Sex and the Social Network (2 page)

Fifteen years ago, I was the alpha girl of my sorority. Not because I was the prettiest or the sexiest girl. I was actually kind of average-looking, but according to my Grandma Esmeralda I was ‘linda’. My complexion was olive, and I had high cheekbones and long, brown hair with a hint of natural red highlights. With the right amount of makeup and designer clothes, I could turn heads. I was petite, with a great round ass that I attributed to the Brazilian side of my family.

But it wasn’t my bodacious booty that made me the alpha girl; it was that my pher
omones were the strongest. Every semester in college, my roommates’ monthly cycles synced to mine, even during my sophomore year when I lived in the Quad. That was a real blast: four sorority chicks all on the rag at the same time! We needed a “DANGER” sign for our door every twenty-eight days.

Having powerful pheromones also means that when I’m ovulating, guys can sniff me out like the dogs that they are. I’m like a bitch in heat and they all know it. They’re simply drawn to me.

After college, I went into hiding for a while. Two pregnancies, a dog, two cars, a husband—that kind of shit can erase the sexy from anyone. Plus I hadn’t really lost the baby weight, and I wasn’t feeling very attractive. Twenty extra pounds on a five-foot-three frame was hard to pull off, but my big round butt and carefree attitude seemed to attract a certain kind of guy. I still loved sex, and perceptive guys always seemed to be able to tell that, underneath it all, I was freaky.

The fact of the matter was this: I had been repressing my true nature for too long, and I was ready to unleash it with a vengeance. My boring, milquetoast husband, Steven, was good for two things:
making me coffee and depositing checks into the bank every month.

That might sound harsh, but it was the truth. And then there was me: a real-life desperate housewife who needed some kinky sex before she imploded. Those women on Wisteria Lane had no idea what desperation was.

So it was an interesting turn of fate that I had run into Todd Roberts at a conference the week before. He was a sexy divorc
é
who had worked at our agency before moving to Los Angeles a few months back. I hadn’t seen him in a while; damn, he looked hot! Todd was one of those bad boys that I’d always been attracted to, the kind of guy our mothers always warned us about.

He was the perfect package: just under six feet tall and muscular with long, brown hair that he wore in a ponytail. He had a sexy, manicured goatee and disarmingly gorgeous, emerald-green eyes. The serpent tattoos on his arms highlighted all the hours he spent in the gym. He drove a Harley, smoked a pack of Marlboro Reds a day, and drank whiskey right from the bottle. In short, he was bad to the bone and drop-dead sexy.

Todd is totally different from my strait-laced husband, Steven. Steven has dark brown hair peppered with flecks of grey, a receding hairline, and wire-rimmed glasses. He’s a bit doughy and tries to hide the extra twenty pounds he’s lugging around under modest sweater vests and cardigans. His pants are hiked up a little too high and his shoes are a little too comfy looking. I look at him and think, “It’s no wonder we barely ever have sex.” It’s hard imagining I’m with Tom Cruise when Steve from Blue’s Clues is grunting on top of me.

All day and night at the conference, Todd had been hitting on me, making eyes at me du
ring the seminars or subtly touching my arm when we spoke in the lobby. At the after party, he kept it up, buying me drinks and making his move.

About an hour before the party was over, he cornered me at the bar. He put his hand up against the wall next to my head and leaned in. He was so close I could feel his warmth and take in his scent. He smelled like a mixture of cigarettes, beer, and motorcycle oil. It turned me on.

“So … Gabby.” He moved in a little closer to me. “Want to come up to my room after the party is over?” His eyes scanned me up and down, waiting for my response.

“Um, Todd, you know I’m married, right?”

“Yeah, and? Is he here?” he asked, knowing full well Steven was not.

“No, he’s not here. He’s home with the kids.”

“So then what’s the problem, Gabby? Come up to my room, it’ll be fun.” He sounded so cavalier, so off-the-cuff, like having sex with him would be no big deal.

I hesitated before I answered. I tilted my head up and we locked eyes for a moment, his green irises searing into mine. I wanted so much to say “yes” and Todd picked right up on that.

“Thanks for the offer, Todd, but I really have to go.” I brushed up against him as I walked away. I could feel his eyes following me; it took everything in my power not to turn around, drag him into a bathroom stall, and do him nine ways from Sunday. God, this guy was getting under my skin!

I had never once cheated on Steven during our marriage. That might not sound like a big deal to most people, but I’m not like most people. I’m a recovering sex addict. For me, being faithful to Steven for five days was a challenge. Resisting Todd Roberts’ charms was killing me. It was like he could see right through my Martha Stewart façade. I’d never told Todd about my lascivious ways, but I could tell he could read me like a book. He knew.

That night as I lay in my hotel bed, I couldn’t fall asleep. I tossed and turned, my loins practically on fire, and struggled with why I was so tempted by Todd. Why couldn’t I just be happy with Steven? He wasn’t so bad, right? I had thought if I married a nice guy—someone stable and vanilla—that I could be happy living that kind of life. But after years of trying, I finally realized it just wasn’t possible. I was a sex-crazed ho, and that was that.

My true nature couldn’t be contained any longer. Nothing I did or said or wore changed who I was on the inside. Lately, it seemed like the more I tried to push down my urges, the more they sprang up, each time with a stronger, more intense desire. It had gotten to a point where I felt like I was aching for the high I so desperately craved. I was an addict and, at all costs, I was going to get my fix.

I was flattered by how much attention Todd had paid to me. There were hundreds of beautiful, young, single women at the conference. Why had he bothered with me, especially since I’d repeatedly told him “no” throughout the day? Then I realized he knew. He knew I wanted sex, and lots of it. Even though I had been saying “no” to Todd with my words, I was saying “yes” with my eyes.

Although I’d resisted his invitation to go to his room, Todd had managed to get my cell phone number, under the auspices of getting together for lunch one day to talk shop.

The next morning I woke up to a text from Todd.

TODD: Hey, Gabby. Great seeing you at the AD conference.

GABBY: Thanks, Todd. You too. Let’s catch up soon.

And then, like clockwork, there it was. When I logged on to Facebook that night, there was a friend request from Todd Roberts.

I took a deep breath before I accepted. I knew in my heart I was not simply becoming “friends” with him on Facebook; I was taking the bait from a divorced sex fiend. Fucking bri
lliant on my part. But if I’m being honest, I didn’t care. I needed something exciting in my life, and a rock-hard dick seemed like a good place to start.

Ever since I’d gotten married, I had been denying who I really was. All the memories of my childhood came pouring in, and contrary to what society told me what I should do and who I should be, my body craved what it had been taught and knew what it needed.

I fell in love with a guy I met online.

Tyrone Miles was a molten-hot friend of my good friend Liz. He and I were constantly posting on her Facebook wall, liking her statuses, laughing at one another’s comments. One day, out of the blue, he sent me a private message.

Hey, gorgeous. Looks like we have a lot in common: Liz, working out, having fun, and drinking.

Later that night I had a friend request from him. I sat staring at my computer for a moment, not sure what to do. I thought about not accepting, but Tyrone was a friend of Liz’s and he was hilarious. It was just Facebook; what could it hurt, right? Tyrone was hot—I mean smoking hot. He was tall, black, and had a body that looked like it was carved out of solid granite.

I had always had a thing for black guys, but where I grew up in Orange County, not a lot of white Jewish girls ever dated them. So like a good little girl, I had toed the line and never dared. But times had changed and were finally catching up to my desires.

The morning after receiving Tyrone’s friend request, I asked Liz to meet me for lunch. I needed to get the scoop on this guy. We made arrangements to meet at a cute little French café we both liked. When I got there, Liz was already at a table, sipping on her Diet Coke. I was dying to talk to her and knew she’d be straight with me about Tyrone.

Predictably, Liz saw right through my casual inquiries about him. She confirmed that he was funny and hot, but she said he was trouble and warned me not even to become friends on Facebook.

Her heart was in the right place, I know, but I was annoyed by her condescending tone. Like I couldn’t possibly become friends with Tyrone without jumping into the sack with him. Her telling me how dangerous he was only piqued my interest more.

“Julia, are you that unhappy in your marriage? Has something changed recently?” Liz asked in a concerned voice.

I sighed deeply. “I don’t know. With Arielle in preschool, I have more time to myself. It’s made me more aware of my own needs, I guess. Sometimes when we’re all eating dinner and it gets a little quiet, I’ll look at Aaron and realize I don’t really know him. And he most certainly doesn’t know me.”

“Wow, really, Julia? What doesn’t he know?”

“Like everything. Like he doesn’t know how much I love to sing and dance. Or that I used to want to be a professional singer.”

“Wait, you’re trying to tell me that Aaron doesn’t know what an amazing singer you are?”

I frowned. “Nope.”

“How is that possible? You were a music major in college! You were the lead singer in a band, and you’re telling me Aaron knows none of that? Why?”

“He never asked. Because the only kind of music Aaron likes is opera, and when I met him, I lied and told him I was a business major.”

Liz was shocked. “Oh my God, Julia. Why would you do that?”

“Because on our first date he told me he only liked smart women. That meant having an MBA or liking math or that sort of thing. The next thing I knew, I was spewing lies, trying to conform. I was so excited to be on a date with a rich Jewish guy, so eager to please my family and to fit in, I said whatever I thought he wanted to hear.”

“Oh, man. I hate that you felt like you had to do that. What else did you tell him?”

“I told him I grew up very wealthy, but that money didn’t matter that much to me.”

“Why would you say that? And didn’t you grow up rich? I always got the impression you had.”

“I don’t know. I didn’t want him to think I was a gold digger. And I grew up wealthy, but not super rich like he did.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t know any of this. What else don’t I know?”

“Well, after my first date with him, my parents were so excited. No, elated is more like it. I was thirty-four years old and unmarried. They were constantly nagging me to stop wasting my life away, to stop dating a goy with no potential. That’s code for ‘not rich or Jewish’.”

“Oh, man, I didn’t realize there was that much pressure from them,” Liz said.

“That was just the tip of the iceberg. They hassled me about not giving them grandkids and that if I didn’t stop being so picky, I’d die alone like my mom’s Aunt Beth. Nice, huh?”

“Ugh. That must’ve been a lot to deal with.”

“You have no idea. They never failed to bring up my relationship with Kevin and how that didn’t work out. And hadn’t they warned me I’d never be happy with a poor Gentile who grew up on the wrong side of the tracks.”

“Wait, they didn’t like Kevin?” Liz was genuinely surprised. We’d all gone to UCLA t
ogether, so she knew him well.

“Oh, God, no. They hated him.” It made me sick to admit this about my family.

“Why?”

“Like I said, he wasn’t Jewish, and as far as they were concerned, he was poor white trash.”

“That’s crazy. Kevin was awesome and he loved you so much. I’ve never seen a guy so in love. And you were happy, maybe the happiest I’ve ever seen you.”

Choking back tears, I quickly changed the subject. We finished our lunch talking about our mutual friends, working out, and a bunch of other mundane stuff. The conversation about Aaron and my family had gotten too heavy for me, and I had to stop it or risk losing it right then and there. Liz and I parted, my heart heavy with all we’d discussed.

On Saturday morning, my phone rang early. It was Maria.

“Hey! How was it?” I couldn’t wait to hear the details of her evening with Enrique.

“It was . . . good.” Maria paused. I could picture her standing in her kitchen, twirling a long strand of her blonde hair around her finger. I smiled at the image and waited eagerly for the details of her evening with Enrique.

“Just good? C’mon. How was he? How does he look? What did you talk about?” I was dying to hear the details.

“He looked great, still smoking hot.” Maria stopped, like she was drifting off. “He seems pretty happy, really. A little overwhelmed with his job and kids, but overall, he seemed good.”

“Yeah, who’s not overwhelmed?” I laughed and took a sip of my coffee. “I’m glad to hear he’s doing well. Did you guys go out to dinner or just meet for drinks?”

“Ugh,” she groaned. “I just had drinks. That might have been part of the problem.”

“Problem?” Up to that point, I had thought this story was going to be pretty humdrum, but the phrase “just drinks” told me that it might grow legs after all. What I wouldn’t have given to have an exciting night out with a handsome man from the past! And Enrique was hot.

“Yeah, problem. I got drunk really fast.”

“You? Shocking!” Maria and I often teased each other about our drinking tales.

“I’m not the party girl I used to be. I barely drink now, so a few glasses of wine got to me in a hurry!”

“I hear ya!” I frowned slightly. I didn’t understand why Maria sounded so tense.

“So . . .” Maria hedged, “if I tell you something, do you promise not to tell anyone?”

“Of course!” I reassured her.

“So . . .” Maria stopped and took a deep breath. “After a couple hours of drinking and laughing and catching up, he sort of kissed me goodnight in the hotel lobby.”

“Shut up! Really? And?” I felt my heart beating in my throat. “Come on! You’re killing me here!”

“Okay! It was less of a goodnight kiss and more that we were completely making out.”

“What?” I had imagined several scenarios, and while Maria’s tale skirted the boundaries of the most outrageous, I was still floored. “You mean, right there in the middle of the hotel lobby?”

“Well, we were down a small corridor, so no one could see us.”

“Holy shit! How did that happen?”

“Not sure exactly. I think I went to hug him goodbye and meant to give him a peck on the cheek, but he turned his head, and we ended up kissing.”

“I want details. Tell me everything!”

“Well,” Maria laughed, “it started as a long goodbye that ended with his tongue in my mouth.”

“I can’t believe it!” I couldn’t imagine having drinks with a man other than my husband at this point, much less making out with someone in a hotel lobby! It all sounded so tawdry, but if I was being honest with myself, it was pretty exciting. I was dying to hear more. “Shit! How do you feel about it?”

“Honestly? I feel good,” Maria said frankly. “I think it’s something that’s been in the making since we broke up.”

“Wow. I’m speechless!”

“You? Speechless? Ha! That’s a first,” Maria laughed. “Liz, tell me, in all seriousness, what do you think?”

I thought carefully before I spoke. I knew I was treading in murky water. While I wanted to be completely supportive of Maria—and I’ll even admit that a tiny part of me was a little jealous—my mind was screaming that she’d gone too far. It was wrong, and I didn’t know if I could keep judgment out of my tone.

“I think you are both married, and you both need to be careful.” I paused. “I guess if he can just make out with you like that, he can’t really be that happily married, so there’s that.” I paused again and let that sink in with her. Maria ha
d never mentioned being unhappy in her marriage, aside from the usual complaints that we all had. Maybe there were things she hadn’t told me. The thought of this unsettled me a little. What else was she hiding? “I think that you have a lot more to lose than he does, so please, Maria, just promise me you’ll be careful.”

“Yeah, I will. Promise.” Maria sounded hesitant.

The pregnant pause in our conversation was killing me. I wracked my brain for something to say. “So, was he a good kisser?”

Maria laughed deep in her throat. “Amazing! Hey, I gotta run. I’ll talk to you later!” And with that, she was gone. I stood there for a moment, staring at the now silent phone in my hand.

Shaking my head, I poured myself another cup of coffee and wrestled with accepting what Maria had just told me. I thought stuff like that only happened in the movies or reality TV shows. My brow furrowed with worry, I watched the cream swirl through my coffee. Was this my fault? I might have suggested they become friends, but I have a ton of guy friends on Facebook, and you wouldn’t catch me making out in a hotel lobby with any of them! It all seemed so surreal.

On the other hand, a little kissing was pretty harmless, right? Hell, I’d be lying if I said the idea of some passionate kissing didn’t get my motor running. Was I justifying this for her? Maria was a married woman. Had there been signs I had missed? Was she truly happy with Zack? What was she thinking? I couldn’t make sense of any of it.

That weekend, I was so busy that any thought of Maria and Enrique was gone from my mind. Braden and I took the kids to a water park on Saturday and spent all day splashing and having fun. There was more to life—and more to love—than some illicit kissing in a dimly lit hallway.