Unashamed (20 page)

Part of Zelda’s appeal was her resemblance to Doug. Visually, she was the female version of him, or so it seemed to me at the time. Only she was distinctly less educated. She had an athletic body and huge gravity-defying tits that she hid very well. They surprised me the first time her shirt hit the floor and there was no bra holding them up.

It was definitely a physical thing with Zelda, although I denied it when she asked. She didn’t need my confirmation of her status as a piece of meat. That would have been mean.

Our sexual tension was chart-topping. It really got ridiculous on several occasions, but especially when she surprised me at a seedy gay bar that Rayya found on the other side of town. It was the dirtiest, most run-down Hispanic shit-hole on the streets that tourists don’t even know about and certainly wouldn’t go to if they did. I was appreciative of the broken lights throughout the place. Had they worked, I would have actually seen the nastiness on the walls. Despite all of this, it was a refreshing change from our normal hangout.

Rayya hit the dance floor as soon as we walked in. I sat on a chair in a dark corner, texting Zelda vulgar messages. Suddenly, the bitch plopped herself into the chair across from me. The smell of fresh shampoo and rum flew into my nose through the thick, smoky air. The music beat hard as she slouched with widespread legs. “Surprised?” she said finally, after staring at me with smooth butch confidence. I was speechless for a moment, so she continued, “I’m horny, we should fuck.” Her face was stone serious as she slid her hand into the front of her pants, called me over with a head nod, and began rotating her hand and wrist. “Come over here.”

“What? Here? Right now?” I looked around with eyes as wide as saucers. It was dark, but not dark enough to do it in a club full of people.

“Yes. Come over here and fuck me or I’ll fuck myself.” She unzipped her pants with her free hand and exposed much more than a hint of the goodies.

Who am I to deny a woman who is throwing herself at my feet? I immediately jumped on top of her as my fingers slid inside without effort. A few moans escaped her lips before Rayya stumbled over with two girls. Her tank top was sweaty and stretched out. Her button-down shirt, which she ironed repeatedly before we left her apartment, was thrown over her shoulder. She stood feet from me on top of Zelda with a drink in each hand. “Emma, I got us some drinks! What are you doing back here in the dark?”

“I’ll be right there,” I said, trying to act as if she only interrupted a simple makeout session.

“Oh, hey, Zelda,” Rayya managed.

“Hey, ” Zelda said just like she would have done without my fingers deep inside of her.

Rayya headed back to the bar as she mumbled Dominican slang. We don’t remember too much about the rest of the evening. The next day as I drove to visit Zelda, Rayya called to give me a piece of her mind over the night’s events. “You are so nasty. What were you thinking?”

Giggling through a yawn, I explained it the best I could. “She just opened her pants and showed me snatch! What was I supposed to do?”

“Even worse. That’s white trash. You are one crazy white bitch.”

“You know, she is like a quarter black or something.”

“Oh, that makes it better.
Not!
Those girls wanted to meet you and you ruined it!”

“I don’t like feminine chicks, you know that, Rayya.”

“I know you like to steal tranny purses, don’t get it twisted. Remember that? I ain’t never seen a white girl snatch a bag that fast in my life.”

“You had to bring that up. Now you know I was broke and hungry when I did that.”

“We sure did eat good at Taco Mexico that night, didn’t we?”

“Yes, we did, and I brought food home to Douglas.”

“Don’t get it twisted.” We laughed so hard I nearly missed my turn.

“Well, I’m going to go. I’m almost at Zelda’s.”

“What are you doing there?”

“What do you think?”

“Crazy white bitch, you are so nasty. Call me later.”

“You know you love me. Bye, Rayya.”

We ended our call as I pulled into Zelda’s apartment complex. It was a beautiful day in Las Vegas. The sun was bright and clear with a wonderful breeze that swept the heat from your skin.

Before my knock beat at her door, I checked my watch and noted the two hours I had before Patty expected me. These are the things a person does when they cheat, shamefully, always on a tight schedule.

Zelda quickly opened the door, and the second I saw her face I knew I was going to get it. In my head I repeated
oh shit
over and over. The seduction was oozing out of her pores, I could smell it. The second the door closed I knew she was going to attack me in the foyer, so I dropped to the floor to pet the dog. It was the only thing I could do to prevent her from slamming me against the wall like I so desperately wanted. While I gave her dog some attention, she stood over me, waiting for that moment.

“I have to pee,” I said and then stood. Our eyes met uncomfortably.

“Hi to you, too.”

As I passed Zelda, she brushed her full body against mine and put her face in my neck. For a second I thought she was going to bite it, but she smelled my scent like it was intoxicating her. My legs went weak as the hairs on my back stood erect. I walked down the hall through her bedroom and gently closed the bathroom door. My head shook as I sat on her toilet.
Holy shit, I am totally getting fucked
. I buried my face in my hands and squeezed my skin with excitement. I composed myself, flushed, and gave myself a quick glance in the mirror. My smile was unforgettable. Scandalous.

It was a calculated, focused dash for the sink to wash my hands since Zelda was nowhere in sight. I lathered and rinsed them well since I knew something was about to go down. Pun intended. My toothbrush was in the holder next to hers, so I pulled it out and began brushing. That is when, through the reflection of the mirror, I caught an ominous figure standing in the doorway of the bedroom. I spit out the toothpaste and scooped water into my mouth to rinse. My face was practically in the sink as I swished it around, then spit a second time. When I lifted myself upright to wipe my face, Zelda grabbed my shoulders and spun me to the wall. She effortlessly removed my shirt and stripped me of my jeans before I could comprehend what was happening. We were savages for each other, but once her fingers began doing their magic, I succumbed to her whims.

She never gave me a chance to enjoy the calm after the storm. Normally, I’m a giggler after an orgasm, which can turn into full-blown loud laughter. There have been accusations of laughing at my partners in the finer moments of my sexual adventures, but it’s just one of those fucked-up things that happen to me, like my mother calling me Fungus or shitting my pants in a Wal-Mart parking lot. Twice.

However, Zelda wasn’t playing games. Her sexual prowess was perfection. She grabbed my arm and seductively swung me into the opposite side of her room before my giggles could surface to audible sounds. My back made contact with the wall just before she flipped me around and nudged my head downward with her fingers. I willingly complied and pressed my cheek against the cold barrier to the apartment beyond. Her left arm wrapped around my waist as she pulled me close to her, which forced my body to bend a little.

As she pumped her fingers, my face slid down the wall while my hand inadvertently began slapping it. The louder I moaned, the harder I hit it. My legs gradually began to give out, so my body inched closer to the floor. We were practically on the carpet when she scooped me up with the arm still around my waist into a semi-standing position. It was like she somehow had super strength. It was so fluid and effortless. She demanded I stand up, but through heavy breaths, I told her I couldn’t so she continued to hold my weight as she fucked me.

When I came again, she slowly placed me on the floor where I sat Indian-style with my forehead against the wall. I was limp, my face was numb and I needed a moment to catch my breath.

“Are you all right?” she asked, not knowing what to do.

“Uh huh.” My hand frantically waved her away as if to give her permission to go ahead and do whatever. I pushed my finger up to signal to her that another minute was required. She waited on the bed. While I caught my breath, my crotch seethed with heat and felt uncomfortably stretched. It actually hurt and I flinched when I finally stood up. “I’m going to shower,” I said with a dry mouth.

Zelda immediately jumped to fetch water from the kitchen and wash her hands. She was attentive like that. As I undressed and unclipped my watch, I noted the time. From the moment I checked my watch at the door, all of the events encompassing two orgasms were accomplished in eight minutes! I’m talking about petting the dog, peeing, washing my hands, brushing my teeth and, count them,
two
orgasms.

“You are shitting me,” I accidentally spoke aloud as my hand stretched into the shower to monitor the temperature of the water. As I carefully stepped in, I thought,
that’s what happens when you have deep sexual attraction and mad skills. This bitch is a pimp.

Behind the privacy of her shower curtain, I soaped my hands to wash the painful abnormality that demanded attention between my legs. At the top of my vagina was a long protruding object that looked like a swollen construction workers thumb, jutting an inch beyond my outer lips.

Upon closer inspection, my mind reasoned with the worst possible scenarios that my melodramatic brain could produce. It must be a hernia tear…in my clit? Is that even possible? When I tried to touch the bulging tissue, the pain didn’t register as pain, but hyper-stimulation. Was this what happened when you had an orgasm? Would it go back to normal, and how long would it take? How the fuck would I explain how I got a mini-dick to Doug?

When my quick, but highly contemplative, shower was over, I gingerly stepped into my clothes and sat carefully on the corner of the bed. Zelda obediently walked in with a glass of water and handed it to me. She had no idea that her charms were dismissed by my obsession with exploding vagina parts that were uncomfortably pulsating in my pants. The only thing that pulled me from my thoughts was the ice clinking at the bottom of my glass. The sound triggered reality, clarity, and guilt. While quenching my insatiable thirst, I thought about how much I truly hated ice. My girlfriend would have never brought me a drink with ice.

In fact, she would have never done a lot of things that Zelda did. The obvious point here is that they are two different women, but one had my heart over the other. It takes more than a good roll in Las Vegas to win my jackpot.

Chapter 11

Douglas and I did not gamble. We barely had enough money to pay our bills most months. We certainly were not going to put a five-dollar bill in a slot machine and hope for thousands, let alone twenties, like Zelda did.

When our finances continued to spiral downward, the gravity of our situation led us to consider moving in with Patty. She’d offered her four-bedroom home to us on many occasions for a small renter’s fee and swore it would be best since we were all students with odd jobs. It was also more convenient for our type of relationship. We declined until the National Guard repeatedly denied my requests to enter Active Duty and the first bill went unpaid.

When moving day came, Patty was ecstatic. She was enthusiastic as she helped Doug carry the heavier pieces into his new room across the hall from her master bedroom. Our prearranged, designated days for each partner remained the same, so I technically did not have a room of my own. My clothing was dispersed between closets and drawers in both rooms. Doug shared a bathroom with another renter, and I used the one within the master suite.

At first, it was an odd transition to share the same home with my husband and my girlfriend. We walked on eggshells to respect personalities and the dynamics of my two relationships. It was difficult to establish private time and allow natural cultivation that happens when you have one partner with the other one around the corner. The last thing any of us wanted to do was hurt the others. Within the first few days we realized we needed routine to make the transition easier and lessen awkward moments.

In a moment that could have gotten heated between Patty and me, Doug interrupted the beginning stages of a makeout session to see what was cooking for breakfast. We felt like we had been caught doing something naughty and stopped immediately.

“Morning, honey,” I said.

“Good morning, Doug,” Patty said as she dunked her hands into the sink water to shamefully scrub dishes.

“Morning, ladies! So, which one of you is cooking my breakfast?” Doug asked as he clapped his hands together and jutted his eyes back and forth between the two of us with a smile. It was a fantastic, ingenious way to fade the tension, even if it meant directing negative attention right back at him. Patty and I immediately dove right into scolding him about being late for breakfast.

“Ha! You should have been down here earlier…”

“You know where the eggs are…”

“…just like a man…”

“We already ate…”

Then, when the jokes began to die down, Patty helped him out. “I got you, Doug. We both know Emma can’t cook.” Her redirection was perfect. They always teamed up when the opportunity presented itself. It was a small way to get back at me for making them share their time and love. Douglas laughed in agreement.

In the few days before we finally sat down to work out a cooking schedule, awkward moments had become plentiful. Once meal planning was organized, it helped pinpoint who was going to be in what room at a specific time. In essence, it helped limit the number of times we bumped into each other during private moments. Weeks later, we tried to make cooking something all three of us could do, but, unless someone was working the grill, it was just too many chefs in the kitchen.

Food also gave Douglas and Patty an outlet for friendly competition. They created special meals to out-cook each other while I rocked the basic chicken dishes. The three of us agreed that we were eating the most healthy and dynamic meals on a daily basis. It was the contributing factor in the development of a hierarchy in our triadic unit. Well, we called it “our family.”

The only argument that ever came out of it was: who ate the steak? I can still remember Doug laughing on the couch while Patty yelled into the freezer as she pushed frozen meat around, “I was going to use it in my fucking stew tomorrow, you
ass
hole!”

Once the food choreography was mastered, our living situation became a little easier. I spent most of my nights in Patty’s master bedroom, which was bigger and more comfortable. The three of us occasionally watched movies in the living room together, but, for the most part, did our own thing. I had lots of sex with Patty but limited encounters with Doug. In fact, to my recollection there were only two. His new girlfriend satisfied him and spent the night a few times, so this wasn’t a problem.

Then around December, things got a little too “over-the-top ménage a trois” for me. Douglas was innocently watching television in the living room while Patty and I were in her bedroom getting frisky. Nothing super special about that until she took the opportunity to tell me between kisses, “I think I want the cock,” verbiage she picked up from Doug’s vulgar jokes.

I immediately turned to get our strap-on from the drawer when her hand reached from the bed to grab my arm. When it did, she stopped me from pulling it out. “No, I want a real one.”

Naked by the headboard, I shook my head in confusion. My forehead scrunched so tightly, it was almost painful. “What do you mean?” I asked for clarity. It never dawned on me that she would ever ask to sleep with my husband.

“I’ve never had sex with a man before. I want to try a real one,” Patty explained. “Do you think Doug would have sex with me?” she asked.

My jaw fell to my naked chest. “So, my butch lesbian girlfriend is asking to have sex with my husband? Fuckin’ weird. I don’t know, you ask him!” I demanded, completely dumbfounded.

“Can you ask him for me?” she begged and squeezed my arm tighter.

“No! This is sick. What do you want
me
to do? Hold your hand while he fucks you?” I half-shouted.

“Yes.”

“Oh my God, gross! Are you serious?”

She was completely serious. “Please, Emma.” Then she shot me her infamous pitiful look, emphasizing her blazing green eyes. I was always a sucker when she did that.

I took this as a challenge to her request. Before I lost my nerve, I broke free from her grasp, stomped dramatically out of the bedroom, and stood naked at the top of the stairs, “Doug, Patty wants to have sex with youuuu!”

Patty giggled from the bed. When I walked back into the room, I grabbed the sheets to pull them over her naked body. She looked at me funny but didn’t say anything. I squatted on the floor between the computer chair and the headboard after putting a pair of boxer shorts on.

“Are you mad?” Patty asked in a whisper.

“A little. This is just fucking weird. You are gay,” I said quietly.

“So are you.”

That’s when Douglas walked into the bedroom completely unaware of the request that was shouted from the top of the stairs. “What did you say?” He was eating something from a bowl. Whatever it was sounded wet and sloppy.

“Patty wants to have sex with a real penis. She’s never had sex with a man before,” I informed him from my crouched position.

He swallowed his food. “Really? So, what does that mean? You want
me
to be the penis?” he asked with an incredulous, wet laugh.

Patty shook her head in agreement. When he saw that we were not kidding he pointed his fork to me to ask, “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to hold her hand,” I said. He laughed harder before Patty snapped at him.

“It’s not funny, Doug!” she shouted from the bed as she pulled the sheet higher to cover her exposed boob. “She’s my moral support. I’m nervous, okay? I can’t do this without her here. Do you want to do this or not?”

“Are you sure?” Doug placed the fork in his bowl and specifically asked Patty to clarify that this was, in fact, her request.

“Yes!” Patty and I chorused.

“Give me a second to get hard and get a condom.” Without skipping a beat, he turned and walked out of the room.

I leaned in to kiss Patty while Douglas prepared himself. We lost track of time until we heard Doug ask again if she was sure just before he mounted the bed.

She stopped kissing me to squeeze her eyes as tight as she could possibly get them while Doug entered her. He is not exactly your average man; he’s a small anaconda, really. Patty’s grip on my hand was so strong it was painful, but I didn’t make it known. She opened her eyes to tell me she loved me as he began pumping, and then requested my kisses again. I obliged until she couldn’t focus on my lips anymore and needed to shout in ecstasy. I crouched near the bed and literally held her hand until she had an orgasm.

While the two of them transcended in pleasure, I experienced rejection. It was my most prominent emotional response besides the exceptionally traumatizing circumstance. The pleasure he gave her should have been mine to give. I was confused more than jealous as to why this was what Patty wanted, although I never questioned it again.

When they finished, Patty was full of rave reviews over Doug’s penis. She was rather amazed at how it felt in comparison to a dildo and immediately talked about purchasing a realistic toy, complete with mimicked veins and testicles as she cleaned herself.

Doug was exceptionally appreciative of the compliments. In a way, his manhood was validated by making a lesbian have an orgasm. “At least
some
body likes it,” he said as he washed his dick off in the sink.

“You don’t like it?” Patty asked me as she sat on the toilet to pee.

“I don’t cum,” I answered frankly.

“All right, ladies, I’m going to watch my show. Glad I could help. Patty, congrats on your first dick-down.” Doug ruffled her hair as his laugh escalated in pitch. He dodged Patty’s attempt to slap him from her seated position and ran out of the room snickering.

“How can you
not
cum?” Patty asked in amazement as if this was the first time she ever heard me mention any of this.

“I don’t know. I don’t even get wet.”

Patty washed her hands and splashed her face with water. “I can’t believe you don’t cum. That was amazing. I mean, I prefer when you make me, but that was awesome.”

“Okay, Patty, Jesus.” I walked over to the computer chair and spun it around so I could sit in it as I watched her.

“Are you mad? Not even once?”

“Not even once. I’m not mad, but my butch lesbian girlfriend just got the cock from my husband. I’m a little unnerved and totally grossed out.”

“Shut up.” She walked over to me and bent down so her face was inches from mine. Her beautiful jade eyes looked into mine as she confessed, “Nobody can make me cum like you do, baby. Our sex is amazing.” Her kiss seemed to make the world I was in fade away. I sunk gently into the chair until we slowly pulled away from each other and continued on with our normally abnormal lives.

It was a month or more later, when Douglas and Patty left for their second trip to Hawaii. Their common interest in diving made for a perfect vacation between the two of them. My ideal vacation did not involve waters sports or lying on beaches where people kick sand in my face. I am not a fan of sweat, sunburn, or babies shitting in hotel pools. So we agreed that I would stay home to take care of our three dogs and two cats.

Both of them told me in separate private moments as we kissed goodbye that they wished I was going with them. I reminded them of my never-ending complaint list, which refocused them toward having a good time. They were happy little buggers when I dropped them off at the airport. I was relieved to get a whole week to myself.

It was during this week, while painting the living room, that I realized I didn’t want to live this life anymore.

Although it was a small realization, it was just enough to have a conversation with Doug after they returned from Hawaii. I chose a random workout session to do it. It was as hot as it usually was in your typical Las Vegas morning, so conversation while running was short and to the point.

“Do you want to stay in Vegas?” I asked, already winded.

“No,” Doug answered quickly.

“I do. Do you want to have kids?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t. We really want different things in our marriage.”

“What marriage? This isn’t a marriage.” He pointed to our first turn.

“You’re right. What do we do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Johnson told me I’m going to computer school. I leave in December for six months.”

He was used to the military life giving orders, but it is funny that, in the middle of this very serious conversation, he was mindful of how my girlfriend would react. “Patty will be pissed.”

“I’ll send her money for rent, so you don’t have to worry.”

“Thanks.”

When we arrived at the house, Patty was in the kitchen cooking as Douglas and I ransacked her space for ice, water, and food. She was genuinely upset when I broke the news, so I was thankful for Doug’s help with the explanation. It seemed to go over better coming from his calm words. He always had a way with swaying a person one way or the other.

In fact, he must have done this magic word-voodoo on Patty while they were in Hawaii because she wasn’t fixated on my upcoming training, but she began asking lots of questions about anal sex instead.

“What’s wrong with you? Why do you keep bringing it up?” I asked after the sixth comment about the subject.