Every Woman's Dream (28 page)

Chapter 46

Lola

A
FTER
ALL THE YEARS THAT
B
ERTHA HAD SABOTAGED MY RELA
tionships with men, my love life was one subject I avoided discussing with her as much as I could. About six months ago, I'd started doing a little sporadic socializing with a couple of my former male classmates: Barry Jones and Carlton Upshur. Both were only marginally handsome and had endured horrific marriages. Barry's wife was serving time in prison for trying to poison him to death by putting cyanide in his meals. Carlton's wife had left him for a woman. They had told almost everybody they knew that they would never remarry or get too serious about a woman again, and I'd shared that information with Bertha. Since she knew they were not a threat to her position in my life, she didn't have anything negative to say about them.

I rotated Carl and Barry. I accompanied them to tame events such as cookouts, church gatherings, and such. I only had sex with them when I felt like it, which was not very often. I'd only slept with Barry twice and Carlton three times. The sex, mediocre at best, ended when I joined Discreet Encounters, but I'd gone out with Barry and Carlton a few more times. I eventually got so busy with my “secret” dates, I stopped going out with them altogether.

When Bertha asked why they'd stopped coming around, I told her both of them had become too serious; and because of their bitterness toward their ex-wives, I didn't think either one was good husband material for me. It was one of the few things she and I agreed on.

“Maybe I should start looking for a white man to marry.”

Bertha's jaw dropped and she narrowed her eyes. “A ‘white man'? Since when did you start thinking about white men? Aren't black men good enough for you?”

“I must not be good enough for them. Maurice Hamilton was the only black man who ever asked me to marry him,” I said in a dry tone of voice.

“For one thing, you aren't the type of black woman a white man worth anything would want to marry,” Bertha pointed out.

“What type is that?”

“Most handsome, well-bred white men will only marry a black woman if she's rich, famous, or both. And I know you wouldn't marry one of those uneducated, low-life rednecks from the trailer park, like the ones Jeffrey and Marshall hang out with.”

“Can we change the subject?” I said with a moan under my breath. “You know I'm just messing with you.”

“Well, don't mess with me too much. My nerves are bad enough.” Bertha padded over to the counter, where she'd left her nerve pills, and swallowed a couple of tablets. “Dinner won't be ready for at least another half hour.”

“That's okay. I'm going to go back upstairs and do a little reading.”

I rushed back up to my room and turned my computer back on. I immediately responded to Enrique Cortez's request. We made a date for Saturday afternoon. He was going to fly up to the Bay Area that morning.

 

I was glad Bertha had made plans for Saturday to visit one of the nearby Indian casinos with a couple of our elderly neighbors. They were going on a chartered casino bus and would be gone most of the day. She left Saturday morning around seven, before I got up. I was glad she was going to be gone, so I wouldn't have to tell her another lie about where I was going to spend a few hours.

I drove to the Hilton in San Jose, where Enrique had checked in a couple of hours earlier.

I was slightly disappointed when he opened the door to his suite. He wasn't as handsome in person as he was in his picture, and he was at least twenty pounds heavier.

“I am so happy you want to make love with me!” he boomed as he grabbed my arm and pulled me inside. As soon as he closed the door, he wrapped his arms around me and kissed me on both cheeks. “Shall we get started?” He released me and made a sweeping gesture with his hand toward the bed. I hadn't even been in the room two minutes.

“Uh, can we relax a few minutes first?” I said, dropping my purse onto a chair by the door. I looked around the room and felt a sense of déjà vu. Then it hit me: it was the same room I'd been in with my first date, Les Gould! “Do you mind if we order room service? I would love to have a glass of wine.”

“Of course. Excuse me if I seem rude and anxious.” He grinned, slapping the side of his head, which had half the hair it had in the picture he'd posted. Either he'd been wearing a toupee or he'd posted a very old picture. That was another thing. He looked more like fifty than forty, the age he claimed to be. I liked him, anyway, and he had a nice body. I'd read the reviews about him on the club's review board and every single woman had raved about his lovemaking.

“I'll order some sangria.” Enrique had already picked up the telephone. “And how about some lunch? I haven't eaten since I left L.A. this morning.”

“That would be nice.” I felt more at ease, so I kicked off my shoes and sat down on the bed. “Anything you order is fine with me.”

He ordered a bottle of wine and two steak dinners. Then he stood in the middle of the floor and smiled as he stared at me. I crossed my legs, and his eyes got big. “My, my, my, you are a gorgeous woman!” He sprinted across the floor and stopped in front of me with his crotch level with my eyes. He unzipped his pants and whipped out a long, thick, curved penis and shook it at me. “I will do anything you want me to do, so don't be shy.”

“I'm not shy, but don't you think we should wait until room service delivers our orders?”

“Aiyee!” he shrieked, slapping the side of his head again. “But of course, we shall wait until after our dinner.”

We cuddled on the bed, fully clothed, and chatted about a few mundane things and watched part of a movie I'd never heard of, until our orders arrived.

After we'd eaten and had two glasses of wine each, we undressed and got loose. For the next hour, we made love in every possible position all over the room: in the bed, in the chair by the door, and even standing up.

When we finally decided to get some rest, we got back into the bed. Enrique lay on his back, with me in his arms. What happened next was the last thing I expected.

He started shuddering, and moaning, and clutching his left arm.

“Are you all right?” I asked as I leaped off the bed and stood up.

“Help me! Help me!” he yelped.

“OH, SHIT!” I hollered. “Are you having a stroke?” I started hopping from one foot to the other and looking toward the telephone. “I'm going to call 911!”

“No. No. You don't need to call anybody. This happens all the time. Just . . . just go to my briefcase on the dresser and remove the bottle of pills.”

I scurried over to the briefcase and found the pill bottle right on top of a stack of documents. I ran back to the bed and handed the bottle to Enrique. His hands were shaking so hard, I snatched the bottle back and opened it myself.

Not a minute after he'd taken one, he was back to normal. At least he looked like he was.

“Enrique, what happened?”

“It's my heart. I've been on this medication for it since I was a boy. It's miraculous. It immediately does the trick.”

My heart was beating so hard, I was tempted to ask Enrique for one of his miraculous pills for myself. “Are you sure you don't want me to call somebody . . . before I leave?” I had already started putting my clothes back on. I wanted to bolt, but I was concerned about Enrique. If a prominent businessman from a foreign country died in a hotel room while he was with a local woman, it would be in the newspaper. And there was no telling what kind of mess I'd be in. I'd have some explaining to do. Not just to the people I knew, but to the cops. What if they tried to say I'd caused his death?

“I'll be fine.” Enrique's voice sounded as strong and healthy as before now. “But you don't have to leave.”

“Oh, but I think I should,” I protested. All I had to do was put on my shoes and open the door.

And that was exactly what I did.

After I retrieved my car, I sped onto the freeway like the cops were chasing me. I got so paranoid, I pulled off at the first rest stop I saw and called Enrique's room. When he didn't pick up by the fifth ring, I thought about making an anonymous call to the hotel and advising them to have someone make sure he was okay. Just as I was about to hang up and do that, he picked up.

“Cortez speaking.”

“Enrique, it's Lola,” I said in a meek tone of voice. “I was worried about you. . . .”

“Don't be!” he said with a chuckle. “I'm as good as new and I wish you'd come back so I can show you.”

“Um, maybe some other time?”

“Then you'd like to see me again someday?”

I hesitated before I answered. “Sure.” I had no desire to see this man again.

After he'd praised my body for the fifth or sixth time since we'd made love, he smacked his lips and made a kissing noise before he hung up.

 

I checked my club in-box before I went to bed and was stunned to see
twelve
new messages. I was flattered that so many hot men wanted to sleep with me. But after the heart attack situation with Enrique, I was not interested in chatting with anyone else tonight. I ignored the messages; and when I got up a few hours later, ten more had come in.

They all sounded interesting, but the only one I was interested in was a photographer from New York named Roland Mc-Mann. He'd included his cell phone number, so I called him right away. He was going to be in the Bay Area to photograph some local models for a European magazine. He wasted no time telling why he had chosen “ButtMan” as his screen name and why he'd chosen me.

“I like big butts, big brown bubble butts, the bigger and browner the better,” he chanted several times, making me laugh so hard I got the hiccups.

“Well, my behind is not that big,” I mumbled.

“Honey, I'm staring at the picture you posted. Compared to all the flat-ass blond bimbo
snacks
I have to deal with on a daily basis, what you have is a five-course meal.” He had such an amazing sense of humor—I couldn't wait to meet him.

I had an appointment for my annual checkup, so I arranged to take off the whole day the following Wednesday. I told Bertha that after my ten o'clock appointment, I was going to meet Joan and we were going to go to lunch and do some shopping.

“I'm jealous,” Joan told me when I called her and told her my date's screen name. “I turned down a date with him last week so I could take my mother-in-law to lunch.”

“I hope I won't regret going to meet a man who practically told me I was fat,” I said with a chuckle.

“Stop complaining. You're not fat, and I'm sure that's not what he meant when he made that comment about your ass. This dude is kind of cute and he's a great photographer. I've seen some of his magazine work.”

“I'll call you when I'm on my way back home.”

“Later,” Joan said with a snicker.

It was the most peculiar date I'd ever been on. ButtMan did not want to have sex with me. The only thing he wanted to do was stare at my butt! He got naked and sat on the bed. I got naked and I stood in front of him with my hands on my hips.

With one hand, he masturbated. With his other hand, he turned me backward and forward, and side to side, as he moaned and slapped and massaged my butt. There was a look of pure ecstasy on his face the whole time. With all the turning around, I got dizzy real quick and suggested we do something else. The only something else he wanted to do was take pictures of my butt! He got upset because I wouldn't let him do that. Then he started drinking. Within an hour, he had passed out.

As far as I was concerned, the date was over, so I got dressed and left.

I called Joan as soon as I got to my car. “You're not going to believe what happened!” I yelled as soon as she answered.

“Uh-oh! What's wrong?”

“My date tripped out on me. He's dead drunk. He's so out of it, he wouldn't know if the hotel was on fire.”

“Is that all? I was afraid you were going to tell me you'd screwed him to death.” Joan laughed.

“He got mad because I wouldn't let him take pictures of my ass, so he started drinking.”

“Was he good in bed?”

“We didn't even do anything!” I wailed. “All he wanted to do was look at my butt.”

Joan laughed harder.

“I'm about to head for the freeway. I'm so fucking horny! If I had enough nerve, I'd go to craigslist and pick out a male escort and have him meet me somewhere.”

“Now, don't you even think about going there! That's way too dangerous. I'll bet there are some new messages sitting in your club in-box right now.”

“Yeah, you're probably right.”

Joan laughed again and I laughed along with her. I suddenly got quiet. “I hope that if I ever get a date with that truck driver in San Jose, he'll make me forget about the disasters I've run into lately.”

“You mean Calvin Ramsey.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I hope he does too, Lola. I hope he's everything you're looking for.”

Chapter 47

Joan

I
WAS STILL MILDLY CONCERNED ABOUT
L
OLA PLANNING TO MEET UP
with that truck driver. Neither one of us had had any trouble with any of the men we had met
so far,
but this truck driver living only about a half hour's drive from us was too close for comfort. But I didn't want to spook her by mentioning it too often.

As a matter of fact, I didn't like to harp on any one man more than was necessary. It helped me keep things in the proper perspective. I had had some fantastic times with some incredible men, but I had to remind myself that I could not get too attached to any of my partners. I still had no desire to establish a permanent or a long-term relationship with any of them. And that was an unlikely possibility, anyway. Not as long as I had a suicidal albatross for a husband.

About once a week, Reed reminded me that he “couldn't live without me.” The more he got on my nerves, the more I ran “amok,” as Lola put it. While he was in his office, I was having the time of my life. But when he came home, I behaved like the wife he wanted. I cooked his favorite meals, gave him massages, and listened to his boring conversations. Our sex life had become so wretched, we didn't even bother to get completely undressed anymore. I was frustrated beyond belief! By the time he went to sleep every night, I was practically foaming at the mouth. I didn't know what I would do if I had to give up my online activity.

Lola was having just as much fun as I was. Last night she kept me on the phone for over an hour raving about the date she'd had earlier in the evening with a software executive from St. Louis in town for a convention.

“His screen name is ‘ImaFreak.'”

“Was he?”

“He liked to tickle my toes and masturbate at the same time. After that, he played with my titties for a few minutes, and he masturbated again. That was all we did.”

“Yeah, he's a freak. But tickling toes is pretty harmless and I'm sure you didn't get any satisfaction out of that date.”

“No, I didn't, but he was a sweet man and I really enjoyed his company. You know something, sometimes it's not all about sex. I enjoy having a nice conversation with a man. Most of the men I've been with in the club were pretty good in bed and in conversation, so I can't complain.”

 

Even though Lola had loosened up a lot, she was not nearly as thick-skinned as I was, so I wouldn't say anything that would ruffle her feathers and set her off. That was why I waited another week before I mentioned the truck driver again.

“So, what did you decide to do about RamRod?” I asked that Friday night. We were having dinner at Bobo's Bistro, a popular restaurant a couple of miles from Lola's house. We had originally planned to drive to San Jose, but a four-car accident had caused all but one lane on Interstate 880 to be closed. Neither of us wanted to stay out too long, so we decided not to wait for the road crew to clear the freeway. We drove around until we found a place that wasn't too crowded.

“I had almost forgotten about that truck driver. I haven't received an e-mail from him in a couple of months,” Lola told me, munching on a breadstick.

“Have you thought about e-mailing him? Just to say hello or something?”

“Not really. Why are you asking? I thought you thought it was a bad idea for me to get involved with a man who lived too close.”

“I still feel the same way about that. I was just curious. I didn't know if you were even still interested in him.”

“I am, I guess. If he's interested in meeting me, he'll eventually get in touch with me again.” A wicked smile crossed Lola's face. “I'm having a lot of fun with my other friends, anyway. Especially that date I had a couple of weeks ago with the fitness center owner from Portland, Oregon.”

“Please don't tell me about that muscle-bound Samoan again,” I warned. “I got jealous as hell when I checked out his profile and saw the picture of Mr. Jon Gunn in his skintight Speedo swim trunks.”

“Shut up and listen. He's going to drive down to Newport Beach to look into a fitness center he's thinking about buying. He wants to stop by here on his way and spend a couple of hours with me. I told him I usually don't see the same guy twice, but he keeps pestering me.”

“That's a long drive. Will he be driving alone?”

“I didn't ask. If he's traveling with a buddy or his wife, I'm sure he'll figure out a way to meet up with me without them knowing about it.”

“You're right. I mean, this whole business is about discreet encounters.”

 

I didn't mention the Samoan again until a week later.

“When is your date with Jon?” I asked Lola. Even though I had my share of superhot dates, I still got jealous of some of the ones she connected with. It seemed like the more sex I got, the more I needed.

Two nights ago, Reed made love to me for the first time in two weeks. To my surprise, he was quite good for a change. I had almost enjoyed our intimacy that night and it lasted more than the usual minute or two. However, last night when he climbed on top of me, he climaxed
before
he even entered me. As soon as he dozed off, which was about a minute later, I slid out of bed and tiptoed to the guest bathroom across the hall, plucked one of my vibrators from the hiding place beneath the bathroom towels in the cabinet beneath the sink, and finished what he had started. Just thinking about it now made me hot all over. I shook the thought out of my head and returned my attention to Lola.

“I haven't heard from Jon since that last e-mail,” she told me, looking confused. “I visited his profile page last night. Well, I attempted to, but it had been removed. I have no idea what happened to him, and it's been bothering me all day.”

“That would bother me too,” I admitted. “But I can top that.”

Lola's face froze and she gazed at me with her eyes stretched wide open. “Is it something bad?”

“In a way.” I sniffed and sat up straighter in my seat. “Three weeks ago, a gorgeous salesman named Phillip Newton told me in his first e-mail that he couldn't wait to give me a tongue bath. He lives in Salt Lake City with a wife and their
eight
kids. The wife's usually too tired to make love, so he has to do what he has to do. We e-mailed each other back and forth for two weeks, but we couldn't set up a date because his schedule kept changing. Last night he told me that he would not be connecting with me or anybody else. According to him, one of his previous connections suddenly found Jesus and she confessed everything to her husband. She even gave the husband Phillip's e-mail address, his real name, and the name of the company he works for! After receiving numerous threatening e-mails from the reformed woman's irate husband in a matter of days, he sent me one last e-mail and told me he had decided to end his membership.”

“Damn. Why are you just now telling me this?”

I hunched my shoulders and gave Lola a wan look. “I didn't tell you because I didn't want to listen to more of your paranoid mumbo jumbo.”

“I wish you wouldn't keep things like that from me. A woman's deranged husband sending threatening e-mails to a club member is serious, and that's something I need to know about. Will you promise me that if something else weird happens, you'll let me know right away?”

“I will,” I muttered. “Any more questions?”

“Just one. How long are you going to date? Having sex with a bunch of men can put a lot of stress on a woman's body. . . .”

“Look, if you were in a steady relationship, you'd be having sex at least five times a week. Multiply that by four. That's twenty times a month. If you have a hot guy, it'll be more. What's the difference between that and you having sex with twenty different men a month?”

“I'd
never
date that many men in one month!”

“But do you see what I'm trying to say?”

“I guess.” Lola paused and gave me a thoughtful look. “Joan, you always have an answer for everything, but you didn't answer my question about how long you're going to date.”

“I know. But to tell you the truth, I don't know how long I'll do this dating thing. I'm sure I'll get bored with it someday and look for other ways to keep myself occupied. In the meantime, let's enjoy it while we can. Okay?”

“O . . . kay.” Lola blew out a loud breath before she said anything else. “I got a message from a guy in Atlanta last night. A software guru. He'll be out here next week for his company retreat.”

“You don't sound too interested.”

“He wants me to wear a mask to bed.”

“Stop!” I started laughing, but Lola remained silent. “I hope you didn't agree to see him. The man has a serious problem. A mask? What kind of mask?”

“I didn't ask. He said he'd wear one too.”

“Girl, if I ever find out you went to bed with a man wearing any kind of mask, I'm going to talk about you like a dog for the rest of your life. I hope you didn't agree to meet that fool. Paddling somebody's butt or handcuffing them is one thing. That's standard freak shit and a lot of people do it, even me. But if wearing a mask is not a red flag, I don't know what is.”

“I told him, straight-up, I wasn't interested.”

“Block him so you won't have to hear from him anymore. I'd rather have you hook up with that truck driver. At least he sounds
normal.
”