“Hi,” I said taking her hand. “I’m Jessica—call me Jess—and this is my friend, Peter.”
Peter shook her hand and smiled. She flirted back. I couldn’t blame either one of them.
“You're friends with Eugene or Calvin?” I asked.
“I’m from the production company that bought Calvin’s script. We met between meetings and hit it off. He’s a great guy—and well—one thing lead to another and he invited me. I’ve never been to one of his parties before—”
“Oh, I knew that,” I said. “We would have met. I’m a regular.” I laughed. “Peter, here, however, is a virgin.”
“Well, what do you think?” she asked.
“It’s been a lot of fun,” Peter said. “Jess had told me about them before, but nothing comes close to the actual experience.”
“Sounds like you could say the same for kinky sex,” she said. “I mean, so I’ve been told.” She blushed slightly.
I couldn’t tell if she was hamming it up for Peter, or if she was a bit shy and nervous. Sometimes an innocent act is just that, a player playing, but sometimes a newbie to this kind of party is just a fish-out-of-water. I couldn’t judge, I’d have to ask Calvin. In any case, I’m not exclusive with Peter, and besides, I’m not a jealous person either. I excused myself to use the restroom and hoped they’d enjoy each other’s company.
I RETURNED AFTER BEING SIDE-TRACKED and delayed by old friends who wanted to catch up and several offers to sneak off for drugs. I had one proposal for a quickie, which I politely declined. I could see from the corner of my eye that Peter and Hope were still talking—like old friends—and so I didn't feel bad about leaving him alone for so long.
As I made my way back to him, Calvin returned from his reading with an announcement.
“I have the three finalists chosen,” he said. “Listen up.”
“Wait!” Eugene shouted. “I didn’t get finished.”
“You’re excluded,” Calvin said. “Just sit down and listen.”
“Bitch!”
“Drunk.”
Eugene stumbled to a seat and I think he closed his eyes and fell asleep.
“So, entry number one,” Calvin announced. “Love’s a joke, so let’s just poke. Maybe I misspoke, love’s a lie, let’s get high.”
People cheered and clapped.
When guests are drunk (or high), it’s easy to make them laugh at just about anything. After the cheers—and jeers—died down, Calvin continued.
“Entry number two,” he said. “I hate cards, candy, obligations. Flowers, dates, and expectations. All this corporate fascination takes away from introspection. Therefore, lover, I say to you, let's stick to infatuation.”
More cheers and claps erupted when Eugene quit reading.
“That was clever,” Peter said.
“I think so, too,” I said.
“That was mine,” the cute blonde, Hope, said.
“Nice,” Peter complimented.
“This one is the last one,” Eugene said raising his voice above the crowd. “Listen up!”
“Wait!” Eugene had sat up. “I’m not done with mine.”
“Go back to sleep!”
He put his head back down and shut his eyes.
“God, is he okay?” Peter asked me.
“Oh, this is standard,” I answered. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Number Three!” Calvin shouted. “Kissing, hugging, fucking...don’t need a special date. Obligatory gifts change love to hate...you might as well stay home and masturbate.”
More cheers and shouts came from the crowd. “Read them again,” someone shouted.
“Yeah,” someone else said in a drunken slur, “I don’t remember number one.”
Calvin read through them again and held an informal vote.
In the end, the first entry won, by a slim margin. It was all in good fun and Calvin announced that all the entries were stuck on the refrigerator with little magnets. He turned the music back up. Couples danced, others went to the bar, and somehow I ended up in the guest bedroom with Peter and the new blonde.
I’m not sure how that happened.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
It’s so beautifully arranged on the plate—you know someone’s fingers have been all over it.
~ Julia Child
I HAD ANOTHER DATE WITH KIRK on the schedule. He’d invited me to see his new place and had promised a home cooked meal.
“I’m not the best cook,” he said. “But I’m trying. I picked something easy.”
“I’m impressed with the effort,” I said. “I’m sure dinner will be great.”
“Wine?”
“Of course.”
We touched glasses, and I smiled thinking about the ease I felt in his new home. I resisted the urge to rearrange and straighten things. God, I wanted to nest after being in the house for a whole five minutes…what the fuck is wrong with me?
Or is this normal?
“It smells heavenly,” I said.
“I hope it tastes as good. Tell me if you hate it, I’ll order a pizza.”
“Just what I’m trying to avoid, carbohydrates. I think an evil being from another dimension invented carbs to punish humans.”
“An unfortunate genetic leftover from our hunter-gatherer days…how was the anti-Valentine's Day party?”
I’d told Kirk I couldn’t go with him to a concert on Saturday due to the party at Calvin and Eugene’s house. I wanted to invite Kirk to an event, too. My life is getting complicated, but if I don’t introduce my favorite guys to my friends, I’ll be forced to decide everything in a vacuum. You can tell a whole lot about a man by the way he interacts with your friends and family. Peter won a lot of awards in my head by how he talked to and treated my nephews and nieces. Those kinds of natural, genuine interactions are not easily faked, and Abby is a good judge of character.
“We had a blast,” I said. Then I smirked and felt my mouth turn into an embarrassed and shy smile. That doesn’t happen to me often.
“What?” Kirk could tell something was up.
“I sort of broke new ground,” I said.
“Huh?”
“Well…have you ever had a”—I looked around to see if anyone was eavesdropping, but then realized we were in his condo alone—“threesome?” I whispered the last word. I’m not a prude or conservative, but I’d never been in bed with a guy and another woman before.
“No,” Kirk answered. “I’m probably pretty vanilla compared to you. No, not probably. For sure.”
“I had never before…I mean…sorry, this is awkward.”
“Pretend I’m a girlfriend and this is just girl-talk," he suggested warmly. He seemed empathic and kind at the moment like I could trust him with anything. I felt safe.
“It’s not that…” I thought about it a minute. I had no qualms about discussing my sex life. I just didn’t know if I should be talking about Peter so openly. He was a prominent doctor. But, on the other hand, tons of strangers watched us ‘sneak’ off into the guest bedroom, so it wasn’t a secret. I decided that it would be okay to discuss something that hadn't been hidden. I mean, a dozen people watched us walk down the hallway and not return…
Kirk gave me a reassuring smile. “Don’t feel—”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I’ll avoid the salacious details, but at the party, there was this attractive blonde. One thing lead to another—Peter asked my permission privately—and then we ended up in the bedroom.”
“You…you ended up with a lesbian experience finally?” He smiled and looked me in the eyes. “The way you talked about it, I’m surprised it took so long.”
“Oh, no, actually,” I said, admitting the truth, “there wasn’t any girl-on-girl action. We kissed a little bit, but mostly Peter was the object of desire and we both... Um... We both concentrated on him.”
“God…every man’s fantasy,” Kirk said.
“I bet. It was pretty hot, I’ll admit. Watching her with him, it was like a sensual, live
porn. She was sexy as hell.”
“Sexier than your White Buffalo, Stella?”
“Hey, she’s not a White Buffalo yet, I might…”
“Go on…”
“I don’t know. I’m still open to the possibility. I liked the touching and kissing with the blonde…Jesus…I don’t even remember her name now, how slutty is that?”
“You were into the moment,” he said laughing. “I’m sure you’ll see her again at another party.”
“Maybe,” I said. “A lot of guests are from out-of-town and end up getting an invite due to Hollywood connections. Sometimes it’s your fresh-off-the-train mid-westerner who burns out in six months and goes back to Iowa… But, you know, sometimes a person makes it. I’ve seen people in movies a couple times that I swear I met a few years previously at one of the famous Calvin and Eugene parties.”
“I guess if we keep seeing each other,” he said, “I’ll get an invite?”
“Of course, but you say ‘if’ like you’re having second thoughts?”
“No, not second thoughts. I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”
“Go on,” I said.
“I’m going to start dating…”
“That’s good, Kirk. You’re a fantastic guy, handsome, sexy, smart…I like everything about you.”
“But not enough to go exclusive…”
“Well…”
“It’s fine,” he said. “Well, not fine—fine…but I get it. I am not trying to change you. What I’m saying is that I’m not able to have a serious relationship with two women at once, so if I find someone—I mean if I start a serious relationship—I can’t keep seeing you.”
“Totally understandable,” I admitted.
“But, don’t get me wrong,” he said. He took my hand. “I like you and if you’re ever ready to decide to settle down a bit—I just mean—like trying out an exclusive thing—I want a chance—if you’re interested, of course.”
“Yeah, I get it,” I said. “I realize this whole thing is crazy. I respect what you’ve got to do, for sure. I hope you find a wonderful woman…and who knows? If a year goes by and we are both undecided on an exclusive relationship…”
He winked at me and stood. “I’d better check the oven.”
AFTER A DELICIOUS DINNER—he’d baked salmon, made a salad, and done something fabulous with small red potatoes—we ended up on the couch watching a movie. These movies—ones started on a date after dinner or drinks—are in a category I call ‘quarter-finished,’ and there must be a hundred ‘quarter-finished’ movies in my past. Okay, maybe not that many—what am I? A total slut? Ha ha…no. But Netflix and chill dates have left me wondering: ‘What the fuck happened?’ in a lot of flicks.
“Wow, Johnny Depp is such a good—”
“Shut up and kiss me,” I stated in a firm—I’m ready to begin foreplay—voice.
He placed his hand behind my head and eased me into a kiss.
We’d been drinking red wine—a cab I think—doesn’t matter, does it? His kiss mingled the flavors of wine and his scent, which was a mixture of his pheromones and a subtle, woodsy cologne. I melted into his arms. We kissed gently and slowly for half the movie. Long, drawn out foreplay can be the perfect fire starter, and I was positively steaming by the time he stopped and took off his shirt.
I watched him undress, he didn’t say a word or make a move to undress me, he merely disrobed. He stretched in front of me, and I grabbed his cock like a microphone and pulled him close.
“I was going to get water—”
I released his stiff dick long enough to spit out, “Don’t go yet.” I reached around and squeezed a butt cheek with my left hand. With my other, I cupped his balls and massaged them while I moved my head down in a smooth arc that allowed deep penetration of his peen into my throat. Let’s be honest here—some of you girls don’t get all excited about giving good head. I don’t understand that—but different strokes—for sure.
I like it. But of course, I expect reciprocity. Kirk is a fair lover, I can attest to that.
I tugged his balls a little and then moved my finger nails along his sac. This action usually drives guys crazy, and he was no exception. I stroked lightly while kissing the tip of his dick, then I ran my tongue down to the base and back up again. I took him completely, slightly gagging on the depth I reached, and then went back to a soft touch of my tongue to his sensitive pinkish 'little' head.
Clits and the head of the penis are very similar, although I think we girls got the better side of this bargain…at least when it comes to sex and multiple orgasms. I moved my body slightly and pulled Kirk down to the couch. He was on his back, I had his cock deep in my mouth, and then I realized I was still dressed. Fuck.
I fumbled to get my jeans off, and he struggled with me to get the damn things over my hips.
Poor planning. Ha ha…
I eventually stood and pulled off everything.
“You’re so beautiful, Jess,” he said.
“You’re talking too much,” I replied pointing to my pussy.
He pulled me back down onto the couch, and I went back to his cock while he began licking me gently in the nether regions. The erogenous zone. The hot, wet, pink spot. My lady parts. Fuck, it felt like we were starting foreplay all over again. I was building up to a violent climax. Because I was on top, I had better control over how deep I took him into my throat and at the same time, I controlled the pressure I exerted on my clit. I pushed and released, pushed and released, and he alternated between intense, hard sucking, to feather-light licks of billowing cloud-like softness.
“Jesus Christ,” I gasped after spitting out his woody. “I’m so close. I’m so very, very….arg!”
Kirk pulled my pussy down tightly by squeezing my ass cheeks with both hands and driving my entire groin into his face. I felt his tongue, cheeks, hands, desire, and lust as he licked, sucked, and fluttered his tongue.
I came in a wave that started in my core and vibrated out through my thighs and up to my chest.
“Oh, oh, oh, oh,” I continued as the mini-climaxes came in waves.
I went back to his dick, although I could barely think, and moved like a rocking horse over his throbbing muscle. I could feel each vein, his ridges, his heartbeat. I wanted him to come, to climax, to explode, but I also—selfish bitch that I am—wanted to be fucked more. So, pulled out and jumped to my feet.
“Reverse cowgirl okay with you?” I asked.
He nodded his head slightly and helped me guide my hips down into the right position.
I rocked my hips, my hands on his thighs for support, and felt the pleasure of his manhood inside my womanhood while wishing I had a cowboy hat. Silly, I know, but this position always reminds me of riding a mechanical bull in a honky-tonk. I alternated my speed, wanting him to approach climax, but not quite fall over the cliff—not yet…no, not yet…
Somehow—I’m not sure from where—he had acquired lube without me moving off of his body. He must have hidden it in the cushions. I like a planner.
“Let me know if this is okay,” he said.
“Just not too deep,” I panted.
He moved a finger gently over my—well we're all country-and-western here—so my corn hole. Yikes, sounds so…nasty…ha ha…but with a gentle ease it was like adding whipped cream, fudge, and nuts to a sundae.
Did I just fucking use a fudge metaphor while getting ass-fingered? Jesus…
I rocked my hips up as high as I could without losing contact with his six-shooter and then slammed that shit back down as hard as I could. He gasped out, and I repeated the motion. Up, up, up, and then slam.
“Oh, fuck!” he whispered. “I’m so close, so close, you ready for me—”
“No, goddammit,” I said breathlessly. “Don’t come yet.”
“Turn around, then,” he commanded like a boss.
I moved my body quickly and slipped back onto his cock while facing him. He pulled me to his face and kissed me vigorously and forcefully, while
somehow, expertly, managing to sneak his finger back between my cheeks. He lightly tickled my little pink rose while also forcing his hips up in time with my downward thrusts.
We kissed magically, his tongue finding mine in a dance of pleasure. He picked up the pace as I moved into a double-time rhythm with my hips.
“I’m coming,” he said in an exhale after releasing my tongue. “Come with me, Jess. Look into my eyes.”
I obeyed.
His gaze was otherworldly as he climaxed like he’d become a ghost or a spirit. He faced contorted, and as I followed him into bliss, I had to shut my eyes. I moved my pussy fast at first, then slowly. As his climax peaked, my passion followed, and I exhaled, open-mouthed, into his. He kissed me hard when I stopped moving, my explosion over, my body spent, and my desire satiated.
“That was wonderful—”
“Shhh,” I whispered in his ear. “No words…” I kissed his neck, curled my body into his, and purred like a kitten.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I don't gamble, if you will concede that poker is a game of skill.
~ Robert A. Heinlein
A GIRL HAS GOT TO MAKE A LIVING.
Well, unless she’s a kept woman.
Maybe with a billionaire-shape-shifter who fucks her silly and buys her a new Audi every month?
Or perhaps she’s caught the eye of a real estate tycoon, a movie-star, rock-star, or a professional basketball player?
That ain’t me.
Not a trust-fund baby. Not married. No rich boyfriend.
I did inherit an extensive collection of vampire books. That was about it. Mom and Dad were always comfortable, but never rich. I came from humble origins. It makes my money—hard earned—that much sweeter.
You didn’t forget that I’m a world class poker player did you?
Good.
“HOW IS THE LOVE LIFE?” Uncle Harry asked me as I sat at his living room poker table.
“Oh—gee—if I told you, Uncle, you’d probably have a coronary.”
Fifty-Two Pickup: Threes (Jessica Rogers Book 3) Page 12