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“Love does not begin and end the way we seem to think it does.
Love is a battle, love is a war; love is a growing up.”
—James Baldwin
LIBERTINE—a person who has sex with no morals.
Life is often amusing. Right when you honestly start to believe that you have everything figured out and under control, you get this curveball thrown at you that you can’t quite maneuver your emotional well-being into the position to catch. Right when you’ve convinced yourself that you are “that chick” and that your life is the total package, you find yourself once again falling off the proverbial “track of life.”
It was apropos that I happened to be vibing with “Bedroom Eyes” off the 1992 Isley Brothers album, Tracks of Life, as I pulled up to the valet desk at the Mandarin Oriental on Peachtree Road. My curiosity had overwhelmed me when a card key to the Mandarin Suite was dropped off at my office earlier in the day. Shane, my assistant, eyed me with much suspicion as she placed the black silk envelope on my desk mere seconds after I had completed a conference call with a gallery in New York about an up-and-coming artist we were trying to co-brand with showings so everyone could get paid. Business was booming, and it was not from a lack of me busting my ass as usual.
“A courier dropped this off for you.” Shane sat the envelope, with my name and office address written in silver calligraphy on the front, on my desk and waited anxiously for me to open it. “Must be an invitation to a party.”
“Well, you know how much Jason and I love a good shindig.” I giggled and slid my freshly manicured index finger into the flap to pull it open. “I hope it’s not for next weekend. We’re planning to take the kids to Charlotte for the NCAA Tournament.”
“I heard it’s bananas there; party after party.”
“Yeah, the games are like an added attraction.”
I pulled a white card out of the envelope. Glancing inside, I spotted the hotel magnetic key. I cleared my throat and read the note in silence:
Eurydice,
Meet me in the Mandarin Suite this evening at 7 sharp. Wear that Alien perfume that I like and no panties. I plan to eat you for my dinner and then we can order some room service for you . . . unless you want to lick your dinner.
Signed,
Orpheus
A grin the size of Texas must have spread across my face, because Shane started walking about my massive oak desk to try to read over my shoulder. I snapped to my senses in time to flip the card over before she could see it.
“Hmm, something secretive, huh?” she asked.
“No, not at all. It’s just private and it’s not an invitation,” I lied. It was an offer, but not one to go network or party. It was a solicitation to fuck . . . from Orpheus.
“Shane, can you go get Mike Wegman’s portfolio? I left it in the conference room earlier.”
Shane looked dejected as she switched out of my office in her six-inch stilettos. I never understood how women navigated in heels that high. I would start toppling over in anything over three inches. Women had become so obsessed with heels that some doctors were making a killing off surgeries that professed to make it easier. The surgeries went by various names: The Cinderella Surgery, The Foot Face-Lift, The Toe Tuck, and The Stiletto Surgery. Pure foolishness, if you ask me. I had been at dinner with a few female friends over the holidays and one actually said she had “Toebesity” and was going to have her pinkie toe downsized so she could wear her designer shoe collection. Pure craziness!
• • •
For the remainder of the workday, I was anticipating meeting up with Orpheus at the hotel. I could barely concentrate on work at all. I called Momma and asked her to get the kids. She asked me if Jason would be home for dinner and I told her that he had mentioned something about having a meeting with clients. Jason was doing really well with his architectural firm. The development in Atlanta was off the charts and he had a top-notch reputation, so he was never out of projects to work on. In fact, he had taken on two new partners to help with the load.
Back to my lack of concentration. My pussy was damp. No, scratch that. My pussy was drizzling, since I was foreseeing the night to come. No panties, huh? Well, alrighty then. Mine were going to be too soaked to wear anyway.
By five o’clock, I wanted everyone to leave the office on time so I could get in some “me time” before my recital. Most women do not realize it, but there is such a thing as a “pussy recital.” That is when you show off your skillz—not basic skills—in the bedroom, out of the bedroom, or wherever else your freakiness might inspire you to get down.
I had a predilection toward masturbating—a.k.a. playing with my cooter—before any hellified dick action came into play. And hellified dick Orpheus truly possessed. We had been having our secret rendezvous in various five-star hotels throughout the city for at least two years. We really needed to control ourselves, but we had made numerous attempts and had failed miserably.
Once I was sure the coast was clear, and that Shane had left on the elevator headed to the lobby with the last of my employees, I shut and locked my office door. Then I sat down at my desk, opened my bottom right drawer that had a small safe built in, scrolled in the code, and pulled up the lid. There he was—King Midas—and he definitely had “the touch.” I lifted him up and eyed him with admiration . . . all nine inches of him.
I swiveled my chair to the right, propped my left ankle up on the corner of my desk, used my free hand to push my black lace panties to the side, and slid my king into my pussy, inch by motherfucking inch. When he was positioned inside my sugary walls, all nice and lovely, I turned him onto his lowest setting, threw my head back, closed my eyes, and began my conscious wet dream.
I imagined being on a movie set—a kitchen setting—and having dozens of crew members surrounding me as I stood there while the makeup team, hairstylist, and wardrobe guy had their “last looks” before the cameras went up. I was dressed in a skimpy white dress that showed off all of my curves that I spent six hours a week in the gym making sure everything was tight, especially my tits and ass. The interesting thing was that in my fantasy everyone but me was naked, from the director sitting in video village ready to shout “Action” to the electrical grip with the dark eyes, curly brown hair, and elephantine dick at full erection.
Then Orpheus walked onto the set wearing a robe and a pair of slippers. His height, coupled with his bald head and overall fineness, had all of the women ready to have explosive orgasms from the mere sight of him. I had to control myself, both in my fantasy and in the real world—I didn’t want to come so quickly. I wanted to savor the moment, so I pulled King Midas out a couple of inches and started twirling him around inside of me. My pussy was drenched by this point and I was thinking that I should have placed a towel down first, like I usually did when I got myself off in the office.
Orpheus dropped his robe, and his remarkable dick could have made the throes of a hurricane seem like Shangri-La. His dick was an astonishing sight, and I took it all in as I dropped to my knees and commenced sucking it into my mouth.
Orpheus moaned as the director yelled out, “Wait! Hold up! We’re not filming yet, Eurydice!”
Orpheus chuckled, grabbed me by my left ear, and carefully pulled my head away from his dick. “
Don’t worry. I’m going to let you roll your tongue all over this before the night is through.”
I stood up and started taking off my dress. I was now the only one with clothes still on and I was ready to get buck naked and buck wild.
I glanced over at the director, who was licking his lips at the sight of my protruding nipples. “So how do you want this to go down?” I asked. “You want us to fuck on the table or the counter?”
The director grinned. I would state his name, but the only two people in my fantasies that ever had actual names were Orpheus and me—Eurydice.
“I say we go for both,” he responded. “Table first, nice and slow, and Orpheus can lift you up, place you on the counter by the sink, and bang you out real good.”
Orpheus took me by the chin and redirected my eyes to his. “Does that work for you, baby?”
“Oh yes!” I exclaimed. “I want you to bang me out like this is the last piece of pussy you’ll ever get in your natural life.”
We stood there, eyeing each other like two boxers about to go for round one in the ring.
“Cameras up!” the director said as a young, naked woman with red hair slated both of them.
“Scene 1.12, take Alpha,” she said in front of each before clapping the slate shut.
“And action!” the director yelled out.
Orpheus started reciting his lines right on cue. He took my left hand and raised it to his lips, placing a gentle peck on it. Due to his height, the head of his dick was poking me in the space between my breasts as he said, “I was thinking about you all day at the office.”
“Really?” I blushed. “And what were you thinking . . . exactly?”
“I imagined coming home from a long day, walking into the kitchen, and finding you slaving over a hot stove naked.”
“Some imagination.” I giggled and turned my back to him, stirring the pot of whatever the prop master had simmering on the lowest setting on the stove. “Did you also imagine yourself walking into the kitchen naked?”
Orpheus grabbed my waist from behind with one hand and ran his fingers through my shoulder-length hair with the other. “I’m improvising,” he whispered. “Why don’t you turn that off so we can spend some quality time together before dinner?”
“But I spent all day making your favorite dish,” I lied. “It might not taste the same if I turn it off and then reheat it.”
Orpheus reached around me and turned the stove off. “It might not taste the same, but I’ll tell you what always does taste the same, and it’s mighty delicious.”
I blushed again. “Let me guess. You’re talking about my poontang?”
“Uh-huh, damn right!”
“Well, I try to keep it juicy and sweet for you, baby.” I turned around and looked up at him. His dick was still rock hard. I grabbed onto it with a cupped hand and started giving him a hand job. With my other hand, I reached underneath and rubbed his balls. They were engorged. “You need to let me do something about these, on the real. It’s not healthy for a man’s man to have such a buildup.”
“What do you have in mind?” Orpheus took a few steps back, leading me by his dick toward the large oak table in the middle of the set. “I could stand to relieve a little stress.”
I saw them repositioning the cameras out of my peripheral vision. One was on a set of dolly tracks. I held onto Orpheus’s dick as I maneuvered around to take a seat in the end chair.
“Relax, baby,” I said. “Lose yourself in the moment.”
Orpheus threw his head back as I licked the head of his dick and then suckled on it, extracting his pre-cum. I continued to caress his balls and then I bounced them up and down gently as I took his dick into my mouth, a little bit at a time.
I relaxed the back of my throat so I could cram as much of it inside my cheeks as possible. Taking it all in was a pipe dream—something to aspire to but never truly attainable.
Now in the film world, even the porno film world, sex moves at the speed of lightning, and we were making a short film. So I sucked Orpheus off good—damn good—for about five minutes before he pulled me up off the chair and lifted my ass onto the table.
He pushed my back down on the table and started sucking on my left breast while he pinched my right nipple. Then he pushed them both together and started motorboating them. It was such an incredible turn-on. I wanted to scream when the director yelled out, “Let’s move this along!” I had forgotten anyone else was even there for a moment.
Orpheus moved his head down slowly, toward my pussy, making pit stops at my navel and the rim of my pelvis, where he flicked his tongue from side to side. A lot of people do not realize that the rim, where the hipbones meet on a woman, can be a great source of pleasure if handled the correct way. That’s one benefit of fucking around with the masters of the game. They understand how to manipulate a woman’s body like no others.
Orpheus buried his entire nose in my pussy and inhaled it like a summer’s eve. He spread my thighs open even wider with his mammoth hands and I decided to make it simple: I spread my legs into a “V” and lifted my back a little so I could grab my ankles.
He grinned as I stared down into his eyes. “Who am I to tell a starving man that I can’t feed him,” I said, and scooted my ass down closer to the edge of the table so he could lick it all from front to back, including my anus.
And lick it all he did! Then he ate me out something fierce.
Of course, it wasn’t long before the director was rushing us along again.
Back in the real world, King Midas was starting to run out of battery life, and that frustrated me to no end.
Zoe, you need to hurry up and get this nut off, the real me thought to myself.
BACK TO SCENE:
Since my batteries were weak, I sped up the fantasy like crazy. There was nothing worse than masturbating and not getting to climax. It was hard for me to accomplish that without a toy buzzing and working magic inside of me. I had damn near become immune to mere handiwork.
Orpheus now was balls deep inside of me as I was taken for the ride of my life on top of that big-ass oak table. The table was sliding back and forth on the tile floor.
“Fuck going slow!” I screamed. “Bang the fuck out of me!”
“No! No!” the directed yelled out in frustration. “Slow on the table! Rough on the counter!”
I grabbed both sides of Orpheus’s head so he would concentrate on me instead of on the director. “Don’t you fucking listen to him. I want to come. I need to come now.”
Orpheus zoned everybody else out like I had and put the kind of punishment on my pussy that could have landed him in the Golden Dick Hall of Fame. I came so hard that my thighs started having aftershocks, both in my imagination and in real life.
I quivered in my desk chair as King Midas exerted his last little bit of effort before I replaced the four AA batteries. Coming back down to earth, I made a mental note to pick up the batteries when I went to Wal-Mart the next day to get Peter a new baseball glove and Kyle and Kayla—the twins—new controllers for their PlayStation 4.
That was how it went: I would get lost in a masturbating sequence and then bounce right back to the reality of it all—the days of my life.
I sighed as I stood on wobbly legs and tried to gather my composure. All of that and I still had a date to get fucked a little later. I still had about an hour to kill, so I called Marcella to check in.
She picked up on the third ring. “Dr. Spencer.” Then she must have looked at her caller ID. “Oh, hey, Zoe.”
“Hey, Marcella.”
“Is something wrong?”
I realized that my breathing was still a little labored, like after a brisk walk in the night air. “I’m good. Just got finishing working out,” I lied. “I wanted to make sure you’d be able to keep our appointment time on Tuesday.”
“Yes, actually, I
worked it out. I postponed the meeting I had. We can still do your regular time.”
“Cool. I was worried about missing a week. Even when we shoot the breeze, it’s extremely helpful to me.” I paused. “Well, you know what therapy accomplishes already.”
“Since I’m a therapist, I’d better know what the hell it means.”
We both laughed.
“Are you sure you’re all right, Zoe? You sound out of sorts.”
“I’m fine. Truly I am.”
“Everything straight with Jason and the kids?”
“Indeed. We’re taking a va-cay-cay next weekend.”
“Oh? The islands? I remember you mentioning that Jason wanted to check out the Grand Palladium in Jamaica.”
“I wish. No, we’re only going on a four-hour road trip to Charlotte. The CIAA Tournament.”
“CIAA?”
“Yeah, the Central Intercollegiate Athletic Association.”
“I need to get out more.” Marcella giggled. “Never heard of it. They have a lot of men there?”
“It’s a basketball tournament, Marcella. What do you think?”
“Okay, let me rephrase that. Are there a lot of single men there?”
“I’ve only ever been with ‘he who walks behind the rows,’ but I am quite sure there are. Tons of parties, that’s for sure.”
“ ‘He who walks behind the rows’? Too funny.”
She sighed like she had experienced yet another long day. I never understood how Marcella could listen to other people’s drama day in and day out, but she somehow found her career to be satisfying and she had certainly saved my life.
I would be terrified to be a psychiatrist. I would be afraid someone would completely flip out one day and attack me. The world was crazy enough without inviting trouble. Then again, I was one of her patients and I was not likely to go postal. But I imagined if Quinton Matthews had been one of her clients—a bona fide serial killer. Would he have flipped out on her the way he had done on Jason and me in that cabin? I shuddered at the thought.