by Polly Frost
She scanned the audience to see if any of her family members were there. She couldn’t spot any of them. Relieved, Rebecca gave them all a huge, professional smile.
“It’s great to be back in my hometown!” she announced.
There was more clapping and lots of cheers. Rebecca took it graciously. She knew her Target jeans and casual long-sleeved T-shirt were a good choice for this audience, making her one of the gals. Somebody they could trust.
Rebecca glanced down at the notes she’d made for her speech.
“I know how uptight you Midwesterners can be about sex! For example, the reason we’re here in this auditorium is because none of your big book chains would have me talking about sex in their stores. God forbid people should hear about S-E-X in the Midwest! But I’m here to tell you that masturbation is a perfectly healthy and natural thing to do.”
The audience immediately became silent. Rebecca wasn’t surprised. She was ready for them. She leaned on the wooden podium and gazed right at her female audience.
“Oh, come on!” Rebecca laughed. “Don’t tell me you don’t masturbate! Somebody in this city is buying my books! And you’re not here because you think I’m about to lecture on ornithology! Hey, I’ve seen the stats. I sell real well in my hometown. So let’s not be coy.”
Two women stood up and raised their fists. Other women tittered. Rebecca saw the reporters taking notes. She wondered if this quote would make it into the local newspapers and scandalize her family. How great that would be!
“That’s better,” Rebecca said approvingly. “But it’s not good enough. I want some real honesty here! I’m going to ask a question and I want a truthful response. How many of you masturbate?”
A few hands shot up. There were giggles, and more hands were raised.
“Thank you,” Rebecca said. “I’m glad to hear my old hometown is alive and wet.”
Dozens of women now put up their hands.
Rebecca nodded at her audience. “And you know what? No matter how well we masturbate, we can always do it better! That’s what my books are about.”
Rebecca paused, studied her notes, and took a sip of water. She lifted her head and smiled again at the audience.
“Like you, I’m always on the go. That’s what inspired my newest book,” she said. “I barely have enough time to get my nails done, let alone masturbate! But I’ve learned how to please myself no matter how little time I have to do it in. And that’s what my book will teach you. How to give yourself pleasure even on a tight schedule.
“Here’s just one example from the book. When I travel, I always bring my little box. Now I know a lot of you probably worry about the security people at airports going through your luggage. And you’re probably nervous about them finding your sex toys!”
The audience laughed. Rebecca waved one of her fingers at them. “You gotta get over that!” she said. “Let ’em search your box!”
The word box made the audience laugh harder.
“Not that box,” Rebecca said. “I’m talking about your sex toy case. Here’s the one I use.”
She held up a shiny pink case.
“Yep,” she said. “This is my travel buddy! Isn’t it the cutest, sweetest thing? It’s not very big, which is perfect because I can fit my travel buddy right in my suitcase. Yet it’s got enough room for everything I need for masturbation on the go! I can pack a dildo, two vibrators, even some scented candles. By the way, if you haven’t visited my Web site recently, I’ve got a sale going on. It’s a great time to stock up on all these luscious items!”
She put her box down and held up some photos.
“And I pack some hot pictures that I cut out from magazines and download off the Internet. It’s a great way to tickle the imagination. I also put in a few porn DVDs.”
She could feel the unease in her audience.
“Yes, that’s right. I love to look at porn! Got a problem with it? Do you think that women don’t or shouldn’t get off on visual stimulation the way that men do?”
Rebecca shook her head at them.
“C’mon, you can’t kid a St. Louis girl. I know that beneath your conservative khakis and soccer mom haircuts, you’re horny-as-hell sex goddesses who either love porn or just haven’t seen the right kind yet!”
The women roared and applauded.
Rebecca paused, thinking about how different the Midwest was from the two coasts. When she was in New York or L.A., her audience was rowdier and much more aggressive. They openly talked about their love of porn and their adventurous sexual practices. But tonight she would have to take it slower.
“So now that we’ve admitted that we like to look, I’ll give you a little advice about where to find what you want to see. If you like the idea of orgies—guys fucking women, or two guys with a woman, or two women getting it on with no guys around—then go to the heterosexual male porn sites. But if you’re looking for nothing but hot male flesh, don’t waste your time searching in the straight world. You aren’t going to find buff-looking guys there! Head to gay porn.”
Rebecca took a sip of water and waited for her audience to settle down. They were giggling and fidgeting like school girls.
“I keep all of these things in my pink pleasure chest so that no matter where I am, or how busy my schedule is, I always have visual and electronic aids for getting my pleasure juices flowing. That’s just one of the many tips I have for you in this book.”
Rebecca picked up the copy of Please Yourself: How to Masturbate When You’re on the Go! and waved it at the audience.
“And why is masturbation so important?” she asked.
“Because if you don’t please yourself, no one else will!” the audience shouted.
“You know my mantra! That’s just great!” Rebecca triumphantly beamed. “I’m now going to answer any questions you have.”
She put the book down, unhooked the microphone, and walked in front of the podium.
Among the many raised hands, Rebecca saw one belonging to a woman who was about forty-five. She could have been sexy if she weren’t wearing the boxy khakis and starched white shirt that seems to be the required uniform of Midwestern mommies. And the haircut! It was a shapeless, respectable bob.
“Yes?” Rebecca asked, pointing at her.
“I don’t really have a question,” the woman said. “I just want to say how much your books have meant to me,” she added in a whisper.
“Can you talk a little louder?” Rebecca encouraged.
“Oh, I don’t know if I can say it in front of all these,” the woman whimpered.
“Don’t feel shy,” Rebecca said. “Just think of the rest of us as your fellow masturbators!”
The audience roared and clapped.
The woman stammered, almost collapsing into her seat, then gushed, “Okay then! Here it goes! Ever since I started to read your books, I’ve been doing it to myself every night!”
The audience whooped. The woman wiggled her hips.
“I like to stick a couple of fingers up my twat, I like to pinch my nipples while I make love to my clit,” she continued. “And, oh yeah, what I really like is to suck my finger and reach around and fuck my own ass—”
“Whew, girlfriend!” Rebecca interrupted. It was never good to let an audience member take the spotlight away. “Thank you for sharing. That’s beautiful!” Rebecca walked over to the other side of the stage. “Are there any other comments or questions?”
A number of hands shot up, but before Rebecca could pick one, a tiny, gray-haired woman stood up in the back of the auditorium.
“I just want to ask how you live with yourself!” she shouted.
Rebecca shuddered. And before answering, she did the breathing exercises that Andrew had given her. She slowly and imperceptibly stilled her anxious pulse.
She took a deep breath, then answered, “Hi, Mom.”
The audience collectively gasped and swiveled around in their seats.
“I won’t call you my daughter,” Rebe
cca’s mother said. Her face was beet-red with anger. “Because I can’t forgive you for what you’ve done. Only God can do that. And you’re going to have to repent if you want to get into heaven.”
Rebecca was prepared for the tears that might come. She did more of the breathing exercises Andrew had given her. Good. She wasn’t crying. And she was prepared with what she needed to say.
“I thank my mother for being here tonight. This is a very important moment for me. Because if you’ve read my books you know about my own fundamentalist upbringing. It was rough. And I could see that my parents’ religion wasn’t helping them.
“Dad had his demons. Drink, anger…And Mom, well—you can see for yourself what my mother was like. But, Mom, I just want you to know that I love you. Even if you’re misguided and think that God doesn’t want us to make ourselves happy here on earth. But I’m not waiting for the afterlife to be happy. You see, Mom, every time I masturbate, I am in heaven!”
“You are going to hell!” her mother said, without a trace of warmth. She turned to the audience. “And all of you will go to hell, too, if you buy her books!”
Rebecca watched from the stage as the audience turned in their seats and murmured. She watched as her mother left the auditorium.
Rebecca shut the door to her hotel room and threw her purse on the bed. She was determined not to let the incident send her into a tailspin. But all she wanted to do was crawl into bed and stay there.
Her cell phone rang. She glanced at the number and saw that it was Andrew. She picked up the call.
“How’d it go?” he asked.
“My mother was there,” she said. “We had a confrontation in front of everyone.”
“Oh no,” he said. “Are you okay?”
“It was humiliating,” Rebecca said. “I suddenly realized that it was a complete mistake to come here!”
“I’m sorry, Becca. I tried to warn you. I know what we should do. We’ll have a double session as soon as you get back,” Andrew said.
“I should have stayed away,” she cried.
“Are you going to be okay tonight?” he asked.
“I’ll be fine,” she insisted.
“I’m here if you need me,” Andrew said.
She said good night. She didn’t want to talk to Andrew. She knew what she needed. She turned off her cell phone and wandered over to the full-length mirror. She studied herself, then pulled off her T-shirt, and removed her jeans. She ran her hands over her bra, then put her hand inside the left cup and caressed her breast.
Rebecca watched her image blur in the mirror. It took her a moment to realize she was crying. She went over to the mahogany minibar and got out a chilled bottle of Absolut. She opened it, took a sip, and removed her bra. She spilled some of the vodka onto her breasts, and caressed them.
She brushed tears away, then moved her right hand down into her thong and gently touched her clit. She shut her eyes. She tried to visualize the evening with her thief-lover. She tried to remember the night in the alley. But no matter how hard she worked her imagination, she couldn’t see anything.
Then she heard a deep male voice that she neither remembered nor imagined.
“It’s time you had a real lover.”
“Who are you?” Rebecca asked.
“The one who is really in charge. And it’s time you submitted to my power. But you must close your eyes before we can begin.”
Rebecca kept her eyes open. She didn’t even blink.
“Why can’t I see you?”
“You will when it’s time,” the voice told her, “but for now, you’ll see only what I want you to.”
There was a white flash, then a whirl of colors and shapes. Rebecca couldn’t make anything out. She felt dizzy, then everything came into focus.
She was sitting in her parents’ living room over twenty years ago. How sad their little house had been with its yellow, peeling wallpaper, the beige rug still stained from her father spilling booze on it.
Her brothers and sisters were sitting around with her parents. They were all watching the TV. It was a religious show, with a choir of well-scrubbed kids singing. Rebecca saw that her parents were only a little older than she was now. And she knew that she must be five years old.
She could feel it all come back to her. The way her body itched that day.
“You must touch yourself,” the voice ordered.
“No!” Rebecca cried out. “I don’t want to!”
“Oh, but you do want to touch yourself,” the voice laughed. “Don’t you remember? You’re only five years old. But you know what feels good.”
“Please don’t do this,” Rebecca said.
But she was powerless. She saw herself as a child, scratching her thighs underneath her nightie. She felt the stirrings in her crotch, just the way she had back then. She felt the tingling as she continued to play with herself. And she heard herself moan, the way she had back then.
“That’s right,” the voice told her. “That’s how you did it.”
Rebecca felt her body coursing with pleasure. She saw the choir of singing angels and they seemed happy with her. And then…
“Oh my God!” her mother was saying. Her mother’s face stared at her, then she turned away, and said, “Look what she’s doing. And in front of our TV show!”
Rebecca saw her father’s drunken face. He wasn’t angry like her mother. She knew that what he was feeling was worse than fury, but she was confused.
“I’ll handle this,” he said.
And suddenly she was being dragged away from her brothers and sisters, pulled down the basement stairs by her father….
He locked the door to the upstairs. He took off his belt.
“You bad little girl,” he said. “You’re going to do the nasty stuff you did up there while I whip you.”
And Rebecca felt her father’s blows again and again.
“What did I do wrong?” she cried.
“You know what you did,” her father said.
“No,” Rebecca insisted. “I don’t know.”
But that only made him whip her harder.
And then her father and the basement disappeared. She was back in her hotel room. She sat on the bed, drawing her arms around her. She could still feel her father’s lashings.
“And now you’re ready for my love,” the voice said.
“But I can’t see you. Where are you?” Rebecca asked.
“You’ll find me. Just go to the bar downstairs.”
“What?” Rebecca said. “You’re going to meet me in the real world?”
“That’s right,” the voice masterfully laughed. “You’re ready for a lover who exists outside your imagination.”
Rebecca saw him from outside the hotel bar. It was late, he was alone. He was wearing a suit, sitting alone with a scotch, pretending to be a businessman relaxing after a day of travel and meetings. But she knew it was him.
She waited until the bartender went into the back room for a few minutes. Then she entered, moving swiftly to where he sat.
Their eyes connected. He offered to buy her a drink. She suggested they go to his room instead. He put down a twenty and they left together.
“You were wrong,” Rebecca said to Andrew during their double session. “It really did turn out to be a good experience in St. Louis. I did heal. And you know what? I fucked a guy, Andrew. I had sex with a man.”
“You mean a real person?” Andrew said. Sweat immediately broke out on his forehead.
“Yes,” Rebecca said. “And it was really good.”
She leaned forward and flashed her eyes at her therapist. She liked the way she made him uneasy with this information. She saw him look down in an attempt to maintain his professional boundaries.
“That’s excellent news.” Andrew tried to sound his usual calm self, but he was stammering. “So now you feel good about your success as a masturbation author?”
“Yes,” she said. “I now realize I deserve all the success I’ve gotten. It�
��s just that…” Her voice drifted off. She cocked her head and tossed her light brown hair back and stared at Andrew. “Well, masturbation isn’t a topic that interests me much anymore. I like fucking actual guys.”
“That’s terrific,” Andrew said, his voice getting hoarse.
She saw the flicker of jealousy, knew he must be considering whether or not to make a pass at her.
As Andrew nervously talked away, congratulating himself for having healed her, Rebecca thought about the night in St. Louis.
Once inside the man’s hotel room, it’d been easy. He’d been drunk. She’d worn black leather gloves to tie him up. He’d thought she was going to fuck him. Instead she’d strangled him. She’d come so quickly without even touching herself. Just watching the life go out of him…
“Yes, Andrew,” she brightly agreed. “You did a good job. The fact is, I want to have sex now with another man.”
She stared right at him and watched him squirm. She relished his guilty lust. And she looked forward to the night when he would be her next real, live lover.
Playing Karen Devere
Interior. Bedroom.
I’m going down on Tyler Beaumont. Yes, that Tyler Beaumont. Long-limbed, impossibly beautiful, with the blond hair and perfect breasts—I know these are banal descriptions, but I’m Stacy Dickerson, producer. I don’t have to be a writer. And Tyler is beautiful and she is perfect, and if I need fresh words to describe her I’ll hire someone to come up with them.
The Venetian blinds of our bedroom cast shadows on her tawny skin. I glance in the full-length mirror at Tyler’s perfect features. A million young wannabe actresses have them. Yet there’s something lusciously retro about Tyler’s looks that should work perfectly for the mass audience.
The moment I saw Tyler in Werewolf High three years ago, I knew she could be a major star. Her TV show was, of course, hugely popular with the Buffy crowd. But it was still a cult thing, and I knew I could move her onto the movie A-list, up there with Cameron Diaz and Julia Roberts.
I finagled a meeting with her on location.
Tyler was in her werewolf-hunting uniform—a tank top and a black leather mini. Blood streaked her arms and thighs from a battle scene she’d just shot on a downtown street.