“I washed them,” Jesse says, leaning across me to kiss Rory’s lips, his face, his neck. Rory’s eyes droop and he in turn kisses me as Jesse trails his mouth over both of us. After a moment where the three of us just merge and meld together, Jesse pulls back for a moment.
“I have an idea,” he says, lightly, his fingers rolling one nipple. His other hand is still in Rory’s pants.
“What’s that?” I say. Rory nudges his nose into my ear as Jesse answers.
“I think we should spank her,” he says.
For a second no one says anything, then beside me Rory starts to chuckle.
“I mean since she’s so prettily tied up and everything,” Jesse continues. “It seems a waste not to.”
Rory murmurs into my ear, his voice low and husky. “Is that okay with you?”
“Perfectly,” I say. I’m a little surprised though. Rory and I tried some light stuff when we first got married but he was always a little embarrassed by it, so I never pushed. “Are you okay with it?”
“More than okay,” Rory says.
He stands and he and Jesse guide me into position, my legs slightly open, my hands bound behind me. As they turn me I look over my shoulder and catch a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror closet doors.
Jesse has done some kind of fancy bondage thing with the red tie, lacing it around my arms, corset style and tying it with a neat bow. I haven’t been feeling very sexy these past few years, for all kinds of reasons, but right now, still tingling from a phenomenal orgasm, with the red tie contrasting against my pale skin, my curves rocking, my hair tumbling down, I feel like a goddess.
A goddess in need of a good spanking. I bend over obediently, my forehead just resting on the coverlet, my shoulders touching the edge of the bed. I peek backwards a Jesse tugs Rory into position.
“You stand here,” he says. I can see he’s undoing Rory’s pants.
Rory hesitates, edging back. “I can’t…nothing happens.”
Jesse lets Rory’s pants hang open, taking his face instead between his hands. “We’ll see,” he says, soothingly. Then he kisses him, just a soft, tender kiss of reassurance. I turn away so they won’t see the tears in my eyes. How many times have I tried to reassure Rory about his impotence? It mattered to me of course, but I still wanted to touch him there. And he let me for a time, but then…
I glance back, just in time to see Jesse take Rory’s soft cock into his mouth. Rory looks uncertain for a second but when he catches me looking at him his face grows stern.
SMACK!
I gasp back a cry of shock. It’s been a while since I’ve been spanked and that fucking hurt. The sting recedes to a thrill of arousal though. Immediately I want more. I turn my face away to the mirrored closet doors. I can see the whole tableau now—me bent over, ass in the air, the beginnings of a red hand print blossoming on my round cheek, Rory poised to slap me again, one hand raised, one clutching Jesse’s blue hair, as Jesse slowly sucks him.
Maybe I’m seeing this wrong but it looks like…
SMACK!
“Fuck…” That hurt too. Jesus.
“NO looking,” Rory says.
I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing.
SMACK! SMACK!
A few seconds go past in silence apart from the sucking sounds, as Rory caresses my burning ass. His thumbs slide between my cheeks, caressing my anus and pussy, his fingers push inside roughly, making me gasp again.
“You’re so wet,” he says. Thank you, Captain Obvious. I close my eyes, resting my face on the bed, enjoying the pressure of Rory’s fingers inside and the lingering burn on my skin, and praying to the gods of sex that someone, anyone will fuck me in the next twenty seconds before I lose my mind.
I open my eyes when I feel a cock nudging into me. And in the mirror, I see Rory guiding his healthy erection into my pussy, an intent expression on his face. He looks over at the mirror and our eyes meet and he looks at me with such love that I might melt as he enters me.
He sighs with pleasure, with desire, with all the months and years since we’ve done this. I’m barely aware of Jesse lying down on the bed behind me. He weaves his hand into my hair and tugs a handful. Behind me, Rory clutches my bound wrists and fucks me, slowly at first, tentatively, as though he doesn’t want to break this miraculous boner. But soon he begins to lose himself to it as I watch in the mirror. He becomes that horny young engineer again, the one who wanted to fuck in the middle of the night, who pulled the car over on Route 66 once and begged me to blow him, who answered my seedy Craigslist ad all those years ago, my desperate plea for help, tuition money in exchange for sex. What was I thinking?
We fell in love instead. And he married me.
“Ooohhh, Desi, baby…fuck…”
That sound—the sound of him losing control, his cock thrumming inside me—sends me over the edge. I start to come slowly, as Jesse tugs my face around and kisses me, capturing my cries, caressing me as it peaks and recedes, leaving me spent and shaking.
Rory continues thrusting, as I float in the acutely sensitive afterglow. Jesse stands then, and as Rory releases my hips they wrap their arms around each other and kiss deeply, their tongues dashing in and out. Rory whimpers, clinging to Jesse’s cock, the fingers of his other hand digging into his tight ass.
“Oh, fuck, I’m going to come. Fffffuck…”
Then I lose track of Jesse. Rory lets him go and wraps one hand around my bound wrists and tangles the other in my hair. He pushes deep into me as his climax takes him, calling out my name.
“Desi…Desi…baby…”
I ride it with him, shimmering with ecstasy. I can feel my pussy clenching around his pulsating cock as he fills me.
Then we breathe together gazing into our reflections in the mirror.
“I love you so much,” Rory says.
“I love you too, darling,” I say. “I love you more than anything.”
Somewhere, faraway it seems, I think I hear Jesse sigh.
Chapter Six
Rory falls asleep with his arms around me, and as I listen to his light snoring, I realize that he probably didn’t take his night-time pill, his sedative. But here he is, sleeping like a lamb, warm and sated. It’s so like a miracle that I have a brief delusion that Jesse was some kind of angel, and his current absence only proves it, proves that he’s gone back to the magical realm he came from. But then I smell a faint whiff of cigarette smoke.
Untangling myself from Rory’s arms, I get up and slip on my robe, tiptoe out of the bedroom and close the door carefully behind me.
Stepping into the living room, I can see Jesse out on the deck, his slim figure silhouetted by moonlight and mist from the valley. He’s barefoot and shirtless, facing the woods behind our house, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he counts the pile of money Rory left for him.
I watch him for a moment before he turns, and as the mist clears a bit and moonlight brightens, I see the faint scars on his back—a network of fine lines. A couple of the scars seem slightly raised, but the rest are just discolored. Whatever caused them seems to have happened a long time ago.
Jesse turns as I slide the patio door open.
“Sorry,” he says, taking the cigarette out of his mouth. “Do you mind?”
“It’s fine,” I say. “Don’t throw it into the trees though.”
“Of course not.”
He tucks it back into the corner of his mouth, folding up the money and sliding the wad into the pocket of his jeans.
“How much did he pay you?”
“Two thousand.” He grins at me. “Was it worth it?”
I feel myself blush, even in the cool night air. “Yes. Absolutely.”
We stand in silence as he finishes his cigarette, butting it in a candleholder.
“You’re not cold?” I say as he turns to me.
He shakes his head. I take his hands, surprised at their warmth, and then as though a habit from my past has burst back to life in me, I slowly turn his
hands and arms outwards, so the inside of his elbows are revealed in the bluish light.
He lets me examine his pale unblemished skin for a moment, before speaking.
“I don’t inject drugs,” he says, quietly, extracting his hands from mine. He slides them up my arms and shoulders to cradle my face.
“But you use drugs.”
He sighs, leaning forward to kiss me lightly. It feels slightly wicked, doing it without Rory there to watch, but this kiss is more friendly than anything else.
“Don’t worry about me,” Jesse says. As though that’s a choice, with the things I’ve seen, back in my old life, the friends I’ve lost. A big part of sobriety is memory, remembering things you witnessed while intoxicated as though for the first time. Every day for the first few years another memory would emerge into the cold light of my clear head. Now dead friends line up like witnesses. But I can’t take the fall for all of them. Not after all this time. Not even for Boy Blue.
He extricates himself from our embrace and lights another cigarette.
“Do you do this often?” I ask. “Sex for money I mean.”
“Once or twice a week. Sometimes more.”
“With couples? Like us?”
He laughs out a cloud of smoke. “No. Mostly men. Sometimes gay couples.”
“Are you homosexual?”
He turns to me, an amused expression on his face. “I’m econo-sexual,” he quips. “I’ll do anyone for money.”
“But when you have sex for fun, is it with men or women?”
He shakes his head with a little shrug. “To be honest there’s almost always some kind of financial exchange.” He purses his lips. “I think I like women a little more than men. They’re softer.” He emphasizes this by lifting one hand up to cup my breast through my robe. “You’re nice and soft.”
“Do you enjoy it? What you do?”
“Sure.”
He doesn’t seem all that sure. Maybe this façade of Jesse’s can only last so long. Maybe as midnight is passing his magic spell is weakening. I almost imagine I can see that light leave his eyes.
“You didn’t even come,” I say.
“I enjoy the money.” He turns from me, leaning on the deck railing, looking out at the night. Seconds tick past as I watch more of the bravado seep out of him. After a minute, I step back inside and return with a knitted throw rug, which I wrap around his shoulders as he stubs out his second cigarette.
“Thanks. I couldn’t find my shirt in the dark. I didn’t want to wake you.”
As I take my place beside him at the railing, he lifts one arm and engulfs me in half the rug. It’s cozy, friendly. I lean my head on his shoulder and though earlier tonight I was feeling euphoric with the joy of being intimate with my husband, some of the sadness that drew me to Jesse in the first place returns. And it emboldens me.
“How did you get the scars on your back?”
He looks at me for a second too long before answering. “I fell out of a tree.”
“Is that the truth?”
Another second slips past, silent as a ghost.
“No.”
I’m not sure exactly how I can tell but I know then that the magic is all gone, that Jesse’s uncanny ability to hide and pretend, to feign joy and insouciance is spent. “Can you get me an Uber?” he says. “I should go.”
I leave him there on the deck, under the knitted blanket, while I find his shirt and Rory’s iPad, to order a car.
Jesse finishes dressing in silence.
“If you ever need anything,” I start, while he laces his sneakers, not looking at me. “Come and see me in the library. But, you know…uh…”
“Be discreet?” he says.
“Yes.”
Outside I hear the crunch of a car pulling over to the gravel verge at the end of our driveway. Jesse stands, slipping on his jacket and slinging his messenger bag over his shoulder.
“You know what the nicest thing about tonight was?” he says.
I shake my head.
“Being so close to two people who love each other so much. That doesn’t happen to me often. It felt good.”
He leans forward and kisses me again, flicking his tongue in when I open my mouth slightly.
“Say goodbye to Rory for me.”
I only nod as he lets himself out.
I watch him stride down the driveway to the waiting car, and exchange a few words with the driver before he gets in. The car pulls away in a cloud of dust and exhaust.
Then Boy Blue is gone.
Chapter Seven
A good love story has a happy ending. And for Rory and me, our love story is nowhere near the end, but we are happy. We have been happy. We will be happy forever.
In the days after Jesse’s visit we discover certain things about Rory’s arousal and desire.
“It’s not as simple as bisexuality,” he says one morning, after a few days have gone past.
“Of course not. I mean nothing is ever simple.” I’m not sure where he’s going with this.
“It’s novelty, I think. Like just a new sensation. He had whiskers and I could feel them and it was like that woke something up in me.”
“And…it wasn’t weird that he was a guy? Or…not me?”
Rory looks abashed for a moment, pouring more milk into his coffee. “It was weird but…I could see you were into him. And I thought it was fair, since I can’t…I couldn’t…”
Rory tongue-tied. This is a brave new world.
“So you think other new sensations might do the trick too?”
He shrugs, sipping his coffee, as I think of all the avenues we can explore together in search of ‘new sensations’. The challenge will be to find things that pique Rory’s interest intellectually, which might then flip the switch of his elusive desire, just as the novelty of kissing another man did. And then we cross our fingers in the hopes that it’s enough to get him hard, or at least interested enough to get me off somehow. And while that might sound unsexy or unromantic, I’m excited about it, excited about the possibilities, excited that we can do this together.
We could try a plethora of toys or other sensory things like hot wax or edible oils. We could experiment with new locales, risky public encounters or role-play. We could invite another woman to join us, something I’ve fantasized about since I left behind my days as a club whore, wiling away the bored days waiting for the men to come back from a ride when me and the other club girls weren’t ever really all that bored. We found ways to amuse ourselves.
When I got clean I associated all that wild sexuality with being intoxicated all the time, but maybe that was part of me anyway. Maybe I’m just wild, even sober as a judge.
Maybe Rory is a bit wild too, when he’s let out of his cage.
“I think he was a drug addict,” Rory says, breaking me out of my daydream. “Jesse, I mean. And he was quite young.”
“Eighteen.” Saying it makes me feel ashamed. “He said he didn’t inject drugs.”
“Still. Did you notice the scars on his back?”
I nod.
Rory gets up to refill the coffee maker. He stands there and watches while it starts to sizzle and drip. Finally he turns.
“I looked through his bag,” he says, tightly, and I can see he’s ashamed too. “There was a bottle of Oxys. Lots of condoms and lube. And Truvada. Do you know what that is?”
God.
“Yeah.” I can barely speak through the sudden dryness in my throat. “HIV preventative. I guess most rent boys take it.”
“Neither of the bottles was prescribed for someone called Jesse.”
He watches the last of the coffee drip into the pot. Bringing it over to the table, he refills both our cups.
“So he stole them?”
Rory adds milk to his cup and stirs it thoughtfully. “I checked all my meds. Nothing is missing. Not even the sedatives.”
“But?”
“I don’t think we should see him again.”
“No,” I say,
to cover the skipping of my heart. “No, of course not.”
He watches me sip my coffee. After a moment he reaches over the table and takes my free hand.
“I know what drew you to him,” he says. “It drew me too. But you and I have enough tragedy in our lives, don’t you think?”
“Yes. Of course.” I’m trying not to cry now.
“I know that sounds ungenerous, and for another couple maybe it would be okay. But not for us. It’s too dangerous. We can’t have drugs in the house. And we can’t…at the end of the day it takes all our capacity to keep ourselves healthy and alive, doesn’t it? We can’t rescue him, or adopt him like a lost puppy.”
“No.”
He smiles at me, because I suppose I’ve convinced him that I agree.
“What should I do if he comes into the library?” Saying it out loud ensures that I won’t do what I’m thinking of—taking Jesse into the handicapped bathroom on the top the floor, the one that no one uses, and letting him bend me over the counter. After all, he never did actually fuck me, like I had planned. If I had just nodded and ended the conversation then that idea might have been left open, like a door.
But I’ve closed it. And Rory locks it.
“Unless he’s in some kind of serious trouble, just be friendly but distant. This was a one-time thing. He’ll understand that.”
“And if he is in some kind of serious trouble?”
Rory frowns, shaking his head. “Offer him money, I guess. I trust you to decide how much.”
He trusts me. That is where happy endings come from.
Jesse never does come back into the library. Sometimes, after work, I ride around the city streets, my Bonneville rumbling between my legs as the daylight fades, looking for him. Not for any reason, not to break Rory’s trust, just to see him, to catch a glimpse of that otherworldly beauty and pathos. The streets of San Francisco have more than their share of pathos—homeless veterans with signs, painfully skinny drug addicts and prostitutes of both sexes, and children, looking lost and scared. San Francisco attracts waifs and strays from all over the country. It’s as though they are trying to escape into that mythical west where life is peaceful, but the Pacific Ocean stops them. So here they remain, eking out an existence on the streets.
Biker Chicks: Volume 2 Page 31