The Envelope Incident

The Envelope Incident

Emelia Elmwood

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My two best guy friends, Jake and Derek, came over that Saturday morning to cheer me up. I poured three cups of fresh coffee and set out a plate of danishes, a sinful treat in honor of my being dumped by Stephen, my boyfriend of three years.

Neither Jake nor Derek had the decency to look as if they felt bad for me.

“What you need,” Jake said, as he chewed on a cheese danish, “is to purge him from your system.”

“I could start drinking,” I said. “That oughtta flush him right out.”

Derek shook his head. “No, something more…dramatic, I think.”

“Take a trip?” I suggested. “Maybe some sort of spiritual journey? Or a weekend at a health spa?”

Jake and Derek were my very gay next-door neighbors who had adopted me minutes after I’d left Oklahoma for a job in Los Angeles. Jake was a lawyer at a nonprofit organization downtown. Derek was an amazing hair stylist at an upscale salon in Hollywood. The two of them had become the brothers I’d never had. Plus, I now had really great hair.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while now,” Jake said. “I think that in order for you to find happiness in the next relationship, to rectify the karma, so to speak, you need to identify the single most problematic element of your relationship with Stephen and deal with it. Otherwise, you might just end up with another Stephen.”

I sipped my coffee and thought about that for a moment. “Are you sure I only have to identify one problem? It seems like I could make a list.”

Derek reached for a second danish. “If you really think about it, all of the other problems were just, I don’t know, symptoms of the main one. Secondary problems.”

I looked at Derek. “It sounds as though you’ve already identified the primary problem.”

“Come on, Emma.” Derek gave me a pleading look. “Think.”

I didn’t know where to start. Stephen and I seemed to be pretty matched personality-wise. We both loved movies, hiking, traveling, reading, Mexican food.

“This is just pathetic,” Jake said. “Either you’re absolutely clueless, or too embarrassed to admit the problem.”

I looked up.

“Sex,” Derek said. “You were sexually incompatible.”

“I take offense to that,” I said. “The sex was fine.”

“Was it? He always looked a heck of a lot cheerier when he left in the morning than you did when you left in the morning.”

I blushed. There was something weird about knowing your two gay brother stand-ins were tracking your sexual progress.

“Here’s what I think,” Jake said. “I think that Stephen pursued you because he saw you as a cute, all-American good girl from Oklahoma. Which isn’t a bad thing.” He held up a hand before I could protest. “But you also have a pretty serious inner tigress who likes adventure. And when you figured out that he might be scared off by the inner tigress, you caged her up.”

“The problem, as I see it,” Derek added, “is that Stephen picked up on the fact that you were holding something back from him, and that you weren’t happy. And that’s why he walked.”

“And now you’re worried that I’m going to keep my inner tigress locked up,” I said, my eyebrows raised. “That’s just weird, guys.”

“Is it? What if, deep down, you’re really worried that he picked up on that inner tigress? What if you think you just have to work harder to keep her caged up? You’ll never be happy. The men you’re with will never be happy. And then we’ll never be happy,” Jake said. “And you don’t want us unhappy, right?”

I leaned back in my chair and nursed my coffee cup. This conversation was getting a little embarrassing for my all-American good-girl self. “So what’s the cure?”

“A week of hot sexual escapades that will purge the lame missionary sex with Stephen right out of your soul,” Derek said.

I burst into laughter.

“Uh, with whom?” I was laughing so hard that that my coffee was sloshing over the rim of my cup. “You guys?”

“I love you to bits, Emma, but you’re just not my type,” Jake said. “But we know a lot of guys—and a few girls, too—who would totally dig you.”

I looked back and forth from Jake to Derek. “You’re serious.”

“Totally,” Derek said.

“No fucking way,” I said.

Jake pressed the back of his hand to his head in mock horror. “The inner tigress surfaced to utter a foul word, Derek.”

“No,” I said.

“You don’t even know what we were going to say,” Jake said.

“I don’t have to. I don’t think this is a good idea,” I said. “Besides, I don’t need your opinion of me to sink. I feel low enough all on my own right now.”

Derek leaned forward on his arms and gave me the most serious look I’ve ever seen from him. “Sweetheart, there is nothing that we’d like more than to see you be comfortable with yourself. How could we think less of you for that? Especially a couple of guys like us?”

Both Derek and Jake were estranged from their families because they were openly gay. Derek’s father, a man who preached “love everyone” from the pulpit, had given Derek the boot when he’d turned eighteen. Jake’s family had tried at first to be understanding, but when his nieces and nephews were born, Jake had grown tired of the way his sisters shielded their children from him. So he’d faded away.

I’d never really thought about how hard that must have been, leaving family and friends like that. Yet I couldn’t imagine Derek and Jake happy had they not been true to themselves.

“You think it will take a whole week, huh?”

“Look,” Jake said, “here’s what I think you should do.” He reached behind him to the kitchen counter, where I kept a pad of paper and pens near my cell-phone charger. “Ask your inner tigress to name the three most daring things she would like to try. Three things that she’s almost too embarrassed to even tell you about. Write them down, one to each piece of paper. Put them in an envelope and slip them under our door. We’ll make it happen for you.”

I could only sit there and blink. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said.

“Think about it,” Derek said. He and Jake kissed my cheeks and headed out the door.

I refused to think about it. I cleaned my apartment. No, I scoured my apartment. I went for a walk. Then I tried jogging. Then I rented a half-dozen movies. Two weeks passed, and I was restless, frustrated, embarrassed.

Then the dreams started. Very, very sexy dreams. I was tied up and naked and hands roamed my body. I was bent over a chair while being pounded by a giant cock. Mouths sucked on my nipples. Streams of cum shot across my chest.

For three nights in a row, I woke up hot, wet, sweating, needing. Pushing myself over the edge wasn’t enough. I wanted more.

At three-thirty on a Wednesday morning, I sat at my kitchen table and picked up the pen and pad of paper with shaking hands.

Images of my dreams flashed through my mind. Even though I sat alone in my kitchen, my cheeks flushed with embarrassment. A good girl didn’t have thoughts like this. A good girl didn’t sit at her kitchen table, thinking about what kinds of crazy sex she secretly dreamed of having with people she didn’t even know.

What the hell is the matter with me?
I thought.
I’m just writing down thoughts. I don’t even have to show them to anyone. I can have fantasies. I can write them down.

I held my pen over the paper, poised to write.

It was four-fifteen, and I still hadn’t written a single word.

When did I become such a coward?

Or is the problem that I couldn’t narrow my list down to three? I giggled.
Gee, Jake
, I could picture myself saying,
I hope you don’t mind that I gave you thirty-five different pieces of paper. I hope you have that many friends
.

Just write something
, I said to myself.
Anything. The first thing that comes to your mind
.

I took a deep breath and wrote in the most honest tone I could muster:

I want to be tied up, blindfolded and fucked by men I don’t know and will never see.

My heart raced so hard I could feel the pulse in my throat. With a shaky hand, I reached for a second piece of paper from the pad.

I want to taste pussy.

I couldn’t believe I wrote that. I was so hot and so wet just thinking about it. I reached for a third piece of paper and thought about what my very last sexual fantasy might be.

I want two men at once. I want to ride a big cock while another cock is riding my ass.

I threw the pen on the table and jumped out of the chair. Tears of embarrassment streamed down my face, but I was so hot, so turned on, that I lay down on my living room floor and fingered myself into three orgasms before I was calm enough to sleep.

I slipped the envelope under Jake and Derek’s door, hoping no one saw me do it. During the entire six-mile drive to work, which took a solid forty-three minutes in Los Angeles traffic, emotions tumbled around in my head. I couldn’t believe I had actually written down three fantasies. I couldn’t believe I’d shared them with Jake and Derek. God, what were they going to think when they saw them? What were they going to do? What would my landlord think when a bunch of random people started visiting my apartment, and the oh-so-obvious sounds of wild sex could be heard through the walls?

I almost rear-ended the car in front of me twice.

And yet I was so, so very wet.

After work, I all but tiptoed back to my apartment. I just couldn’t face Jake and Derek after what I was beginning to think of as The Envelope Incident. Relieved to go undetected, I locked the apartment’s deadbolt and headed to the kitchen for a glass of water. My cell phone chimed its three-tone notice of a new text message. It was from Derek.

Biltmore downtown. 8 p.m. tonite. Rm 436.

Holy shit. That was only two hours from now.

Jake and Derek knew me well enough to know that I would look for a chicken exit if they gave me time to find one. They weren’t going to give me much of a chance to back out.

I showered and headed for the Biltmore.

I found the elevator and pressed Four. I stepped into the hallway and followed the arrows to 436. I stood in front of the door for what seemed like forever. I thought about walking away. I thought about running away. But then I thought about how one of my very own fantasies was supposed to be on the other side of that door. The hallway was empty. Who would know that I had been here? Who would know about this indulgence?

My inner tigress knocked on the door.

A tall, elegant woman with blue eyes and dark hair swept up into a knot answered the door. “I’m Evie,” she said. “I’m here to help you get ready.”

The room was actually a posh suite. We stood in the foyer, which lead to a large living room. Across the room were French doors, presumably leading to the bedroom.

Evie took my hand and lead me to the guest bathroom. She helped me undress and then gave me a lacy black robe to wear. I looked at myself in the mirror, my dark blond hair, my gray eyes, my pretty decent country-girl figure that was a little curvier and rounded than was preferred in Los Angeles. I felt self conscious and insecure.

Evie ran her eyes over what she could see through the robe. I felt a flash of heat as the approval registered on her face. “Jake was right,” she said. “Nate and Alex will love you.”

She led me across the living room and opened one of the French doors to the bedroom. Two incredibly hot men were inside—one sitting on the giant California-King-size bed, the other sitting in an armchair. Both men wore black robes. The men stood as I entered the room.

“This is Emma,” Evie said. She untied the sash of my robe and, stepping behind me, pulled it off. “She’s all yours.” Evie let the robe pool on the floor before stepping out of the room and closing the door behind her.

I stood there, naked and somewhat in shock, unsure of what to do. The blond man who had been sitting on the bed walked over to me and traced a finger from my chin down past my collar bone to the valley between my breasts. He was at least a foot taller than me, tanned, muscular and blue-eyed. I was wet just from looking at him.