by Mimi Strong
Rochelle.
The two of us had been in some theater productions at college together, where we'd become friends. By graduation, we'd spent countless hours together, studying, but mostly talking about boys… and girls.
I turned in my seat and hissed at Smith, “You did this, didn't you?”
He glanced over at Todd and Rochelle. “Oh, good. They made it. I wasn't sure if they'd buy the story that they won some raffle they didn't remember entering. People are so wary of schemes these days.”
I folded in on myself, trying to disappear into my seat. What if Todd figured out the scheme that had brought him to sit next to me? He'd give me that look. He'd stare right into my eyes, and his face would say it: Tori, you're pathetic. Tori, you have no self-respect. How could you let someone treat you like a possession? No wonder I'm not enough for you. I'm just a regular guy. I'm nice, Tori. Nice.
Todd would say those words and give me that look, and I'd die.
If only the seat would swallow me whole, but it didn't. My armpits prickled as I floated on the line between awful reality and awful imagination. Tori, you're pathetic. My mouth went dry, my breathing shallow, and my muscles tensed.
Smith said, “Cheer up! This is supposed to be fun.”
“Why would you do this?” I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to burn him with my fury. My anger felt good, and it was a step up from fear, so I clung to that red plume of rage like a lifeline.
Smith gave me his innocent look. “I thought you'd get a kick out of it.”
“How so?”
He shrugged. “Isn't living well the best revenge? You guys broke up, and now you're dating a billionaire. When you get over yourself and finally say hello, be sure and mention my name. Don't blow your perfect opportunity.”
“This is because I asked you about your wife, isn't it?”
“Ex-wife.”
“What's her name?”
“Mrs. Wittingham.”
“Why'd you split up?”
“She became crazy.”
“You drove her crazy.”
He winced. “More like tragic circumstances drove her crazy.”
The house lights dimmed, and everyone pinched the taps on their conversations, voices dribbling down to whispers.
I grabbed Smith's hand and tried to squeeze the truth out. “What tragic circumstances?”
He turned to me, his eyes sad, and whispered, “You probably won't like me anymore, but I'll tell you as soon as the novel's done.”
“In three days?”
He nodded. “In three days.”
Someone tapped me on the shoulder. “Tori?”
I took a deep breath and prepared myself.
Slowly, I turned to my left, to face my past, in the form of Todd.
“This is so crazy,” Todd said, his voice having more of an Australian accent than I remembered. “We were just talking about you, and now here you are.”
Todd, always being Mr. Full Details, explained the entire spiel about winning the trip, while I nodded and smiled like an idiot. That accent! It was so outback-y. He sounded like a funny impression of an Australian, but he was cute.
Todd had dark, nearly-black hair, as thick as Smith's, and cut short enough I could see the scalp. He used to rub his freshly-buzzed hair on my bare stomach to get me to laugh. His amber-brown eyes were as captivating now as ever, bringing up feelings I thought were gone forever. I didn't feel pathetic when he looked at me with a smile on his face.
Oh, Todd, I did miss you. We'd had our good times, and he was the youngest guy I'd ever been with, basically my age.
The girl he was with, Rochelle, was talking to someone next to her, not yet aware I was there.
Todd grinned that miles-wide smile of his, his teeth perfectly straight thanks to both of his parents being dentists of some type or other. I'd never actually met them, and I always imagined it wasn't the distance, with them being in Australia, but that Todd was ashamed of me and my less-than-sophisticated upbringing.
Todd poked me playfully on the leg and said, “Did you win a trip, too?”
“No, I'm here with this guy.” I pointed to Smith and got a funny idea. “He's my dad. Finally, after all these years, I tracked him down.” I turned to Smith, a wicked grin on my face. “Right, Daddy?”
Smith opened his mouth to disagree, but the crowd around us erupted in applause as the opening act took the stage. He gave me a look that said I was going to get a very serious spanking later for my disobedience. His stern expression made me very aroused, as did—to my surprise—sitting next to Todd.
Being so close to my former lover, smelling his familiar scent, brought memories rushing back.
I thought of the two of us at that tacky porno movie theater, and me giving him a furtive hand job under a tented jacket.
Then there was the night we made love in his shared dorm room, even though we knew his horny roommate was awake and watching in the candle light. I hadn't been able to get off that evening, due to nerves, but I'd climbed on first thing in the morning, desperate and wet, and he'd risen to the occasion like a champion, more than once.
Up on stage, the opening band made their entrance with a great flashing of lights and smoke. I'd never been in the front row at a concert like this, and when the lead singer made eye contact with me, I was immediately starstruck, my insides fluttery. My excitement overwhelmed me, pushing tears into my eyes, even though the song wasn't familiar, let alone huge.
As I watched them, they kept looking down at the front row, down at me.
The guys on stage were all sexy, owning the stage, and owning me with their eyes. Sitting pretty in the VIP section, I felt desirable and overdressed in the exact right way, like a spoiled rich girl. I could get used to this, too.
A pretty hand with short, purple fingernails reached across Todd and patted my leg. I took Rochelle's hand and squeezed it in greeting, and we both leaned across Todd to say hello. I couldn't hear a word she said over the band, but I didn't need to. We'd been friends, and though we'd drifted apart shortly before graduation, we knew each other's hearts and minds. Seeing her with Todd made absolute sense. I knew them both, and they were a good fit, more natural than me with Todd.
My left breast was resting against Todd's arm, yet he didn't shy away. Emboldened by the drinks I'd quaffed moments earlier, I leaned in more, curious about what he would do. He didn't react at all, not even when I rested my hands on his muscular thigh, ostensibly to talk more easily to Rochelle.
She was telling me about some job she'd started in her hometown, but I couldn't hear anything over the band.
Suddenly, I remembered something in vivid detail. The shock washed over me in waves. I didn't just send messages from other people's phones as pranks. I also used to send filthy text messages to Todd during classes, telling him about dirty things Rochelle and I were going to do to him. Rochelle had been going through an experimental phase, dating a bisexual woman, and she and I thought it was the most hilarious thing ever to joke about “tag-teaming” people.
Rochelle was a strawberry blond, but she loved my darker red hair so much, she started dying hers a similar shade. People said we could have passed for sisters, or even twins.
The details kept washing over me. I'd earned the nickname Tori the Torrid by sending messages from Rochelle's phone to her lesbian girlfriend, pretending to be Rochelle, who'd asked me to do this as a service to her sex life. I was always shooting my mouth off, telling insane tales about strap-ons and all-night sex marathons. I'd never even seen a strap-on in real life until my recent visit to the Montreal sex shop, much less considered using one, so it was all fiction. It was all just a joke.
I wasn't that adventurous, torrid girl.
Only here we all were.
I must have been making an inviting expression, because Rochelle grabbed my face in her hands and kissed me, right on the lips. I was so stunned, I didn't pull away, but let her kiss me. Her lips were cool, and her skin was smoother than any man's, smooth
er even than immediately post-shaving.
Todd was the one who actually pulled us apart.
His voice was loud enough to hear over the song. He chided Rochelle, “Not in front of Tori's father!”
Rochelle pulled out her cell phone and typed in a message, then held it up for me to read: Your father is Smith Wittingham? Lucky you!
I turned to my right. Smith was nodding his head, pretending to be focused on the band, but I knew he was riveted by all the drama he'd arranged for. I had a new name: Smith Shit-Disturber Wittingham.
My tension was gone, though, thanks to the kiss from Rochelle.
I started to laugh.
Thanks to the wine and the loud music, I was feeling hot and loose and out of control.
I typed out my own message on her phone: I was just joking. Smith and I are fucking. Big time. And dating, I guess. You could say it's complicated.
My head was still buzzing from her lips on my mouth, and Todd was here, touching my arm.
I'd missed both of them. I'd missed them so bad, and as we all settled back into our seats, I realized how lonely I'd been.
At least the concert was loud, and I didn't have to talk to anyone. I could feel Smith's eyes burning me, daring me to turn and give him a reaction, but I refused to look his way and give him the satisfaction.
To my left, Todd adjusted his posture, and I could see why—the man was sporting an enormous erection. By the look of it, he had little blood still flowing to his brain. That was one of the cutest things about Todd, after his Australian accent—his ability to get a full-on, raging hard-on at the merest suggestion of play.
When we were together, I'd certainly taken advantage of that, doing things like sticking my foot in his crotch when we were at a restaurant. I wondered if his current porksword was for me, or for Rochelle. Or both of us.
I uncrossed and re-crossed my legs, fanning my face with one hand. The energy in the concert hall shifted, and Smith elbowed me. I glanced up and saw the lead singer of the band was extending his hand to me, inviting me up onto the stage.
Oh, shit. I put my hand over my face and sunk down into my seat. Could the evening get any more surreal?
The singer said into his microphone, “This beautiful redhead is shy, folks. Should I pick someone else? Maybe she'll be less scared if her beautiful twin sister comes up as well.”
At that, Rochelle reached across Todd's lap, grabbed my hand, and dragged me from my chair. Laughing, I only pretended to drag my new red-soled shoes as we moved to the side, past the burly security guys, and onto the stage.
The lights were hot, like I'd stepped from shade into the mid-day sun. I could barely see anyone in the audience, which made the experience less terrifying and more terrifying, at the same time.
The singer, whose name I would later find out was Remi, positioned me and Rochelle on a low bench that some men in all-black clothes placed on the stage. I sat, hoping people couldn't see my knees trembling, and grabbed onto Rochelle's hand. She gave me a sweet smile and a wink, and I was actually glad to be there. Thrilled, even.
Remi said something in French, and the audience laughed. I felt my cheeks redden with blush, because the way he was looking at me felt so dirty. Remi had a Justin Timberlake vibe, but dangerous. He had a wiry build and fiercely bright blue eyes, and his blond hair was grown out long enough to twirl in tight curls. His resemblance to a mythical angel was offset by his aggressively sexual stance, and that mouth. I'd never seen such a sexy mouth on a man. Maybe it was the way he growled when he sang, or the things he was saying in French.
The band started, and he sang a song that was only partially in English, switching back and forth between the two languages. He shook his hips, then got down on his knees like he was begging, and writhed on the stage floor, walking his body in a circle with his chained-boot-clad feet. He finished the song by lying across both of our laps, on his back.
I stared at his beautiful eyes, those heavenly light curls, his snarling mouth, and then… in those tight pants… oh, goodness. My brain fairly screamed it: ROCK STAR COCK!
Too quickly, the song was finished, and Rochelle and I were carefully making our way back down to our seats. I grabbed for Smith's hand and gave him a quick kiss as I took my seat.
He raised his eyebrows as if to say, having fun yet?
I gave him another kiss, deeper this time, to show him how turned-on I was.
After I tore myself away from my sexy beast (who was a rock star in his own way), I noted with a smile that Todd still had monster wood in his jeans.
After the concert, the four of us climbed into the town car, and the driver, Claude, drove us back to the hotel. Smith had extended an invitation to Todd and Rochelle to have “a nightcap” with us.
My ears were ringing from the loud concert, and the songs seemed to linger in my body with a pleasant thrumming vibration.
As my two friends admired and gushed over the private elevator and then the penthouse, I saw everything with fresh eyes, and the dream of it all sparkled once more. This must be how I make Smith feel about his lifestyle, I thought.
Smith popped the cork on a bottle of champagne while I put on some music, and then… what can I say… the party started.
We sat in the sitting room and played an awfully silly drinking game called I Have Never.
One person names an adventurous act, starting with the phrase “I have never.”
Rochelle started things by saying, “I have never kissed Tori.”
I elbowed Smith to drink. “I can't believe you've never played this. See, you have kissed me, so you have to drink.”
“Oh!” His eyebrows shot up, and he took a sip of the bubbly champagne. “A teen drinking game, played with Cristal. I guess now I've done everything.”
Rochelle said, “I've only kissed Tori once, at the concert tonight, but it was nice.”
Todd's eyes flitted nervously between the two of us women. “I can't believe how cool you two are being about this. Honestly, when I saw Tori at the concert, I thought about faking a stomach ache and leaving.”
The four of us were comfortable in the suite's sitting room, the two of them on a sofa across from me and Smith. I reached forward and patted Todd's knee, giving him a puppy-dog look. “We're all friends here,” I said. “No need to be nervous.”
His eyes widened, as though telling him not to worry had done the exact opposite.
I felt my face tighten with a mischievous grin. “What's wrong, Todd? Are you scared?”
He stared into his champagne. “I just can't help thinking about what a coincidence it is that I won a contest I don't remember entering, and then I run into you, and your billionaire boyfriend.”
I laughed and threw my arm around Smith. “Billionaire boyfriend. I like the sound of that.”
“I'm all yours, princess,” Smith said, grinning. “We can stay up all night. You're in charge.”
I kissed him, rewarding him for being such a good boy. I wondered when the bad boy was going to come out, but for now I was enjoying my glamorous, champagne-filled life.
Rochelle stood and asked if I wanted to accompany her to the powder room. I jumped up. We had a few things I wanted to talk about.
I'll spare you the details of our giggling discussion, and just tell you what happened next.
Todd didn't take much convincing, but, to my surprise, Smith said he preferred to stay out of it and just watch.
And watch he did, from a chair pulled up next to the king-sized bed. He gave us a few pointers as we tied Todd's wrists to the headboard.
“Give him slack,” Smith said. “Nothing ruins a great moment like having to readjust because someone's losing circulation.”
Todd was very quiet, a mix of delight and terror on his face. His amber-brown eyes shone gold in the flattering light of the master bedroom.
Rochelle and I left him there and ran to the master bathroom to freshen up and put on our outfits. We both giggled as we snipped the price tags off the sexy lingerie
I'd bought five days earlier at the sex shop.
Rochelle groped me with her eyes as she said, “It's girls like you who make me unable to go straight.” She zipped up my dress, which was purple, plastic, and translucent. “I want to fuck you so hard.”
I laughed. “With what?” I teased.
She wagged her tongue out at me, then pulled me in for another kiss.
I said, “I don't really… I mean…”
“You're straight, I know. Don't sweat it. You're okay with touching and kissing, right?”
“Well, yeah.” I ran my hands over the black, lace bustier I'd loaned her, and gently squeezed the tops of her breasts. “It's kinda like touching myself. You are really sexy. Wow.” I leaned down and buried my face in her bosom for a moment. I moaned, then said, “No wonder men like girls. We're so soft and pleasant.”
She ran her hands down my plastic sides, which made me laugh, because I could feel her heat and pressure, but not the texture of her hands. “I feel like a cock,” I said.
“Why, are you going to spit up on me?”
“I mean I feel like a cock inside a condom. This dress feels like a shower curtain.”
“Hmm.” She squeezed my buttocks in her hands and pulled me in for an embrace and another kiss.
A rapping at the door made us pull apart.
“You've tortured us enough,” Smith said. “Now come out and play.”
This is happening.
In that instant, everything came into sharp focus. My pink lip gloss was on Rochelle's lips, from where I'd kissed her. My body smelled like hot baby powder, which I'd been liberally dusted with before donning the plastic dress. The glamorous bathroom looked like the changing room on a porn movie set, with lacy things tossed everywhere. My new collection of sex toys stood at attention, along the counter in front of the mirror, like an army of dildos and vibrators, parading along two by two.
I was going to walk through that door and engage in some seriously kinky business, with a friend, and a former lover, in front of the man I was currently working for or dating or some combination. And, for the first time that night, my fear caught up to me and overtook the lust.