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“Yes, it’s just that your dance card gets so complicated. So, he’s your lover in Rome?”
“Yes. Hummm, what he can do to the inside of my thighs with his tongue is brilliant.”
“And there are other lovers?”
“A few. They come and go.”
“You ever make love to Howard?”
She laughed, a lilting sort of giggle, as though it was a preposterous idea to make love to her husband. “We gave that up the first year. He has his mistresses and I have my lovers.”
So much for my theories about a secret sex life!
“And that doesn’t bother you?”
“Why should it? All my friends do the same thing.”
“All but me.”
“Yes,” she lowered her eyes, though not condescendingly. I could tell that she put me in another category of friend from the ones in her jet-set crowd. Maybe I wasn’t even a friend anymore, just her eccentric old pal from college. This wasn’t the way it used to be. There was a time I could tell her everything. We shared every secret fantasy, every physical thrill. I remembered that warm and lazy spring afternoon, just after my last final and before hers, we kissed… warm and passionately. My surprise and arousal couldn’t have been greater. But I was grateful for that brief moment…
“Don’t you have to study?” I asked her.
“I already have. You are what I want right now,” she informed me, as her one hand traced the line of my thigh and hip delicately, and her wet lips leaned in to kiss me again. At the start, we had been dressed, but soon the layers of clothes disappeared. We lay together, flattening our bare skins along the curves and valleys of other body, finding that we fit, my brown voluptuousness cradling the thin white contours of her willowy form. Our thighs scissored, legs entwining, so that her pubic mound pressed mine, wiggling in and soon quickly frantic for some culmination. Rubbing into her, my labia lips opened. Hers did the same and our sensuous lovemaking continued as the feelings began to swell. We climaxed—not together but within minutes, groping and writhing as if we could claw our way inside the other’s body. She was a first for me. Yes, my first woman, but more importantly, my first real passionate lover. I think I was embarrassed, which was why I couldn’t be with her again. It seemed too awkward to start something deliberately, and the circumstances were never quite the same again. The spirit of spring, its sensuous warm bath of light, its airy fragrance, and our mutual need could never be duplicated in the same way. I knew we’d be disappointed if it weren’t as perfect as those few luscious moments on her dorm room bed, atop a clutter of hastily forgotten books and papers.
It was on my mind to share my mystery man with her, but it took only sixty seconds in her presence—twelve years removed from our dorm room—to know it would be a mistake to attempt such an intimate revelation. She may enjoy the glamour of her lovers, but I’m not sure she enjoyed the sex at all. Until we made love, she swore she didn’t think sex was all that interesting. It appeared I did little to change her mind. After our moment of spontaneous combustion, Cassandra resumed her indifference to physical pleasure. Maybe she really wanted women, not men. But I suspect she was afraid of women, afraid of how a woman could strip her emotionally naked so she couldn’t hide behind her fancy clothes. Whatever the case, I knew she would find my email lover odd. She’d interrogate me until she had all the facts she wanted, then turn up her nose and say something like, “I think that’s really weird, Skye” or “You’d better be careful,” of even more insensitive, “You nuts?” I’d hate her for not understanding my pleasure—even though I can hardly expect an
yone to understand this when I don’t understand it myself. Giving up the idea of confiding in her, I attempted to enjoy our meal.
I gazed around, a little nervously. The restaurant was Cassandra’s choice and not particularly my style. Linen tablecloths, crystal, waiters dressed like old school butlers—all pretty fancy for a seafood grill. And there, to my great surprise, on the sidelines sitting by the window was Ellington Lloyd. I gasped. He didn’t seem to notice me; in fact, he was so focused on his conversation with two similarly dressed businessmen that he hardly let the waiter serve his meal. Then, even with a full plate of lobster and crab legs in front of him, he didn’t miss a beat in his animated monologue. Sales pitch, I’m sure, and this was the hard sell. I could see the dollar signs in his eyes, and he wouldn’t let up until he held success in his grubby fist.
Whether he noticed me or not, his presence in the restaurant made me uneasy. It had been nearly three days, and I’d avoided all the suspects in my email game. Suddenly caught off guard, I accidentally glanced at the man’s wrist and there it was, the gleaming gold cufflink so very like the one I peeked at in the 5th Conference Room. Good gawd! Ellington Lloyd!
Of course, I’d suspected him from the start. His swagger, his confidence, if anyone could pull it off, he was a likely candidate. Even the noted coldness in our exchanges was part of his character. Twice at the office, I’d seen him zero in on someone with the cruel eyes of a barbarian and the cutting words of a trial judge. It was enough to make me tremble at the time, while a sexual shiver zoomed up my spine. It was one of the things that made me want my mystery man to be him. And yet, I just never thought he had the time to initiate and play the game.
Maybe his fancy dressed society wife was a cold fish with no imagination. She sure didn’t look like a passionate lover. Actually, she and Cassandra would have a lot in common in that regard, I decided when my glance returned to my friend.
“What’s the matter?” she asked. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”
“No, not really. Just one of the bosses.”
“Oh? Who?”
I discreetly pointed to Ellington. “The one with the gold cufflinks,” I whispered. I couldn’t help but stare again. But it didn’t matter how long I looked, Mr. Lloyd was too preoccupied with his filibuster to respond to such extra-sensory input. At least that’s what I thought.
“Interesting looking man. Rich, I’ll bet,” Cassandra noted.
“Filthy.”
“You like him?”
“He’s married.”
“As if that should matter.”
“Well, it matters to me. Besides, he’s definitely not my type, and he’s way too old, and it’s…” I shook my head, dwelling seriously on the ridiculousness of Ellington Lloyd as a lover in any guise. The cufflink? Was that proof enough, I pondered to myself.
“If I were looking, he’d be the kind I’d pick. Nice gifts.”
