With my last effort, I try to be responsible, despite the intenseness of the sex. After all, his cock is pounding into me, filling me completely, and I’m sure that we’re both about to orgasm.
“Did you use a condom?” I manage to say. It takes all my effort.
I may be sleeping with my future boss, but at least I’m going to try to be safe.
“I thought you said you were on the pill,” says John.
My mind’s racing.
I can’t quit now. I just can’t. This is the best sex I’ve ever had. This might be the best I’ve ever felt.
Well, I think to myself. If I get pregnant, this one is going to be on me, not him.
“Yeah,” I say, nodding my head vaguely. “I am.”
Of course, I haven’t been on the pill for a year. It’s hard to justify taking a pill that costs money when you don’t have any money, especially when you’re not having any sex.
“Good,” says John. “I wouldn’t want to stop now. I’m about to come.”
“Me too,” I say. “Come inside me,” I add, not really sure why I do it. After all, the pull out method is, according to some, a method of contraception that can at times be effective. At least it gives you a window of opportunity, a margin of error, rather than what we’re about to do. But I just can’t help myself. John’s so incredibly sexy that I don’t want him to pull out at all. That’s on me, though, not him.
“OK,” grunts John, driving his cock into me again.
“I’m coming,” I say, crying out. I’m vaguely aware that I’m thrashing around underneath him. I’m moaning and John’s groaning as he slams into me over and over.
He doesn’t stop pumping his cock into me as I come.
Soon he’s grunting sexily as he comes too.
I can smell his muskiness all around me. I feel completely enveloped in it and never want to leave it.
I’ve forgotten where I am. I’ve forgotten I’m in a cozy barn at a party I don’t belong at.
For tonight, I’m Cinderella. I don’t want to think about what happens when the clock strikes midnight.
My vision is completely blurry. It feels like I’m in a dream world. There’s no way to describe it. It’s an incredible rush, and then it’s all over, with only the fading afterglow of the sex, which I have to say, though, is incredibly strong and potent.
We cuddle in the hay wordlessly, caressing each other softly.
“Wow,” says John, finally. “That was really something.”
“Yeah,” I say, softly, aware that all my fears and apprehensions are now flooding back. I just had condom-less sex with my future billionaire boss. Not only that, but I’m not who he thinks I am. I’m just a lowly cleaner. Hell, I’m lucky to have this cleaner job. But he doesn’t know any of that. He just saw me at this party in that dress and thinks that I belong here. What’s going to happen next? A brief worry of pregnancy flashes across my brain, the way a star shoots across the sky. But, no, there’s no way I could get pregnant from this, right? I mean, hell, some couples try for months and years to get pregnant and they can’t. So how could this one time encounter result in a pregnancy.
We cuddle for another hour, when John stirs a little and says, “Well, I hate for this to end. But maybe I should get you back to the party. You’re friend is bound to be worried about you.”
Oh yeah, that’s another thing I didn’t consider: Janet. She’s going to have a field day with this. If she finds out, that is.
“I guess so,” I say.
John kisses me tenderly on the lips, and then the forehead. It feels strange considering that he was just inside me powerfully thrusting into me without restraint—and now he’s being so gentle. But I like it. I like that dichotomy between intense passion and intense gentleness.
5
John
I’m walking her back arm in arm through the chilly night. I’ve lent her my jacket which drapes down atop the tops of her legs, making them stand out, making it look like she’s not wearing any pants or a dress at all. She looks even sexier now after we’ve had sex. That’s kind of unusual, actually. Usually once the lust is gone, the attraction diminishes greatly. That’s unfortunately been my experience with the majority of women that I’ve slept with. But, no, not with her. Not with Sarah. She’s like a goddess of sexiness, of gentleness. I can almost still taste her on my lips and feel the way she felt around my cock. It was beyond incredible. It was pure ecstasy.
“So where do you live?” I manage to say, suddenly feeling strangely nervous around her. It must be something about her beatify. Beauty is always unsettling in a way, even after you’ve shared an intimate moment with someone. You catch them in the light a certain way, looking more beautiful than ever, and your heart stops. That’s got to mean something…we’ve got some kind of connection. I can already tell.
“New York City,” she says.
“I figured,” I say, chuckling a little. “It’s not like anyone at this party actually lives in the Hamptons. But what part of town? I have a place in Manhattan that I’m usually at. Maybe we could get together or something… I don’t know.” I decide to come clean and just admit to her that I’m nervous. “I don’t know why but I suddenly feel nervous around you even though you’re wearing my jacket and we just…”
“Fucked,” she says, giggling at her own frankness.
“Yeah,” I say. “Anyway I feel all giddy and nervous around you. I think that’s a good sign. I think it means we should meet again. No pressure though. I mean, we can do something normal like having dinner at a nice restaurant rather than…”
“Fucking in the hay,” she says, giggling again.
“Yeah,” I say. “So what do you say? Will you give me your number?”
She pauses and looks at me. It’s a strange look. I get the feeling she’s making some mental calculations that involve me but I have no idea what they are.
“Yeah,” she says, slowly.
“Great,” I say, tightening my arm around her shoulder.
“But,” she says, speaking slowly, as if she’s choosing her words carefully. “What happens if you find out something about me that you don’t like…?”
“What do you mean?” I say.
“Maybe I’m not exactly who you think I am,” she says.
I laugh. “I don’t even know the first thing about you,” I say. “I don’t even know your last name. You can’t break any preconceived notions I have about you because I don’t have any. I just know that you’re beautiful and sexy. Easily the sexiest woman I’ve ever met.”
She pauses again. “But I don’t really belong at this party,” she says.
I get the feeling she’s trying to say something else but doesn’t know how to say it.
“I don’t either,” I say. “Hell, I don’t think I know anyone here. I just showed up on a whim really. I was looking to get away from this scene. And I wound up here again.”
“But,” she begins to speak again, but just as she does I realize we’re approaching the party again.
We’re suddenly in the middle of a swarm of people. We’re right smack in the middle of the party again, which is completely overwhelming since we just spend the last couple hours alone together in a seemingly abandoned barn.
It takes me a moment to piece together what happened. Since we’re not yet actually inside the building, the influx of people is disconcerting. What happened was everyone decided this needed to be a really wild Hamptons party and someone convinced everyone to strip down inside and rush off to the swimming pool, which Sarah and I apparently missed on our walk through the grounds. I guess we were so involved in each other we didn’t see the pool at all.
Sarah is completely cut off from what she was about to say. And I feel like it was going to be something really important.
I suddenly have the feeling that I know her from somewhere. Didn’t I feel like this another time tonight? I can’t remember. If only I could place her. She seems so familiar, but surely I would remember a face and a body like her,
wouldn’t I, even if it were in a completely different context?
“Looks like everyone’s naked,” I say, dryly, and Sarah laughs. I figure that’s a good sign, since at times I can have a kind of deadpan style of observational humor that not everyone appreciates.
There must be fifty buck naked people rushing around us. We’re the only ones wearing clothes and it’s a strange feeling for sure.
“Yeee-haa,” everyone is yelling.
Normally, I’d be ogling all the naked women. But I only have eyes for Sarah. What a strange idea, especially coming from the famous womanizing billionaire that I am. That’s my reputation and it’s pretty accurate, for better or for worse.
“Want to go swimming?” I say, winking at Sarah. “I wouldn’t mind getting another look at your beautiful body.”
“It’s a little cold,” says Sarah, shivering a little.
“It’ll be warmer in the water,” I say.
“I thought guys were always self conscious about how their cocks look in cold water,” says Sarah. “Don’t they shrivel up, or is that just a legend.”
“Totally true,” I say, smiling at her. “But you’ve already seen mine, and even interacted with it more than that. So I don’t feel my usual self consciousness about my penis size with you.”
“And you don’t have any reason to,” says Sarah, giving my butt a playful tap.
I smile to myself. I already know my cock is on the larger side, to put it mildly, but it’s never bad hearing that from your lover. My lover… yes, she may not be my lover yet, but she’ll certainly become my lover. Perhaps the greatest love of my life. I have that special feeling that means I’m not going to let her go.
“You were in the middle of telling me something important,” I say, taking her by the hand. “Before we run off and get naked with everyone else at the pool, was there something you wanted to tell me?”
“Yeah,” she says, after a slight pause.
She looks me right in the eyes and opens her mouth.
But right before she can speak, her friend that I recognize from earlier rushes up and grabs her arm.
“Where have you been, Sarah? I’ve been worried sick.”
“Oh,” says Sarah, flushing slightly, making her cheeks look a beautiful rosy red. I get a sudden flash of dirty thoughts: I want to burry my cock again in her face. Hey, I know I’m a filthy bastard but what can I say? I’m a guy, after all. Any guy who tells you he doesn’t think like this either has low testosterone or is lying through his teeth. Probably most men just lie through their teeth about it. Whatever, I want to push my cock into her delicious looking mouth and have her hair fall around my cock and my balls again.
“Where were you?” says Janet, looking Sarah up and down. Now she looks me up and down and she doesn’t look pleased. “I thought we weren’t going to…”
“I know, I know,” says Sarah. “But you were off with someone…”
“I wasn’t,” says Janet.
“I saw you,” says Sarah.
“He was just showing me around.”
I chuckle lightly. I know how these Hamptons parties go. That’s a classic line that guys will give. Like, oh I just want to show you around. Or, oh, there’s a great piece of art upstairs in one of the private bedrooms that you just have to see. That’s just to get them into the bedroom.
Janet gives me a harsh look and scoffs at me.
“Where’d you pick up this loser?” she says to Sarah, but obviously I can hear her since I’m standing right here.
“I thought we were going swimming,” I say to Sarah. “Come on, let’s go.”
“With all those lunatics who got all naked?” says Janet, rolling her eyes. “Sure, that sounds like a good career move.”
“It’s the Hamptons,” I say. “Who cares?”
“This isn’t Las Vegas,” says Janet.
“Obviously you haven’t spent much time in the Hamptons,” I say.
“Whatever,” says Janet. “Come on, Sarah. We’ve got to get out of here.”
Sarah looks between me and Janet.
“I was hoping to stay a little longer,” says Sarah.
“Hey,” says Janet. “You’re coming back with me. I’m going right now. I mean, unless you have another way of getting back to the city. Be my guest. But the train’s getting ready now. It’s already boarded and it’s about to debark.”
“Clever metaphor,” I say, rolling my eyes so that only Sarah can see me. “Very original.”
Sarah giggles.
“I could give you a ride back to the city,” I say, giving Sarah an important look.
“Yeah,” she says, her eyes brightening. But then a darkness falls across her face. “But you took your motorcycle here, didn’t you?”
“What gave it away?” I say.
“The thing is,” says Sarah. “I’m deathly afraid of motorcycles.”
“I can drive slow,” I say. “And I have to say I’m a pretty good rider. I’ve never had a serious accident.”
“Emphasis on the word serious, I guess,” says Janet. Now it’s her turn to roll her eyes.
“I’d love to, really I would,” says Sarah, and my heart sinks because I know what she’s going to say. “But I’m like seriously terrified of them. It’s like that kind of irrational fear that people have of spiders and insects and heights. I don’t know why but it’s always been motorcycles for me.”
“Then that settles it,” says Janet. “You’re coming back with me. Come on, let’s go.”
Janet’s literally trying to drag Sarah away from me.
“Wait,” I say. “Why don’t you give me your number so we can meet up in Manhattan.”
“Manhattan?” scoffs Janet. “Who do you think we are?”
“I thought you lived in Manhattan?” I say.
“Around there,” says Sarah. “I go into Manhattan a lot.”
“Oh,” I say, somewhat confused. I can’t quite remember now if she said she’s from Manhattan or not. Maybe it’s just my imagination. Wait, wasn’t there something important she wanted to tell me? That was right before the nude bathers rushed past us, and right before Janet came by. Janet obviously doesn’t like me one bit. She’d probably think differently of me if she knew how much is in my investment portfolio, my bank accounts, or even my wallet for that matter. Or if she knew how much my motorcycle alone is worth.
“Here’s my number,” says Sarah, taking my phone from me and programming her number in.
“See you,” I say, feeling somewhat pained, and I’m not sure why. I guess this just isn’t how I imagined us saying goodbye, with her getting literally dragged off by her friend who thinks I’m some type of motorcycle punk.
“Bye,” says Sarah, giving me a kiss on the lips.
Janet looks on with disapproval.
“Oh, your jacket,” says Sarah, turning back around, to Janet’s strong disapproving gaze.
“Keep it,” I say. “It might be cold on the ride back to the city.”
“You sure?”
“I’ve got hundreds of them,” I say.
“Hundreds?” says Janet, sounding like she doesn’t believe me at all.
But Sarah believes me. I can see it in her eyes. Is that because she trusts me, or because she already knows who I am? I haven’t told her who I am, but it’s not hard to imagine she might know who I am. After all, my picture has been on hundreds of magazine covers.
A paranoid thought flashes before me: is she just into me for my money? That’s the question I unfortunately have to ask myself so often with women. I hate that I have to do it but it’s a reality. There have been a lot of women in my life and a lot of them wanted my money.
But Sarah doesn’t seem like that at all. I feel like I already know her, even though I don’t know anything about her. What I do know is she wouldn’t just be after me for my money.
As she walks away with Janet tugging at her sleeve, Sarah turns back around to look at me.
I dial her number on my phone and watch a
s her own phone rings. She pulls it from somewhere (was it in her brassier?) and smiles at me before disappearing from my view behind a hedge.
“Nice meeting you,” I say into the phone.
“You too,” she says.
“See you soon,” I say.
“What’s that?” she says.
Suddenly, the line is filled with an intense buzzing static. I’ve lost the connection already. That’s the Hamptons for you. I’m actually surprised these rich Hampton types haven’t lobbied for a zillion cell phone towers in the area to improve their reception so that they can make business calls whenever they need to. I’m usually not like that myself. I like to separate business and pleasure when I can. I haven’t even checked my phone or my email all evening.
I don’t bother saying goodbye to anyone at the party. I just get my bike from where I parked it, give the valet guys a hefty tip for keeping the bike safe, and get back on the road.
The moon is out and the road is quite and lonely. I’m freezing my ass off on the whole drive back without my jacket, but I’m glad that Sarah has it.
6
Sarah
The next morning I’m practically in a panic. Now I have to go into work. Am I going to run into John? He hasn’t contacted me yet by phone or text, and I know since I’ve been checking my phone every couple minutes all night. I barely slept at all.
I’m all dressed, showered, and I’m on my third cup of coffee.
“I can’t believe you’re going to work as a cleaner,” says my mom, staring at me from across the cramped breakfast table. The apartment is small. My mom isn’t a hoarder in the sense that she couldn’t be on one of those reality shows but the apartment is pretty damn crowded.
“It’s what I could find,” I say, already upset at her. We’ve had this argument a thousand times if not more.
“I just wish you’d do something more with your life.”
“What do you want me to do?” I say. “Have you seen what the economy is like? It’s easy for you because you’re already out. You’re already retired.”
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