Page 33 of First Touch

“You’ll come over to swim Sunday morning,” he said. “Nine o’clock. I’ll text you the directions.”

He kissed me again – shorter, but rougher. More demanding, pressing all of his body against me, grinding his thick erection against my abdomen.

Then, abruptly, it was over.

He stepped back from me, his eyes wild as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. With a satisfied nod, he said, “Consider that your personal invitation.”

And he left.

CHAPTER 10

The relationship Amber and I had with Rob lasted nine months, until his wife hired a private investigator and found out about his naughty weekends. He dumped us then, saying he wanted to make his marriage work, but left us each with a nice parting gift in the form of a check.

“Severance,” I’d called it.

But the next time we saw him he had a sixteen-year-old on his arm and a wedding ring still on his finger. That’s when I learned my first hard lesson: Men Never Change.

I was still too naïve to realize that the axiom didn’t apply just to men.

When he ended things, I took it as a sign. My mother was on my case about not having a job. It was time to grow up, get a job, get an apartment.

Amber had other ideas.

At first she cried, as she always did – I’d learn that later too. She claimed she was heartbroken and would never love again. After a week of this, she woke up confident and resolute. “Time to go hunting,” she’d said.

Less than a month later, we were living in a two-bedroom apartment in West Hollywood with Liam, a thirty-year-old copyright lawyer we’d met at a coffee shop. Our arrangement with Liam was different than it had been with Rob. He was nice, decent. He didn’t give us presents because we were having sex with him, but he did take care of us.

And we took care of him. We did the grocery shopping and the laundry and lounged by his pool while he went to the office. When he came home, we fed him a home-cooked dinner and rubbed his shoulders. Then he’d take one of us to bed. He didn’t feed us drugs. He wasn’t married or rich in any sense of the word, but he made more than enough. He liked one-on-one sex as much, if not more, than threesomes, and he always chose Amber as his solo partner. Which was fine with me. She “loved him madly” – her words – and he seemed genuinely fond of her as well. They were an adorable couple. I was the best girlfriend with benefits.

Part of me thought our happy family could last forever. Another part was smarter than that. Not just smarter but itchy for something else, something I couldn’t name. Restless, I took some acting workshops and a couple of jobs modeling for stock photographers. Amber, on the other hand, gave all her attention to Liam and her assumed role of housewife, which included, in her mind, spending his money.

One Friday, Amber was out on an all-day shopping spree when Liam came home unexpectedly early from work. He’d been at court all morning and decided there wasn’t any point going into the office at that time of day, so he took the afternoon off. I fixed him a sandwich and set him up in front of the TV – what Amber would have done if she’d been there.

“Drinking so early? I shouldn’t,” he’d said when I brought him a cold beer.

“But you will.”

He’d taken it from me, saying, “You’re a bad influence. I should tie you up and punish you.”

It was innocent teasing, nothing meant by it at all, but I’d been on my way back to the kitchen when he’d said it, and I’d turned back to him, surprised. Not surprised by the teasing – that was common between us – but by how the thought made me feel. Being punished. I hadn’t thought about it before, really. I’d been spanked before. By Rob. But it had always been playful, never as a consequence. And the idea of it, the idea of being humiliated and disciplined, was strangely exciting.

Liam must have read my thoughts from the expression on my face because he’d said, “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Said it like he’d finally understood something about me that he hadn’t before. Said it like this understanding interested him. Said it like I interested him in a way that I hadn’t before.

Then, before I had a chance to answer – as if I could answer such a strange question without having longer to think about it – he’d said, “That reminds me. I got you a present.”

“Really? What is it?” I wasn’t as surprised about a present as I’d been about the idea of punishment. He’d bring us things on occasion. Nothing expensive. Costume jewelry, mostly. DVDs of the latest chick flick.

“It’s nothing much. Just something I saw and thought of you. There’s a bag in my briefcase by the door. Get it out, will you? But bring it here before looking inside. I want to explain it.”

“Okay.” I went to the foyer and found a blue plastic shopping bag in his briefcase.

When I’d just entered the living room, he’d stopped me. “Wait.” He had that same look on his face that he’d had when I left him – the interested look. Intense and warm. It had made me feel intense and warm and interested, and my heart pounded with anticipation as I’d waited for him to say something else. It felt like a lifetime spanned in those seconds.

“Put the handle of the bag between your teeth,” he’d said, finally. “And crawl to me.”

It was such a strange request, so out of the blue and uncharacteristic. It should have sparked questions or an argument, even. I should have said, “Hell, no, I’m not crawling to you. You weirdo.” I was barely eighteen. I’d had a handful of sexual partners who were mostly teenagers and beyond the threesomes with Amber, I’d never gotten especially kinky.

But I’d also never been very interested in sex. It had gotten me what I’d needed and was certainly fun. I just wasn’t easily turned on and the payoff wasn’t always worth the effort for me.