Engaged (The ABCs of Erotica) (18 page)

So did Richard. He knew this story well. I’d told it several times. But this wasn’t over dinner, or during a drive. This time was with miles and distance between us. This time it was with me missing him, and him missing me. This time when we finished I’d have to close my eyes to see his knuckles covered in cum that I wouldn’t have the pleasure of licking, or lapping between my lips and into my mouth.

“Hope finished French kissing Sasha’s pussy, and Sasha raised her legs. Hope peeled her panties down past her ass, over her ankles and onto the floor. Sasha lay back on the bed, arching her back up from the mattress as I suckled her breasts, moving from one to the other. Hope took both hands and started rubbing her six middle fingers in loping circles around Sasha’s slit, writhing and moaning, groaning louder as she lifted up from the bed and pushed herself against Hope’s hands. Hope lifted her fingers to show us: they looked dunked in sugar water.”
 

Richard groaned.
 

“My hand wandered between Sasha’s legs. I knew it wasn’t my turn to yet, but I couldn’t ignore the glisten. I had yet to fondle her cunt. I was hungry to feel the slippery flesh in between my fingers. It felt as beautiful as I expected; her pussy was freshly shaven, impossibly soft, made all that much softer by her juices and lube. She spread her legs wider. Hope pressed her face deeper. I took one last look at her eating Sasha as she sped her gobble, leaning onto the bed and into Sasha’s cunt. Hope was bent at the waist so her pussy was rubbing up against the edge of the bed, feet to the floor. Hope stuck a finger into Sasha and started plunging as I licked her nipples.”
 

Richard groaned louder.

“Hope started thrusting faster, licking Sasha’s clit while fucking her with one finger, and then another. Sasha cums fast like I do. After seconds of Hope’s work she sent Sasha shaking against me. It was hard, waiting my turn. I wanted Hope to do the same thing to me. It still all seemed so new, yet my friends felt familiar. I knew what to do, like we were old lovers. Our first time in bed, at least like that, felt less like discovery than it did a reunion.”
 

Again, I break from the story. “Can you do me a favor, Richard?”
 

“Of course,” he grunts. I hear him stroking.

“When you cum, will you pretend it’s in my mouth? I will if you will.”
 

He answers with another grunt, this one like a bark. I hear him stroke louder.
 

“Hope said it was her turn, then climbed on the bed and wiggled her way between us. Sasha scrambled to her side, pawing at her white panties and clamping her tit with her lips. Hope tilted her head back, enjoying gorgeous girls from either side. Hope’s breasts are slightly small but thoroughly perfect, a bit larger than Sasha’s, but puffy, unlike Sasha’s tiny bullets. We took our time with Hope, slowly licking her breasts and skin. I spent time at her tits while Sasha worked her tongue across the rest of Hope’s body. By the time Sasha made it to her pussy, Hope was heaving.”
 

Just like Richard.
 

“Sasha parted Hope’s panties from her pussy, then gestured, showing me where to go. I shook my head and said, ‘No, you,” then returned to Hope’s puffy nipples, desperate to lick them. Sasha smiled like a minx, bent over, and buried her face between Hope’s legs. Hope moaned, shuddered, and pushed her tit deeper into my mouth. When I finally made it to Hope’s pussy, Sasha had two fingers plunged to the knuckle. I started rubbing in circles above them, slow but steady, then faster and faster until we sent Hope into an orgasm. By the time she was exploding, her mouth was bolted to Sasha. I looked up to see them kissing like old lovers and felt myself flooded by my own juices. I
needed
my turn.”
 

“I bet you did,” Richard groaned. “How very good of you to wait.”
 

“I felt slightly lost, watching Sasha and Hope making love with their mouths, wondering when I’d get my turn. I didn’t wait long. Sasha whispered to Hope, loudly so I could hear her, ‘We can’t forget about Liza. It’s her last night. She needs to cum hardest of all. Then, they made sure I did.”
 

Richard groaned, his loudest rumble so far, knowing we were nearing the story’s conclusion. He could cum at any moment. Now he was holding it, using the will that made him my man.
 

“Sasha laid me back on the bed, exactly as I had done to her not long before, then I lifted my legs like she had lifted hers for Hope. She stripped my panties from my ass, over my legs, and onto the floor beside Hope’s. I spread my legs, and Sasha lowered her face in between them. I looked over at Hope, loving how her long, gorgeous hair spilled like flowing curtains from her head to her lap, where it tickled my skin as she kissed me. As Sasha’s mouth hit my pussy, my hand cradled Hope’s face, holding her against my open mouth as our tongues swam, one on top of the other in swirling circles. Sasha dug into me with her tongue as Hope kissed me. I felt my body spark to life, more than it had since leaving the States, and Zoe behind. I could feel how sticky I was, not just in and around my leaking center, but down my inner thighs. Sasha kept making me wetter. I dribbled juices from my hole into her mouth. She pulled away, looked up at me, caught my eyes, licked her lips, and made me cum.”
 

“Slower,” Richard moaned. “Go slower.”
 

Slowing my fingers with my speech, I drop my voice to a whisper. “Sasha took three fingers and pushed them inside me. She was decisive, knew exactly what she was doing, just how to get me — and I’m sure every woman she touched — humming in tune. With her palm pressed to my pelvis, she shoved her fingers past the knuckles, curled, pressed and thrusted as I wiggled around them. I lifted my head — it felt like the hardest thing I had ever done — to see what Sasha was doing at my middle. My legs trembled. I began to convulse, then rattled into the hardest orgasm I’d felt in a while. It tore through my body. Hope leaned down, and kissed me through it.”
 

I started fucking myself hard with my fingers.
 

“Are you ready to cum, Richard? I want you to imagine you’re filling my mouth.”
 

Nothing but grunting.

“Sasha kept fucking me hard with her hand. You should’ve heard me, Richard. I came so loud I’m sure there were complaints from our floor. My body didn’t belong to me. Hope had to hold it still by pressing her mouth against mine. She kept licking at my lips as Sasha thrusted into me, a flick of her tongue for every plunge. I rattled, heaved, and squirted.”
 

A grunt from Richard, followed by more.
 

“Are you cumming, Richard?”
 

Another grunt.
 

I picture his strong hands and worn knuckles, covered in cream.
 

“I hope that’s all in my mouth, Richard. Mmmmmm … I’ll swallow every drop.”
 

I can hear the wet slapping of Sasha’s hand in my pussy, followed by the echoes of us trading kisses well in the night.
 

I remember the rest of the evening when we went back for seconds, then thirds, and by 3 a.m. when we had to sleep, Sasha asked me to go with them to Prague. I said no. She begged, and offered to pay my way. I said I could pay my own. She asked why I wouldn’t. I had no answer, so I went

I tell Richard I miss him.

“I miss you, too.”
 

“When are you coming home?”
 

“Soon,” I say. “Just one more stop.”
 

One More Stop

One more stop, then Richard.
 

This one’s for observation. One of my oldest friends, Ellie, married her longtime boyfriend, Dean, three years ago. I need to see a married couple in their natural habitat. I went to Ellie’s wedding just before leaving the country. Things were slightly weird between us. We didn’t fight, exactly, but I thought Ellie was young to get married and told her so. I felt bad, but that was our relationship: She asked, and I always told the truth.
 

Ellie was right, and I was wrong. There’s no such thing as too young or old to get married, at least not once you’re an adult. Getting married is a matter of deciding what’s right for you and your partner. Marrying Richard is right for me, even though I’m just three years older than Ellie was when I said she was too young.

I have many friends, only a few married. Ellie’s the only one I take seriously. Maybe that’s my fault. Maybe my other friends are as serious as she is and I can’t see it. The women I know talk shit about their men when they aren’t around. Except Ellie, who I can’t imagine ever saying an unkind word about Dean, ever for anything.
 

I called Ellie and told her I was getting married. I rambled on about Richard, expecting Ellie to chastise me, remind me of things said three years before. But she didn’t. Instead, Ellie squealed like a schoolgirl, congratulated me, asked me when the wedding was, and started to rattle through minutes of helpful, friendly advice.

That was Ellie.

I asked her if I could come out for a visit. She said she’d love that. She hadn’t had many visitors since she and Dean moved up the coast to Carmel.
 

I wait for my plane and watch people in their many shapes and sizes. I feel bad, trying not to stare at the enormous couple across the way, wondering what it’s like when they have sex. I turn to another couple, not fat but weird. The guy’s shirt is buttoned all the way to the top. She’s wearing all black, like him. They both have too much metal shit sticking out of their faces and bodies. None of it like the tiny piercings I have in my stomach and nose. The weird couple, like the fat couple, seems totally in love, unlike the other variety who spreads like a contagion through the waiting area: couples who are simply
there.

Most of these couples probably started normal, not fat, weird, or anything else. Normal, fit, attractive, average at worst. But time and indifference has turned them complacent. They’ve lost the will to exert any effort. The guys have stopped going to the gym because they’ve found someone willing to fuck them regardless of their BMI. The girls have disheveled hair, sweat pants, and poorly applied makeup.
 

This is what I worry about. What can’t happen with Richard. I love him and what we have, more than anything, but what if I grow bored? What if he grows bored with me? None of the couples around me probably ever
meant
to stop trying, they just did because it was easier.
 

I love taking care of myself, and feeling pretty. I love going to the gym, doing yoga, working out, and maintaining my trim figure. I love the way Richard stares at me, like most other men I encounter. Stares make me feel strong so I’m loath to lose them. Yet, no matter how much I wish it were true, it seems that being one half of a full couple brings you closer to being less than yourself.

That’s why I have to see Ellie. She and Dean have been married for three years, but I feel like I’ll get better answers from her than anyone else. Even if Mark was straight, he wouldn’t be normal. Samantha isn’t capable of a relationship. My parents love one another, but are a total disaster. The relatively newlywed Ellie is my best bet for finding the insight I need.
 

I called Ellie after leaving Zoe’s.

“Are you kidding? I’d love to have you here! Stay as long as you want. We don’t get many visitors, except for my parents, who make me miserable, and Dean’s, who make me want to jump out the window and onto the rocks.”

“The rocks?”

“Yeah, we live on a bluff.”

“Nice.”

“Yeah, why move to Carmel otherwise.”

Ellie’s waiting for me when I land. We laugh, and it’s easy. Dean isn’t home, which is best. I like him a lot, but want to catch up with Ellie first. Fortunately, I have her all night, and for the first time since leaving home, sex isn’t part of the picture. This stop is innocent.
 

Ellie and I have fooled around before, but neither of us was especially serious. Our games came after Leigh, but before I met Zoe. I was still figuring things out. Ellie’s hetero, but likes to have fun and believed me when I said that it would be.
 

We speak for hours, barely pausing. Ellie cooks for me, then I cook for Ellie. I tell her all about Richard and my recent quest. She laughs and says it all sounds so ridiculous, and sort of awesome. I laugh and say that she’s right.

I ask Ellie 100,000 questions, wanting to know about her marriage and the quality of life after saying
I do.

She says there are six questions that anyone can ask themselves to find out if their potential partner fits their ideal:
 

Are your life and career goals similar?
 

Do you fulfill each other’s needs?
 

Do you
really
know one another?
 

Do you admire and respect one another?
 

Do you know how to deal with the other person’s negativity?
 

And, most importantly according to Ellie, will this person make the best parent for my child?

It’s elegant and simple. I ask myself for the answer to each: