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  gave up and over, repairing to the queen-sized bed she shared with her

  sweetheart. She hoped he wouldn't come home. He had caught her

  once when they were going through a rough patch; Lana thought for

  sure he was having an affair but Malachy wasn't like that. Malachy

  lived in the world of ideas and there were times he simply needed

  convincing sex could be as purposive and rewarding as a trip to a

  museum or a brick-and-mortar bookstore.

  But now she had her stock characters in play and an urgent need to

  get off. She pulled the curtains and shut the bedroom door but even

  one splinter of daylight could spoil the mood, so she built round her

  head a bulwark of pillows and let the louche kaleidoscope of her

  imagination filter through the byzantine maze with a prize of fruition.

  She saw first a woman getting spanked – Lana would never go for this

  in real life, real life having throttled her aplenty – because in her

  11

  imagination, these resolute thwacks always lead to a woman becoming

  wet, and then the scene shifts to a dressing room in a department

  store. There are other fantasies she could explore, but Lana settles on

  this tableau vivant so she can hurry up and come.

  A woman is encouraged by her lover to try on all manner of

  lingerie. Every time she emerges from the dressing room in a slinky

  state of dishabille her lover has her model for a different salesman.

  Finally, lover man says she can keep the entire wardrobe but she has

  to perform fellatio for one of the salesmen first. She is not given a

  choice. Instead, she is told to apply a thick layer of lipstick to her

  luscious mouth. This done, she is told to apply a smooch to a torn slip

  of paper. This slip is added to a hollow gift box containing blank slips

  of paper. The salesmen take their chances. The one who draws the

  smooch gets the girl.

  The salesman and the girl recede into a dressing room. There are

  no preliminaries. No sweet talk. He unzips his fly and tells her what

  to do. There is a brocaded cushion conveniently placed for a kneeling

  accomplice and, flush with excitement, she inhales the cock in the fug

  of the room, not bothering with all the licks and darts her tongue

  normally performs for her lover, focusing more on cause and effect,

  suck and hopefully she will get fucked.

  The silk pressure of her lips is still attached to the base of the

  stranger's shaft when she feels the raucous roil of carnal fluids tickle

  at the back of her throat and then the man roars, pulls his cock away

  as if she were trying to steal it and swiftly fills her cleavage with his

  semen.

  The curtain swings open and the lover pulls her into another room

  where there is an armless couch and she is on her knees again, this

  time getting fucked from behind. The lover cantilevers her hips so he

  can shove his cock in deep, thrusting fleet and sure from the start,

  knowing she'd be wet and ready and she is, agonizingly so, wet and

  wanton from another man's cock pulsing down her throat so thick and

  satisfying, wetter still from the phantom sensations of fingers raking

  her skin as the feminine frippery was torn off her back, her vulva

  aching to be taken to its furthest depths, aching like a tender heart.

  12

  A bead of light pokes through a tiny chasm of the onaninst's pillow

  fortress and Lana immediately snaps to a sitting position.

  "Malachy, oh. Oh, I'm in trouble now."

  Malachy laughed and shook his head. She forgot this was the day

  he taught two classes instead of three. Forgot too, she was supposed

  to pick up something for dinner. Why did she have to be so sex

  crazy?

  "Remember what I said would happen the last time I walked in on

  you masturbating?"

  "Yeah," she said, averting her eyes from his intense, sexy gaze,

  "you said I'd have to clean up after you for a month."

  "And what happened to that plan? It seems to have inverted so that

  I'm always picking up after you instead."

  Lana shrugged. "Cleaning really isn't my thing."

  Mal sat next to her on the bed. "Babe, when I first met you, you

  said you'd paid your dues working every sort of thankless job,

  including housecleaning."

  Lana shrugged again, this time a little more abashed. "Well, it was

  topless housecleaning. There wasn't much actual cleaning involved

  unless my lingerie accidentally brushed against a wall or a

  refrigerator."

  Mal held her in his arms and kissed her. Then he grinned and said,

  "Here's yet another fascinating difference between the sexes. When I

  need to get off, I don't turn a stack of pillows into a Stonehenge

  display."

  "Very funny," Lana said, massaging his shoulders before getting up

  to dress.

  "Hey, how come you never wear lingerie for me anymore?"

  Lana had pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt, her uniform for writing

  ad copy and doing the factotum work that pays the bills.

  She placed her hands on her hips and regarded him from the very

  pith of her feelings for him. "Malachy, I love you so much. With

  every breath I take, I come to you naked with need."

  Mal reached for her then and kissed her fully and passionately for

  the first time that day.

  13

  "Come on," he said, jiggling the keys in the pocket of his jacket.

  "I'm taking you lingerie shopping."

  14

  INVITING TROUBLE

  Lana and Malachy had been living together a little over two years

  when a gradual subsidence began to erode the beautiful garden the

  lovers had worked so hard to cultivate. So much had begun to

  unravel, Lana thought she too might decompose for without Malachy,

  the man of her dreams who filled her every waking moment with joy

  and hope, what was she but a filament pulling a cauldron of foibles, a

  slimsy skein of what life could hold?

  Their favorite restaurant had changed hands and so their brasserie

  as haven in the city's storm was no more. Books went unread and

  bottles of wine uncorked. It was a sere period that put their

  relationship to the test with the lovers coping in their own loose,

  idiosyncratic ways. Malachy had been promoted from an itinerant

  "staff" position which perforce had him teaching at various charter

  schools and community colleges to a full-time professorship at the

  prestigious Emerald City School of Fine Arts on Capitol Hill. He and

  Lana had both been excited about the promotion but after a weekend

  of celebrating and lovemaking, Malachy took a twenty thousand

  league nosedive into his work. He was drifting away incrementally

  but steadfastly into the ivory tower world of ideas.

  Lana retreated into a fantasy world. She went through a phase

  where she masturbated constantly, rewarding herself with orgasms the

  way other women treated themselves to lattes or sugary desserts. She

  had a fetish for fellatio and part of the warp and woof of her loving

  union with Malachy was how grateful she was to have finally found a

  man who appreciated her oral fixation. Sure, most men would never

  turn down a b
low job, but they secretly think women who are good in

  bed are dirty in the head. It's just another double standard and double

  standards served only to bore Lana straight to the boudoir where she

  had no qualms whipping off her panties to pleasure herself.

  She was doing just that when the phone rang interrupting a reverie

  which included lots of bondage and blindfolds. She stayed her hands

  for a moment, hoping the caller would give up and leave a message.

  15

  Then, she became worried it might be Malachy calling to say he got

  picked up for soliciting a hooker but it was all a big misunderstanding.

  "Hello," she intoned, trying not to sound like a woman caught

  masturbating.

  "Lana! It's Casey. Hope I'm not calling too late. I know you and

  Mal are night owls."

  Lana sat up straight and checked the clock. She and her boyfriend

  were night owls but it was close to midnight and unusual for even

  relatives to call so late. "Casey? Is everything okay?"

  "Yeah, sure. It's just ... well, ever since Carrie and I broke up, I've

  been taking stock of things and asking myself what I'm doing here. I

  miss San Francisco. It's hella expensive to live there but I've got a

  friend who wants to hook me up with a job in Berkeley. I'm leaving

  next week."

  Lana sighed. Casey and Carrie had been together a year longer

  than Lana and Mal; the two couples often dined out together or just

  invited each other over for drinks and laughs. Then Carrie got

  accepted to grad school in Boston and decided she didn't want to be

  tied down anymore. And that, as Lana's distaff Italian relatives would

  say was that.

  "Oh, Casey. I'm sorry. And I know Mal will be sorry to see you

  go, too. We'll stay in touch, though. It's not like you're moving to the

  moon." She said that knowing once her friend crossed the state line

  she'd probably never see him again. Lana and Malachy drifted from

  couples who moved twenty minutes away to the suburbs, let alone out

  of Washington altogether.

  "Well, ahem. Reason why I'm calling is, I wanted to invite my

  closest friends over for dinner Saturday night. Think you can make

  it?"

  Lana's mouth began to water. Casey had trained at a well-known

  cooking school and worked for a year as a personal chef to a minor

  celebrity. One simply did not turn down an offer to sample his wares.

  "We'll be there!"

  16

  Malachy came home shortly after the phone call. When Lana told

  him about the invitation, he simply shrugged and said, "Sure, why

  not?"

  "Try to show a little more enthusiasm when you say farewell to

  your good friend."

  The busy English professor slipped into bed beside his girlfriend,

  kissed her goodnight and promptly fell asleep.

  "This relationship definitely needs some spicing up," she said to the

  snoring Hibernian hunk beside her. She nestled into the space

  between his neck and shoulder, breathed the fine familiar scent of him

  before falling asleep herself.

  The days passed quickly and then Saturday night found the couple

  crossing a garden courtyard to lean on the bell-push of Apartment C in

  the departing friend's brick apartment house.

  Casey greeted his guests effusively, and begged they turn a blind

  eye to some of the boxes already strapped and taped so tightly as to

  appear to be wearing straightjackets.

  They drank champagne then switched to an excellent Sauvignon

  Blanc, talking over old times and swaying to the barely perceptible

  classical music playing for ambiance.

  For starters they had cheese risotto and Fagiolini Verdi – green

  beans in olive oil and lemon – then rosemary chicken and oven-

  roasted vegetables. And for dessert: chocolate soufflé.

  Lana noticed Casey let his fingertips laze on her skin a little longer

  than necessary when he passed her a dish or gentled her elbow to

  point out something she might have had the folly to ignore.

  "Did you try these almond cookies, Lana?" the good host asked,

  pointing to a cut-glass dish on a nearby mantel. "There's just a hint of

  anisette in them. I remember how you said you liked anything with

  anisette."

  She licked her already moist lips and nodded. "You know how to

  spoil your guests, that's for sure."

  Casey raked his fingers through a bramble of wavy brown hair then

  said, "You know the old saying about substituting sex with food."

  Lana laughed. "In that case, can I get a To Go box?"

  17

  Malachy shot his girlfriend a look, a glancing measure not lost on

  the chef. Casey pressed more wine on his guests and the evening

  began to unfurl. You could cut the sexual tension in the room with

  the string of Lana's thong.

  In an expansive gesture, Casey put an arm round each of his guests

  and said, "Why don't we pretend we've just shipwrecked on the island

  of Lido. We know there's a search party looking for us, but until then,

  we need to entertain ourselves."

  Lana smiled without a trace of rue and said, "Well, we are all

  friends here. And I've always fantasized about going down on two

  guys at once."

  Malachy's eyes widened then sparkled with something like hope.

  He had always known his girlfriend harbored such horny thoughts but

  never thought she'd act on them.

  Casey chuckled good-naturedly and said to Malachy, "Would you

  be okay with that, man?"

  His friend, opening his arms wide enough to embrace the world,

  said, "What Lana wants, Lana gets. I'm just glad she still wants me

  after all the ups and downs of living together."

  "Come into my office, you two," Casey said, meaning his bedroom.

  He sat on the edge of his bed and looked up into Lana's eyes. "I'm in

  your hands, Lana, if you're sure you really want to fulfill a fantasy."

  "Consider it a bon voyage present," she said, leaning over to unzip

  his fly. Casey's cock was fully erect as if already anticipating its good

  luck.

  She sat next to him, caressing his maleness in her hands, packing

  her palms with his heat before jauntily maneuvering her body into a

  prime phallic serving position.

  With rapt attention, Lana let her tongue flutter over the tip of

  Casey's penis while Mal stroked her back and played with her quim.

  Her pussy was so wet, he couldn't resist finger-fucking her vulva the

  way she liked it, the rhythm of thrusting reverberating through every

  cell of her body as Malachy pumped and Casey bucked his hips so his

  cock could seek greater purchase in the blond's mouth.

  18

  When Mal brought her to orgasm, she consumed Casey's penis,

  letting it ride an oral carousel as her tongue skipped and played up and

  down his vibrant shaft.

  Casey pulled out of her mouth gingerly, stroking his own cock until

  he came with an expansive groan, his semen so hot and copious,

  Lana's chest could have doubled as a griddle.

  The host used his undershirt to pat her chest free of his signature.

  Meanwhile, there was Mal, waiting his turn. He had left his shirt


  on but he was naked from the waist down. He took her face in his

  hands, and kissed her flush on the mouth. He kissed her deep and

  hauntingly, saying with his tongue what he wouldn't say with his lips:

  he expected the better blow job.

  When her boyfriend was sated, Casey took Lana by the hand and

  said, "What now?"

  Mal pulled Lana's hand away and said, "Now, we go home. Right

  now, Lana and I really need to go home. It was nice visiting Lido but

  the search party has arrived; Trooper and I don't want to miss the

  boat."

  Trooper was a nickname Mal gave his girlfriend after he took her to

  Mount Rainier for what turned out to be a hiking fiasco. After 400

  feet, Malachy's partner was out of breath and seriously jonesing for a

  cappuccino.

  "C'mon, Lana. Just another fourteen thousand feet!"

  "No, way," she said, stumbling back to the safety of their car. "The

  only thing I ever want to climb is you."

  Later that night, they went out for drinks and Mal wassailed his

  lover with a gentle toast. "To Lana the Trooper. You'll try anything

  once, even if it means braving the outdoors."

  "Just remember: your hiker manqué is good in the hay." When they

  got home, Malachy sequestered his hiking boots to a giveaway bin.

  Casey began shuffling his feet. "We could go out for a nightcap

  somewhere."

  "Nah, we need to get home," Mal said again, his voice steady but

  firm.

  19

  Casey took the hint and thanked his guests for making his last days

  in Seattle memorable. He saw Lana and Malachy to the door then

  waved to them from his living room window.

  On the ride home, Malachy was silent but held Lana's hand the

  whole way back to Belltown, so she knew he wasn't angry.

  Her handsome Malachy. Did they really have enough in common

  to stay together forever? Or was it all about sex?

  She asked him. "Do we have enough in common, Mal? Or is it all

  about sex?"

  "I'll answer that question later," he said, taking her by the hand as

  they walked the short distance to their condo. The garage was full so

  they'd have to park on the street and hope to find their vehicle intact in

  the morning. Their car was nothing fancy; no one gave it a second

  look, ignoring it like a turd. Belltown was not the place to park your