SEXY ROMANCE: Her Dark Obsession (3 page)

“Okay,” I said, feeling vulnerable and trusting his sensitive eyes.  Just for the erotic jolt, I convinced myself that Dwayne was really falling for me.  That I would be the special one that dragged him out of his casual sex addiction.  Yeah right.  Even if that could happen someday, I wouldn’t expect a mature woman like me, a milf as he called me, to pull off the miracle.  My despair of the situation, the mistake I couldn’t admit to myself, was the attraction that I found irresistible.

The lowest point came when I met one of Dwayne’s “other girls.”  My happenstance, I picked up an unlisted call against my better judgment.  I felt an eerie sense of dread come over me as I began speaking to the faceless, nameless woman whose life I was helping to destroy.

“Is Dwayne there?”

“Ummm…no.”

“Who is this?”

“Uh…just…a friend of his, I guess.”

“Well my name is Tasha.  And I’ve been with him for three years.  I’m pregnant with his baby.”

“Oh…”

“And I really think he’s cheating on me.  Is he cheating on me with you?”

It took everything I had in me to lie.  “Umm no, I just uh…talked to him about some talent agency he claimed to run?”

“Oh yeah, Harfelt Talent.  Yeah, that’s legitimate.  He’s a talent scout for models.”

“Oh, I see.”  I almost laughed at the poor woman’s gullibility.  “

“But you’re sure that you’ve never…I mean, you’ve never heard of him having another girlfriend?”

“No ma’am.”

I’m not exactly sure why I said it.  Dwayne certainly didn’t need any protecting.  And whatever drama I could have unleashed would be comeuppance for his lies.  But my instincts were confused.  This experiment was only working because I was doing the opposite of what I thought was moral, what I thought was appropriate.  I wasn’t in this relationship because I was stupid or because I really believed anything Dwayne said.

I just wanted to experience what it was like playing by a man’s rules rather than playing on my terms.  And I knew his rules.  Protect him.  Do what he says.  Let him take what he wants.  Thank him for it by going away when tells you too, when he’s tired of you.

It wasn’t fair.  But just like all these ladies, it was the relationship I was asking for.  It was punishment I called upon myself.

March

I stopped answering Dwayne’s calls because I got tired of talking to his “girls” all the time.  I think at some point he also got tired of me.  Not totally turned off, but slightly less than when we first met and I was inclined to say no.  The minute you start saying yes, the minute yes is implied, that’s when a man seems to lose interest the most.  So I can’t understand why men hold me so accountable for ruining their lives, when they are just as turned off by the word yes as a woman is! 

It does seem to be a game, darling, just like you once called it.  A game in which so few of us really know what we’re doing, and yet we can’t stop playing.  A relationship is game over.  No wonder our instincts crave relationships.  Games like these are emotionally taxing, aren’t they?

My instincts have been asking for a rebound date.  Something to prove my attractiveness after being wounded at the hands of Dwayne and his player ways.  Some little fling to have out of pure vanity and assure myself that even at 37 I can still turn heads and raise blood pressure.

The next fling I had was considerably lower on the scale of ethics, as if my affair with Dwayne was anything to be proud of.  Reading about it might even change your opinion of me, my dear.  But I do believe we decided that honesty was all that friendship required.  The only thing I fear more than hurting your feelings, or scandalizing your mind, is holding anything back from you.

I decided that I wanted to be treated with respect, maybe just a different type of respect.  I met Paul in a bookstore, thinking that higher interests would maybe attract higher caliber specimens, at least intellectually speaking.  Maybe the fact that I resented Dwayne had nothing to do with respect.  Maybe he was just too “light beer” for what I craved.  Paul was something different from the first moment I met him.

              “Hello beautiful,” he said, appearing enthusiastic, as if he was on top of the world.  Not cocky, just delighted to be around the books he loved, and such lovely “scenery” as he would later describe me.  He was a bit of a “ginger”, a redhead with freckles who still had a magnificent glow about him, like he was your uncle or maybe your best friend in high school.  He was in his thirties like me, and wore a nice casual business shirt and pants.  I want to say that it was “rehearsed,” but I admit, it didn’t really matter to me anymore.   

              “What are you reading?”

              “Something by Pauline Réage.  You’ve probably never heard of her,” he said.

              “I do believe I know who she is,” I said with a squint. 

              “Really?  Wow, that’s good.  Most women I talk to are only interested in trendy books.  Knock offs.  Mishmashes.”

              “And what should we be interested in?”

              “Wait, a minute.  Let me just stop you right here.”

              “What?”

              “I see what you’re doing.  You’re going to say something cute and spunky, and then I’m going to say something clever and critical.  And then we’re just going to go back and forth with this inane flirtation, the same old dance.  Because it’s some obligatory social construct stating that I have to pass the filtering system and prove my superiority to all these other men.  Nah, not interested in doing that.”

              I laughed.  “You know what?  Me neither.  So what do you want to do?”

              “Well, I don’t know.  I just said hello beautiful.  You’re very lovely scenery.”

              “Thank you.”

              “There’s no need to thank me.  I just call it as I see it.  I’m brutally honest.  So much so that women usually slap me.  But I can take.  I’m very similar to Batman.”

              I chortled again.  “Well, maybe that’s the problem.  You guys never know what you want to do.”  I laughed again, playing his introspection game.  “You spend so much time dreaming about us.  And when you finally get our attention, you just flake.”

              “Okay, fine,” he said, putting his book down and merrily provoked.  “Fine, I just want to make love to you.  Right here and now.  I think you’re beautiful.  I think you’re twice as beautiful as every type of girl I see every day because I love the way your face tells a story.  You’ve suffered.  You’re interesting.”

“Well…”

“But of course, that’s out of the question.  Because you don’t know me.  And I don’t know you.  Haven’t you always wanted to just start a sexual relationship with no expectations or any clue as to where it’s going or even why you’re doing this?”

“Before, no.  To be honest,” I replied.  “I guess our brains are just different that way.  There always has to be a reason.  Even if the reason doesn’t make much sense.”

              “What does that mean?  Before?  So maybe there’s a chance?”

              “And would that complete you?  Would that make this conversation worth having?  Mister…”

              “Call me Edgar,” he said with a smile and a wink, finally letting down some of his guard. 

              He did go out for dessert, if only to continue our raw, unfiltered and strange conversation about sex, even if we both knew it probably wasn’t going to happen.  He just spoke casually, assuming that my presence was interesting enough to continue.  I had decided not to sleep with him, despite my promise of multiple yeses. 

Why, you ask?  I honestly think it was because I found him more interesting when I withheld.

“Maybe we should never sleep together,” I said, teasing him.  “Maybe that will make me the most interesting woman you ever meet.”

“That would,” he laughed.  “I would wonder for the rest of my life if you were the one.”

“But what is the one?”

He shrugged, thinking his answer over.  “Definitely not marriage.  I don’t believe in marriage.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s a lie.  It’s the opposite of honest.  I guess the ‘one’ is your soul mate.  The person whom you make a real connection with.  It’s not just sexual.  It’s a complete fusion of mind, body and…and soul, I guess you might say.”

“Hmmm.  Soul.”

“The truth is, Regina, I enjoy flirting a lot.  I am a hopeless flirt.  But I don’t think anything will ever happen between us.”

“Reverse psychology?” I said with a smirk.

“No…expectation.  Because, in the interest of honesty, I have to tell you something.  And it will probably end our conversation.”

“Oh.”  I paused and resisted asking him to reveal himself.  For a moment, I thought over the morality of it all.  If neither of us wants the truth, is there an obligation to reveal the truth?  The discussion only piqued my mind.  “Maybe I don’t want the conversation to end.  Maybe you shouldn’t tell me.”

That provoked him all the more, and he began demanding to tell me, his stubborn commitment to honesty, as if that somehow resolved him of all responsibility.

“The truth is,” he said, offended at the very implication, “I’m married.”

“And this is supposed to offend me?  Surprise me?”

“That’s up to you, I guess.”

I preferred not to know.  I felt it was the moral thing to do.  Shamefully though, I admit, as soon as I learned that he was unavailable, at least emotionally, my attraction for him grew.  My instinct to say yes returned, even though saying no seemed so much more fun.”

“And does your wife know that you sleep with other men?”

“I don’t.  Actually, I really don’t.  But…well, there’s a first for everything.  Isn’t there?”

I raised my brow, never truly knowing if I was intrigued or repulsed by him.  But at least he wasn’t boring.  “And what makes me the very special first time?”

“Because we haven’t had sex in about a year.  And I’ve been faithful.  But dammit,” he said tiredly.  “I just am tired of waiting.  I’m tired of being celibate just because I’m trying to be a good husband.”

“And so the only question remaining is…” I said, looking into his eyes and trying to sense where his soul was.  “Why should I say yes to you?  Just because you’re honest?”

He thought about it, losing his smile and tilting his head.

“Because this is your chance.  To be cruel to my wife.  Let’s be honest about it.  The only real attraction with a married man is female jealousy.  You hate each other so much, taking what doesn’t belong to you is a thrill.”

I scowled back at him, my instincts definitely telling me to walk away. 

“And because I’m here.  And you’re here.  And that’s just about it.  Why else does anyone else get together?  It’s random.  Meaningless.  Just trading sex for happiness.”

“No.  The answer is no,” I said triumphantly, standing up and out of my chair. “Because I don’t need it.”

He smiled.

His cock was hard and rigid, his very sensitive head quaking every time I ran my fingers across it. 

“Yeah…”

He groaned every moment I took his dick in my hands, as if he had been deprived for literally months, just as he said.  I had no reason to doubt his story.  He was honest, if nothing else.  His penis size was average.  As I began licking his prickhole, I began to question my own instincts.  What is it about married men that attracts me so much?  It wasn’t just the Mission of Yes.  Even before, the idea of a man “taken” was always the more interesting challenge than the man who was begging for my intention.  Was it really female jealous?

I licked his shaved balls from the bottom, to the shaft, to the tip again, enjoying him involuntarily shake with excitement, his voice constantly uttering nonsense.  It was a turn on, because I felt like the center of his universe.  He literally prayed to me, mumbling my name and whispering affirmations of “Yes!” and “Oh God, please…”

He needed to release, needed to feel excitement again.  Whatever he yearned for was natural, and certainly not taboo.  He was a lonely man, perhaps a lazy man, who used me for therapy.  Not a soul mate.  Not a true love. 

Just the right tool for the job, just what he needed, and what he figured I needed.  I admit, to my own shame, that most of the time I was thinking about his wife.  About how angry she would be if she found out.  Wondering why he was forced to cheat, and if she “deserved” it.  I started taking his dick into my mouth, looking him in the eye and his lay back on his bed, his pupils dilated and his breathing becoming rapid .

A sickening sense of empowerment came over me, as if I was a sexier woman than his wife.  I was what he wanted.  I achieved that which cannot be attained.  It wasn’t just sex, it was a victory.  It felt like a breakthrough of sorts.

“Ohhhh yes…I’m going to…going to…” He said, roughly grabbing my hair and pushing himself deeper into my throat. 

Just as he was ready to explode, I stopped sucking and squeezed his shaft, hearing a terrifying noise.

“What was that?”