Title Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The Harem
by Paul Preston
ISBN: 978-1-942331-17-9
A Pink Flamingo Ebook Publication
Copyright © 2015, All rights reserved
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, by any means, including mechanical, electronic, photocopying recording or otherwise without prior written permission of the publishers.
For information contact:
Pink Flamingo Publications
www.pinkflamingo.com
P.O. Box 632 Richland, MI 49083
USA
Chapter One
Cynthia
I just had the kinkiest sex with this handsome guy named Jeremy! Let me tell you. It was incredible! Oh, by the way, in case you’re interested ladies, Master Jeremy is rich, very sweet and extremely sensual. There’s no ring on his finger so I’m fairly certain he’s available. And his services come absolutely free.
I’m writing in this luxurious room of his Harem, full of puffy loveseats, comfy pillows and white leather couches, like a scene right out of 1001 Arabian Nights. Master Jeremy gave each of the ladies in his Harem a journal to write in. There’s another woman lounging a few feet away from me, sipping on a glass of red wine and scribbling away as well. It’s fun to write about my experience. It makes everything seem more real and less like I’m trapped in the imagination of some naughty man’s wet dream.
I’ve seen three women here so far tonight, although I expect other ladies to start showing up any minute. Just like I did, they’ll come to his Harem to try out an alternative lifestyle, like trying on a sexy new dress in the Express store at Montgomery Mall.
OK, I know what you’re thinking now. Why would any self-respecting woman want to share a man with several other women? I’m a pitiful loser at love and Jeremy must be some kind of awful misogynist, right? An honest question, but I assure you, nothing could be further from the truth. While it may be true I’m unlucky at love and Master Jeremy is the male equivalent of a slut, I’m here to tell you he doesn’t hate women at all. On the contrary, he seems to adore our femininity and our bodies, no matter how they are shaped. I mean, he even likes my fat body. Even mine... Up until tonight I wouldn’t have been caught dead lying completely naked face down on a massage table, but Jeremy made me feel… attractive again. And hell yes, I’m coming back here next Friday night in case you’re wondering, and I don’t care if the entire Washington Redskins cheerleading squad shows up!
So this is my plan. I’m going to get back up on the treadmill every day before and after work and hit it hard. You’ll see, ladies. I’m going to drop this extra weight. Then I’m going to arrange to accidentally bump into the Flaccid Bastard again. I’m going to shake my cute tight little ass, big tits and toned body in his face and shout, “You see, you fucking dick! I lived with you for three years, paying for most if not all of the bills while you pursued your ridiculous “dream” of being a singer in a rock band, you tone deaf mother-fucker, and then you have the nerve, you have the nerve to call me a fat piece of shit when we broke up! Well, see what you’re missing now, asshole!” Ladies, I can’t wait. I’ll tell you, I think this place is going to motivate me to lose more weight than facing that embarrassing scale during check in at all those stupid Weight Watchers meetings. I’m so excited!
You should see what I’m dressed in. I have on a pretty pink baby doll camisole with a ruffled sheer top, pink thong panties, white stockings and high heels. I’m relaxing on the sofa, my little black bag within arm’s reach. (More on my little black bag and its contents later!) At first I was mortified to exhibit my body like this, not so much in front of Jeremy, but in front of the catty, prying eyes of the coterie of beauties I expected to see here. Thankfully, the Goth-looking woman in the room has completely ignored me, which is fine by me. (I took a quick peek at her breasts through the sheer material of her black corset and saw two large silver rings piercing her nipples. Ouch!)
Since this is the first evening the Harem is open for business, Jeremy made me sign a legal document, agreeing to all of the terms and conditions therein, one of which has to do with parading around his house three-quarters naked in skimpy clothing. Normally I’d be ashamed to be seen reclining on a sofa in lingerie, but after what just happened between us, I feel better about my body now, so much better. And I have Master Jeremy to thank for that. As you can see, it’s been a very positive experience for me, so far. There are no humiliating acts of servility thrust upon us. He doesn’t ask us to feed him grapes or fan the Master of the Harem with a palm frond. Jeremy is dominant in the boudoir, but outside the bedroom, he’s not an asshole. I know, quite a surprise, right? I couldn’t believe it either. It’s really not a bad way at all to spend a Friday night. I’m having so much fun here, girls. And I really like him. The contract I signed says I’m not allowed to let my feelings complicate our ongoing relationship. Well, contract or no contract, I like you Master Jeremy. I like you a lot. But I don’t want to screw things up by getting all squishy inside. I’ve got a good thing going here. This shit is like therapy for me!
So, do I have your attention now? Would you like to know how we first met?
Chapter Two
Jeremy
If I were to die suddenly and somebody finds this journal and actually reads it, the one thing I would want them to know is that I tried to have a normal life. I tried. It just didn’t work out that way, in my case.
I tried to fit into society, lead a regular life. I married Debbie, a very pretty actress from our local community theater here in Rockville, Maryland. I first saw her on the stage of the Rockville Civic Center during a mime performance. She looked just like Marcel Marceau, in white leotards and black suspenders, with white powder on her face and black eyebrows drawn above her eyes. She moved with such fluidity and grace through the silence, creating an invisible wall with her hands, climbing an imaginary flight of stairs, holding a balloon and being picked up off the ground by the wind and flying away. I was enchanted with her from the first moment I saw her.
I finally got up the nerve to give her my card while she was leaving the theater one night. We discovered we had some things in common. Like Debbie, I had a degree in drama and an interest in the theater. Though a few years ago I’d given up on the idea of being an actor, I respected her desire to keep at it. I emotionally supported her need to be an artist, despite never being able to gain recognition for her work outside the suburbs of Maryland or make any money at it. She appreciated my support and I think that’s what initially drew us together. We started a relationship and several months later we were married.
You could make an argument I’m a rather nice catch for a single guy. I’m in excellent shape and I’ve been told I’m attractive. Due solely to my Dad’s efforts, I’m also rich. My father’s successful Neurosurgery practice as well as his savvy real estate investment in a large upscale high-rise condominium here in the heart of Rockville has made our family extremely wealthy. Eventually, my Father transferred ownership of the building over to me, and the rental income from the property brings in more money than I could ever hope to spend. Debbie was a struggling actress who needed to be financially supported in order to practice her art and I needed someone to love and take care of to feel worthwhile inside. So it seemed like a good match, at least at first. I became the typical doting husband; my only concern was for her happiness.
Looking back, I know now that I smothered her with my affection. I was very well cast in the role of the boring husband. I was constantly nervous around her, always at the whim of her ever changing moods and demands, running out to do various errands or buy things for her to make her happy. I stopped exercising and let myself grow quite soft around the middle, while she jogged five miles a day and seemed to grow lovelier each day. I changed her ashtrays like an obedient butler and kept her clothed in the trendiest styles. After two years of marriage, I could tell she viewed me as nothing more than a piece of unwieldy furniture that always seemed to be in her way. The more I loved her, the more our marriage grew stale and withered.
I’ve always wondered if the breakdown of our relationship had to do with sex. I always thought we had a fairly healthy sexual relationship. I’m not sure what is considered normal by society’s standards, but we usually had sex at least once or twice a week. I was very attracted to her and would do everything and anything to satisfy her in bed, but usually she preferred the basics, with me on top.
I often worried if I pleased her as much as she pleased me. I always tried to hold back on my ejaculation for as long as I could so she could experience her pleasure, but there was always a point of no return for me during sex, if you know what I mean. I always secretly felt I had let her down after letting go and ejaculating inside her into my condom or onto the pretty smooth skin of her belly or cute breasts...
When the end of our marriage came, my wife was in final rehearsals for yet another community theater production. It’s sadly ironic that there was this rich shallow husband character in the play, very similar to me. The basic plot involved Debbie’s character being unhappily married to her husband, cheating on him with another man and plotting with her lover to murder the lout in order to collect the insurance money. They are caught and arrested by a detective in the end, of course. I must apologize for the rather conventional plot of the play. Rockville is a suburban bedroom community of Washington DC, and I’m afraid that’s about the best we can do here, as far as the complexity of our theatrical productions go.
Around this time, a traumatic event in my life occurred, which I don’t wish to discuss in this journal, now or in the future.
Soon after it happened, I called Debbie on her cell phone, but the call went directly to her voice mail. Normally, I would never interrupt one of her rehearsals, but I felt a particular need to see her at that moment, so I drove over to the Civic Center. When I entered the darkened lobby of the theater, it was odd none of the actors in the play were present and the lights on the stage were dim. I thought perhaps the rehearsal had ended and everyone had already left. I was also about to leave when I smelled the pungent aroma of marijuana and heard muffled noises coming from the stage of the theater.
As I walked down the center aisle of the auditorium, I discovered my wife taking the “Method” acting technique to a new level, lying in a bed on the actual stage set, her legs above her head, with her co-star rutting into her, rehearsing. You may find the image mildly humorous, a tawdry affair between two community theater actors really getting into their parts. I might find it somewhat funny too, if it wasn’t happening to me.
What was it like to see my wife getting fucked by another man? It felt like my heart was ripped out of my chest and squeezed between two fists until it burst. We had this huge dramatic argument in the stage shadows. My wife was humiliated and apologized, of course. She gave a rather lame justification for their dalliance. After the rehearsal ended, the director suggested the two actors do an improvisation to create chemistry between them that would allow their relationship as lovers to be more believable on stage. They had gotten a little carried away, apparently.
“So you actually had to let this guy fuck you so you could know what it feels like to have an affair?”
“But the director said—”
“I don’t give a shit what the director said!” I yelled, my voice echoing through the empty theater. “Your character murders your husband at the end of the second act. Are you going to buy a gun and kill me now so you know what that feels like too?”
“That’s not the same thing!” Debbie cried out, grabbing her bra and panties.
“You fucked another man! We’re married! You cheated on me, Debbie! You betrayed me!” I shouted after her as she exited stage left.
When the actor disappeared with Debbie back stage, I got a good luck at him. He was younger than me and much more muscular. It was clear he spent a good portion of his time at the gym, since I could see the veins bulging out of his forearms. It only made the knife twist deeper in, knowing he was in much better shape than me.
Debbie didn’t return home that night. Early the next morning she came back distraught and collapsed on the living room couch, exhausted. I felt angry and hurt. When she woke up late in the afternoon, she lit her first cigarette of the day. Debbie felt guilty and apologized profusely. I know she felt terrible about cheating on me. It only happened once and she never meant for it to happen, she claimed. After the first cigarette, she lit another.
We tried to make another go of it. She tried to be affectionate to me, kept asking for my forgiveness. I just couldn’t get over her betrayal. I shut down emotionally, stopped talking to her. We tried to hold on, but our marriage became like a dying carcass we dragged around the apartment. I never made love to her again after seeing her with another man.
A few months later we separated. My lawyer initiated the divorce proceeding and I paid her a generous settlement for her short time we were together in our marriage. No kids thank goodness, only a kitten which she got custody of. The divorce became official just last week. I guess I should’ve tried harder to get over the affair and forgiven her, but I couldn’t.
Since my Mom moved away to live with her younger sister, I’ve lived alone in the palatial estate my Father left us in his will. My dream was to leave Rockville too and head for California. I’ve had this fantasy of driving across the country and going directly to the tallest snow covered mountain outside of LA. I would hit the slopes in the morning and then drive down the mountain two or three hours west to the nearest beach, rent a board and surf all afternoon until the sun set. Of course, it’s just a fantasy, but it makes me happy to think about it. The truth is I’ll probably never leave the suburbs of Maryland. No wonder my wife had an affair and fell out of love with me. I am a pretty boring guy, I suppose.
But then, while puttering around one day, I came up with this crazy idea of creating a Harem in my house with a Pleasure Room, stocked with goodies. I raided the inventory of adult toys, accessories and lingerie outfits at our local sex shop on the bad side of town, buying everything I saw. Everything else I needed I bought online. Maybe I did go off the deep end a bit, but I think it’s safe to say that Jeremy is a boring guy no longer.
I thought it couldn’t hurt for me to try something new, to indulge in this fantasy of being sexually involved with more than one woman at a time, rather than being so fixated on one person. Maybe I’m still recovering from the shock of my ex-wife’s infidelity. Even after a year, I still think of the moment I saw Debbie on the stage with that actor, hundreds of times each day. I don’t know how she felt about me, but I was in love with her. When she had sex with that actor, something inside me died back then. Is seeing your wife with another man something you can ever actually recover from? When you’ve been hurt like that, can you ever get over the feeling of betrayal and start a relationship with someone new? I don’t know. I’m not a psychiatrist. But I thought if I created a Harem, at least it would force me to interact with other women again and I might finally be able to let go of what happened.
Also I had these repressed fantasies I’d kept hidden all my life of tying a woman up to a bed and kissing her all over her body. It always aroused me thinking about it, late at night. I’d never done it before, not even with my ex-wife. Perhaps I could meet someone who was also secretly into bondage and domination and explore this side of my sexuality. It was worth a try, to break me out of this funk.
I met confidentially with a lawyer and told him what I planned to do. After he raised his eyebrows somewhat disapprovingly, he wrote up a simple contract to have the participants sign before joining the Harem, to protect me from being sued. Also the women could read the contract, to see if the Harem idea would suit them, before trying it out. The only real rule on the contract was that I wanted them to wear sexy lingerie around the house. We could just be friends, or if they were attracted to me, lovers. If they were into B and D, we could play some sexy games. They could come and go from the Harem whenever they liked.
God. Now that I’ve written this down on paper, I must sound like a real pervert. I suppose I am. Go ahead. Lock me up in a mental asylum and throw away the key. Anyway, for better or worse, this is exactly what happened.
I worked out heavily for a couple of weeks, running on the treadmill, doing push-ups, sit-ups and lifting weights. I had to get myself into the best shape of my life if my plan had any chance of working. After all, who wants to be involved with an overweight gigolo? I started dropping the pounds. When I was feeling better about myself physically, I set my plans in action.
On a Google search I found this website called Adult Friend Finder, which seemed to be just what I was looking for. I posted a message on it that I was looking for unmarried women between the ages of 24-34 who were searching for non-exclusive alternative relationships and uploaded a picture of myself. I was surprised when I got a few immediate responses. After chatting back and forth by email, I was able to set up a few discrete meetings at the Starbucks at Wintergreen Plaza on Rockville Pike. I thought it was a rather safe location to meet, in order to offset the general sleaziness of what I was proposing. But the first two women never showed up for their appointment. I emailed them, but they never responded again. I think they liked the idea of flirting over the internet, but felt afraid of actually meeting me. As they say, the third time was the charm and Cynthia came into my life. I hadn’t uttered a word to another living soul for over three months until I met her at Starbucks today. But if I wasn’t paying attention, she would’ve slipped out the door before we even had a chance to talk.
Chapter Three
Cynthia
So after exchanging a few emails with Jeremy, he asked to meet me at this Starbucks on Rockville Pike. I almost said no, but it had been six months since Flaccid Bastard crushed my heart and I thought what the hell, I might as well go try to meet someone new. Jeremy didn’t seem like a serial killer, at least from the emails. As I entered Starbucks I looked at all the people hunched over their laptops and smart phones. An extremely handsome and sharply dressed, older man made eye contact over his newspaper, looking at me inquisitively. This guy had the kind of thick brown hair you want to brush your fingers through, movie star looks and a body like Hugh Jackman in the Wolverine. It was painfully obvious to me that we weren’t in the same league. Embarrassed, I turned around to get the hell out of there.
“Cynthia? Is that you?”
I immediately liked his deep resonating voice and several coffee skanks much prettier than me must’ve liked it as well. I fully expected there to be a competition to see who would be the first to say, “I’m Cynthia!” The Starbuck sluts looked at Jeremy and sized each other up, pheromones raging, caffeinated claws out. I nearly shook my head no, but his eyes locked on me, freezing me in the doorway. The next thing I knew he was beside me, asking me what I wanted to drink, buying me a decaf. He stood so close I could smell his sexy cologne. I breathed in, but nearly forgot to breathe out.
“Would you like a pastry, Cynthia?”
The question deeply embarrassed me, though I’m sure it wasn’t his intention to do so. I guess I look like the kind of hippo who enjoys her pastries. Too many of them end up around my hips, especially since the departure of Flaccid Bastard. I shook my head no. I didn’t even really want the coffee, but it gave me something to do with my hands.
He led me to his table. He was drinking an Earl Grey Tea, with cream and honey. He became self-conscience when I noticed the remnants of four opened honey packets on the table which he cleared away immediately. I don’t know why but I couldn’t keep my mouth shut about the honey. Perhaps that attribute will come in handy for me later on with him, yes, ladies?
“Having some honey with your tea, Jeremy?”
He flashed me a fairly wicked smile.
“Yeah, now you know my deepest darkest secret. I like to taste sweet things, Cynthia.”
He looked at me with these intense, unsmiling eyes and such a hunger in his masculine voice that my stomach fluttered and my knees felt weak. Even though I was strongly attracted to him, I stood up and looked down at the table as I spoke.
“Thank you for the coffee, Jeremy, and it was a pleasure meeting you.”
I turned to leave.
“Where are you going, Cynthia? Why are you leaving?”
“It’s obvious we’re not in the same league.”
“What? That’s not true at all. I find you—”
“Jeremy, I’m several pounds over—”
“Please, Cynthia. Don’t leave. Sit back down with me. Give me a chance to talk to you at least. I really haven’t talked to anyone in months.”
I slowly sat down, spilling my coffee onto the table. Jeremy helped me wipe it up with a napkin.
“You know who you remind me of? Lena Dunham from “Girls”. Do you know who…”
“Of course, I know her! She’s kind of like a hero of mine. She’s brilliant!”
“She’s pretty, but you’re much, much prettier, Cynthia.”
I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as he complimented me. I don’t remember Flaccid Bastard ever saying something so sweet to me. OK, whatever you’re selling, I’m buying. Sign me up, Jeremy! Sign me up!
“Listen, Cynthia, I’m sure after what I have to propose to you, you’ll probably think I’m completely out of my mind. The last two women didn’t even show up for their appointments.”
“They stood you up?”
“Yes. You’re the first woman I’ve actually met who responded to my personal ad. Maybe what I’m trying to create is not really feasible. It’s just a crazy sexual fantasy of mine, but could you stick around just for a minute, finish your coffee and hear me out?”
“OK, go ahead. I’m listening.”
He spoke of how his ex-wife cheated on him and how he caught her in the act, the image of her infidelity burned into his mind. After I opened up a little and told him a few details about my ex, he mentioned how we had a lot in common. He explained how we were both trying to figure out a way to recover from the trauma of our messy break-ups, and that perhaps we could help each other in the recovery process. He made it clear he was not looking for a serious relationship, but wanted to try becoming sexually involved with several women at once. He wished to share his love openly and freely, in order to avoid the unhealthy fixation he had on his ex-wife that led to so much pain and despair. Our relationship would be non-exclusive and only sexual if I wanted it to be. He assured me I would be welcome to meet him at his large home every Friday night, starting at the end of this week at 9PM. He gave me his card with his address on it. I recognized the upscale address where he lived, mansions in a wooded area on the outskirts of Rockville heading out toward Shady Grove. If I changed my mind about the arrangement or met someone new who didn’t agree with the alternative lifestyle, I would be able to leave the Harem with no questions asked. I think my back recoiled when he said the word Harem, so he explained he wanted it to be more like a social club where sex was an option between consenting adults, but couldn’t think of another word to call it. There would be a simple contract to sign that his lawyer advised him to create, to protect his assets from being taken away in a lawsuit.
“Cynthia, come by Friday evening and I’ll give you a nice massage, at the very least. You don’t have to touch me, or return the massage. If you’re not in the mood for a massage, we can just hang out and talk, if you’d prefer. I like talking to you, Cynthia. In fact, you can drop by any time you want. Here’s my card. Just call me or text me if you want to come over. Do you think you can make it Friday night?”
“I don’t know. I’ll… have to think about it.”
“Of course.”
I offered to pay for the coffee, but he stopped my hand before it entered my purse.
“Don’t be silly. Absolutely not. The coffee is on me. Thanks for letting me unburden my twisted fantasies upon you, Cynthia. If I never see you again, forget about your ex-boyfriend. What did you call him again?”
“Flaccid Bastard?”
“Yeah, him. Forget about that guy. You know, fuck him. He doesn’t know what he gave up when he left you. And by the way, Cynthia, you are not overweight.”
“Really? Perhaps you need to get your eyes examined Jeremy.”
“What I mean is… I like the way you look. You have a very pretty body…”
I looked down at the table, stunned. No man had ever, I mean ever complimented my pear-shaped body before.
“Of course, you’re not telling me the truth, but it’s very kind of you to say that, Jeremy, even if you are lying,” I said, blinking back tears.
“But I’m not lying to you, Cynthia. I find you very attractive.”
“Uh-huh. Well, who wants to be told truth, anyway?”
“Come on over Friday, Cynthia. We’ll just hang out and talk.”
“Maybe, Jeremy.”
As I stood up to leave, he politely stood up as well.
“See you around,” I said.
I turned my back and tried to get out of there without tripping over anyone. I heard his voice on my way out of the door. By his tone, he sounded like he thought he’d never see me again.
“Have a nice life, Cynthia!”
Oh I will, Jeremy, I will. Starting this Friday night.
Chapter Four
Sapphire
Dear Diary: I just had kinky sex with this hot guy named J! I’ve never been drilled so hard by a lover before. God, I’m kind of sore, actually, like I just rode a stallion out of the burning woods. So now I’m sitting around in this funny kind of waiting room full of fluffy pink pillows, finishing my second glass of Master J’s imported Bordeaux. I’m wearing a black thong, black stockings and garter belt, a black corset with a see-through top exposing my tits, and high heels. There is another girl sitting on a couch nearby, also wearing transparent lingerie exposing her curvy tits and ass. She’s looking pretty relaxed. Looks like J thoroughly worked her over too.
I’m writing in this journal J gave me to kill the time. I’m getting a little bored here. Only wine? Shit! What kind of a lame party is this? I’m on my third glass and I don’t even have a slight buzz. I’ll probably take off soon. I got that paper due on Monday that I haven’t even started looming over my head like a dark rain cloud.
J’s in with skank number 3 right now, doing God knows what to the poor girl. What a piece of work this guy is! Earlier this evening, J chained me to the wall in his little fun room, blindfolded me and then really took charge, positioning me face down over a foam wedge of some kind. I guess he’s secretly into B and D. J made me come twice, once with his tongue on my clitoris, very romantic. He made me mew and purr like a kitten that had just lapped up her cream. The second time I came super hard as he entered me from behind, making me shake and shiver inside like I never did before. And I couldn’t even make the guy come! Usually it’s the other way around with men. This guy may be naughty, but he’s also very polite. Women first, gentlemen!
He did leak a few drops of semen out of his tip right before he was about to explode and I treated myself to a little taste. Hmmm. Salty-sweet. But one drop on the tip of my tongue left this Harem girl wanting more. Well, I’ve always liked a challenge. He said if I stick around, we can have another private session later. He already called me the crown jewel of his Harem. It’s funny. He takes this shit a little too seriously, don’t you think? Maybe he was some kind of Middle-Eastern Muslim sheik in his past life, who knows. He invited me to share his big bed and spend the night with him and the other concubines. No, I’m definitely taking off later. That’s where I draw the line. I think this scene is a little too weird, even for a freak like me! I mean, the guy’s a hot mess! He practically proposed to marry me the first second he saw my nipple rings. I don’t know who needs to see a psychiatrist more, him or me.
When I met up with J at Starbucks, I agreed to whatever he wanted to do immediately. Currently, I’m juggling several lovers that I met over the web, at school or partying with in bars. I’ve already gotten bored with most of them. I really should be trying to get rid of a few, rather than be on the hunt for a new one. But when I was surfing my favorite website a few days ago I stumbled upon J’s photo and personal ad, and I got curious. He had these rugged good looks and he wasn’t smiling in the picture, which I liked. I hate it when hunky guys smile on their profiles. I think their toothy grins make them look stupid, like they were just kicked in the head by a horse. I mean, they should drop the “I’m such a nice non-threatening guy, you can feel safe with me bullshit” when we all know what it is they want. If you’re in the market for a safe guy, I don’t think you’d be visiting that naughty website, right? J’s picture definitely did not look safe. The message he left sounded interesting enough to check him out, at least for the initial meeting. I liked the non-exclusivity part. I have enough clingy guys right now hanging onto me like wet clothes. I took one glance at him sitting there so straight and narrow in that sexy suit of his and I was sold. What did they say in that movie? “You had me at hello.”
I shuffled things around a bit to spend this Friday night with him, even if some of the guys in my life got pissed at my end of the week inaccessibility. Whatever. They’ll get over it. Hey boys! Go to the drugstore this Friday and buy some Johnson’s Baby Lotion. Cream or oil, they’ll both do the trick. It’ll be like you’re having a party in your palm and I get the night off to have some fun with this new guy, J.
Now, the first thing you should know about me is I don’t usually go for men who are way older than me. It usually makes me sick to my stomach when some old fart with out of control nose hairs poking out from beneath his gross nostrils tries to hit on me. What are they thinking? Do they think they have the slightest chance with me, showing off their stinking billfolds? “Can I buy you a drink?” NO! Get your stinky breath out of my face and go home to your wife and show her some attention, you perverted, blue pill popping, saggy-assed, shriveled-balled, gray-skinned, prematurely ejaculating, small-dicked ED bastard!
If I got a little carried away there, I’m sorry. It’s just that old guys really make me sick. But with J, I thought, why not give it a chance, at least once. He did look around ten years older than me in his picture, but maybe older men are like fine wine. They need to age a bit to acquire that sublime flavor and get rid of the bitter taste of youth. And I’m considered an expert at how bitter some guys actually taste. So even though he’s older than me, he looked all muscled and hot so I figured, why not try it once. Why not? What have I got to lose? My virginity? I don’t think so.
He seemed to be chomping at the bit to try out this Harem idea of his. Every guy’s fantasy, right? You know, to be honest, the idea made me a little wet between the thighs as he talked to me about it at Starbucks, picturing myself as his love slave. It takes some balls to try to make an elaborate sexual fantasy like that become real, so I respected the guy right away. Anyway, it had to be better than the way I spent last Friday night when I had to hold my date’s head over the toilet in the men’s bathroom as the guy puked his guts out after a few too many with me at the bar. Disgusting. And the guy kept calling all week, wanting a mercy-fuck Friday night! Now do you see why the decision was rather easy for me? Puking guy or love slave fantasy. I went with the Sheik.
He told me the other girls were coming at 9, but asked me if I wouldn’t mind coming a little earlier to get things started, say at 8. Sure. We agreed to meet at 8, this Friday, at his home. He gave me his business card with his address and phone number on it.
Ewww. Fancy! I guess I’ve officially entered the adult world now. Christ! I guess I’ve finally grown up! A business card. Yikes.
On Friday night I pulled up at 7:45, like an eager beaver, forgive the pun. I had just come down off smoking a rock, to celebrate the Rockville Harem’s Grand Opening. It’s about time we had a Harem in the suburbs of DC, don’t you think?
I parked in front of the guy’s castle and rang the bell, admiring the intricate design of beveled glass inlayed into the front door. When I’m high, I just see things clearer, you know what I mean? Through the glass I saw the refracted image of a figure approaching. The door swung open and some kind of strange butler dude met me. I expected him to say, “You rang?” like that tall guy Lurch from The Addams Family show I used to watch reruns of when I was a kid.
“Good evening, Miss,” he said.
The guy looked a little freaky, like he was about to cut up my brains and do an autopsy for the advancement of science. The tall ghoulish manservant ushered me through this ostentatious marble foyer. I asked him for his name.
“Alfred Billingsley, Miss.”
“You mean you’re Alfred, the old guy that organizes the Bat Cave?” I joked.
He didn’t reply to my little quip, only to say that Master Jeremy was just stepping out of the shower and he would meet me “presently”. This guy J must be rolling in dough. Alfred escorted me to a lovely bedroom. He handed me a 2 page contract to sign, all about not being able to sue J. The only rule appeared to be I had to wear whatever costume he chose. Alfred directed my attention to a prettily wrapped gift box sitting on the bed and showed me the “facilities”. He asked me if I wanted to “bathe” and make myself more comfortable. I signed the contract without really reading it and Alfred snatched it out of my hands with his long bony fingers. He left and returned a moment later, handing me a copy of the contract. Not knowing where else to put it, I folded it up in my back pocket. If I ever get around to washing the black distressed jeans I was wearing, I can almost guarantee the stupid papers will go straight through the wash. Between school, studying and partying, who’s got time to check your pockets before throwing your clothes into the laundry? OK, so I’m not domesticated, I never claimed to be. Alfred cleared his throat, told me he would let “The Master” know I’d arrived. Like a zombie, Billingsley turned stiffly and left the room.
I imagined one of his arms falling off at his shoulder and dragging itself by its fingers on the floor out the door behind him. Boy, was I tripping! Maybe I needed another hit to stabilize. I felt on the outside of my pocket for my pipe and realized I’d left it out in my car. Shit!
I undressed, leaving my jeans and sweater on a chair and went into the “facilities” to take a long hot shower. Sweet. He had some nice expensive soaps, shampoos and conditioners in there so I made use of them. I found a razor and shaving cream on a shelf and did a little touch up down there, just in case. I got out, dried off and wrapped a large fluffy white towel around my waist. I found a small bottle of fragrant oil in the bathroom cabinet and put a few drops on my private parts. Why not get myself in the mood for the guy? Plus I kept imagining I could still smell last Friday’s puke on my body. Even though I’m a junkie, I still care about personal hygiene. I made myself smell good enough to eat. I’d do myself the way I smelled at that moment.
I was seriously about to lie down on the bed and get down to business, when the door opened. Jeremy filled the doorway like a block of stone, all 200 plus pounds of him, in a sexy black silk robe, his thick hair still wet from his shower. He was, of course, staring at my tits. For the occasion I dangled two hooped rings from my pierced nipples, to go with my tongue and ear piercings. No big deal, but the sight of them seemed to make J’s London Bridge go up, up, up.
“You like, J?”
He came close to me, leaned forward and gave me the sweetest kiss on the cheek. I’m not bullshitting you. J’s quite a charming man, actually. Then he got this crazy look in his eyes.
“Do I like? Jesus Christ, yes! I like. No, I love it Sapphire! One look at your pretty breasts, I’m hearing wedding bells chime. Seriously, I’m about to get down on one knee and propose to you right now, so help me God!”
Needless to say, that kind of freaked me out from the get-go.
“Wedding bells? Are you high? What the fuck are you talking about? Get a hold of yourself, man. What the hell’s wrong with you?”
“I’m sorry, but those nipple rings are so damn pretty. I’ve never seen nipple rings like—”