Good thing you didn't taste clams....

December 24, 2005
Steve's house

Tim kisses me, quickly, then pulls away, our lips making a little click sound.

Another small kiss, and she pulls back just a bit, so our noses are almost still together.

Another peck, and I am dizzy with my desire to fuck her. "You like little kisses, don't you," she purrs.

"Isn't it obvious?"

"Then I slip in a bigger one every once in a while, and it drives you really crazy," she smiles.

She licks her lips. "You taste like foundation."

"I taste like what?"

"Foundation. You know, makeup?"

"Yeah, I gotta cut down. That shit's fattening!"

"I'm serious. Why do you taste like foundation?"

"I kissed your mother."

"She doesn't wear it. And I'm not wearing any either."

She looks at me, as if just realizing the gravity of what she said.

Oh, shit.

"Tim, I don't want to make a big deal out of this, but I saw Stephanie today-"

Her eyes flare like a pro wrestler's at the mention of Stephanie's name. Tim hates Stephanie, whom I would never reconcile with in a thousand years; Lila, who I marathon-fucked a couple of weeks ago, she's got no problem with. Of course, I neglected to tell her about that.

"Why are you seeing Stephanie?"

"I'm not seeing her, she-"

"Did you see her or not?"

"Yes!"

"Why?"

"She came over. Holly was... calling her..."

"Yeah, right. Why would Holly call her?"

"Holly says I would be with her if Steph didn't break my heart. She's crazy, I told you."

"Why did Stephanie come over? How did she know you'd be home on Christmas Eve? Why didn't she just call you?"

"I don't know how she knew I'd be there. She almost missed me, I was just on my way out. I guess she could have called."

"So you're saying this was a total surprise?"

"A total surprise."

"Why were you kissing her?"

"I kissed her cheek. We made amends, kind of."

"That sounds like fun," she snaps.

"I told her all about you."

"She call me a slut?"

"No, she said she's happy for us both."

"Why didn't you tell me? What if I didn't taste her makeup on you? Were you going to tell me?"

"Of course I would have. I wanted to make up with you first!"

She looks away. I'm sure she thinks I'm getting off too easy, but I've answered all her questions innocently enough.

"I don't think I want to talk to you right now."

"Tim, nothing happened!"

"I don't care! Take me home!"

"Why?"

"You weren't going to tell me!"

"Tim, I was!"

"Take me home!"

"No! We just got done saying we wanted to die without each other, and now we're fighting? Over something stupid?"

She answers me with a pout.

"You have nothing to worry about! Do you think I go around writing letters like that to everyone?"

"Did you ever write a letter to Stephanie?"

"Nothing like that."

"You swear?"

"I swear. She was jealous of you, you know."

She looks away again, pausing silently for a long time. Finally, she hugs me. "Never mind. My mother's probably still there, anyway."

Houston, we have a problem we're fucked.

Saturday, June 4, 2005, 5:00pm

Here's what happened.

Steph comes down for the weekend. We spend the afternoon together, and eat at Cottonwood Dairy, of "Love in a Phonebooth" fame (parts 1 and 2). I got the fried clam strips, like I always do, and then we come back to my house to watch a couple of DVD's and have a nice, relaxing evening together.

About halfway through "Fargo", I develop severe stomach cramps. I get up and walk to my computer table, about 15 feet away.

"Where you goin'?"

"I have to fart."

"You can fart in front of me. I'm a big girl."

"Obviously, you have no idea what my colon is capable of."

I lift a cheek and give birth to a loud, juicy ass-blast. I carefully sniff the air. "Jeee-sus!" I say, but remain perfectly still. I don't dare get up and walk back to the couch; a fart this nasty is impossible to shake. It will follow you to the ends of the earth, like an orphaned child, blanketing you with its stench, a scarlet letter of stinkitude.

The smell finally dissipates after a few minutes, and I rejoin Steph on the couch. She curls up next to me and we both doze off.

I wake up after midnight and sit down at my computer to check my gmail account. Yeah, Steph is right behind me, but she's gone for the night; she never wakes up before morning.

There's a message in my mailbox from a girl I've never heard from before, who writes, among other things, that she has "been in love with" me since she read "THIS". I hold my mouse over the link; as I guessed, it leads to the infamous "You're So Vain" post.

I'm about halfway through a highly-detailed description of her masturbation technique when cramps grab my midsection like a giant vice. I stagger to the bathroom, wincing in pain, and fling myself onto the toilet just in time. I'm there for at least ten minutes.

When my gut is finally clear of the suspect seafood, I walk slowly back to the family room.

Steph is sitting at my computer table, and on the screen is a blog that I've seen a million times. I've seen it so many times that I don't even really see it anymore. Except for right now.

"HI, MY NAME IS STEVE, AND I AM A SEX ADDICT," it says at the top of the screen. She must have read the e-mail and followed the link.

My heart goes cold, as if stabbed with an icicle. My jaw works silently. NOW what do I do?

I knew this day would come. I've been careful about not letting anyone I know see me working on the blog. I haven't told anyone about it, not even family, not even my best friend. But I knew that eventually, as more and more people read it, someone who knew me was bound to find it, and see through the sometimes thin layer of artificial detail that disguises my work. I knew it, but I wouldn't let myself think about the fallout that would result.

She turns to face me, squinting as if reading a foreign language. "What IS this?"

"Steph, I-"

"Is this on the INTERNET?"

"Steph, let me explain."

"Did you make some kind of sex site?"

I am humiliated. I am embarrassed, defeated. I don't just feel like giving up; I feel like giving up and throwing myself down a flight of unfinished stairs.

"Remember when I went to therapy last year? The doctor wanted me to keep a journal, and then it just kind of-"

"Don't, Steve. Just don't. Just forget it. I can't do this anymore. Every day it's something else. I'm gonna be really busy all summer, and really busy with school next year, and I can't deal with this anymore!"

She stomps up the stairs.

"Where are you going?"

"Home."

"Steph, it's after midnight! Stay until morning!"

She comes back down the stairs and kisses me gently on the lips. It's a slow, loving kiss, a kiss that makes me think for a moment that everything is ok, that she has forgiven me and that we'd forget all about this tomorrow. "Thank you....for everything," she says, before bounding back up the stairs.

I stand by the bathroom door as she stuffs her overnight bag with deodorant and shampoo. It's a black, flat-bottomed bag, like guys carry to the gym. It says "VOIT" on the side. Seeing that bag on a Friday night was comforting; it made me realize that I was going to have a fun weekend with someone I really cared about. Now the sight of it tears me apart, because I'll probably never see it again.

"Steph, let's talk about this. We can get through it. It's not as bad as you think it is. The site is all anonymous. I'll take it down."

"Steve, this is never gonna work, you and me. You know I'm right. Right?"

"No, I don't."

"Bye," she says, and the Voit bag goes out my door.

Our new couple coupling friends

I lived in a dorm for two years in college. I also lived in a one-bedroom apartment, and in a fraternity house. With the exception of the latter, sleeping quarters were extremely cramped, and I spent more than a few awkward, sleepless hours trying not to make too much noise as a roommate pounded away at some writhing, moaning teenage co-ed.

I'm not going to lie to you: It was very hard knowing that I couldn't get laid, and hearing my roommate stick it to someone 10 feet away. It just reminded me how pathetic my situation truly was at the time.

Nowadays, when I'm in the same room with a couple who is fucking, I almost always end up following suit with whomever happens to be next to me. I love the idea of two couples going at it at the same time; call it "sin synergy".

It feels very awkward listening to Brian and Susan having sex. On the one hand, this is their room and it's certainly within their rights to pork each other's brains out. On the other, why offer to let us stay? I was all set to get a room for Steph and me, and they insisted that we stay with them. And now this? I'm actually kind of angry.

"Don't stop," Susan says, in a barely-audible whisper. I don't look directly, but I can see movement to my left, and I hear the soft whisper of bodies against sheets.

Maybe this was intentional. Maybe they WANTED us to come up here, wanted us to hear them fucking, wanted us to get off on it, and maybe even join them.

Doubt it. If they were true swingers, they probably would have propositioned us a lot earlier than this, instead of waiting for us to go to sleep. It seems to me that they just got horny, and they're hoping that we won't hear.

"Ughhh..." Susan moans, gutturally. The activity becomes more feverish. I can't NOT look anymore; I turn my head just slightly to the left and focus on them as my eyes adjust to the dark.

Her knees are in the air, poking up from under the white sheets like two snow-capped mountains. Brian's ass rises and falls rhythmically atop her. His movements are big and exaggerated, as if he's fucking her with a baseball bat-sized dick. He must be hung pretty well.

"Ah, shit-" Brian moans. I hear the slapping of flesh against flesh and the frantic rustling of sheets as their sex builds to a crescendo.

I reach down and grab my cock. It's hard and throbbing. I actually consider waking Steph up and letting her hear them. I wouldn't even ask her to have sex; I would just let her hear them, then let nature take its course. But a deal is a deal, and I really think abstinence will help us. Maybe I'll be able to just go to sleep.

"Don't stop! That feels SO good!" Susan moans under her breath. The bed springs squeak subtlely in rhythm with Brian's thrusts.

He stops. "Ugh. UGGGGGHHHHHH!" He moans, collapsing onto her. I can see her legs crossed around his back under the sheets.

**********

Sunday, March 13, 8:30am

My eyes open. I turn to my left. Brian and Susan are wide awake, beaming as they flip through TV channels.

"Hey, sleepyhead!" Susan says. "You guys LOVE to sleep, don't you?"

Yeah, and you guys love to FUCK. With an audience!

"How long have you been up?" I ask.

She looks at Brian. "Hour and a half?" He nods. "We went down and worked out already. Is Steph awake?"

"Mmmmmmm," says Steph. We all laugh.

"You guys want breakfast? We're gonna do room service! It's my treat!"

"No way, man. You let us use your room. I'm not letting you treat us."

"Steve, I saw the tab for the drinks that you paid for. We're TREATING you!"

Why not? It was over $100, after all. "Steph, you hear that?" I say.

This hotel definitely gets breakfast right. My eggs are light and fluffy; the bacon lean and crispy, and the OJ smooth and tart.

From the corner of my eye, I see Brian and Susan whispering to each other and looking uneasily up at us. I wonder if they figured out that I was awake, and are going to apologize.

"Would you guys like to go out this weekend?" Susan says.

"Sure," says Steph, looking at me. I lock eyes with her, flashing a little grimace. "I mean, if you're free, Steve."

"I might have something going on."

"Gimme a call in a couple of days," Brian says, handing me a business card. I give him mine.

10:20am. The parking lot is finally clear, and Steph and I are on our way home.

"Do you know what I heard last night?" I say.

"I know. I heard it too," she says.

Tea Tim for two

Friday, February 18, 10:45am
Steve's office

Dom is standing in my doorway.

"Does Steph have study group tonight?"

"Of course!"

"Come out with me and Tim tonight. She keeps bugging me to introduce you."

"Where are you going?"

"Suede."

"That's way downtown. Are you driving?"

"We are, yeah."

"I think I'll take the train. What time should I be there?"

"You know, 9:00, 9:30, whatever."

**********

10:15pm
Suede (a downtown bar)

I'm dressed in sharply-creased black pants and a silk button-down shirt, with a long black overcoat.

The bar is big and roomy, with shiny tiled floors and 20-foot ceilings with spotlights pointing everywhere. I can hear the dim thud of dance music from a floor above us.

Dom is standing at the bar with his back to me; I walk towards him. I am almost there when a short, beautiful blonde steps in front of me.

"Steve?"

I nod.

"STEEEEEEEEEVE!" she shreiks, and proceeds to hug me. It's a full-body hug: Thighs against thighs, stomach against stomach, shoulders against shoulders. Her tits press against my chest, thick and plump and BIG. I am instantly hard.

I am overwhelmed by the heavy, sexy scent of perfume; Tommy Girl, I think. I put my hands around her waist; her skin is soft and supple, her back taut and toned. I like the idea that my arms go almost all the way around her body, as if I could pick her up and carry her away.

"It's so great to finally MEET you!" She pulls back, looking up at me. I take a good look at her, and I'm suddenly short of breath.

The words most beautiful girl I have ever seen involuntarily cross my mind, like a slogan that flashes on the TV screen as I channel surf. She is truly gorgeous: Her hair is long and thick, and well past her shoulders; her eyes are big and round and the color of... denim, beset by impossibly long lashes. Her smile is wide and happy, exposing two rows of flawless teeth.

This girl is not human. She's too perfect. She's a cartoon, a picture drawn by a horny 15-year-old boy in the back row of anatomy class. Her hair looks like a shampoo ad; her skin like a Noxema ad; her teeth like a toothpaste ad.

"Nice to... meet you," I manage, staring at her.

"Sit down!" She guides me by the wrist to a bar stool, then spreads my legs apart and bumps her curvy hips between them and against the seat. She's wearing tight black pants and a midriff-exposing shirt which dangles droolingly, far in front of her abdomen.

Dom comes back with the drinks. He smiles, and without a word he places a vodka and tonic in front of me.

"I would introduce you, but it looks like you two already know each other."

"Why didn't you tell me he was so CUTE?" Tim says.

"Ah boy, here we go," Dom says, rolling his eyes. "I told you how he is with the ladies."

She picks up the toothpick from her martini and gently grabs the olive with her teeth. As she slides the toothpick back out, it slips from her hand and lands right in her cleavage.

All eyes go to her breasts. Without skipping a beat, she reaches down and grabs the toothpick and puts it back into her glass. "It's ok, they're real. They won't deflate," she says. Dom and I burst out laughing.

"You told me how he WAS with the girls," Tim says, staring at me. "Now he's got a ball and chain!"

"I have to tell you, I am really happy to have a ball and chain like her."

"I think that is SO hot," she says, rolling her eyes.

"What is?"

"That you're so capable of commitment."

"Why? You don't want a boyfriend," Dom says.

"That doesn't mean I can't admire Steve!" She leans in closer, tilting her chin up at me. For a crazy moment, I think she's going to kiss me.

"I think Dom is jealous of you," she whispers. A puff of her breath hits my face, clean and hot.

"Tim, come on! Don't be silly!"

"He sees how happy you are, and I think he wants that for himself. You're actually a good influence on him!"

"I doubt it."

"He talks about you a lot. I feel like I know you."

"Really?"

"MM-hmmm," she nods.

I look over at Dom. He's talking to another blonde.

Dom is no slouch. I can't imagine him getting jealous over Tim talking to me, or over anything. He's way too cool for that. The most he'll do is what he's doing now: Show us, without words, that he can have a good time without us. I have to admit, Dom is probably the most suave person I know.

Tim appears to have forgotten Dom is here. She's staring attentively up at me as if we were on our first date. I'm beginning to think she's hitting on me.

Some girls play games. I know that. Sometimes they like to pit one friend against another to spark jealousy. But I get the impression that Tim is really serious, that I could nail her if I wanted to. I never would, of course, but she seems very willing...

We talk for an hour. Tim wants to know all about Lila, about my weight loss, and about Mary Ann, the girl who took my virginity. She presses me for every last detail: What position (her on top), was I able to hold out very long (about five minutes), did I ever sleep with her again (yes).

Her face goes serious as her eyes look down at the floor. "Interesting," she says, biting the inside of her bottom lip. Is she getting turned on?

Dom goes back to the bar. I haven't talked to him all night.

"So when do I get to meet Stephanie?"

"Whenever you want!"

"Let's have a double date!"

"If we do, just don't hug me like you did before."

She grins hugely, her eyes tipsy and glazed over. "You got a hard-on, didn't you? When I hugged you?"

Shit, that's embarrassing. But I recover quickly. "You see what you do to me?"

"Just WAIT until you see what I do to you," she coos. I am hard again. Yeah, she definitely wants to fuck me.

Dom comes back with the drinks. "Finally!" Tim says. "You took so long, Steve and I almost ran out to the car for a quickie!"

Dom and I laugh. "You two looked like you were having one on the bar stool already!" he says.

"I'm sorry babe, he's just too hot," Tim says, patting the inside of my thigh without looking, maybe two inches from paydirt. "We wanna have a double date!"

"Sure you can keep your hands off him?"

"Yeah, but not my feet," Tim says, winking.

Around 1:00, we go upstairs to listen to some music. Tim continues talking to me, though she has to shout in my ear to do it.

2:00. A slow song comes on--the DJ's subtle way of telling us to get the hell out.

"Dance with me," Tim says.

"Tim, you're here with Dom--"

"It's fine," she says, staring at me with her big blue eyes.

No way I can say no to that.