Sunday, September 12, 2004

At least she didn't say, "Bavarian Kreme..."

I am posting on a weekend - again - because I am trying to get caught up. Enjoy....


Thursday, September 2.

She's on my bed. It's perfectly quiet. A neighbor's garage spotlight casts a soft white glow over the room through the half-closed blinds.

She's on her stomach, her long hair twisted in a lazy ponytail and flipped next to her head, exposing her naked back and the steep round curve of her backside.

I'm still dressed. I straddle her lower back and kiss the side of her mouth. We look at each other for a long time.


I stare dreamily at Lila's taut midriff as she places a box of Pendaflex folders on a high shelf. She cries out in pain.

"What happened," I say, snapping out of my dirty daydream.

"My shoulder," she says, reaching under her arm and rubbing at her upper back.

Dominick walks by, his cologne-cloud close behind. Our respective man-scents wrestle each other invisibly in the middle of the room. Smells like a draw.

Gotta go for 8 sprays tomorrow, instead of the usual 5. Either that, or wear less, and make him look like the Guido that he is.

"She's just looking for sympathy," Dom says softly, smiling. "She wants me to bring her some chocolate donuts."

"No, I like honey," she says, raising her eyebrows at him.

Ok, what the fuck was THAT about?


The bottle says "Stress Relief Massage Oil". It's got apricot kernel extract in it. Since when do apricots have kernels?

I open the bottle. It smells sweet, fruity, and....comforting, like a holiday dessert that my grandmother would serve to a table full of overstuffed, semi-sleeping relatives.

I tip the bottle. The liquid is thinner than I expected. It overflows my cupped fingers and cascades onto her back, streaming down her side and onto my maroon bed sheets.

She rolls up on her left side and looks back at me. "Do I need to take that away from you," she says, with a smile and sidelong eyes.


"Dom wants to take me and Bonnie to dinner tonight," Lila says.

"So go."

"Are you ok with that?"

"I'm ok with you getting to know your boss. I'm NOT ok with him flirting with you."

"Me neither!"

"Call me if you need me," I say.

"I'll call to say good night."



I snap awake. I am sitting at my computer. I look at the clock in the lower right-hand corner of the screen. It's 9:43.

Is she still with him?


The oil is soft and warm. It soothes me, too, as I work it into her back.

Her flesh is soft and supple, like modelling clay. I knead it firmly between my thumb and fingers, and I can feel her tension melting away.

Her shoulder blade is tight to the touch. "Ow!" she says, softly, as I gently squeeze the muscle.

This is going to take time.

I rub. I smooth out with the heel of my hand. I rub again. I feel the knot reluctantly give way, and there is another one underneath. Eventually the knots are gone.

It's been almost an hour since I started.

I massage my way down her back, and work on the area just above her waist. I return to the sore shoulder blade. It's had 10 minutes to recover. I press it with my thumb.

"Ow!" She says. It's tightening up again.

I release a few more knots.

"It's getting better," she says. "You are incredible."

No, just patient. And horny.


9:59. The doorbell.

I open the door. It's Lila. She is smiling.

"Hey baby!" she says, hugging me with her left arm.

"This is a....surprise," I say.

"I missed you. And I have a huge favor to ask you," she says, looking up at me with her eyelids flickering.

A threesome? No problem. With anyone but The Greasy Goon.

"What's that?"

"Would you give me a massage? My shoulder is killing me."

"We'll talk about it," I say, smiling.

I pour her a glass of wine.

"How was dinner," I say, finally. It's been killing me. A three-hour "dinner" usually involves bar hopping, clubbing, or blow jobs in parking lots.

"It was ok. He took us to Clara's."

Clara's is a very expensive Italian restaurant. Dom's finely-tuned palate and sense of culinary sophistication is going to cost the company about $200.

"We waited an hour and a half for a table," she says.

"Didn't you have a reservation?"

"Yes! But they had a problem with one of their grills and they were way behind. They were giving away free drinks, but they wouldn't serve to me."


"But Dom got drunk, and after dinner he tried to get me to drive him home in his car."

That motherfucker.

This is an old trick. Get loaded, or LOOK like you are getting loaded, and then tell the chick that you are too drunk to drive, and get her to drive you home in your car. Then, you're guaranteed to get her into your house, at least long enough to call a cab. But in the meantime, you're making your move.

"Where was Bonnie?"

"It was getting too late, so she took off before dinner was even over."

"So what did you do?"

"You're jealous!"

"No I'm not," I say, holding my jaw firmly.

"Yes you are, baby," she says, plopping down in my lap.

She smoothes my hair with her fingers. "You really do love me, don't you?"

"Lila! Of COURSE I do! So, how did Dom get home?"

"We called a cab. I had them drop me off at work so I could get my car, and then I guess he went back to the hotel."


Her ass has been on my mind since she laid down naked on the bed. My cock throbs achingly each time my hand brushes against her soft, white globes.

Half the bottle of oil is gone. I pour out another handful and go to work on her beautiful bottom, kneading and palming, enjoying the way her flesh gives under my hands.

Her back rises and falls a little faster. A little moan escapes her closed mouth as she exhales.

I pull her sweet mounds apart, exposing a tiny puckered hole, like a little starfish. It is spotlessly clean.

I lick it.

"Make love to me," she says.

She lays perfectly still as my pants crumple to the floor, her head down, her naked body completely exposed to me, totally vulnerable to my whim. She trusts me, too.

I kneel on the bed. She is licking her fingers.

She lifts a knee under her body, then reaches between her legs and grabs my cock, rubbing softly, gently. She slides it against her twat. She is drenched. It occurs to me that her natural juices are not at all unlike the massage oil.

My cock is thick and hard, throbbing with anticipation. She slides me into her with a low groan.

I reach over and take her breast into my hand, firm and turgid in my grasp. I feel her hard nipple between my fingers. Our hips are in perfect rhythm, together, apart, together, apart.

I let go of her boob and grab the oil bottle, running my fingers along the top, just below the cap. There is a thin coating of oil on my fingers. Perfect.

I reach around and swirl my fingers around her clit. Her body stiffens. She reaches back with her right hand. I put my hand in hers, and she squeezes urgently.

"Uhhhh," she moans.

As her body relaxes, I release the full force of my orgasm inside her. She whips her hair around and stares at me as I come. I am shaking.


"Hey," I say.


"What was that donut thing about today?"

She tells me the story that Dom told her: When he was in college, he belonged to a fraternity that did not get along with the sorority across the street. So one day, the guys sent over a dozen donuts with a nice note saying they wanted to reconcile. The girls ate them. A few days later, the guys sent the girls a picture of themselves with the donuts around their dicks.

I explain to Lila that that story has been around forever, and that it is an urban legend. I heard the same thing on my campus when I was in school.

"You mean he LIED?"

"Yep. Hey," I say. "That whole thing about the honey..."

"I know, I felt like such a slut for saying that. It came out all wrong."

"I didn't like that," I say.

She looks me dead in the eye. "You have NOTHING to worry about. I would never hurt you, never ever."

"I love you," I say.

"I want my massage," she says. "You're the only one who does it right."