Messalina: Devourer of Men (28 page)

“You’re so modest.”

“Why should I be? How many men have
you
been with?”

Now there’s a question. Apart from the orgy at Trisha Stevens’s, my sexual experience with men has been pretty limited. That doesn’t mean I’m naive about sex. I read. And I do have ideas that are not vanilla, not by a long shot. 

“Eight.”

Jared blinks. It was a rhetorical question, but he asked.

“I assume you’ve had more than eight women?”

“. . . Yes.”

I snicker and we busy ourselves with our food.

“Getting back to you and this Neil joker,” he says, wiping his mouth. “You say he’s smart. How smart?”

I purse my lips together. “Not that smart.”

“I don’t know, sugar. When I was in college, there were some professors I wouldn’t have minded teaching them a thing or two after class.”

I shake my head. “The college is in enough trouble because one faculty member couldn’t keep it in his pants.”

“Well, some student couldn’t keep it in hers, either.”

“Point taken.” I raise my wineglass in salute.

We finish eating, put the dishes in the sink to soak, and then go to my room. I turn on the TV and we make ourselves comfortable by stripping down. Jared goes about the room lighting candles and incense.

We’ve developed a ritual on our weekends. For example, Friday night is “Book Night,” where we take turns reading aloud to each other from the latest in
The Life of Lucrezia,
if there’s a new issue, or some kind of erotic novel.

But this is Saturday Night. Movie Night.

Tonight’s feature:
House of the Seven Orgasms
.

Jared is expanding my tastes. I’ve come to discover the different types of porno flicks from soft-core features to gonzo-style compilations of nothing but non-stop, hard-core sex for any taste imaginable. Judging by the title, tonight is a soft-core night.

I get into bed while he turns off the lights, letting the candles do their thing, and pops the DVD into the player. Giving me a wolfish grin, he takes a flying leap onto the bed and we snuggle, eagerly turning our eyes to the TV and waiting like two kids who just sneaked into an X-rated movie theater.

“I love their names.” I giggle as the opening credits appear: Angel Pye, Coco Buerre, Jack Hoff, Dick Cummings, and Vas Deferens. “He must be German,” I say and we laugh.

“I bet he and Dick are related.”

Actually, the movie isn’t half bad. As with all things, some of these flicks are more professional than others. Now that I am actually seeing some of the “classic” movies on DVD, I do have favorite actors and actresses. I like Veronica Hart, Jeanna Fine, and Ona Zee, so Jared does his best to find their videos. Ron Jeremy cracks me up because he’ll fuck almost anything. And Sean Michaels . . . mmm, gotta love that ebony hunk of a man.

Generally, when we watch the feature films, we just snuggle, which usually leads to a round of leisurely lovemaking. But this movie has an orgy scene at the end so intense and nasty compared to the rest of the film, we had to create a scene of our own.

“Damn, girl,” he breathes onto the side of my neck when we’re through. “Where did you learn to do that?”

I laugh but say nothing.

“I’ve seen orgies, but this one.” He gives a low whistle.

He lets me sit up and then rests against me. I stroke his head then let my hand slide down to tease his nipples. He sucks in his breath and I smile.

“Have you ever been in an orgy?” I ask him.

“No, damn it.” He strokes my legs from under the blanket. “Have you?”

When I don’t answer, he cranes his head to look up at me, his face showing his surprise.

“Evadne Louise Cavell, I am shocked!” Then he turns on his side to make himself more comfortable. “You better tell me all about it.”

I press my lips together in a poor attempt to be modest, but he grabs me and tickles me into submission.

“Stop it, Jared! Quit!” I am weak and nearly pissing myself from laughing so hard, but that doesn’t prevent him blowing a raspberry against my belly, making me squeal again. When I catch my breath, I sit up from the supine position he had me in.

“Let me just preface it with this,” I say, pushing my hair off my face. “
Je ne regrettez rien
.”

Jared’s lips curve in a little smile.

“This happened almost four years ago, and until I met you, my little sex machine,” I say, patting his cheek, “it was the last time I’d been fucked within an inch of my life.”

He grins at that admission.

“It all started with an invitation from Trisha Stevens. She was an assistant music professor and wanted to have a combination housewarming and New Year’s Eve party . . .”

Years ago, when I still thought clubbing was fun, I just went to have a good time. I never fooled myself thinking I’d ever play with the hearts of men and I think that’s what attracted Eddie to me.

Eddie Norton worked as a bouncer at Turbo’s, the best nightclub in town at the time. He was a health and fitness Nazi, and the fact he gave me the time of day nearly flattered me out of my panties. I say nearly because I wasn’t thin enough for him.

“Come on, Eva,” he’d say. “Let’s go to the gym and I’ll help you tone up.”

I was so happy that a man with his body and good looks wanted to spend time with me, I didn’t mind his only wanting me as a workout buddy. Hell, I could use the exercise.

Eddie was extremely fit with a body that could grace the cover of any fitness magazine. His black hair and blue eyes created such a startling contrast I got aroused just looking at him. Plus, he was good for free admission to the club and all the drinks I could handle, which was—
is—
quite a lot. But I soon found out drinking wasn’t good if I was going to “tighten and tone.”

I’d go to the club, my friends would drink, and I would have water and “treat” myself to one Coke. Eddie would come by and check on me to make sure I was being good. He had me on an eating, drinking, and exercise regimen: no sweets, no meat, work out an hour a day, five times a week, alternating weight training with aerobics. After the gym, Eddie would take me to a movie or the park. But he would never buy me dinner or lunch or anything, only water or the occasional iced tea or lemonade. I went from a size 18 down to a size 12 in the three months I associated with him.

And although I was proud of the results, I felt like shit. I was tired, cranky, and my periods got all fucked up. But more importantly, I wasn’t happy. No one gave me a second thought when I was heavier, but they are now? What was up with that shit? I was the
exact
same person—only smaller.

People noticed and started treating me differently. I was getting more longing looks and compliments. People were friendlier. Even my family changed. Instead of criticizing my clothes, my mom wanted to take me shopping with her—something she never wanted to do in the past because I needed to go to the “heavy stores,” as she put it, and that was too inconvenient for her. So I became my own fashion consultant. I thought I did a good job, too, even though I never dressed in a way to draw attention away from Theo’s athletic form or Beverly’s and my mother’s dancer’s grace.

“All you needed was to lose weight,” Mom said. “And it’s about time.”

But Dad was dubious. “I don’t want my Li’l Bit to get too little.”

I never introduced them to Eddie. It wasn’t like he wanted to come around and meet the parents. Yet, he was my measuring tape and I still wasn’t small enough.

“You’re pretty now,” he’d say, “but lose another five or ten pounds and you’ll be gorgeous!” Or, “Eva, you are so cute. I know you don’t think so, but you’d feel and look better if you’d exercise more and ate less.”

The few times he did handle me, he would squeeze me as if determining the quality of fresh produce. Firm here, a little over ripe there. Then he’d give me an earth-shattering kiss at the club in front of my friends, a quick grope, and say, “Have you been a good girl by doing all your sit-ups? I’m feeling a little pudge here.”

Like a dumb-ass, I would giggle and say, “Yes,” flattered by the attention, but then go home and do sit-ups until I puked.

Finally, I thought I struck gold when Eddie accepted my invitation to come with me to Trisha Stevens’s New Year’s Eve Party. It would be our first official, non-workout date.

The party was a few weeks away and in the meantime, I was under all kinds of strain. I had just endured the pressure of finals for the first time at work and was on a “fitness” program that threatened to tear me apart. Then, two days before the party, I had a revelation.

This was all a bunch of bullshit.

It came to me one night at the club and I saw Eddie for what he was—a full-metal jackass. I had ignored the way he flirted with and ogled every woman who came through the door that looked like she would snap in half if caught in a strong wind—the ones with chests so flat they made the walls jealous. Eddie was trying to make me look like a string bean with a pulse.

I saw him hugging, patting, kissing, and gyrating against some of those “broads,” but ignored it because I had
all
his phone numbers. It made me want to hang my head in shame.

But, I would get my revenge, and if there’s one thing I can do well, it’s revenge.

When Eddie picked me up at Ana’s home in Montbello looking like a Russell Crowe wannabe, I noticed how he sized Ana up and down appreciatively. She was and still is a size 4, but she ignored him because a) she saw how he treated me before I figured it out and b) the overly muscle-bound aren’t her type. Then Eddie looked at me.

“Pretty good, Eva. I may have to get under that toga and try you out for myself.”

A few weeks, or even a few days before, I would’ve felt flattered, but by then his words were too arrogant for me to take. All I wanted to do was serve him his ego on a plate with his testicles on the side.

Trisha Stevens lived in a house in the Capital Hill area. That New Year’s Eve, despite the freezing weather, twenty guests showed up. People came appropriately dressed to the party as Trisha requested. The ladies wore togas and the men wore gladiator gear that Trisha reserved at a local theatrical shop. At first, I thought it was a fluke that the men outnumbered the women thirteen-to-seven, but Trisha explained that the men were expected to have a gladiator’s gusto.

Food, wine, and spirits flowed in our version of bacchanalian worship. It wasn’t long before guests started to feel at home, removed their costumes, and strutted about naked before eleven o’clock. No one cared. We all assumed it could be the last time we’d be able to act with such abandon before being dumped in a nursing home by our kids.

Since Eddie flexed and posed for anyone who cared to look, it was hard to tell we came there as a couple. I, however, made several new friends. Everybody was nice, but I noticed while dancing that a few of the guys danced closer than necessary and paid a lot of attention to the way my toga clung to my chest. I wasn’t wearing a bra—and it was a little chilly in Trisha’s house.

Time passed and soon it was next to impossible to pass a dark corner without hearing giggling or heavy breathing over the sound of wet kisses. At about 11:45, everyone had more than their share of alcohol and Trisha imposed a lockdown to keep us off the streets.

“I don’t know, Trish,” said Brady Sherrer. “With this abundance of feminine pulchritude near defenceless from excessive drink, we may have suitable cause to re-enact the Rape of the Sabine Women.” His speech reflected his recently passing the bar exam.

There was a cheer from the men and giggles from the women.

Trisha, tall, raven-haired, and decked out as Minerva, shield and helmet included, stepped out into the middle of the den and spoke.

“Nay! There shall be no rape on this holy night, centurion! But I’m not adverse to virgin sacrifice.” She tossed down her battle gear. “Line up, virgins!”

Ana and I looked at each other. Obviously, she didn’t mean us. Trisha noticed our reticence.

“What is this? Lady Evadne, Lady Ana, you do not obey the order of your goddess, Minerva?”

I made a point that night not to get too drunk, because I wanted to have a clear head and nerves of steel when I put Eddie in his place, but I had no clue how I would do it—until that moment. I approached the center of the room.

“O Goddess, I beseech thee, leave these poor young innocents alone!”

“The goddess, in her infinite wisdom, demands sacrifice!” a man called out.

I turned in their direction. The guests had formed two camps according to sex. On one side, the “maidens” huddled in various stages of undress, whereas the men looked like the aftermath of a fraternity party. A wicked smile formed on my lips.

“There is no need for sacrifice when one is willing.” I reached up and untied the knot in my toga. It fell to my feet exposing my nude body. The whistles and catcalls hurt my ears. Someone even started singing “Brown Sugar.”

Eddie busted through the ranks, his face dark with rage.

“Evadne, what the fuck are you doing?” He reached out to take me by the arm but I slid out of his way.