Page 65 of Dirty Diana
I can see through the performance. Amanda doesn’t love anything about this. “Please,” I tell her. “I’m not here to judge. Go ahead and do whatever you would normally do.”
“This is not…” Oliver looks at me and whispers, “Please don’t do this.”
“He wants a lap dance,” I say, avoiding Oliver’s pleading eyes and looking at Amanda. If I meet his gaze, I’ll lose my nerve. And I don’t want to chicken out. I want to know what he likes about this place. I want to know him again.
“Are you sure?” Amanda directs the question to Oliver. “How about we start slow? Like last time.”
She sits in his lap, focused on Oliver, looking like she wants him every bit as much as Oliver had said. She grazes Oliver’s shirt with her nipples, and I watch them as if outside my body, hovering in some space above their heads. I can see Oliver become aroused despite himself, and I reach out to feel his excitement, to touch him. I can’t help it. When I move my hand across his warm, hard erection, I feel a warmth of my own. It turns me on to see him so aroused, to be experiencing something entirely new with him. I slowly start to massage him,feeling him grow. He clutches onto the top of my hand tightly, as if warning me, but not pulling away. A soft moan escapes his mouth as he leans his head back into the leather booth. Amanda smiles. “I have a better idea.”
“We don’t have to do this,” Oliver says. But we are already moving, pulled by an invisible string down a hallway bathed in blue light.
The private room looks, disappointingly, exactly how I had always imagined or at least seen in movies. Mirrored walls. Leather banquette seats that sag in the middle. A shiny pole in the center of the room. But when Amanda closes the door behind her, I’m relieved that the noise of the other room is muffled.
Oliver and I sit in the corner of the L-shaped banquette. My left knee touches his right. Amanda climbs immediately into Oliver’s lap. “Do you want to show Diana what I like?” She places his hand on her breast. Oliver pulls away as if he’d burned himself. “Relax…it’s me…You like this?”
“Yes,” he says quietly.
This time, I feel weighted down by my body, not like I’m floating above. It’s as if someone has pinioned me to the leather. I should get up, but I can’t. I should want to get up, but I don’t. I want to keep watching. I stare straight ahead, into the mirror, at the image of all three of us.
“Your wife is beautiful,” Amanda says loud enough for me to hear. Then, into his ear, “You know I like to be touched…”
“I can’t.”
“But you’re so hard.” This is their routine. He touches her when he gets hard. And she lets him. I study Oliver’s confidence as he caresses her breasts softly.
The heaviness in my body turns to a prickly heat—a flush that starts in my legs and moves up through my body.
“We should stop…” Oliver turns to face me. More like a question this time.
I reach out and grab his hand. “No. Keep going. Please.” I wantthis new feeling I’m experiencing to last. I recognize it now—a cocktail of desire and greed—I want to remain jealous. I shift my body so I’m watching them not in the mirror but right next to me.
“I make your dick so hard, don’t I?” The strap of Amanda’s top falls down her shoulder, exposing her naked breast.
“Yes.”
“How hard do I make you?”
“So fucking hard.” I’ve never heard Oliver speak that way. I want him all to myself.Iwant to make him hard. Not her.
But Oliver is no longer thinking of me. He had been so aware of me until now, so worried, constantly looking over at me. Now his hands are all over Amanda, grabbing her hips, her legs, her ass. I lean into him so that I’m partially sharing his lap with Amanda. I put my lips close to his. “Kiss me…”
“I’llkiss you…” Amanda tries to intercept me.
“No,” I say. “Oliver.” It’smy husbandI want and it feels so unbelievably good to finally feel that.
“What?” he whispers.
“Kiss me,” I tell him.
Oliver’s eyes widen and his lips meet mine and I feel a rush of desire for him. We keep kissing and the dulled throb of the music from the bar fades and Amanda fades and it is just us. I breathe in his scent, and it is good, it is the scent I’d always loved, of cedar and soap. Safe and warm, but not just that—there is something else, too, the way Oliver’s tongue strokes my lips, the way our bodies move together, like a dance that is sexier for having been practiced. Oliver feels more confident in his own skin. Our lips part and he says, “God, I’ve missed you.”
The moment we stop kissing, the club returns and the music grates and there is Amanda again, leaning over Oliver, wearing her pretend smile. “What about me, love?” she says. “Can I kiss her too?”
Oliver looks between the two of us, and Amanda once again grazes his chest with her breasts, leaning across him toward me. Atthis point I will do whatever Oliver wants me to. If he wants me to kiss Amanda, I will. Oliver nods yes and reaches between my legs while Amanda leans in.
When Amanda’s lips are just inches from mine, she pauses, her mouth curling into a smile. “You’re just a horny little bitch, aren’t you?”
Oliver flinches and we all feel it. The needle scratch.
