by Gabi Moore
I looked up to see her head flop to the other side. Each of her hands were pulling at me, clenching and unclenching her little fists in my hair and grinding desperately up against me. The sight of her thrashing and moaning like that was all I needed: in a few moments I was rock hard and wanting her so bad it ached.
And just at that moment, I had a thought. It was a dumb thought, but I had it anyway. I didn’t want anyone giving her flowers ever again. Not Vito. Not one of his goons. Nobody. Nobody except me. I wanted to be the cause of that beautiful smile on her face, always. I wanted to be the reason her whole face lit up and her eyes went wide. Why the fuck hadn’t I bought her flowers every single day?
“That feels amazing…” she mumbled with half-closed eyes.
“Marry me,” I blurted.
She yanked my head up and looked me square in the eyes, shocked.
“What did you say?”
“I said marry me. Say yes. I love you Sophia. Let’s just do it, let’s not waste any more time.”
“Woah woah woah,” she cried and quickly scooted her butt back so the hem of her dress flopped down again to cover her.
“Are you serious?”
I must have looked really goofy, grinning up at her, face wet, dick hard. But she stared back at me with something like suspicion.
“You’re proposing to me …now?”
“What better time to do it, right?” I laughed. Proposing while buried face full in the sweet lap of the woman I loved, completely venerating that most secret, most delicious part of her body …what made more sense in the world?
She looked pissed, though.
“Marriage isn’t a joke, Leo,” she said, looking confused. I got up quickly and sat next to her on the sofa.
“But I’m not joking.”
The mood in the room had gone from plasma hot to sputtering in a few seconds. I didn’t understand. I quickly scrambled to reach for the side table, then handed her the velvet box. She looked at it.
“Is it a ring?”
“Of course it’s a ring!” The dawning realization that I was fucking something up, maybe profoundly, hit me like a ton of bricks.
“You didn’t want a ring…?”
“No, I …it’s not that Leo…” she said quietly. She opened the box and put the ring on, then fanned out her fingers and took a long, cryptic look at it.
“It’s nice. It’s a beautiful ring, really. It’s just that …I guess I didn’t expect this moment to feel quite like this.”
“Baby…” I sat at her feet again, took the ring box from her, tossed it aside and grasped both her hands.
“Baby, I know this is important to you, and I know I’ve been a pain in the ass about the whole idea, but you’re right, and I want to, and I think we’re ready.”
She looked down at me with a faint smile playing on her lips and a few sparkly tears clinging to her lower lashes.
“You’re a big idiot, you know that Leo?” she said and stroked my chin with her fingertips.
“You said you liked the ring!” I said and laughed.
“Uh huh. And how am I going to tell people you proposed to me, hm?”
“Well, just tell them the truth,” I said with a sheepish grin. “Tell them I was eating you out and was so overcome by the amazingness of your perfect pussy that I basically had a religious experience and I couldn’t help but propose, right there and then.”
She burst out laughing. I reached up and grabbed her, and the laughter stopped for a moment as we stared into one another’s eyes, the reality of the moment really hitting.
“You didn’t give me your answer yet,” I whispered up close. She blinked hard and the tears rolled quickly down her round cheeks.
“Leo, I would marry you a dozen times over, you know that. I love you.”
I kissed her again, deeply, and was soon hard again. She laughed, tears still flowing, and looked down at me.
“Well that’s very romantic,” she said, eyeing the massive bulge in my trousers.
I gave her a completely serious look.
“Isn’t it?” I said. “The thought of committing to loving you for the rest of our lives gives me a raging hard on …sounds pretty romantic to me.”
The ring sparkled vaguely on her finger as her hands clasped around my neck and shoulders, and she lowered into a passionate kiss.
“Now where were we…?” I said as I guided her body back to its old position and my hands found their way back up her dress again. She giggled as I gently pried open her thighs and found that familiar, juicy spot I loved.
“Not that, I want your cock.”
I lifted my eyebrow at her. She never, and I mean never said that to me. Sophia was always demure. Always the classy girl who nudged and smiled and hinted, but never, and I really mean never, used anything remotely like a dirty word. She didn’t have to tell me twice. I sprung up, tore off my clothing and soon had her dress bunched high up just under her armpits.
Fumbling wildly, I lay her down on the sofa and tried to balance carefully over her, all the while she had that naughty fuck me look in her eyes.
To my delight, she pulled her legs apart and up high towards her shoulders, completely exposing her gorgeous pink cunt to me. I couldn’t help myself. When I brought my hips down hard onto her and sunk the full length of my cock into her greedy little body, it felt so mind-splittingly good I had to stop breathing for a moment. She gasped and twitched against me, but I couldn’t hold back. It was as though I was falling off a steep cliff and now that I had taken the first step, I couldn’t stop myself from accelerating further and further down, chasing that sweet ecstasy she had tucked away inside her…
In an instant I was fucking her hard and mercilessly, pulling up my hips and bringing them swiftly down again into her upturned hips, ploughing every last inch of my cock deep into her, stroke after stroke after stroke. To my surprise, she opened up further and took it all in without skipping a beat. She put her knees to her chest, folded up small, and squeezed her eyes tightly against every thrust. I scarcely recognized her, as though she was in a trance. But she wouldn’t look at me. Her eyes were closed, and soon, I realized something was wrong. Very wrong.
“Sophia? Hey, where did you go?” I said, and she blinked her eyes open and stared up at me.
“I’m right here,” she smiled, but there was something hollow in it.
I looked down at her, gently grazing my knuckles against her cheekbones as I kept that same deep, smooth rhythm in and out of gorgeous body. But something was wrong. In a few moments, I could hold out no more. I growled and clenched my jaw, lost control and came inside her. Her face was blank as she steadied my arms and watched my face twisting and contorting.
I was sweating like a pig and probably just as pink as one, too, but she lay underneath me, looking disconcertingly unruffled.
“You didn’t…”
“Not everything in the world is about having an orgasm you know,” she snapped.
I was stunned.
I disentangled my limbs from hers, tried to gather myself and watched as she quickly shimmied her dress back down again and started to hunt around for her underwear.
I wanted to say something. But I stood there mute, wondering what the hell had just happened.
“I’m sorry…” she said eventually, when she had smoothed back her hair and stood up from the sofa. “It’s just …all of this is quite overwhelming.”
She came over and gave me a sweet, lingering hug. But something was still wrong. I realized with a dull ache somewhere inside my chest: she could have secrets from me, too.
Chapter Six – Sophia
I took a peek over my shoulder, pushed the heavy doors open and quietly let myself inside.
I had been attending this salsa class for a few months now, but no matter how many times I skulked up to the non-descript entrance, I still had to double and triple check that the coast was clear before slinking inside. The group itself knew to hide, too.
The room inside wa
s identified only by a paper sign printed with “Melissa’s Salsa Club” and nothing more. But if anybody had seen me creeping into this room, it would instantly be clear that there was no salsa going on here at all.
Inside was a wide ring of budget plastic chairs, arranged on a linoleum floor, and a steel foldout table laden with supermarket cookies and a few bottles of Coke Zero. Somehow, the spread of snacks always seemed to fill me with as much shame as the real reason I was here.
I settled down, clutching my handbag close to my body and nodding curt smiles to some of the faces I recognized and had seen in previous sessions.
More people drifted in through the big doors, some looking a little nervous and unsure, most just milling over to a chair or helping themselves to a cookie. Lizzy, our coordinator, came swanning through the doors in her usual wooden bead necklace and long skirt get-up, and smiled warmly as she settled down.
“Right! If that’s everyone, we’ll get started,” she chirped, and opened up a folder.
When you come to a sex addicts support group, the first part is always to put the newbies through the ringer. Everyone listens with blank expressions but I know, deep down, that they’re all taking notes, all measuring them up, mentally peeling off their clothing, mentally chastising themselves and then mentally placing it all back on again. It’s awful. It’s sordid, I know it is. But I can’t help but keep coming back here.
“Right, so we have some new faces with us this time, Erin, would you like to go first and tell us what’s brought you here today?”
I leaned back in my seat and looked at the frightened teenaged girl in front of me. Before she opened her purple-lipsticked mouth I already knew the story she’d tell. Because it was my story.
Shitty parents (or in my case, no parents at all), shady boyfriends, outrageous nights out, and then the juicy bits that everyone wanted to know – the drugs (sometimes it was alcohol), the poor choices, the vivid descriptions of wanton, empty sex that everyone shook their head at but deep down relished …I knew about it all.
“…and that’s when I realized I had a problem” she said, little tears in her eyes. “I always told myself I’d never do that. I’d never sink that low…”
I knew every man in here was mentally fucking her brains out as they all nodded and smiled politely.
“Yes, well, it’s a place we’ve all been, so you’re not alone,” the coordinator said. “Thank you for sharing, Erin.”
I knew it was ridiculous. I couldn’t even imagine what Leo would say if he knew I was here. I had told him more about my past than I had told anyone. And he had accepted everything without a second thought. But this was a part of me that I couldn’t tell even him. What was I going to say? That even though he was perfect, that he adored me, that I felt more myself and more in love with him than I ever had for anyone in my life, somehow part of me kept returning to …this. To these seedy meetings. These cringe-inducing confessions. I kept coming back week after week. I figured, at least going to a sex addicts support group was better than actually being a full-blown sex addict, right?
It was time for the next newbie to spill his guts. What would his story be? Four women in one night? Addicted to porn? Or was it something nasty like cheating on his wife?
I scanned him over and tried to guess. Worn cowboy jeans but pristine shoes. Too-long hair and a kind of shifty look about him. But he was hot; I’d give him that. I worked all day with people, and with people’s bodies, and I had a knack for reading the way they carried themselves. This guy was all in the hips, all swagger, and when he opened his mouth you could tell right away that he was going to indulge plenty in what Lizzy liked to call ‘little backslides’.
I felt bad, staring at him, listening to him speak. Thinking the things I was thinking. But it was my secret. I had it safely locked away on Wednesday evenings at six, and I had it all under control, and basically, it was like a release valve. I knew these meetings weren’t quenching my unhealthy obsessions, but in a way, they were a fixed, controlled dose of bad that allowed all the good that followed the rest of the week. I felt bad that I had kept all of this from Leo. But on the other hand, it was also in his best interests to conceal from him just how fucked up I really was.
The guy and I locked eyes and I didn’t look away. He started to rattle on about his past. About how he felt like an addict, felt out of control. He said he felt crazy without a woman every night, but that he felt predatory going out to pick up someone solely for that purpose. He mouthed the word ‘vampire’ with a little too much sexiness and I couldn’t help but smile.
He locked eyes with me again.
I would have fallen over myself to get to a guy like him in the past. I knew I could read him, and maybe, he could read me too. We were ex members of a cult but we could still recognize the markings, the secret handshakes and gestures. The top half of his body said “I repent”, but the bottom half said “I’m not done sinning just yet.” His lips told a story of hopelessness, but his eyes slid over the room like a hunter, looking for the most vulnerable person.
And just like a little mouse that escaped from my grasp, my mind went scampering away and soon I was imagining naughty scenarios …scenarios that had this particularly unsuitable man starring in the center role. He droned on and on but I wasn’t listening to his words. I was noticing that his body language had quietly angled toward me. Aha. So that meant I was the chosen vulnerable one.
I would never cheat on Leo. Not for anything in the world. But some old, sick, bitter part of me needed this sleazy guy to look at me. Needed him to want me, even if just so I could act surprised and turn him down. We locked eyes again and he finished his story. The truth was that the sex was just a byproduct. I wanted all those weird, fuzzy feelings that came along with the sex. I couldn’t describe it.
“Well, perhaps you can chat to Sophia about that, I know she’s certainly struggled with some of the same issues you’ve brought up here,” Lizzy said and spun her gaze towards me.
I smiled politely.
I knew that on the surface I seemed cool and calm. Put together. A sensible girl who had already had her come-to-Jesus moment and took up holistic healing and prayer beads instead to heal the hole in her heart. A nice girl. The same girl who had stood before this very group and claimed that she now saw her body as a temple.
But that wasn’t quite the whole truth. My upright posture, Buddha-smile and sensible shoes hid the fact that every Wednesday at six, I came here to fantasize. And now I was fantasizing about him. I told myself it was OK. I did it mentally so I didn’t have to do it for real.
What harm did it do to picture myself suddenly standing up, right now in the middle of the next person’s little speech, and just stripping right down to nothing? Did it matter that I wasn’t listening to them at all, but imagining how deliciously shocked they’d be to see me exhibiting myself, shameless, then picking out the man I wanted and fucking him right here, on this dirty linoleum, while everyone watched?
If I didn’t really intend to ever do any of that, why not push the fantasies a little further and imagine …all of them? Piling on top of me and overpowering me completely? Why not indulge in the image of me, the reformed, the once-was-found-but-now-am-lost-again girl, spreading her legs wide and inviting anyone to come and help themselves?
The group chat turned out to be rather uneventful. We discussed boundaries, we shared some ‘triumphs’ from the past week, plus our goals for the week ahead. After some affirmations the group split up and people wandered off to nibble the cookies or head home. The guy cornered me, cookie in hand, and cocked his hip my direction.
“So,” he said, smiling, “I hope this doesn’t come across as rude or anything, but you really don’t look like the kind of girl who should be at a meeting like this.”
I smiled back. A pickup line at a sex addicts’ meetup was certainly gutsy, I’d give him that. I loathed him already. So why didn’t I just walk away?
“Well,” I said, “don’t take this the
wrong way, but you totally look like you should.”
He burst out laughing.
“I deserved that,” he said, and then extended his hand. “Trevor.”
I didn’t offer my own hand. “Yeah, I know. You already introduced yourself in the group,” I said, good-girl smile still on my face.
“Do you uh… do you not find all this stuff really awkward? I mean, is it normal for the group to share, you know, such crazy personal information?” he said, trying another tack.
I wondered what his cock looked like. I wondered whether he said ‘shit’ or ‘fuck’ when he came, or even ‘oh god’.
“Yeah, well, being honest is all part of the recovery process,” I said breezily. But I could tell that he had noticed that although my tone of voice was saying “back off, creep”, my eyes were saying, “keep going”. I picked up a cookie and bit down hard into it.
“Ok, well, be honest with me then. How long has it been since you’ve …you know …had a backslide?” he said with an impish grin, putting scare quotes around Lizzy’s favorite word. This was all strictly against the spirit of the group. Completely bad for his ‘recovery’, and mine. But it was also the most fun I’d had all week.
I looked up to the right and pretended I was completely unaware of the fact that he was trying to come onto me. There was no chance in hell. In fact, it was only because I knew how impossible it was that anything could happen here that I allowed myself to indulge in a little banter.
“Um… well let’s see …I’ve been on a really good stretch lately. I’m being very productive at work these days, and, oh, I’ve just gotten engaged!” I said cheerfully, and flashed my new ring at him. He looked at my hand, a sour smile spreading across his face.
“Aw, shit, I’m sorry …I didn’t …”
“Sorry for what?” I said, staring at him blankly.
He took another cookie, mumbled something and wandered off. I felt a little nauseous. It was time to go home.