Chapter 20
It’s not an hour. Thirty minutes maybe. I asked Jamie if it was an athlete thing, that men like him could be predisposed to excellent rebound time because of their physical fitness. He assured me it’s really due to me, and how badly he wants to have me, over and over again.
I am absolutely not complaining, but my vagina finally had to wave the white flag after Jamie woke me up an hour before sunrise.
Why? Because he also woke me up around three, and slightly after midnight as well.
We’d even had sex before going to sleep Friday night.
Five times in twelve hours, after not having sex in quite some time, means my poor little pussy is sore beyond comprehension.
I felt bad turning him down Saturday morning after breakfast, but he took it all in stride.
Made us pancakes, then threw me up onto one of the islands and devoured me.
I lost track of how many orgasms I had, each one as intense as the last. It was like he studied me, learning each tiny area that pleasured me the most, and capitalized on it.
I felt seen, but also used. Cherished, and exhausted.
I made an excuse about needing to pay a house visit to a client, and tore out of there mid-afternoon on Saturday.
Well, tore out of there as quickly as a woman with a paralyzed dog and a carrier of six guinea pigs can.
Jamie was bummed, but also said he had plans for dinner with a couple of teammates.
When I got back to my quiet townhouse, I thought I’d feel relieved.
That time with Jamie was pleasure unlike anything I could have imagined, but also overwhelming.
Yet being alone in my home wasn’t filling my cup like it always has.
After putting the pigs away in their enclosure, and settling Flash on her bed with an enrichment toy where pieces of kibble are hidden throughout the fabric of the toy, I sit on the couch, determined to learn some new ways I can enhance my time with Jamie.
I wasn’t lying about anything I told Jamie last night.
My past experiences are few and far between, and I don’t hold it against him that he has a much larger history than I do.
But it’s difficult not to play a comparison game.
If he’s had amazing partners, where do I stack up?
I have no doubt, if I asked, that he’d say it’s different with me, and nothing compares. But does it really?
I’m a smart woman. I know how to research, study, and learn.
So what if I don’t have a lot of experience now?
I can change that. Sitting down on my couch, I open up my browser.
The Internet is a vast place, and one search for porn brings up a gazillion pages.
I click on the top link, and — “Oh my GOD! They don’t even ask my age or anything? ”
Woah. The teaser image is two guys with a very well-endowed woman.
Damn. Her boobs are even bigger than mine, but perky and jiggly.
Probably fake. Intrigued, I click on the video.
I’ve heard some terminology for a threesome before, but I’ve never tried to research it.
When would there ever be an opportunity for me to be with two men at the same time?
But I have questions. Where do the guys go?
Lots of orifices to choose from. “Oh, so that’s what DP looks like. ”
It’s not turning me on … for the most part. It’s all for science. I find myself tilting my head to the side as the gal does some kind of backbend with a split so she can suck one guy off while getting banged by the other. “How is that even possible?”
“Holy shit, Aud!” Chelsea shouts from the doorway. I yelp in shock, tossing my laptop into the air. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Research!” I yell frantically, catching my laptop as Chelsea steps into my townhouse. My hand hits some buttons as I catch it, and somehow I turn the volume on full blast.
“Yeah, Daddy, fuck our baby girl with your big cock,” comes screaming out of the speakers, and Chelsea covers her face as she cackles.
I furiously tap all the buttons on my computer to no avail. “Why won’t it quiet down?”
“I’m gonna suck you so hard while she watches.”
Chelsea hoots as she drops a bag on the floor. “Oh my fucking God, I’m laughing so hard I might pee.”
“Don’t you dare! And close the damn door!”
“I’m coming! I’m coming! Aaahhhhhh —” Silence as I slam the computer shut, then turn my murderous eyes on Chelsea, who stands innocently by the still open door.
“I have clients in this neighborhood, Chelsea.”
“I know,” she replies, a wicked grin on her face. “Not my fault you were getting your kicks that loudly.”
“I wasn’t! It was for research!”
“Oh?” she asks. “You plan on getting banged by a father-son duo?”
“No, but —” I look down at my laptop. “It was father-son?”
Chelsea shrugs. “I don’t know. I sure as fuck hope not. I’m not one to yuck someone’s yum, but incest sex just ain’t it.”
I grimace. “That’s incredibly gross. And illegal everywhere, I think.”
She plops down next to me on the couch. “Wanna explain to me how you ended up watching some porn at four in the afternoon?”
Suddenly shy, I avoid her pointed gaze. “I told you. Research.”
“Hmm,” she hums, tapping a pointed nail on her chin. “I’m going to assume you and Jamie finally did the deed, and now you’re spiraling because you’re assuming you aren’t the best he’s ever had, so you’re going to try and rock his world the next time.”
“That’s not exactly true,” I mutter. It’s pretty close, but I’m not telling her that.
“Audrey. You can’t watch this kind of porn and think it’ll make you suddenly a better lover. These are professionals, first off. But what did you think you’d learn?”
“I didn’t intend to watch it. I was just curious for a second.” God, my face must be beet-red.
“Alright. What were you hoping to find?” Chelsea asks gently.
Okay. I can admit this. I can tell her. She’s my best friend. She won’t judge me. She’ll probably make fun of me for a bit, but I know it’s in jest. She’d never be consciously hurtful. “I wanted to learn more about blow jobs.”
“Ahh. Why is that?”
This is the part that hurts. “The guy I dated after vet school said I was really bad at them.”
“Did he come each time?” Chelsea asks pointedly.
My cheeks burn. “He usually stopped me before it got that far. Said he wanted to come inside me instead. When he told me I was bad at them when we broke up, I didn’t know what to believe.”
“How difficult could it be? I wouldn’t know. Been enjoying the taco for as long as I can remember.”
“Enjoying the taco,” I snicker.
“You got any bananas? We can practice. I’m all for learning new tricks.
If anything, it’ll be great for scaring the hell out of my super conservative and religious neighbor,” she says with a laugh as she jumps up to go search in my kitchen.
Flash lifts her head, looks between the two of us, sighs, then puts her head back down.
She startles when Chelsea hoots. “Score! Found the naners!”
“Give part of one to Flash, or she won’t leave us alone,” I say absentmindedly. Flash loves bananas.
“Obviously. You think I’d leave her out of this chaos? Never.” Chelsea dutifully feeds my dog on her way back to my couch. Clapping her hands together gleefully, she pats my knee. “Alright. Bring on the porn!”
For the next thirty minutes, we flip between a variety of videos.
We steer clear of the lesbian ones, much to Chelsea’s chagrin.
It turns out she’s very particular about all porn, and I finally had to tell her to shut up when she critiqued one of the storylines.
It’s porn. I’m not expecting it to win an Academy Award.
Yeah, I know getting my dishwasher fixed isn’t going to result in me being railed against the sink.
Chelsea grumbles her thoughts occasionally, but for the most part, stays blissfully silent.
When I happen upon an actual instructional video, we’re both glued to the screen. This time, it isn’t Chelsea who can’t stay quiet. I have lots of questions.
“How is she not gagging?”
“Does the piercing get caught? Remember that one movie with Cameron Diaz and Christina Applegate where it got caught in Selma Blair’s mouth?”
“She keeps focusing on that one spot. I wonder if it’s super sensitive on all men, or just that guy.”
“What’s the normal size of a penis?”
“He sounds like he’s in pain.”
“Jamie wants eye contact, but I don’t think I can do that while looking him in the eye.”
“Does anyone ever vomit?”
“Do their lips and tongue fall asleep?”
“How do they breathe normally?”
“How long is this going to take?” That question makes me giggle, as I say it very closely resembling King Julian in the animated Madagascar movie.
When Chelsea growls at me, I look over to find her glaring as she pauses the video. “You can’t learn anything because you won’t shut the hell up.”
“Don’t you have questions?”
“No, because I’m not fucking a man!” she yells. “How hard can it be? Put it in, suck, see how far you can get it down your throat. Jesus. It’s not rocket science.”
“Evidently it’s more involved than that, or my ex wouldn’t have said I’m awful at it.
” The more I think about it, the more pissed I get at OJ for telling me.
He could have just broken it off and walked away.
But no, he had to get one final dig in. Honestly, it’s my own fault by dating someone who chose to go by OJ, when his given name is Owen. Who chooses that? Dumbass.
“Fine. Then let’s give these puppies a go,” Chelsea says, twirling a banana between her fingers, while handing me one. “How’s your gag reflex?”
“Well, I don’t barf when I deal with abscesses or parasitic worms, and I pretty much get marked by an animal every day without me puking in return.”
“But how is the physical aspect of it? Can you touch the back of your tongue without gagging?” Chelsea asks, sticking her finger in her mouth, immediately gagging.
“I don’t know. I’ve never forced myself to try,” I tell her.