Made For Sex (38 page)

T
he following morning Fran awoke with a start. She saw herself as she had been the previous evening, tied to the bed, writhing in ecstasy. She pictured herself on O'Malley's bed, in his bedroom, a bedroom she had barely noticed while they were together. It was as though she were above herself, watching O'Malley's buttocks clench and release as he pressed his cock into her mouth. It was incredibly erotic and she felt her body responding. It was also humiliating. She had done things in the heat of sexual excitement that she hadn't dreamed that real people did or at least not nice, calm, Fran Caputo from Omaha, Nebraska.

It must have been Nicki. Fran stopped herself. I'm starting to sound schizoid. Nicki isn't a separate person, she's me. Was what Nicki did last evening, what I did last evening, so bad?

“Was it?” she asked aloud. She ran the palms of her hands over her belly, resisting the temptation to caress her breasts which tingled and tightened. And it
had
been wonderful. Oh yes, it had.

She spent the next two hours in a daze, vacillating between, “I couldn't have,” and, “Oh, God, it felt so good.” Just after eleven, the doorbell rang and she let Carla into the apartment.

“Morning, love,” Carla said. “How's tricks, as they say?”

“Tricks are fine,” Fran said, leading Carla into the kitchen where she had a pot of coffee brewing, along with hot water for tea.

Carla poured herself a cup of coffee and, as Fran made tea, she could feel her friend's eyes boring into her back. They walked into the living room and, with the statue watching, sat on the sofa. “Okay,” Carla said, “out with it. What's bothering you?”

After a few denials, Fran finally said, “My date with O'Malley last evening was sensational.”

“Hooray. He's a bit of a character, but he's a sexy beast, isn't he? And what a hunk.”

“I guess.”

“What's going on, Fran? Anyone who doesn't admit that O'Malley's the sexiest guy on the planet is either blind, lying or seriously deluded.”

“Have you ever, you know, been with him?”

“Yes. We've been together.”

“Oh Lord,” Fran groaned, then buried her face in her hands. “That's just the point.”

“What is? That he's free with his sexual activities? That he isn't your concept of a date, husband material, yours forever after?”

Fran looked up. “That sounds so conniving and it's not what I mean. It's just that he was with me for sex, because you asked him to.”

Carla's eyes flashed. “Not a chance. He enjoys entertaining women but he's not a whore.”

“I didn't mean it like that,” Fran said.

“So exactly what did you mean?”

“I have always thought of sex as being part of love. This was sex for the sake of sex.”

“And…?”

“And everything.” Fran burst into tears. “And I enjoyed it.”

Carla started to laugh. “I get it. You're allowed to have good sex with someone who's a date, who you might eventually love, but with someone who enjoys hot rolls in the hay for their own sake, it's just not done. Right?”

Fran sniffled and grabbed a tissue from her leans pocket. “It sounds silly when you say it like that.”

“Babe, it is silly. You and O'Malley had a wonderful evening together, and you ended up in bed. Right?”

“Right,” Fran said, feeling her face flush at the memory of what “in bed together” had actually entailed. “But it was a bit…” She hesitated. “…unusual.”

“Okay, let me guess. He tied you to the bed.”

Fran's face snapped up. “How…?”

“He loves to do that, and I remember loving it when he did it to me. You didn't like it? I'm sorry. I guess sometimes he does get carried away and I should have warned you. I'm really sorry if you didn't like that part.”

Softly, Fran said, “But I did like it. That's the problem.”

“Ahh,” Carla said, nodding. “I get it. You aren't supposed to like the more adventurous stuff.”

“Maybe Nicki does, but not me. But I'm Nicki. It's degrading somehow.”

“But you write stories about control games, don't you?”

“Not really, until last evening.” Her body tingled as the image of the woman taped to the chair flashed through her mind. “This morning I thought about the stories I had written before I came to New York and all of them have been comfortable, heterosexual and, well ‘normal.' Nothing really kinky.”

Carla giggled. “You think that's kinky? You should only know.”

“But I've always been taught that it's wrong.”

“Why should something that harms no one be wrong?”

“It just is.”

“And why is it that way? Why is it all right for people to have fun in bed one way and not others? Who decides?”

Fran thought about it for a few minutes. Who did decide? She had read about all kinds of perversions in her recent wanderings around the Internet. But were they perversions or just kinky fun? Were they all wrong? “I guess I'm really confused. How do you decide what's kinky and what's wrong?”

Carla got serious. “I have to make a lot of such decisions in my business so I developed a simple rule. If what I do with a man gives us both pleasure and harms no one, then it's okay. If either of us is doing something that we aren't sure of, aren't completely comfortable with, and we are just doing it because someone else wants to or for any reason other than pleasure, then it's not okay.”

Fran considered what Carla had said. “Then you think that it's okay to, I don't know, to hurt each other, urinate on each other, like that, as long as you both want to?”

“Absolutely. I personally don't get into water sports and heavy pain, although a few swats on the ass at the right moment can be delicious. However, I've been at parties where people inflict real pain on each other. And it's all totally voluntary and they both get off on it. Actually, I've slapped the occasional person around when he really begged for it and it gave the recipient a great deal of pleasure. There were times I really enjoyed the control part of that, and I love giving pleasure in any form. I don't understand the really painful stuff, and some of the other things that give sexual pleasure, but I don't judge. If everyone's getting their jollies, then so be it. Who am I to decide anyone else's limits, or anyone else's hot buttons?”

Carla continued, “You and O'Malley are grown-ups and certainly able to do what pleases without worrying about what ‘society' says is good or bad.” She leaned forward and rested her hand on Fran's arm. “And it was good, wasn't it.”

Fran took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Oh yes. It was wonderful. It's just looking back on it is embarrassing. I blush at the thought of some of the things we did.”

“How delightful. I'm thrilled for you. It's kind of like having discovered a new game.” She remembered when her friend Ronnie had introduced her to a man named Bryce, a man she still dated intermittently. “I envy you in a way. The newness is so exciting.”

Fran ran her fingers through her hair, then said softly, “Yes. It is.”

“Bravo. Are you going to see him again?”

Fran rubbed the back of her neck, shook her head, then smiled. “Yes. He's busy tonight, but he'll call me tomorrow.”

“Did you call that man you met the other evening?”

“Phew. You really know how to push. I thought I should concentrate on one thing at a time.”

“Why?”

Fran sipped her tea. “Why indeed? Maybe I'll call him later.”

“I want to ask you a very personal question and I need an honest answer, or no answer at all. Are you interested in experiencing some of the more unusual things you've read about? This isn't for Nicki, although she'd love everything. This is for you, for Fran Caputo.”

“Honest answer, I don't know. It intrigues me, titillates, but I don't know exactly what I want to experience in person.”

“Good answer. Listen. I'm going to a party next weekend down in the Village. It's being held in a loft owned by a friend of mine named CJ. Actually I'll be CJ's date and this is for fun, not business. You'd be more than welcome to join us. You wouldn't have to participate in anything you didn't want to, but you'd be able to experience some of the control aspects of sex, at a distance or up close and personal. Think about it. You don't have to give me an answer. Lots of people go without partners and there are always a few who just watch. Nonparticipation is accepted and respected. Just consider it and let me know.”

“I'll think about it, but I don't know….”

Carla patted Fran's hand. “Okay. Today it's museums. Nicki probably doesn't go to them often, but she knows about European art and that sort of thing. We'll just wander and you can pick up some names to drop. We'll start at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, then go to the Museum of Modern Art. And we'll talk about theater, and books, which you probably know more about than I do since you told me that you're a voracious reader. We'll cover as much as we can. My kids are with my folks until tomorrow so we can have cocktails at Windows on the World at the top of the World Trade Center, then dinner, if you don't have anything else to do. Some kind of exotic foreign food, I think.”

“Food. That's where this whole thing can fall apart. I've watched videos about some of the bigger cities in Europe, I've taken photographic tours of the wine country of France, the Rhine, Ireland. They always talk about the food, but the exotic restaurants I've been in have been either Italian, Chinese or Mexican. And most of that was in small restaurants and fast food. Taco Bell, Domino's Pizza and The Golden Wok hardly prepare you for haute cuisine. You know, it's hard to go into some weird restaurant alone and there wasn't much in my neighborhood even if I had been feeling brave.”

“Well, for today you're not alone. How about sushi tonight?”

It was difficult not to make a face. “Raw fish?”

“We'll go someplace where they have cooked food too, but if I know you like I think I do, you'll really like it. Are you up for it?”

“I guess I'm up for anything,” Fran said, really meaning it.

“And then, after dinner I'll show you a few things about my house that you haven't already seen.”

“Okay,” Fran said, a bit mystified.

The day passed in a whirl and Fran learned a great deal. She absorbed information about paintings and theater and she and Carla discussed everything from Shakespeare to Danielle Steele. She learned about Indian food at lunch and actually found that she liked raw fish and rice at dinner. But there was much more than that. She watched Carla, the way she moved, the way she interacted with people, the way she gestured with her hands, the way she accidentally-yet-quite-deliberately touched people, particularly men, while she talked. She began to try to emulate Carla's easy way of dealing with cab drivers and waiters, museum guards and coat checkers. There was a relaxed sensuality about everything Carla did. With some careful observation, Fran was able to adopt some of her small, flirtatious movements. Nicki was emerging and Fran loved the way it made her feel.

After dinner, the two women took a cab back to Carla's brownstone. They settled in the living room with glasses of Sauvignon Blanc. “Are you going to call that man you met the other night?” Carla asked.

“I guess.”

“Well, why don't you just use this phone,” Carla said, handing Fran a cordless handset, “while I go to the little girls' room. Holler when you're done.”

“But…”

“Do it, Nicki. It's your time now. Just enjoy.” And with that, Carla walked away.

Fran thought for a few moments, then pulled out the business card Clark had given her, found his home phone number and dialed.

“Hello?” The voice was deep-toned and friendly.

“Clark, it's Nicki,” she said, suddenly wondering whether he'd even remember who she was. Maybe she was making a fool out of herself.

“Nicki. Wow.” He sounded shocked. “I didn't think you'd call.”

Fran heaved a large sigh. “Well,” she said, “here I am.”

“I'm so glad. I must admit that I played our goodbye over and over and I was sure I'd come on a bit strong. You know, sounded desperate.”

Men have all the same fears women do, Fran thought, shaking her head. It's amazing. “Don't be silly. I had a wonderful evening.”

His voice softened. “I did too. I was wondering whether you might be interested in getting together. Maybe tomorrow evening?”

Tomorrow. O'Malley. “Actually, tomorrow's not good for me.”

“Oh.” His voice sounded dead. Fran was delighted.

“How about Saturday?” she asked, shifting the phone to the other ear. “Does that work for you?”

“Sure. That would be great. I know a small Indonesian restaurant. Do you like Indonesian food?”