It’s all the same. Work. Swim. Sometimes I drink. Seldom I eat. Either way, nothing changes. Allison doesn’t come at night. She hardly even looks at me. I feel like I’ve stained her, violated her in some way. Tainted her with wicked temptation. And for once, I’m relieved.
I couldn’t stay away from her, and she wasn’t put off enough by me to keep her distance. So maybe this was necessary. Maybe her physically seeing what I was capable of, was just what she needed to permanently close whatever space she had left open for me in her life. Now she can remove the placeholder. I’m no longer on the guest list.
That’s a good thing. That’s what’s best.
Still... it’s shitty.
Feeling like I had some sort of connection with someone, even platonically, was something I hadn’t experienced in years. Meeting her was like seeing a sunrise after being trapped in a dull, grey room with no windows. It was that first bite of ice cream on a treacherously hot summer’s day. Without her, all is drab. Muted. Tasteless.
Lonely.
But I’m not complaining. The brooding, lonely role is one I play well. I’m an island of one, and I like to keep it that way.
That’s why I couldn’t figure out why the usual excitement surrounding this particular day just wasn’t there. This one had always been one of my favorites. The housewives would be particularly uncomfortable. It tested each one of their boundaries and made them reevaluate their own desires. Seeing them like that – cheeks stained with embarrassment, mouths slack, squirming in their seats with arousal—was like living art to me. That raw emotion was what I lived for.
Yet, now, I feel indifferent about it, maybe even a little sad. Like doing this will be the proverbial nail in the coffin for Ally and me.
Ally and me.
Hmph. I can’t even say that with a straight face.
I watch intently as they all file in, glancing hesitantly at the mechanism that sits in the middle of the room. A few whisper in curious speculation, others in excited anticipation. They can tell shit is about to go down, and who am I to disappoint?
“Good morning, ladies. Today we have a special guest joining us.”
I nod towards the back of the room, and every head turns as a slender brunette in a red silk robe makes her way to the front. I hold my hand out to help her onto the medical-style examination chair. “This is Erin. Erin has been with us for the past few years and is currently a medical student. She will also be helping us out today.”
My voice drops to a husky baritone as if I’m letting them in on a naughty secret. “In order to give pleasure, you need to understand how to receive it. It’s time we became intimate with the female body. With your bodies. Erin?”
On cue, Erin let’s her robe fall open, exposing her naked frame. Pert, round breasts sit up without a hint of sag, above a flat, flawless belly. Without hesitation, she spreads her legs and places her heels into the extended stirrups, revealing a bare, pink p*ssy
. Hushed shrieks of surprise echo throughout the room, but she hears none of it. She’s used to it by now. And with me pretty much paying her way through med school whilst only working four days a year, she could care less about a few judgmental hens who haven’t clucked since before Miley Cyrus actually owned clothes and brain cells.
“Look familiar, ladies?” I ask, grinning evilly. “No? Probably because you’ve neglected your body, thus denying yourself the opportunity to learn about it. How can you expect your mate to f*ck
you right if you’re not doing it yourself? No one knows what stimulates you better than you do.
“So, since I don’t have the plumbing required to show you the ins and outs, so to speak, Erin will help me. First, let’s start with the nipples.”
Again, on cue, Erin palms the underside of her breasts, pinching her erect nipples between her thumbs and index fingers. Shocked murmurs resound around the room, which she answers by pinching her swollen buds and grinning.
“Your nipples are the most obvious pleasure points not residing in the female genitalia. However, they are commonly neglected. Who likes their nipples stimulated?”
No one answers at first, but a hand eventually goes up. Lacey Rose, rocker wife and former sex kitten. Several more follow. I make it a point not to look in Ally’s direction. Knowing that about her, knowing I could bring her to orgasm just by teasing her strawberry nipples, would drive me insane. Ignorance is bliss. At least in my case, ignorance is necessary.
I focus my attention back on Erin who smiles up at me. “Ok, good. Now, who likes to play with their nipples when they’re alone?”
Fewer hands this time, but a couple women actually fess up.
“Excellent. Our friend, Erin, is going to demonstrate all the ways you can get off just by nipple stimulation alone. Erin?”