said.
“Really? It felt so good. Why did you even think about it?"
“I want to be special to you, Lucy."
Lucy got a leg over me and straddled my belly. She let her bright hair fall down around my face, making a glistening blond tent of hair. The come on her breath smelled like mung bean sprouts.
“Are you satisfied?” she asked.
“Very."
“You‘re the best lover I‘ve ever been with,” she said. “I never even knew I could feel like that."
I didn‘t know if she was lying or just trying to make me feel good.
“Will you stay the night?” I asked.
“Will you hold me?"
“Of course."
“Billy never holds me after sex."
I wrapped my arms around her, and she slid down to my side.
Lucy and I made love in the morning before we got out of bed, and again in the shower, and once more in the living room when she was fully dressed and saying good-bye. The last two times I was too spent to come. My sex was aching, but I would have fucked until I bled if she hadn‘t pulled away and put on her clothes.
I asked her what she was feeling, and she said, “I don‘t know. I‘ve never done anything like this. But I guess we have to learn how to get around it. I mean, we can‘t be doing this all the time if we‘re going to stay with our lovers."
“ No , “ I said. “I guess not."
I kissed her good-bye and told her that I intended to spend the whole week talking to gallery owners about her photographs.
After Lucy left, I decided to rein myself in. It was too much, what I was doing. Between the DVD, seeing Jo and Johnny, and Lucy (not to mention my supposed upcoming date with Sasha), I was way off track.
Even worse than all that, I had pissed off my agent and I hadn‘t even called anyone else for a real job , the job I was qualified to do.
I wasn‘t an art agent. I wasn‘t the kind of guy who threw everything over and then started out doing something completely new.
I wasn‘t a Don Juan or a Casanova.
It had only been a few days, and my life was nearly a ruin.
My first thought was to call Joelle and discuss what had happened with her. Joelle was the only person I was really close to. My father was dead, my mother was nearly in her second childhood, and both my siblings, brother and sister, didn‘t like me very much.
Joelle was the only one I could talk to. But when I thought about calling her, I remembered her grunting to the syncopation of Johnny Fry‘s thrusting hips. I thought of her looking into my eyes and saying,
there‘s only you.
But I did pick up the phone.
I did punch in her number.
“Hello?"
“Hi, Jo ."
“I thought you were going to call me last night, L?"
“I told you,” I said. “The guy from Philly came. He didn‘t leave until nearly one. I thought you‘d be asleep."
“It‘s almost two now. Where have you been all morning?"
“I just finished the first draft of the translation,” I said.
“What was it?"
“A booklet that goes with a hundred-year-old bottle of balsamic vinegar. It‘s about the family that makes the shit. They need the first draft by Tuesday, and I still have to go over the edits."
“Vinegar?"
“Yeah. Ain‘t that some shit?"
“Are you going to come over?” she asked sweetly.
“Either I‘m gonna sleep and then wake up to work or I‘m going to work until I drop. Either way I won‘t be much company."
“I don‘t care,” she said. “You could just come over and come to bed with me."
It was so nice the way she said it, so inviting and friendly. But when I wasn‘t with Jo, I had little feeling for her. There was no chemistry on the phone this time. And if I thought about her lies and deceptions, I felt like slamming my fist into another wall.
“You could go out with one of your other friends,” I suggested. “You haven‘t seen Ralph Moreland in a while."
“I‘m not interested in anyone but you, Cordell Carmel."
“Really?"
“Of course. Why do you keep asking me that?"
“I don‘t know. We haven‘t seen much of each other
“Really? It felt so good. Why did you even think about it?"
“I want to be special to you, Lucy."
Lucy got a leg over me and straddled my belly. She let her bright hair fall down around my face, making a glistening blond tent of hair. The come on her breath smelled like mung bean sprouts.
“Are you satisfied?” she asked.
“Very."
“You‘re the best lover I‘ve ever been with,” she said. “I never even knew I could feel like that."
I didn‘t know if she was lying or just trying to make me feel good.
“Will you stay the night?” I asked.
“Will you hold me?"
“Of course."
“Billy never holds me after sex."
I wrapped my arms around her, and she slid down to my side.
Lucy and I made love in the morning before we got out of bed, and again in the shower, and once more in the living room when she was fully dressed and saying good-bye. The last two times I was too spent to come. My sex was aching, but I would have fucked until I bled if she hadn‘t pulled away and put on her clothes.
I asked her what she was feeling, and she said, “I don‘t know. I‘ve never done anything like this. But I guess we have to learn how to get around it. I mean, we can‘t be doing this all the time if we‘re going to stay with our lovers."
“ No , “ I said. “I guess not."
I kissed her good-bye and told her that I intended to spend the whole week talking to gallery owners about her photographs.
After Lucy left, I decided to rein myself in. It was too much, what I was doing. Between the DVD, seeing Jo and Johnny, and Lucy (not to mention my supposed upcoming date with Sasha), I was way off track.
Even worse than all that, I had pissed off my agent and I hadn‘t even called anyone else for a real job , the job I was qualified to do.
I wasn‘t an art agent. I wasn‘t the kind of guy who threw everything over and then started out doing something completely new.
I wasn‘t a Don Juan or a Casanova.
It had only been a few days, and my life was nearly a ruin.
My first thought was to call Joelle and discuss what had happened with her. Joelle was the only person I was really close to. My father was dead, my mother was nearly in her second childhood, and both my siblings, brother and sister, didn‘t like me very much.
Joelle was the only one I could talk to. But when I thought about calling her, I remembered her grunting to the syncopation of Johnny Fry‘s thrusting hips. I thought of her looking into my eyes and saying,
there‘s only you.
But I did pick up the phone.
I did punch in her number.
“Hello?"
“Hi, Jo ."
“I thought you were going to call me last night, L?"
“I told you,” I said. “The guy from Philly came. He didn‘t leave until nearly one. I thought you‘d be asleep."
“It‘s almost two now. Where have you been all morning?"
“I just finished the first draft of the translation,” I said.
“What was it?"
“A booklet that goes with a hundred-year-old bottle of balsamic vinegar. It‘s about the family that makes the shit. They need the first draft by Tuesday, and I still have to go over the edits."
“Vinegar?"
“Yeah. Ain‘t that some shit?"
“Are you going to come over?” she asked sweetly.
“Either I‘m gonna sleep and then wake up to work or I‘m going to work until I drop. Either way I won‘t be much company."
“I don‘t care,” she said. “You could just come over and come to bed with me."
It was so nice the way she said it, so inviting and friendly. But when I wasn‘t with Jo, I had little feeling for her. There was no chemistry on the phone this time. And if I thought about her lies and deceptions, I felt like slamming my fist into another wall.
“You could go out with one of your other friends,” I suggested. “You haven‘t seen Ralph Moreland in a while."
“I‘m not interested in anyone but you, Cordell Carmel."
“Really?"
“Of course. Why do you keep asking me that?"
“I don‘t know. We haven‘t seen much of each other
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