Hmm ... So b) something he could never get too much of. Sex. Brad had always been in control of our sexual adventures. It was part of the turn-on for me, the willing handover of my body, unknowing of what he had in store for it. But I wanted something more for his birthday, something other than me, naked and willing, waiting for his command. My mind flickered back to his being deprived. He had been shortchanged of something, for eight months now. Another woman. We had ventured into the water, spending one hot night with a blonde Russian, Brad bringing her multiple orgasms without actually fucking her. He had to miss it, had to miss domination of another woman with his cock, seeing the look in her eyes when he thrust it in, the shock and incredulity as it turned from too much to too perfect.
It was time. Since that night, I had waffled and wish-washed my way back and forth over the line of indecision until my head spun like a drunken coed. But the thought always made me hot, always pushed me over the edge when Brad’s head was between my legs or he was buried deep in me. The pleasure he gave me, the incredible heights and depths he brought me to, were too incredible for me not to share—it seemed unfair for me to keep this wealth of sexual knowledge contained solely for my pleasure. When I was with Brad and the Russian, I had loved every minute of the experience, as limited as it was. But to see him inside a woman, to see his thrusts and her moans, his hands gripping her skin, his mouth on hers—the thought was almost too intense to process. During sex, I would get snapshot images, entering uninvited into my mind, and my back would involuntarily arch, my orgasm no longer containable, and my world would turn black in a moment of exquisite perfection.
How would I react in that actual situation? When he spread her legs, touched her body? When I saw that look on his face, the look of lust and ownership, the same look that sent me over the edge, the look I strove for, fucked for, and did anything and everything to provoke? How would I take it, and what if he needed more of it?
Would I really be giving him a birthday present? Or was this just one, big, sex-filled test of our relationship?
♥♥♥
I didn’t even know how to go about setting up a threesome. It was something I had always had Brad handle, not wanting the awkward chitchat, conversation of limits and desires, the meet and greet. And dealing with a woman seemed even more problematic. If I had to, if every sexual standard Brad and I had in place crashed down, I could walk up to a man and bring up the concept of sex. Men were a given, a single man with a working cock wasn’t likely to turn down an offer of no-strings-attached sex. Women were a whole other ballgame. I was a woman who had already been introduced to threesomes, who was familiar with walking into an unknown situation and having a stranger touch me, yet I would still say ‘fuck you’ if approached by a stranger and propositioned for sex. I couldn’t image any woman, other than a prostitute, who would willingly enter into an unknown situation without someone there they were itrustyouwithmylife comfortable with. And ... if there was a woman out there who was that down-to-fuck ... I wasn’t sure I wanted her anywhere near my man.
I decided to call the only expert I knew, Beverly Franklin, a redheaded bombshell who had popped my sex-party cherry eight months earlier. I locked myself in my office and dialed her number.
When she answered, my opening greeting was awkward, my words tripping out, no good way to introduce myself. There was an initial pause, but then warm sincerity flowed through the phone.
“You’re that gorgeous brunette who came with Brad to Masked Innocence! Of course I remember. I’ve heard you tied that man down with an engagement.” The admiration rang clearly through her voice.
“Well, someone had to do it.”
She laughed coquettishly. “I missed seeing you at the Christmas party; Brad said you guys went up to Aspen. How was the snow?”
Aspen. The day after my parents left, we locked down the house and flew west, locking ourselves into a chalet and fucking for three days straight before coming home. Snow? I hadn’t even noticed. “It was great, though I hated missing the party. But Beverly, the reason I called is that Brad’s birthday is Friday.” I explained my predicament, hoping that she didn’t take the question the wrong way.
She thought for a moment. “Honestly, Julia, if you’re trying to find a single woman yourself, you’re probably best going to The Montley House.”
I repeated the name, drawing a blank, my naïve mind trying to find something familiar in the words.
She laughed. “Why don’t I take you there tonight? It’s a place easier shown than explained; plus, they won’t accept you without a referral.”