The Final Act

It was a lovely Thai restaurant, quiet and serene. Aquariums in the corners, cushions on the seats. We chose a table in the back room, away from the crowded front, away from the windows and street. Only one other table was taken, across the room. And there was only one waitress, a sweet, middle-aged woman who couldn't stop grinning at us.

We sat next to each other on a cushioned bench, pawing each other like cats in heat.

"What if you got under the table and started sucking my cock..." Charlie mused. "Do you think anyone would notice?"

"Maybe."

"It's so outrageous, nobody would expect it."

"My feet would be visible though..."

I lifted up the tablecloth and ducked a little over his lap as if I were going to prove my point.

"You're not actually..."

"No, of course not."

We finished dinner. The other diners left.

"We're all alone now."

(kiss, kiss, meow, grrrr, cuddly buggly boo...)

"I want to fuck you."

Dessert came. One coconut custard and one sticky rice with mango. Delicious. We barely had a taste when the waitress came over to tell us she had to run out to make a delivery. She gave us the check and said she would be back soon.

We didn't waste a moment. Well, maybe a few.

"You could suck my cock right now."

"Just like this?"

"There's no one else here, besides the cook."

"What about the people outside..."

"They'll never think to look."

I leaned right over and dove in, looking up now and then at the passersby on the sidewalk.

"Don't worry, I'm watching...I'll let you know if someone's coming...oh yeah, oh god...don't worry..."

I wasn't worried. My furtive glances toward the street were expressions of titillation. If only they turned their heads and peered into this restaurant, what a shocking feast they would see! But who would stop to look in a restaurant that was practically closed? His castmates, perhaps? But who would even think sex was happening inside? Oh, but the idea that someone might, out of boredom or curiosity or despair, stop and look for a moment, and see my head bobbing up and down on his lap, made me wet. That and his divine cock, vulnerable as a stray dog in the rain. Exposed, exposed, exposed, with no one noticing but me.

"Even if they looked, they wouldn't see anything way back here anyway...I'll let you know...if someone's coming, just start laughing...they'll never know the difference," he said.

A few moments later, some movement on our right prompted me to lurch up and burst out laughing. He leaned over and started babbling, "Hmmm this sticky rice is so good, I think this is the best sticky rice I've ever had..."

"Oh yes..."

The cook went back into the kitchen, I went back to my mission, and he came in my mouth with time to spare.

"That was the best Thai dinner ever!" We sang praises to our waitress, who was still grinning when she returned.

Who would suck a cock at the table in a restaurant? Not under the table, but at the table?

Why, who else?

A Strange Titillation

He broke our agreement. Charlie and I agreed that he would have a date with my friend Athena on a Sunday night while I was on a two-day writers retreat with the Princess Slut. We discussed every boundary, scoured every possible area of misunderstanding, smoothed over every foreseen wrinkle, or so it seemed. He assumed I would be royally entertained in the arms of the Princess Slut all of two nights. It turned out she was staying only one night, and we were both too exhausted for sex the first night. I felt safe spooning her in Montauk, knowing that my love was playing with my goddess friend back in Manhattan. I trusted them both--no need to escape into wild sex to distract myself.

I returned to the city content with the fire of creative productivity and the buzz of female bonding. I listened to my love relate his date, sexual summary included. I felt only tiny twinges of jealousy, until Sunday blended to Monday and one date extended into two nights of pleasure. (The agreement was for one date, not two, nor one and a half). It was challenging enough that he stayed overnight at her place. The fact that he went back for more on Monday was a slap in my crotch.

But that's not the point of this story. I'll just say we worked through the silence, the anger, the hurt, the betrayal, the assumptions. All was well again by the next morning. At least all was well between us. I still felt strange about Athena. She was hosting a play party that Charlie and I were planning on attending. On that day she told me over the phone that she could fall in love with Charlie. Naturally, I was wary. Would they exchange knowing glances behind my back? Would I feel jealous, even though Athena made it clear that she was backing off?

During the round robin massage portion of the party, Athena asked me if Charlie could be in her group. I thought it over and got back to her a few minutes later with a yes. Yes, I would give her that small pleasure, because she is my friend and I want everyone to be in harmony. Harmonious intentions notwithstanding...although the massage was strictly therapeutic and non-sexual, I couldn't help glancing over at the next table to see how they handled each other. His hand is kneading her flesh rather close to her pussy...

It's strange watching your lover interact with someone you know he has fucked. It would have been excruciating if he had lied and cheated. (Can you believe I've never been cheated on?!) But to give him my blessing to be with a woman I know and like...and then see them together afterward, that is strange. I can't say that I felt jealous. Nor can I say that I was thrilled for them. Instead, I was titillated by the mystery of what they shared. I will never know how he appeared before he penetrated her, or what things she said to him when they kissed. Did he cock his head and flash her his devilishly seductive grin just as he pushed her onto the bed? Did he moan with pleasure at the moment she surrounded his plush head with her lips? Did he moan in the same way he moans for me--surrendering to the ecstasy of a long-awaited offering? There are no answers to these questions, even if I were to ask them. Even if he were to tell me, "I looked at her like this, and then she laughed with girlish delight when she grabbed my rock-hard cock..." I still wouldn't know exactly what they looked like, exactly how they felt. I would never feel the energy that stirred between them during each moment of their one-on-one experience. I'd rather live with the mystery of these intimate details than hear them distilled through inadequate words, wasted words that may sting all the more for their inadequacy.

Yet as I watched him massaging her thighs with knowing hands, I chaffed with the thought that her body is familiar to him. Maybe I was a little jealous after all, jealous of his knowingness--that he knows her crevices and how to make them sing. I did not yet know her in this way.

And I didn't expect to get to know her that evening. I imagined that it would be too weird, whether it would be her and me or the three of us together. But when she expressed her desire to be passive with us, to wear a blindfold while we played doctor and nurse, I couldn't resist. I surprised myself with my willingness.

***

Although Dr. Bigcock has more credentials, we worked together as a team to treat our patient Athena. With his medical expertise and my intuition, we not only found the cause of her malaise, but successfully treated her using the most advanced techniques. I took her temperature, checked her vitals, examined her mouth and genitals while Dr. Bigcock stood back, taking note of symptoms and assessing the patient's reactions. As he mentored me all through nursing school, he fully trusts my capabilities as a healer, so much so that he lets me take charge--especially in this case. Athena responded successfully to my treatments; insertion of the red vaginal probe was smooth and effective, while the doctor's rapid manual vibrational therapy worked wonders. The treatment was so successful that the patient covered her face with a pillow (to muffle her convalescent screams). After Athena was released, Dr. Bigcock laid down to rest and receive his own special treatment from me, well-deserved after such a challenging case. Athena returned shortly for a follow-up appointment, and it was obvious that her symptoms had cleared and she was once again fully functioning in a state of optimal health.

History tells us that "clinical" stimulation cures a woman suffering from hysteria. But how do you heal a broken V? Dr. Bigcock and I agree: turn it into a triangle and thank her in the morning.