Made For Sex (3 page)

“Turn the page.”

The picture on the following page was of a woman with pale white-blond braids that hung down in front of her dress. She was turned slightly sideways, looking shy and vulnerable and dressed in a puffed-sleeve pink dress, an adult version of the dress a five-year-old girl might wear, with a fluffy full skirt over several petticoats and a wide sash tied into a large bow which peeked out from behind. Her white ankle socks were neatly cuffed and her black patent leather Mary-Janes gleamed. Her face, artfully made up with soft rouge and pale pink lipstick, looked youthful and familiar. As Carla examined the face more carefully, she gasped. “That's you.” She flipped the page backward. “So's this.”

“Turn the page.”

The pictures that followed were all of Ronnie in various costumes: a harem girl with a transparent veil covering the lower half of her face, a prim gray-haired woman in a white high-necked blouse and sensible shoes, a voluptuous female pirate wearing short shorts that showed the half-moons of her ass peeking beneath and a blouse unbuttoned to the waist, and a woman in a black satin teddy standing over a man whose arms and legs were secured to the frame of a brass bed with lengths of heavy-link chain and padlocks.

“Phew. Ronnie, I'm amazed here. Okay, fill me in.”

“I call the album Black Satin and it's really a menu. Selected people get to pick their…shall we say entrée and I supply the dessert.”

“You're trying to tell me that you're a hooker.”

“I'm a very selective, high-priced prostitute.”

Carla was flabbergasted. She had expected something unusual. After all Ronnie had never been mainstream. But this? What could she say?

Ronnie spoke, her voice a bit tentative. “No condemnation? No ‘how could you?'”

“I'm too much in shock to say much of anything. But, of course, your life is your own.”

Ronnie smiled. “And it's wonderful. I enjoy every bit of my secret existence.”

“What about Jack?”

Ronnie smiled. “I think he knows what's going on. He travels and I know that he entertains himself while he's away, and so do I.”

“What about AIDS?”

“I thought about that a lot when all this began. Many of my friends—that's what I call them, my friends—don't want actual intercourse. They want oral sex, toys, and/or mutual masturbation. And those who do want to have intercourse must wear condoms.”

“What about oral sex? Isn't that risky?”

“Not as risky as unprotected intercourse, but yes, it is. I thought about it a lot at the beginning, and I decided it was a risk I was willing to take.”

“How in the world did you get involved in this?”

Ronnie leaned back and put her feet on the coffee table. “How, indeed.”

“I
guess it all started just over three years ago,” Ronnie explained. “You have to understand that Jack and I have always had an open relationship. I guess you'd say we were swingers. We both enjoy sex a lot and find that outside activities actually enhance what we have.”

“You mean…with other people?”

Ronnie chuckled. “Yes, both of us were. And it didn't bother me at all. I loved the idea that someone else was making Jack happy, particularly since he was—and still is—away so much. And back then he'd come home with new ideas, toys, sexy lingerie.” When she saw Carla's expression, Ronnie added, “Put your eyebrows down, Carla. You remember I was always the experimenter.”

“I remember some of your experiments. Like Oreos and peanut butter. Go on.”

“Well, the only strict requirement that Jack and I had, and still have, is that no one has intercourse without a condom. Period.”

“Don't you get jealous?”

“I can say truthfully that I'm not jealous. I can't speak for what goes on in Jack's mind, but for me, not a bit. Anyway, because of his traveling, Jack and I spend at least three weeks out of every month apart. We are always very careful with each other's feelings. We talk often, and I'm sure that Jack has no objections to what I'm doing, although he doesn't know all the details. I have no problem with his flirtations. And they're just that, flirtations. Nothing serious, just lust and good sex. For me too.”

“If you can really handle it….” Carla paused. “I'm not sure I could.”

“I don't actually know of many who can, but Jack and I seem to do okay.”

“You were telling me how this thing,” Carla waved her hand around the luxurious room, “got started.”

“Jack and I were having dinner with a business associate of his, TJ Sorenson of American Oil and Gas Products.” Ronnie closed her eyes. “It was Christmastime about three years ago. I remember that there were tiny trees and red candles on the tables.”

“What a meal,” Jack said, settling back with a cup of espresso. “I've never been here before but you can be sure I'll come here again.”

“I discovered Chez Martin several months ago,” TJ said, “and I keep hoping that no one else will. I read the restaurant columns and am relieved every time I find other places discussed. So far no reviewer had found Chez Martin. I'm particularly glad I could share it with you. You're two of my favorite people.” TJ Sorenson was about fifty, with a head full of white hair and a bushy white moustache, which he stroked with one index finger when he was thinking. An old-time wildcatter, TJ's eyes were the color of cornflowers with deep lines at the corners from squinting in the bright sun for dozens of years. He was a handsome man, with the outdoor look of someone who spent a great deal of time in the sun, wind, and weather. He didn't look old enough to have a grown son, a married daughter, and three grandchildren.

“Thanks so much, TJ,” Ronnie said. “I'm so full I could burst.” She took a sip of her white crème de menthe on the rocks and gazed at the two men, both looking mildly uncomfortable in double-breasted suits, white shirts, and ties. Although he looks great in his usual jeans and sweatshirt, I love how Jack looks in a suit, Ronnie thought. And the slight gray at the temples of his carefully combed dark brown hair makes him look more like a banker than an oil explorer.

“I'm glad you're so satisfied, because I have an ulterior motive for inviting you tonight.” TJ stroked his moustache. “I would like to ask you a favor and I'm not entirely sure how to do it.”

“Just ask,” Jack said. “You've been so great to me for all these years, I'll be happy to help if I can.”

“Well,” TJ said, “I need both of you to agree, although it's really Ronnie's favor.”

Ronnie's head popped up, her blond hair brushing her shoulders. “Me?”

TJ sighed. “Let me explain. First of all, I hope you don't mind that Jack has told me about your delightfully original relationship.”

“Of course not. Jack and I are not ashamed of our lifestyle.” Ronnie stroked Jack's hand lovingly. “We love each other and have fun as well.” Jack winked one gray eye and nodded.

“You two seem to have figured out something that works for you and you know how much I like you both.”

Ronnie rested her elbows on the table and studied the older man. TJ, who had recently been promoted to executive vice president of American Oil, had been Jack's first boss. The two men had hit it off almost immediately, and as TJ climbed the corporate ladder, Jack climbed with him. Several years earlier, when Jack formed his own geology consulting firm, TJ had given him moral support and had seen to it that American Oil put him on retainer. Jack and Ronnie owed him a lot.

In addition to their business relationship, the two men had become friends. In the early days, TJ and Jack had traveled together on oil drilling expeditions, often spending weeks at a time in the field, living in a tent, and actually wielding a pick and shovel. In the years since TJ had become office-bound, Jack and Ronnie had dined occasionally with TJ and his wife Alice, most recently one evening the previous summer on the Sorensons' new forty-foot sailboat.

When TJ seemed at a loss as to how to continue, Ronnie said, “Whatever is bothering you can't be that terrible. Why don't you just come out with it?”

“Right.” He sipped his cognac. “It's my son. You met Tim last summer on the boat. What was your impression of him, Ronnie? As a woman. And be honest.”

She remembered TJ's son. He had been on his way somewhere but had paused for a moment to make small talk. She recalled an awkward young man who seemed uncomfortable with her. “He's a nice-looking guy, as I remember,” she said, hedging. “How old is he now?”

“He's twenty-four. Tell me what you think of him as a person.”

“I hardly spent any time with him,” Ronnie said. “But he was charming, seemed to know the right thing to say but I guess he seemed a bit distant, a bit difficult to get to know.”

“He's shy with women because he's had a few bad experiences. And now he's much worse. He was engaged, you know.”

“No,” Ronnie said. “I didn't know. You said
was?
”

“I did. The bitch did a number on him. I think she was more interested in my money than in Tim. Anyway, about a month ago, when he seemed to be losing interest, she lost her temper at our dinner table one evening. There were several other couples, their friends and ours, and Clarisse had been drinking. Something snapped, I've no idea what. But whatever caused it she read him out and, among other things, told him he was a lousy lover. I think her exact phrasing was that he couldn't give a nymphomaniac an orgasm.”

“Oh shit,” Jack said. “He must have been devastated.”

“He was. Fortunately Tim and I have an honest relationship and we've talked at length since then. He doesn't want anything to do with Clarisse, but he admits that she might have a point about his sexual prowess. He told me that he feels inadequate and awkward as a lover. I told him that good sex takes two and that maybe he and Clarisse just weren't compatible, but he's really down on himself. We talked about finding a prostitute to, you know, teach him about women and sex, but he didn't want anything like that. Too impersonal, too clinical.”

“Am I starting to see a plan here?” Ronnie asked.

“I hope so,” TJ said. “I know and trust both of you and I need someone to teach Tim about women. Ronnie?”

“I'm flattered and I'd like to help. But I won't do anything without his knowledge,” Ronnie said.

“Of course not.” He looked from Ronnie to Jack. “If you two agree, I'll talk to him. I mentioned you recently and he remembers meeting you last summer. As a matter of fact, I think he was impressed, said you were a knockout, as I recall. I don't know whether that's the good news or the bad.”

“I think it would be wonderful for Tim,” Jack said, his charming grin revealing even, white teeth. “Ronnie's just the right woman to teach a young man about love and sex. She's terrific.” He squeezed his wife's hand.

“So you're both willing?” TJ said.

“If Tim wants to, I'm certainly willing,” Ronnie said.

Later that night, Ronnie and Jack lay in bed, naked, propped up on several pillows. “That's quite an assignment,” Jack said, “teaching a young man about sex.”

“I know,” Ronnie said. “It's a bit daunting.”

“Nonsense,” Jack said. He tangled his fingers in Ronnie's hair. “Any man who looks at your full lips will want to kiss you.” He pressed his lips against hers. “He'll want to use his tongue to play with yours.” He opened her mouth with his tongue and stroked the inside. “He'll want to touch your face.” He ran the pads of his fingers over Ronnie's forehead, cheeks, and nose. “And close your eyes with his lips.” He kissed her eyelids.

“Maybe you should teach him,” Ronnie said. “You do things so well.”

As his hands made her skin burn everywhere they touched, Jack said, his voice hoarse, “Will you tell me every detail? Will you demonstrate to me everything you taught him?” His breathing was rough as his hands found her wet center.

“I may not share exactly what we do because that seems very private. But I'll make up something delicious,” Ronnie said, wrapping her legs around her husband's waist. “But for right now, just fuck me good.”

They were both so hot that their mating was frantic, tangling their bodies in sheets and pillows. He pounded into her hard and screamed when he came. Her orgasm wasn't far behind.

Tim called Ronnie about a week later. “My dad told me about your conversation,” he said without preamble. “I'm really embarrassed about all this.”

“I'm a little uncomfortable too, Tim, but I gather that this type of thing is common in Europe. The older woman educating the younger man.”

Tim's hollow laugh echoed through the phone. “That doesn't help and anyway, you're not that much older.”

Ronnie laughed. “It doesn't help me either, but I'd love to spend time with you, if you'd like. We could talk and do whatever you want, nothing more.”

Ronnie heard Tim take a deep breath. “I think I would.” He paused. “Maybe we could have dinner at that place Dad took you to. Like next Tuesday evening?”

Ronnie had been dreading a long dinner during which she and Tim would have to make pleasant conversation. It sounded awful. “You know, let's pass on dinner,” Ronnie suggested. “Let me meet you at your apartment at about eight. We can talk and see what happens from there.”

“I could pick you up.” Ronnie could hear the hesitancy in his voice.

“I'd prefer to meet you, if that's okay.” No long drive with awkward silences.

“Sure. Ronnie?”

“Yes.”

“I'm terrified and mortified.”

“Don't be. We'll only do what makes both of us comfortable. Okay?”

“I'll see you Tuesday.” Tim gave Ronnie directions to his apartment.

“Okay. I'll see you at eight o'clock. And Tim, wear those tight, over-washed jeans you were wearing that evening last summer. I remember how good they looked on you.”

“Yeah,” Tim said, his voice a bit lighter. “Sure. I will.” He hung up.

Ronnie drove to the apartment complex the following Tuesday and grabbed a heavy camel wool coat from the backseat. She wore a deep red, button front, man-tailored shirt and jeans, with her bare feet stuffed into soft leather loafers. She had on almost no makeup and had pulled her hair into a ponytail. Although she was in her early thirties she looked younger and less threatening. Only her lingerie was intended to tantalize, a dark red demi-bra and matching thong-style panties.

Her palms sweaty, Ronnie parked her car, found her way to Tim's apartment, and rang the bell. It took a moment before she heard footsteps.

“Hi,” Tim said as he opened the door. Ronnie was surprised at how much he had changed in the few months since she had last seen him. Although he had been twenty-three that evening on the boat, he had still had some of the gawky teenaged angles and hollows to his body. No more.

“You've grown up,” Ronnie said as she looked him over slowly and appraisingly, enjoying the way his body now filled out the navy blue knit shirt he wore. His shoulders were wide and his hips narrow. Lord she loved muscular shoulders and she longed to run her palms over his upper arms, feel them around her. That would have to wait, however. Right now Tim's fists were clenched at his sides and the open ingenuous smile that she knew could warm his ordinary-looking face was hidden beneath his nervousness.

Tim was terrified. When he and his dad discussed Clarisse's ugly comments, and Tim had reluctantly admitted that even before that evening he had begun to doubt himself. He'd been a normal teenaged stud, seducing several members of his high school class, then having several longer-term relationships in college. But with Clarisse it had been different. As the months of their relationship passed, it took longer and longer for him to arouse her. He tried to be considerate and give her the time she needed but after prolonged foreplay, once he finally got inside, he came so quickly that Clarisse complained that Tim always left her unsatisfied. The last few times they had slept together, he'd been unable to get an erection at all. “Don't you have a clue about women?” Clarisse had shrieked late one night. “All you want to do is fuck. Stick it in and to hell with the woman.” She'd laughed at him. “Now you can't even get it up.” His brain understood what was going on, but his soul had doubts.