaved pubis.

  Her body was strange and pure. No tattoos, all pale skin, sculpted muscles, like polished marble.

  Andrea preferred her own larger, fuller breasts. She preferred the feel of her own vagina, its familiar folds, and found it alien to touch another.

  There were many requests of oral sex. When on the giving end, Andrea felt nothing. She licked scratchy skin—at least a day had passed since the need to shave—those inner and outer lips and hidden clitoris and heated coppery taste. Cera screamed loudly, but Andrea knew it was all a lie. Within, the feel of nothing. Without, only actions.

  When on the receiving end, Andrea shut her eyes tight and tried to imagine all the men looking at her. She thought of Cocksman6666 gripping his penis, thoughts of men and their desire and looking at her, and she grew wetter. In truth, Cera’s tongue was not without skill. Exploring, kissing, then circling her sensitive bump in a steady rhythm. Her screams were real enough. Though she never did climax in the end.

  “Molly, you’ve done this before,” she joked.

  “As a sex-positive feminist,” Molly answered, “I pride myself on my ability to eat pussy.”

  It was a fun night, full of laughter. Enormous bursts of joy erupted from the belly, honest and true. Andrea could hardly remember the last time she had laughed so much and so loud.

  She came closest to climaxing when playing with the vibrators. It was the deepest hour of the night, all quiet in the world with lights dimmed and sexual energy high. An Itachi brand rabbit, it attempted to stimulate both the G-spot and the clitoris at once. The buzzing, the overwhelming sensation, the promise of bodily pleasure and ripples throughout the blood. The swift penis-shaped rod entered her, circled around, hit just the right spots and at just the right rhythms. The other ear of the rabbit tickled her to the near point of intense full-body explosion. And yet, she could never forget that it wasn’t a real man, that it wasn’t attached to a breathing body, that this was all only a show.

  A show with a great but invisible audience. The amount of viewers might have been in the thousands, but that was no turn-on. That was just a number. Might as well be infinity, or zero. Abstract characters on a screen. Essentially meaningless. Nothing to do with the reality of the moment whatsoever.

  She wouldn’t cum. No, not for that.

  The feeling was empty and yellow and dirty.

  The feeling went on for some time.

  After many cigarette breaks, and a few apparent orgasms from Molly/Cera, dawn approached. The girls were getting tired. The moaning was growing more forced. Heads felt heavy. The viewership stabilized after the second hour, and stayed up for a long time, but even many of the most loyal of ChatOffzzz.com aficionados had to work in the morning. There was a bit of a spike due to various time-zone peak traffic across the globe, but Andrea and Cera finally had to call it a night.

  The tally of tips, converted into American legal tender, amounted to well over a grand and counting.

  Andrea had no idea it could be like this.

  They waved goodbye to the little camera with relish, breasts bouncing and goodnight kisses slippery with sweat. They promised to come back soon, and thanked the fans like an overplayed award show.

  Meanwhile, bits of encrypted data surfed through the planet Earth via information cables, transmitted by way of electrons, deleting zeros and ones from various big bank servers and adding to another. The website DayPay connected to Cera Dunlapp’s business account at the First Federational Bank and funds were transferred.

  Andrea was promised fifty percent.

  Content, she was anxious for sleep.

  The screen went black.

  “Well then. That was rather sexy.”

  “I know, right?”

  “Babe, I’m tired.”

  “I know…”

  She fell.

  7

  Ben

  The driver was a quiet El Salvadorian man who asked no questions and showed no curiosity, and Ben gave him four out of five stars. Then he anxiously walked up to the house. It was a nice building, with a small yard, but mostly nondescript.

  The street was clear but several neighboring homes had lights on. He hoped no one was looking at him.

  The masseuse lived on the first floor. He felt like he was trespassing as he opened the gate and entered the grounds. Feelings ranged from shy awkwardness, to the strong sense that he was in the wrong. Like he was a criminal. Maybe he was. Wasn’t the most black hat operation he’d ever done, but that’s how he felt.

  There was a wind chime near her door. The cool night breeze dangled the bells gently, and Ben accidently walked into it. The ringing filled the night air, and his heart raced. It was as if he was caught! He took a moment to calm down, slow his breathing, and looked around to notice that no one in the world cared where he was. He remembered there was a buzzer and pressed.

  He stood in front of the peephole. No doubt she needed to verify his identity herself, but he wanted to get inside as soon as possible.

  The door opened. A beautiful figure stood before him, perfect and pure. She wore a crimson kimono and fuzzy slippers.

  “Hi!” she said, with almost-sincere happiness. “It’s nice to see you again! Please, enter.”

  She took his hand and led him indoors.

  “Kai,” he said. Her house smelled like jasmine incense, like the smell of a graceful stoner’s.

  Walls were aligned with posters of vibrating souls, their chakra points categorized and labeled. One with an anatomically-correct nude man standing straight, plain, symmetrical. Another with a male-female couple in a kissing embrace, the lines of their rainbow-colored auras overlapping and blending into one. A haze of incense smoke gave everything a blurred, out-of-focus filter.

  All the while Indian sitar tunes emanated from the Grapebook. The smell and sounds and sights were successful in communicating a sensation of relaxation to Ben. She knew what she was doing.

  “Come here,” she said, and hugged him softly. He followed her lead, didn’t press too hard, and when she broke away he politely stepped backward.

  She locked the door behind them and sat on a bean bag chair. He sat on the opposing bean bag.

  “You look so nice, um…?” she said, with an open-ended pause.

  “Barry,” he said.

  “Barry,” she repeated. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m good. Stressed out. Working a lot on some new projects. You know how it goes, need some relaxation.”

  “I understand that. You are in a creative industry, right?”

  “Tech,” he said.

  “I see,” she said as she leaned over to caress his arm. “Creative people do need a lot of recharging. It’s a thing of magic, to bring new ideas into this world.”

  “So?”

  “Would you like some chai tea? I got this new batch, it’s absolutely delicious.”

  “Um, thank you.”

  She left, microwaved some hot water, and returned with two little ceramic cups. The smell was strong and foreign. Ben took a sip, slightly burned his tongue, and complimented. “It’s good.”

  “Yeah,” she said, sipping and looking deeply into his eyes.

  “So…?”

  “Okay, let’s talk business. One hour is two hundred. For a full service, overnight session it’s five hundred.”

  Ben chuckled. “One hour please.”

  “You got it.” Sh
e gulped some tea, added some numbers in her head, and tapped her fingers.

  “Oh,” Ben responded, and got out his wallet. He gave her a credit card.

  She attached a card reader to her Grapephone and powered up the app. She’d done it a thousand times before. It was just like the CuberCab driver; he signed on the screen with an inkless plastic pen, and the transaction was complete. Somewhere in information space his account would be billed a hundred dollars for under the label ‘entertainment,’ as bits of data circulated and translated into concrete mathematical structures, and Kai’s personal business account was that much richer.

  “Got that awkward part out of the way,” she said disarmingly. “Barry. Really quick, may I ask you some personal questions?”

  “Sure.”

  “First of all, are you in a relationship now?

  “I’m not.”

  “No way. A sweet man like you. Not fair,” she flirted. “And when was your last ejaculation?”

  Ben blushed, and looked down as he quickly answered, “last night.”

  “I see. Do you ejaculate daily?”

  “I guess so.”

  “That’s good,” she said, and touched his arms condescendingly. “I think you’re very healthy. Now, last question. You were last here, what, a months or two ago? Have you practiced any tantric or meditation techniques in the intervening time?”

  “Not really. I do those breathing exercises when I, um, masturbate. Sometimes.”

  “That’s great!” she cheered with genuine glee. “It’s very good that this isn’t your first time. Think of it as a refresher course. And I have something to add. I want you to take a moment every day to reflect upon yourself. Can you do that for me, Barry? And please make a mental note of the following breathing exercises whenever you ejaculate or make love. Don’t forget.”

  “Okay.”

  “Cool.”

  She led him to the bathroom. His steps were stiff because of clenched knees to fight against the instinctual trembling. “You can shower here,” the masseuse said. “And use the towel hanging there.”

  The bathroom was large, with a circular glass door revealing a luxurious showering corner. Much classier than Ben was used to.

  Without words, he unbuckled his belt. The masseuse stood in the doorway and watched.

  He unbuttoned and let his pants fall. Kicked off his socks and shoes. He slowly took off his shirt, and sucked in his gut a bit. Then, standing in his faded brown boxers, he put his thumbs in the elastic and lowered. He noticed she was looking right at him.

  Ben suspected her accompanying smile might be fake. Like, perhaps she felt a vague sense of pleasure by making men happy, and the pride of a job well done, but the sight of a nude man with dangling bits could only appear awkward and nothing else. The whole thing must get boring after a while. Clinically, she observed his penis and drooping ballsack. However unimpressive, Ben couldn’t help but be excited by this part of the ritual, and he still appreciated her for it. The best part was still yet to come.

  Ben, naked and his clothes a pile on the ground, entered the shower. She waved goodbye and turned, the robes of her kimono blowing away. The door remained opened.

  So many shelves. Scented soaps and fluffy sponges and every flavor of body wash. The room smelled like a candy shop. He fiddled with the knobs and got a good temperature and squeezed some lemon-scented liquid into his hands. Paying special attention to his anus and the space under his balls, not without a few extraneous tugs at the all-important organ, he abstained from washing his hair and finished as soon as possible. He wrapped the towel around his waist and hoped it was recently washed. She waited for him in the hallway. “Hello,” he struggled to mutter.

  “You sweet man, you. Let’s go.”

  They went to the guestroom, carefully designed as a spiritual temple within the domain. It was like the living room setup, but more so. The lights dimmer, the posters denser, and the smell of incense stronger. Plus a shrine encircling the room’s centerpiece: Kai’s framed Licensed Massage Therapist Certificate. Round cushions adorned the ground. A mattress in the center of the room with multiple layers of thin sheets.

  In one corner, several folded towels and a box of tissue paper.

  He tried not to think about all the other men who had been in this room.

  “All freshly cleaned,” she assured him. “Lie down.”

  This is it, Ben told himself, and carefully maneuvered himself down on the mattress. His lay on his stomach, and raised his hips for a moment to let the towel drape over him so the underside would be free. Then he quickly shifted his penis to a comfortable downright position.

  “Keep your hands to the side,” said Kai. “Be a good boy.” And he saw her kimono fall to the floor, saw the wrappings of thin silk cloth with delicate, dainty toes stepping out of it.

  “I have a lavender-scented candle,” she said. “Hope you enjoy.”

  Um, yeah. He said nothing out loud.

  The lights turned off. A flame flickered, and all became dancing shadows.

  “We have some Thai coconut oil, good stuff.”

  Ben hummed his approval.

  “Here we go.”

  Finally.

  He felt his towel gently tossed aside, and his bare ass felt the soft breeze of incense smoke and air conditioning. The sucking sound of oil being rubbed and warmed between palms, and then she started working his back. “Just relax,” she said. “You’re doing great.”

  She pushed down on knots, and tugged at his shoulder blades. She bended his arm from behind and got in deep under the bony corners of his back. She cracked each finger individually.

  She narrated every step. Ben wasn’t expected to say anything. It was very pleasant, and as he closed his eyes he entered the state of a comfortable near-nap. But beneath all the feeling he couldn’t forget that this was all leading to a certain something.

  “I’m sore myself,” she said, being unprofessionally pouty as she worked his lower back. “Had yoga class today. I got to say, I wish I was getting this massage.”

  “Oh?” he said, his first words uttered since the experience began.

  “Oh yes. Maybe we can do a massage exchange sometime. I’d be down for that. Of course, I’d charge for lessons. But how good a deal would that be, right?”

  “Um, yeah. Cool.”

  “Seriously, I’m getting so jealous watching you relax. Looks great. One day…”

  She kept talking. He was getting eager. She was particularly thorough on his ass. “Lots of tension here,” she said, giggling while kneading the flesh like dough.

  “Oh yeah,” Ben said. “I’ve heard that.”

  “Ben,” she said in a commanding voice, shifting gears. “I want you to open your legs. That’s it. Just relax.” He spread out and she adjusted herself sitting between the backs of his knees. He felt the skin of her legs against body. Cold oil dripped between his butt cheeks, and he shivered. “Sorry,” she said, and rubbed oil between her hands to warm it up. “This will be a bit chilly at first, but believe me this is a necessity of the ritual.”

  Slipping like a soapy dolphin going down a water slide, the area from Ben’s testicles to anus was drenched in oily liquid. At first it tickled, and he bit at the draping to keep still. Elegant fingers reached under him and took his hardening penis to face southwards.

  “It’s all about the lymph nodes,” she said as she pressed her thumbs in the space between anus and sack. “Breathe deeply. That’s it. You’re doing great!”

  He struggled to do as told, and focus on his breath. “Innnnn….” she said slowly. “Ouuuuuut…” she said slower. Carefully gliding her hands upwards and downwards with each breath. By the time he got to a suitable synch, the energy was tingling and his stretched shaft was as taut as a cold steel rod covered in frostbite.

  The magic words: “Turn around.”

  His eyes fully awoke. She rolled him like a baby. “That’s it. Easy does it.”

  She maneuvered his arms to the side
and placed a soft round cushion under his head. Finally, a good look at her. By flickering candlelight, one brilliant toned body. Abs in the shadows, tight breasts. And hints of colorful ink all around the shoulders and forearms, purples and blues melting into flesh tone. She spread her legs and kneeled over his waist, and he peeked at the sight where each thin thigh met, imagining how smooth and soft it must be to touch.

  His member was excruciating and he suppressed the urge to start stroking himself. It was a struggle. “Arms to the side,” she said, as if reading his mind.

  He stopped peeking and let his neck rest.

  “Very good,” she whispered.

  Utilizing gravity, she leaned heavy arms onto his palms. Then pressed into the veins at the wrist. Then, step by step, up to his chest, then edging down to each side of the offending stiffness.

  She didn’t seem offended at all. With grace and care, and perhaps even with love, she took it into her gentle hands.

  “I want you to start breathing quickly,” she said. “In and out. Use your diaphragm. Yeah that’s it, like I was saying before. Keep going…”

  In the lotus position between his knees, she tickled his scrotum with one hand and squeezed from the head down with the other, and overwhelmed him. It was over before he knew it. Just as the tingling began and trickles of semen leaked out, “Hold your breath!” she yelled. “Make fists! Clench every muscle in your body. Do it!”

  He did as she said, best he could. Though Ben’s eyes were shut tight, bolts of rainbow-scented flashes shining clearly. A vibration began, not from his groin but from the center of his belly, and it rippled centrifugally.

  “Exhale now.”

  He breathed out, and felt the curious sensation of levitation. All-encompassing vibrations shook the earth. His mind evaporated into a steam of silent screams. Tears welled up. The heart burst forth. Lungs gave out. He floated. All meaning to the universe gone.

  “AHHHHHH,” he sounded out involuntarily and unknowingly.

  “Nice release,” she said.