How Long You Should Wait to Have Sex: a Novel (26 page)

“Thank you.”

“One other thing you can do, is grab my scrotum. This is delicate, though,” he continues as I cup his balls. “You have to be gentler with these than you would be with the shaft—oh, yes! That is just right.”

“It is?” I’m surprising myself again.

“I love the way you gently jiggle them around in your hand so they touch each other. That creates a double pleasurable sensation, on the outside and the inside.” He stops talking for a moment to regain some control of his breathing, “I feel safe in your hands, like you’re not going to squeeze more than just the amount that I need.”

“How much is too much?”

“You don’t want to squeeze like you’re juicing an orange. It feels good up to a point, but it’s a slippery slope before you start to induce pain.” Then he quickly adds, “Of course, some people are into pain, but I think you would know by now if that was John’s thing.”

Right, John, I had forgotten all about him.

“The best thing you can do is let the balls massage each other,” he repeats to make sure it sinks in.

“What if John’s only got one?” I can’t help myself from joking. Marty opens his eyes to look at me, not sure he wanted to know that. “I’m just kidding,” I reassure.

Marty laughs, and looks at me in that endearing way that only he can. He kisses me romantically, letting his body fall on top of mine, so I’m forced to release my hands or see them crushed between us.

He rubs his body along mine, allowing the warmth of his hard penis to pass softly along my vagina, teasing me with the promise of more.

He kisses his way down my body, stopping briefly at my nipples, where his gentle sucking sends a jolt of pleasure directly to my groin. My back arches toward his mouth, and he licks the circumferences of the left one, his warm breath giving me happy chills. He lets his fingertips take over, smoothly massaging my breasts, as he frees up his mouth to kiss his way down my belly.

He softly kisses my stomach, the front side of my hip, slowly making his way in between my legs. He kisses my pubis, then the skin over my clitoris. And then he introduces his tongue. Slowly, gently, he allows the tip of his tongue to play with my most sensitive parts. He builds in more tongue and more pressure until he is practically French-kissing it. I promised myself I wouldn’t get turned on too much, I promised myself I would remain professional, or studenty, or oh my God, I’m losing all ability to think about anything besides the sensations pulsating through my body.

He helicopters his tongue. Holy cow, this man’s tongue has the speed and dexterity of a vibrator. I don’t know if I’m going to last long enough to even make it to the intercourse part. I regain consciousness just long enough to tell him to stop. We have to move on now. I have to learn intercourse, the way it’s meant to be performed.

I swear, if Lacey had known about his skills, I’m not so sure she would have let him go. Maybe getting to first base and beyond can be a good thing when you’re getting to know someone.

“Do you want me to come in now?” Marty asks politely.

“Yes, yes! Hurry!”

He quickly slips inside of me, touching every piece of my inner nerve endings. The feelings of pleasure shoot up inside my stomach, as he slowly moves deeper and deeper into everything I’m silently, mentally asking him to touch. He fills me completely, perfectly, as if we were two pieces of a puzzle, made to fit with each other.

He uses muscle control to flick it up and down inside of me. I respond by rubbing my body every which way against him.
“Does that feel good for you?” I ask, still trying to learn.

“Yes, yes. Everything you do feels good to me,” he replies still trying to distract me with his mind-bogglingly positive answers.

I rub myself harder and faster around him, until the feelings of ecstasy become so strong it’s not enough for me. I feel like a druggy who needs to up her dose. He feels deeper than any man has ever gone, but I want more. I grab his butt cheeks and pull his hips closer into me, so I can feel every inch of his body pressed against mine.

“Oh, yes, that’s perfect,” he breathes heavily. “And another thing you can do is put your hand right there.” He places my hand on the rim of his butt hole. “Men have an erogenous zone on their prostates. Place your hand here and see how a man reacts. Some will prefer your finger inside, and some will like it better just on the outside of the anus, gently circling the rim.”

“I never knew about that.”

“Most men don’t even know about it,” he assures me.

My hand on his hole’s rim is getting him so excited that he’s going even deeper inside of me! I didn’t think that was possible. He feels so incredibly good, there are no words to describe it. Besides maybe rapture, euphoria, and trance-inducing.

I can feel myself coming. I usually try not to think about it, so I don’t shut it down, but this time, I can think of nothing else. I’m completely engulfed in the feelings and sensations of incredible, mind-numbing elation. I let go. My body shakes from the depths of my toes, my stomach, as my mind blacks out, and the simultaneous sounds of Marty’s orgasm adds to my sense of perfection surrounding the entire experience. I have never felt anything like that before. He really does know what he’s doing. And I learned so much, too. I’m so glad we did this.

“That was the best I’ve ever had,” I grant him, without considering the deeper meaning of it.

“Me, too,” Marty admits, seeming different now, somehow disturbed by the quality of the sex we’ve just shared.

“Really?” I’m still shocked that I can do any of this right, no less be the best that an expert has ever had.

“I don’t know what John is talking about. You’re amazing,” he tells me without hesitation, looking directly into my eyes with conviction.

Yeah, what is wrong with John? Why is he so stupid about how great I am?

“Maybe it’s just that we have more of that chemistry thing you mentioned,” I conclude, still feeling very casually about the whole thing.

“Yeah, scientifically speaking, you and I are a match,” Marty seems to ponder this scientific conclusion quite deeply, like he’s taking it to heart, in his overall evaluation of me as a person.

“At least I know now that it’s not me,” is my post-game analysis, which has me both reassured and confused.

“No, it’s definitely not you,” Marty confirms.

How am I supposed to take this? Why do I have so much more chemistry with Marty than with John—the love of my life? Why do I have chemistry with Marty at all? He’s Lacey’s guy. They’re supposed to be together. What a cruel trick to give him-and-me the chemistry, when they’re the match. In any case, this whole thing has given me a lot to think about.

“Thank you, Marty. This was so much more than I ever would’ve expected it to be.”

“Yeah… For me too.”

I can see that he’s been moved by the experience. I can tell that he has feelings for me. Real ones. But that’s not possible. His book said I was supposed to have the feelings after sex, not him. I’m the one who released the Oxytocin into my bloodstream. Why is he feeling the effects?

I’d better get on with setting things back to normal, ASAP. I get out of bed and start to get dressed.

Marty peers up at me with a sweet hopefulness, “Don’t you wanna cuddle?”

“Nah,” I say, trying not to look at him so I don’t break my veneer of cool distance, “I figure we should just keep it professional.”

~

As Marty leaves, I don’t bother to hand him the large, unopened cardboard box, containing the merchandise from the toymaker we visited, which was delivered here while we were away. There’s no point, since this part of our lives will soon return to the black hole of non-existence from which it came. But after what we just did, it’s strange to have a boxful of replicas of the beautiful member that was so recently inside of me, sitting there blending into the mess in my living room.

I watch out the window as Marty walks out of my building to his car. He looks back toward me, and I hide from view. I can still see him as he slumps into his car, his posture dejected. He doesn’t close the door. Instead, he leaves one foot on the road and looks back up toward my apartment, as if he’s not quite ready to leave. Something is obviously on his mind. Perhaps he’s wondering if he should come back up here.

Finally, he puts his leg in the car, closes the door, and slams his palm on the steering wheel, angrily. He still doesn’t leave. He sits in his private car, unaware that I’m spying on him, and thinks about what to do. After several more minutes, he turns on his car and pulls away.

As my eyes follow him down the street, I say to myself, “I wish I hadn’t had sex with him.”

I’m not even sure which of the men I’m wishing away. For that matter, I’m not sure I want to wish them away. For the first time, my power feels empty. Is this wrong, what I’ve been doing? Have I taken it too far? Maybe there’s a reason we’re supposed to make right choices the first time or live with our mistakes. I haven’t had to live with any mistakes since my 30th birthday. And yet, I’m highly aware of everything I’ve done wrong. Each of those mistakes was authentic to me. Each of them represented some part of who I am.

Who am I without them? Who am I to John? Would I even recognize the person he must see me as? And if he does love me, is he really loving me, or just some falsely perfect version of me? And what happens when I finally get it right? When I finally wait long enough to make him stay? I won’t want to wish myself back in time anymore, and he’ll be forced to see my imperfections, my mistakes, my true me. Can he even handle a girl who’s not perfect? He hasn’t proven to have the stomach for it so far.

Well, either way, here we go again…

Chapter 30

Marty and I find ourselves back in the airport terminal at SFO, heading for the exits, when Marty starts apologizing for the thing he doesn’t know we just did.

“Samantha, I’m really embarrassed. I never should have suggested we have sex. I was out of line. And now I just feel weird about it.”

To be honest, now that we’ve done it, I feel a little weird about it, too.

He goes on pleading his case, “I wouldn’t want you to think I wanted to. I was just trying to help. Cuz I’m a helpful guy… But I hope this doesn’t mess up—I mean, we still have to work together, so—“

I interrupt him, like last time, but this time it’s to say something completely different, “Just stop talking, Marty… We’ll be fine.”

It’s quiet and awkward on the cab ride home. I don’t call John to ask if I can come over and have sex, and Marty asks the cab driver to drop me off first, because he’s a consummate gentleman.

When I enter my building and approach my apartment, I see something I don’t expect, sitting in front of my door, on the large cardboard box that was delivered in my absence. It’s John. He’s waiting for me, wearing the same scrubs he wore last time I came home from my trip.

“John, what are you doing here?” I say, prompting him to notice my arrival and smile from ear to ear.

“I got you something, while you were gone. And I couldn’t wait to give it to you, so I came over and waited for you.” Then he jokes, “Some more.”

I laugh.

“Oh, it’s not that,” he adds, pointing at the box full of vibrators. “That was already here. But my thing is really big, too.” Could it be what I asked him for?

No. If it were, I would know from the last time.

Although last time I rushed him, because I had so much work to do. He did have the rose petals, and the candles, and the music, and the box! The little blue velvet jewelry box, with the red silk trim! But the box just had earrings in it. Or so he said…

Was it really a ring? Did I blow my proposal by rushing in and out of there that day? Considering all the lengths he went to trying to make my welcome home party romantic, I sure wasn’t any help. I hope I didn’t miss my opportunity to get engaged so that I could go have sex with Marty. Oh, no.

But it’s that same day again. He doesn’t know that I rushed him in and out. Maybe today is the day he surprises me with the ring?

John grabs me and kisses me passionately… It could be!

I open the door and take my package inside. John follows me, smiling mischievously.

“Wow, your place is a mess when you’re not expecting company.” Okay, so I have confused self-esteem.

“Sorry,” I smile innocently, “do I still get my present?”

“Yeah, but open your package first. I don’t want anything to be distracting you from my surprise.”

“Oh, no, that’s okay. I know what’s in that box. I don’t need to open it.” I
really
don’t need to open it.

“What is it?”

“Oh, nothing interesting. Just some boring work stuff.”

“Why are you getting it delivered here?”

“Oh, because it’s for Marty.”

“Oh, really? What is it?” He’s picked an inconvenient time to become so interested in my work.

“Just some merchandise we created to sell on his site.”

“Why don’t you just check it to make sure? So it’s out of the way, and not hanging over us. And then I’ll give you your present.”

“I don’t have to check it. I know what it is. I recognize the return sender.” Then in my best little girl voice, I say, “I want my present now.”

Meanwhile, John is peeking at the return sender’s name on the box, “Zizi Toys?” John chuckles, “That’s funny. ‘Zizi’ is the French word little kids use to describe their pee-pees. That company is called Pee-Pee Toys.”

“Really? That’s weird.”

“Now I really wanna see what’s in that box!” He’s having a good laugh as he goes to open the box.

I jump in his way trying to stop him.

“No!”

“Come on, I wanna see what Pee-Pee Toys sells,” he laughs as he continues opening the box.
They sell pee-pee toys, you moron!

As I try to wrestle him away from the box, we both laugh. I’m laughing out of discomfort and desperation, while he’s actually having a good time teasing me and wrestling.

John wins the battle, and his good time comes to an abrupt halt, as he opens the box to an endless supply of individually packaged vibrators, each with a sticker on the front that says, “Certified Marty Lowenthal”. He is not amused.