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“So, you just meet with men? Single men? Or…” I tried to think of another scenario.
“Pretty much. Or a couple, and we have same room sex, or Brad does some stuff with the wife and she pleasures me. It turns me on to have him make them come, I’m just not down with him actually fucking them. At least right now.” She peered down at her plate. “Wasn’t this supposed to come with bacon?” She twisted in her seat, looking for our waiter. “Sir?” She lifted her hand and the man all but tripped over a family of four to get to our table. She explained the bacon predicament as I struggled to pierce a wobbly piece of sausage in half with the edge of my fork.
“But, anyway, mostly just threesomes with a guy. That’s my favorite, and then you don’t deal with the egos and relationship dynamics of a couple.” She picked up a strawberry with her fingers and popped it into her mouth. “But, you know, every couple is different. I know wives who love to watch their husbands fuck. Love it.” She shrugged, as if we were talking about whether to get a minivan or sedan, or what yoga class to choose. “You’ve got plenty of time to figure it out. Try different stuff and be honest with each other.”
She fell silent and I felt the need to say something, anything, to contribute to the conversation. “We, uh, think we’re going to take a break. For a few months. After our next one.”
She nodded. “Not a bad idea. Who’s your next one going to be with?”
I hesitated. The question felt deeply personal, even though it wasn’t, not considering we had no “next one” lined up, no confidences to break. “I’m not sure. We, ugh, met someone from SwingLife but he was really weird. And the other guys on the site—”
“Suck so bad,” Julia chimed in, giving me a pained look. “Close that account. Trust me. And pull off any photos that you have on there as soon as possible. You can’t control who downloads and does what with that content. Brad had a legal conniption when he read their terms and conditions.” She laughed. “I’m pretty sure he’s the only person who’s ever read that encyclopedia of crap.”
Yeah, I’d scrolled through the fine print with a flick of the wrist, then agreed to it all. Which, in hindsight, seemed incredibly stupid, since I was trusting them with my most private thoughts, communications, and photos. I gave up on cutting the sausage and just stuck it in between my back incisors and ripped it in half. “So…” I chewed through the piece, then swallowed. “Where am I supposed to find these people then? I know there’s a club, over by the airport…” My words trailed off at Julia’s emphatic head shake.
“Don’t go there. Again, that’s an uncontrolled environment. Cameras. IDs at the door. There’s too much exposure possibilities.”
It was starting to feel helpless, and I felt an irrational irritation toward Julia, who was really great at hogging her husband and shooting down ideas, but horrible at actually providing solutions. I stuck the remaining piece of sausage in my mouth and realized exactly how ridiculous I was being. Julia De Luca wasn’t my personal sexual concierge service. She was my seller. I should be focused on selling her house, not drilling her for tips on picking up strange men for group sex.
“Who are you wanting to meet up with next? A single guy or a girl? A couple?” She pushed the pancake plate to one side and took her side of bacon from the food runner who approached. “Thank you so much.”
I waited until the man had left. “A guy.”
“Okay, a guy.” She nodded, but her focus wasn’t on me. She stared off into the other side of the restaurant, and I watched as her fingertips tapped absentmindedly along the table. “I might…” Her gaze came back to me and she hesitated. “I mean, I don’t want to get all in your business or anything…”
I leaned forward and waited.
“But, I might have a guy for you. Someone I’d feel really comfortable recommending. He’s single and totally professional. No drama. No bullshit. Shows up, does the job and leaves.” She wiped her palms off with each hand and then showed me her palms, as if to demonstrate his clean performance.
“He’s, umm…” I cleared my throat and straightened my knife beside my spoon. “Good?”
Her smile widened. “He’s very good. And big.” A playful gleam appeared in her eyes. “Like your husband. Who, by the way, is ridiculous eye candy. Is he a good fuck?”
A blush heated my cheeks, one that was paired with a surge of arousal and pride. “He’s an incredible fuck,” I admitted.
“The cocky ones normally are.” She grinned, then snapped back to business. “Now, I don’t want to push this guy on you, but if you’re interested, just let me know. I can have Brad text his number to Easton.”
