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Playing with Fire

Page 3

by Alison Tyler


  One of these days, when the hunger becomes too much, I might confess my longings, but somehow I don’t think he’d share—he’s the jealous type.

  OUT OF THE FRYING PAN

  P. S. Haven

  Lynn told me you came in her mouth,” Lawrence began.

  It’s not like I expected small talk. Or even civil talk. We both knew why we were here.

  But still I was caught off guard by his bluntness and had no response.

  “Is that right?” he asked. “Did you come in my wife’s mouth, Martin?”

  I said nothing.

  “Martin, listen.” Lawrence moved closer. “I need you to be honest with me. Because I’m being honest with you. I promised you I would only do with your wife what you did with mine. And if you came in my wife’s mouth I need to know so I can come in your wife’s mouth. Are we clear?”

  I nodded.

  “And more importantly for you, I need to know if you didn’t come in my wife’s mouth. Understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Now, did you come in Lynn’s mouth, Martin?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did she swallow it?”

  “Yes.”

  Lawrence and I sipped our brandy in unison.

  I glanced at Janet. She was sitting on the sofa next to Lynn. They were turned slightly away from one another, legs crossed identically, mirror images, as if each meant to block the other from her peripheral view, making it just a little easier to pretend the other wasn’t there.

  “Did you fuck her, Martin?”

  “No.”

  “Don’t lie.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You didn’t fuck my wife, Martin?”

  “No.”

  “Look me in the eye and tell me that.”

  I fixed his gaze with mine. “I didn’t fuck your wife.” I wanted to look to Lynn for support. Tell him, I was thinking. Tell him we didn’t fuck. Then I looked at Janet, as if to reiterate what I had sworn to her a hundred times since last night. And I said out loud to her: “I didn’t fuck her.” But Janet wouldn’t look at me.

  Lawrence seemed satisfied. “What else?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What else did you do besides come in my wife’s mouth?”

  “That’s it.”

  “That’s it? You did absolutely nothing else?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Did you not touch her?”

  “No.”

  “Not at all? You mean to tell me that while your cock was in her mouth you didn’t lay a finger on her, Martin? You mean—”

  “Okay, yes. I touched her. Of course I did. I thought you meant—”

  “I thought we were clear, Martin.”

  “We are.” I looked at Janet. She was watching me now.

  “Okay, let’s try this again: What else did you do?”

  “I don’t know, we—”

  “Where were you when she sucked your cock?”

  “In the bedroom,” I said and gestured down the hall behind Lawrence.

  “I know that. I meant physically, where were you in relation to her. Were you lying down, were you—”

  “Standing. I was standing.”

  “And Lynn was…?”

  “On her knees.”

  “On her knees,” Lawrence repeats.

  “Yes.”

  “And that’s how it was from start to finish? You walked into my bedroom, my wife got on her knees and sucked your cock, and then you left?”

  “Yes.”

  Lawrence thought about that for a minute, then said, “Was she naked?”

  “Yes.”

  “Completely?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “I asked her to leave her high heels on.”

  “And you? Were you naked?”

  “No.”

  “Where were your hands?”

  I had to think about it. “In her hair, mainly.”

  Lawrence thought again. Then, “Did you kiss her?”

  “No.” It was the only lie I told.

  “Anything else I need to know?”

  I shook my head.

  Lawrence looked at his wife. “Is that it? Everything he said?”

  Lynn nodded her head but couldn’t make eye contact.

  Lawrence stood and extended his hand toward my wife. “Okay, then. Janet?”

  Janet stood and awaited Lawrence’s instructions.

  “Take your dress off, dear.”

  Without a word, Janet slipped the dress off her shoulders and let it cascade down her long legs until it formed a puddle of satin around her ankles. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and the way Lawrence was looking at her breasts made me sick. It was the same way I had looked at Lynn’s. Janet took her panties down and stepped out of them and the dress at the same time. She went to kick off her heels.

  “No,” Lawrence said. “You leave those on.”

  And with that, Lawrence turned and walked down the hallway and into the bedroom. Janet followed, completely nude save for her shoes. Once she had disappeared inside, the door closed and clicked quietly.

  And the wait began.

  After only a few minutes, Lynn stood and left the room. I think a part of me, a foolish part, had hoped that Lynn and I would do it again, that Lynn would suck my cock again while my wife did the same to her husband. But another part of me was glad she had gone.

  The minutes began to accumulate. My mind raced. What if he was making her do more? I thought. What if she was doing other things? What if he lied to me? And then the absurdity of that thought hit me. What if I can’t trust him? My cock was in his wife’s mouth, my semen in her stomach, not twenty-four hours ago. And I was worried about me trusting him?

  I tried not to listen for them, listen for their sounds. Then, just as purposefully, I would try to. I tried to hear Janet’s breathing, her moans, the wet noises of her mouth. But I heard nothing. Not a sound.

  Five more minutes passed. Then ten.

  It was exactly seventeen minutes and thirty-seven seconds before the door opened again. Janet looked exactly as she did before she went it. I wasn’t sure what I expected. I guess I thought she’d reappear and look the way Lynn had looked the previous night afterward: Swollen lips. Chin red from abrasion. Smeared lipstick. Mascara running in tributaries of black water-color down her cheeks. But no, she looked exactly the same. Even her hair was still perfect. She simply walked back in, got dressed, collected her purse, and asked me if I was ready to go. As if I would not be. No, please let’s stay. Suck his cock again. Right.

  Lawrence emerged from the bedroom, very slightly smiling, I thought. He, too, offered no outward signs of what had just transpired between him and my wife. And for a moment I allowed myself the pleasantness of hoping that maybe nothing had happened. There were no sounds, after all. No moans, no grunts, no agonized pleas of affirmation. For all I knew, Janet and Lawrence had simply disappeared into his bedroom, sat on the edge of his bed, and discussed how deeply hurtful what Lynn and I had done was to them. Talked about how this whole silly mock trial and punishment should teach us both an equally hurtful lesson. Decided that seventeen minutes and thirty-seven seconds was long enough to convince us that Janet had sucked Lawrence’s cock to fruition.

  But the look in Lawrence’s eyes convinced me otherwise. And the fact that Janet wouldn’t allow me to look into hers. It had happened. They had done it. I was sure of it. And if I had any lingering doubt, it was dispelled when Lawrence said to me as I walked out of his house, “Now we’re even.”

  THREE ON A MATCH

  Jeremy Edwards

  I was eighteen, and I kept falling in love with my buddies’ girlfriends. Bad habit, but I guess it was some sort of phase I was going through. They say that everyone needs a hobby.

  As a kid, I hadn’t been the type who automatically wanted what someone else had. But now, as a fledgling adult, maybe the real problem was that I was lacking in—well, confidence, of course—but also im
agination. You don’t have to use your imagination to envision someone as a girlfriend, if she’s already the girlfriend of somebody you know. The whole package is right in front of your eyes, day after day: a point of departure for the hard work your mind will be called upon to do late at night. Ready-made pencil sketches for when you turn your lights out in your room by yourself and start coloring in, supplying the details that you can oh so vividly conjure up, filling in blank after luscious blank. I wasn’t lacking in imagination in that area, that was for sure.

  The summer had been weird—riveting and mesmerizing, but weird. I’d spent it playing third wheel all over town to my best friend Mitch and his honey Melissa, the cutie from Cutieland whose eyes glistened like Kool-Aid. When we were in Mitch’s car, I felt like forgotten luggage in the backseat. When we were in my car, I’d sneak peeks at them in the rearview, and I’d see their hands going between each other’s legs. It made me ache in a thrilling way, and I kept right on peeking, as traffic permitted.

  One night I had to retrieve something from the back after I’d dropped them off, and I could smell Melissa on the seats. I don’t mean Melissa’s shampoo or Melissa’s perfume—I mean Melissa. As far as my nose was concerned, her pussy was still my passenger, though her ass no longer warmed my vinyl. I closed myself into the backseat with her aroma for a while, touching my zipper reverently in the dusk—communing with an olfactory specter of the person I hungered for.

  I’d been in love with her since about the second week in June. The high point of each day was seeing what pair of little shorts and which chest-hugging top she’d wiggled into that morning. (That is, I liked to think that she wiggled as she dressed.) As the three of us took big, greedy bites out of the hometown every night, in preparation for leaving it behind, I always tried to think of funny things to say—hoping to make Melissa laugh, to make those liquid eyes shimmer at me. When she laughed, I felt like I could see an echo of her cunt, ripe and juicy and receptive, rippling in her eyes. If I couldn’t reach out physically and tickle her fragrant flesh like I longed to, at least I could tickle her mind from time to time and watch the nectar swirl around her irises.

  As August arrived at its inevitable conclusion, I knew it was healthy that I was being forced out of the desire-steeped rut I was in. And yet part of me clung to an insane wish that this summer would never end.

  College was a big new world, richly populated with instant heroes—like Colin, whose room was across the hall from mine.

  Colin knew everything about the music we worshipped. In our circle, that by itself was enough to make him a leader. And the fact was that he was not only more knowledgeable than we were about alternative rock bands, he was generally wiser, more experienced, and more in control of himself. We were all freshmen together, but Colin seemed to have shown up with some attributes that the rest of us could only hope to grow into.

  My friends Ed and Robby never commented on Colin’s easy attractiveness to women. Maybe they didn’t notice. I certainly did. I didn’t begrudge Colin the way poised, cerebral, beautiful girls constantly drifted toward him. I would have, too, had I been a gorgeous straight chick rather than an awkward straight guy. Colin was genuinely kind and gracious and, with his chiseled complexion, he was handsome beyond his years. In my eyes, he deserved whatever nice things he was getting from these impossibly sexy women—things I often thought about at night, after I’d seen one of them float into his room.

  And when, in late October, one woman emerged from the flock as Colin’s girlfriend, I was as happy for him as an envious, sexually unactualized young man could be. I was sincerely glad that Colin and the lovely, magical Renata were fucking every night while the rest of us were studying or cranking tunes or watching TV. Hey, I was glad somebody got to fuck a dream like Renata. You don’t want to see an allure like hers go to waste.

  I was not so much jealous of Colin as I was jealous of myself—of a self I wanted to be but wasn’t. Or wasn’t yet. And I just wished, after the dorm went quiet each night, that I could slip into an alternate universe—for a mere hour—in which I was the one fucking Renata.

  Where Melissa had been button-nose cute, Renata had an eclectic, unforgettable beauty. Her teeth were slightly crooked, which for some reason made her look very smart—which, in fact, she was. Her jaw was strong, while her voice was ethereal. Her blonde hair fell in thick, confident lines almost all the way to her shoulders, where it formed flirtatious curls at the last minute.

  And where Melissa’s presence had made me want to tickle her between the legs, Renata’s made me want to spread her naked on my bed and solemnly lick her from her toes to the base of her neck—with special attention to her warm, blonde pussy, of course, and a premeditated detour into her sacred asshole.

  When Renata winked that night in November, I thought I was going to have to transfer to another school. Oh, I knew she probably didn’t mean anything by it. I happened to be walking up the hall, after studying chem with Robby, when she returned to Colin’s room from the bathroom. She had her toothbrush and toothpaste clutched daintily in one of her perfect-as-a-painting hands, and she smiled and winked at me as she passed through his door. Her long tartan skirt swished, and then she was gone.

  I told myself it had been just a cute, friendly gesture to someone she knew was a buddy of Colin’s. And yet, I couldn’t help imbuing it with waves of significance that rocked my insides. I took Renata’s wink to bed with me, and in my head, the wink said, Yep, here I go, Doug, back to Colin’s room to eagerly throw my gorgeous nude body into his arms and coax him to do everything to me, till I pass out from pure pleasure. G’night!

  I jerked off furiously, three or four times in a row, and even after that I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t see how I could ever function normally again, being under the same roof as that wink. At about five A.M., I realized I was in love with her—that the wink had brought something to a pinnacle, something that had been building for weeks.

  I was honest to a fault, so I told Colin that I was in love with Renata—just like I’d wanted to tell Mitch about Melissa. Unlike Mitch, who had a bit of a sarcastic edge, Colin was the kind of guy you trusted so completely that it actually seemed possible to tell him anything. So I told him. I told him at lunch, in the middle of the week. I think even savvy old Colin wasn’t quite sure what to do with this. He ate his lunch.

  Afterward, I wondered if he would tell her. Did I dread that? Did I long for that? I decided that both were equally true. I want you to know, I informed her in my fevered mind.

  Next time I saw her, she flashed me a tender half smile. So she knew, I assumed. I found the half smile and its implications paradoxically chilling and comforting—and sexually exhilarating. Another sleepless night ensued.

  In my obsessive inner world, I speculated that it turned her on, maybe just a little, to know that I had the hots for her. And that thought, naturally, turned me on—a lot. It was a vicious, delicious circle. And I was just going to have to fucking transfer. Sure, Colin and Renata seemed to be cool with the situation—but I wasn’t. I was a mess, feeling more alive than I ever had before, unable to sit still in my classes.

  The stereo was on, and Colin and Renata were drinking gin and tonics on the oriental rug. Yes—Colin, who wasn’t rich but knew where to go for deals, had an oriental rug in his freshman dorm room. And, of course, he had a breathtaking, elegant girlfriend on his oriental rug, sitting cross-legged in a short skirt, her panties practically kissing Colin’s magic carpet as she rode it.

  Standing in the doorway, I was like a kid who’d somehow stumbled onto an adult existence he desperately craved but wasn’t ready for.

  “We’ve been talking about you,” said Colin, in a tone my SAT-trained vocabulary immediately labeled as avuncular. I’d known something was afoot when he’d phoned my room, asking me to drop by for a minute. Colin didn’t normally ask us to drop by. He knew we’d show up, seeking his wisdom and advice, sooner or later—always prepared to come back another time if his door was clos
ed.

  I instinctively closed the door behind myself now.

  “Would you like to spend a little time with me, Doug?” Renata asked abruptly.

  “Huh?” I said stupidly. “What do you mean?”

  Colin exchanged knowing looks with her, then grinned at me. “We thought it might help you get the whole thing out of your system.”

  I knew my face was as red as the official school sweats. I felt pathetic. “What, you mean like we go to the movies or something?” I asked weakly.

  “No, Doug,” Renata said softly. “Not the movies.” Her weight shifted as she spoke to me, and I saw an instantaneous flash of pink silk lightning under her mini.

  I was trembling.

  “Think about it,” Colin said diplomatically, relieving me of the pressure to answer. “We’ll see you tomorrow, all right? We have some…studying to do.” He beamed at Renata, who took a sensuous sip of her drink, and I virtually crawled back to my room. I threw myself under the covers and imagined what it would be like to lift Renata’s little skirt up and bury my face in her pink, pink panties.

  It was going to be the hardest thing I’d ever done, turning down this mindfucking offer.

  But I didn’t want get-it-out-of-your-system sex thrown to me like a crumb. Maybe I was a starry-eyed eighteen-year-old romantic…but I believed that if you were going to have a one-night stand with someone, it should mean she was actually dying for you to fuck her ass off, if only for the one evening. I really couldn’t envision it as something she’d do just to be a good sport—as much as I appreciated the gesture, as much as my throbbing cock wished I could talk myself into going along with it.

 

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