First time at Blue Moon Bay? Start at the beginning:
September 6 ~ Will
September 13 ~ Renee
September 20 ~ Will
September 27 ~ Anna
October 4 ~ Bruce
October 25 ~ Sydney
September 6 ~ Will
September 13 ~ Renee
September 20 ~ Will
September 27 ~ Anna
October 4 ~ Bruce
October 25 ~ Sydney
November 1 ~ Dorothy
Nothing about the night sat easy with me. I was a frayed nerve ready to unravel every time I heard my friends’ words in my head. “You’ll be fine, Dorothy.” They said it with an exhausted tone as if I was being childish.
My eyeliner looped up too high on my lid. I wanted to wash off all my makeup and go to bed, but Jackson was determined that we have this experience together.
“Together, like in different rooms with different people?” I’d asked, and he silenced me with a peck on the lips.
“Don’t get freaked out. It’s one sexual encounter. We’ve all had them before.”
“Not in a long time…” I watched for every bodily reaction to my statement, but Jackson was as solid as always. “I hope you end up with Martinique,” came flying out of my mouth, and I regretted it immediately.
Jackson paused with his head down as he searched his sock drawer for the right pair to take off and place in a perfect pile on the floor next to a bed that was not ours before climbing between the knees of my friend lying down in front of him.
My teeth grinded. I wasn’t going to survive this. I wasn’t built for any other lifestyle than being my husband’s wife. God help me. I perked up at the thought. I would go to church tomorrow morning and pray for my sins. We would get through this experiment.
I hoped.
Jackson ushered me out the door and next door to the Cummings’. I looked up and down the street in fear of someone recognizing me in my slutty nurse costume even though I’d covered it with my heavy winter parka. I’d buttoned and zippered it as if it were a self-inflicted chastity belt that I dared anyone to try to get into.
Peter from across the street pulled out of his driveway, and Jackson waved.
“What the hell are you doing?” I hit him with an open hand across the top of his arm.
“Waving to Pete,” he said as if we weren’t half naked and going to an orgy.
“Do you think he knows what we’re doing?”
“Of course not. We’re going to a costume party next door. Pete’s eighty-one. Even if he knew, he’d wish he were invited.
Behind the columns of the Cummings’ grand front porch stood the muscular guy from the gym that Martinique always eyed whenever he was there flexing something in the mirror. Instead of looking away like the rest of us, Martinique would stand still and stare at him until he threw a smirk in her direction. I’d wondered before if she knew him better than she’d let on. Although subtlety wasn’t Martinique’s strong suit. Getting her way was.
“Good evening,” the muscle head said. “Tickets?”
I stood still and waited for Jackson to hand him the ticket the same way he did at opening night of the ballet or when we’d flown to New York to see Hamilton.
“Dorth?”
“What? I don’t have it.”
“Where’s the pumpkin picture?”
“I put it in your office so the kids wouldn’t see it.”
Jackson huffed and looked back toward the house. “I’ll run and get it.” He said and took off like he was still in college and there was free food in dorm across the quad. He left me on the Cummings’ front step with a man I’d only stared at before.
“You warm enough?” he asked and laughed a little at my expense.
I pulled the corners of the hood tight to my chin.
He leaned down and whispered near my ear, “I know why you’re here and I think it’s pretty awesome.”
The anger at my husband for being a willing participant in this sexual fiasco boiled up to my neck and threatened to erupt on the idiot standing in front of me. I stared up into his eyes. “What exactly do you think is so great about it?”
He rested his arm on the side of the house above my head leaving my gaze to trace the inside of his arm. “Variety. Surprise. Intrigue.”
“Ooh, Big word.”
He laughed a little. “I think you’re going to have fun. Just keep an open mind.”
Jackson ran up the brick stairs with the invitation in his hand. “Here,” he said, and the door was opened for us.
When I passed through the door the breeze chilled me and made me realize how hot I’d been in the doorman’s presence.
We were each given a bag. Mine orange, Jackson’s was black. He reached into it and pulled out a blue card and read the information on it. He tapped his fingers on the edge of the card as he read. Gone was his gentle, encouraging smile. Jackson was getting nervous.
I ignored him and found a purple card in my bag surrounded by a bunch of condoms. The back of the card said:
Welcome and congratulations! You will be spending the night in the purple room upstairs and to the right. Please make your way there now and await your date if they have not already arrived. Before you go, confirm the person you came with does not have the same room. Happy Halloween.
“Alright, I’ll see you.” Jackson leaned down and kissed me on the lips. “Have fun,” he said and walked away without looking back at me.
I exhaled everything I knew about life up until that point and made my way to the stairs. Each step was through a burning forest. My legs were heavy trunks tied to the earth with roots that were grounded in the memory of my wedding vows. My thighs grew between my legs until I couldn’t figure out how I even moved. My boobs were droopy. I hadn’t been starving myself in the two weeks leading up to this. In fact, I’d been stress eating my way through every conversation about the party. I was not hot enough to be fucking someone other than my husband.
I turned, ran through the dimly lit house, and found myself unlocking the door to the backyard from the kitchen where I practically fell onto the back patio. I bent at the waist and gasped for air.
Outside, I could breathe. Inside, I would die.
“You okay?” I heard from the shadow in the darkness near the fire pit. The person stood and walked toward me until I could see it was the doorman. “You don’t look like you kept an open mind.”
“Maybe I didn’t want to…” I stumbled on the words. “Fuck someone else. Maybe I am plenty happy fucking my husband every night with his need to take off his clothes and fold them into a neat pile on the floor before he climbs on top of me.”
“Wow,” the guy said without any amazement. “Okay. Your approach to this is all wrong.” He was circling me like a hungry shark.
“My approach to what?”
He stopped and reached down for my ankle. He circled it with his fingers and then dragged them up the inside of my leg. When he approached the hem of my coat, he ignored it and kept moving up until I tensed from his touch. “To sex.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Almost as absurd as the guy from the gym’s hand reaching up my dress.
He moved in front of me and took my hand. “Let’s start here.” He put it over the crotch of his pants where I could feel his hard on. I flinched, but he held my hand tight against it. “Do you feel that?”
I nodded.
“That’s what you do to people. I get a chubby watching you in yoga and I’m so fucking hard right now if I don’t come my pants are going to rip.”
“What?”
“You’ve never been told the things you need to hear. If Jackson,” he said my husband’s name with complete disdain. “Ever told you how much he needed to feel the warmth of your pussy maybe you’d be excited for someone else to touch it tonight.” He reached up my skirt, slid his hand down my tights, and caressed my bare skin. “Every guy in this house was hoping to pull your card, I’m sure.”
“I…I…”
“Can you take this coat off?” He asked, but he was already unzipping it. He dropped it on the ground next to us. “Unbutton my pants,” he said as if he were giving directions to check the weather on an Ap--Now tap the radar icon.
I did as he said and completely stopped thinking for myself. His dick fell forward, no longer hampered by the black pants and never having been restricted by underwear. He was huge, and I swore throbbing in the moonlight even though I was sure that part I’d imagined.
“I want you to get down on your knees and suck my dick more than anything, but since I’m a gentleman, I don’t want you to rip your tights.” He guided me backwards until I was against the wall of the house. He spread my legs with his knee, reached up my skirt again, and ripped a hole in my tights. “Or maybe I do.” He pushed my underwear to the side and pressed two fingers into me. He closed his eyes and shook his head. “I knew you were going to be warm. Your pussy is so fucking wet.” He kissed me, but only for a second. He stopped and placed his fingers in his mouth and then traced my lips with his fingertips. “Tastes good, huh?”
I was blushing. I had to be because my cheeks felt like they’d been set on fire. I couldn’t move, or so I thought until I reached down and began stroking his dick.
“Ahh,” he said and let his head hang back. He was pleased, and it was because I was touching him.
I wanted to ask his name. Why he lifted weights so often. If he’d ever been in jail and if he did this sort of thing often, but I knew better than to ruin the moment with typical Dorothy curiosity. Instead, I kept stroking him and asked, “You like that don’t you,” like the women in the cable movies Jackson made me watch because of the “excellent writing.” (Excellent writing, my ass.)
“Fuck yes. Don’t stop.” He reached out and touched my breast through the fabric of my dress. After a few seconds, he pulled the dress open with both hands and freed my breasts to the night air. He watched as he pinched my nipples and then closed his eyes again.
He stopped me with a hand covering my own. “I’m going to come.” I was going to make him come. My eyes widened at his giant dick still in my hand.
He lifted me up in a swoop. I held onto his neck to steady myself and cried out, “What the?” when he slammed his dick into me. I’d never had anything that large inside of me and at first, I was unsure how I felt, but I kept pulling him closer with my fingernails digging into the shirt on his back. With every move he made I wanted him to thrust into me. “Again!” I yelled and he smiled. “Fuck yes. That feels so good.” The dirty words flew from my pristine mouth like a river to the ocean. “Fucking slam your fat cock into me until I break in two,” I said through gritted teeth as I fought the orgasm that was building inside of me. At the same time, I craved the release and never wanted the encounter to end.
He pushed my hair off my neck and sucked on it without breaking his stride. He pulled my skin between his teeth and sucked until I screamed out in pain and exaltation. I was going to combust and every particle of me was going to dissolve into the universe that rested near this man’s balls and I was going to have a hickey to show for it.
“Fuck…” It was happening. On the Cummings’ back patio. “Yes!” I held onto him while my body seized to the pleasure he’d created. I shuddered as he finished.
Out of breath, I waited for him to say something. Everything was unclear, like he’d fucked the clarity out of me.
He gently placed me back on the ground and buttoned up his pants. I followed his lead and started to pull myself back together although I was never going to be the same. I didn’t even want to be.
He leaned down and whispered in my ear. “That should be your approach to sex because you are fantastic.”
For the first time in what seemed like a hundred years, I felt fantastic.
My eyeliner looped up too high on my lid. I wanted to wash off all my makeup and go to bed, but Jackson was determined that we have this experience together.
“Together, like in different rooms with different people?” I’d asked, and he silenced me with a peck on the lips.
“Don’t get freaked out. It’s one sexual encounter. We’ve all had them before.”
“Not in a long time…” I watched for every bodily reaction to my statement, but Jackson was as solid as always. “I hope you end up with Martinique,” came flying out of my mouth, and I regretted it immediately.
Jackson paused with his head down as he searched his sock drawer for the right pair to take off and place in a perfect pile on the floor next to a bed that was not ours before climbing between the knees of my friend lying down in front of him.
My teeth grinded. I wasn’t going to survive this. I wasn’t built for any other lifestyle than being my husband’s wife. God help me. I perked up at the thought. I would go to church tomorrow morning and pray for my sins. We would get through this experiment.
I hoped.
Jackson ushered me out the door and next door to the Cummings’. I looked up and down the street in fear of someone recognizing me in my slutty nurse costume even though I’d covered it with my heavy winter parka. I’d buttoned and zippered it as if it were a self-inflicted chastity belt that I dared anyone to try to get into.
Peter from across the street pulled out of his driveway, and Jackson waved.
“What the hell are you doing?” I hit him with an open hand across the top of his arm.
“Waving to Pete,” he said as if we weren’t half naked and going to an orgy.
“Do you think he knows what we’re doing?”
“Of course not. We’re going to a costume party next door. Pete’s eighty-one. Even if he knew, he’d wish he were invited.
Behind the columns of the Cummings’ grand front porch stood the muscular guy from the gym that Martinique always eyed whenever he was there flexing something in the mirror. Instead of looking away like the rest of us, Martinique would stand still and stare at him until he threw a smirk in her direction. I’d wondered before if she knew him better than she’d let on. Although subtlety wasn’t Martinique’s strong suit. Getting her way was.
“Good evening,” the muscle head said. “Tickets?”
I stood still and waited for Jackson to hand him the ticket the same way he did at opening night of the ballet or when we’d flown to New York to see Hamilton.
“Dorth?”
“What? I don’t have it.”
“Where’s the pumpkin picture?”
“I put it in your office so the kids wouldn’t see it.”
Jackson huffed and looked back toward the house. “I’ll run and get it.” He said and took off like he was still in college and there was free food in dorm across the quad. He left me on the Cummings’ front step with a man I’d only stared at before.
“You warm enough?” he asked and laughed a little at my expense.
I pulled the corners of the hood tight to my chin.
He leaned down and whispered near my ear, “I know why you’re here and I think it’s pretty awesome.”
The anger at my husband for being a willing participant in this sexual fiasco boiled up to my neck and threatened to erupt on the idiot standing in front of me. I stared up into his eyes. “What exactly do you think is so great about it?”
He rested his arm on the side of the house above my head leaving my gaze to trace the inside of his arm. “Variety. Surprise. Intrigue.”
“Ooh, Big word.”
He laughed a little. “I think you’re going to have fun. Just keep an open mind.”
Jackson ran up the brick stairs with the invitation in his hand. “Here,” he said, and the door was opened for us.
When I passed through the door the breeze chilled me and made me realize how hot I’d been in the doorman’s presence.
We were each given a bag. Mine orange, Jackson’s was black. He reached into it and pulled out a blue card and read the information on it. He tapped his fingers on the edge of the card as he read. Gone was his gentle, encouraging smile. Jackson was getting nervous.
I ignored him and found a purple card in my bag surrounded by a bunch of condoms. The back of the card said:
Welcome and congratulations! You will be spending the night in the purple room upstairs and to the right. Please make your way there now and await your date if they have not already arrived. Before you go, confirm the person you came with does not have the same room. Happy Halloween.
“Alright, I’ll see you.” Jackson leaned down and kissed me on the lips. “Have fun,” he said and walked away without looking back at me.
I exhaled everything I knew about life up until that point and made my way to the stairs. Each step was through a burning forest. My legs were heavy trunks tied to the earth with roots that were grounded in the memory of my wedding vows. My thighs grew between my legs until I couldn’t figure out how I even moved. My boobs were droopy. I hadn’t been starving myself in the two weeks leading up to this. In fact, I’d been stress eating my way through every conversation about the party. I was not hot enough to be fucking someone other than my husband.
I turned, ran through the dimly lit house, and found myself unlocking the door to the backyard from the kitchen where I practically fell onto the back patio. I bent at the waist and gasped for air.
Outside, I could breathe. Inside, I would die.
“You okay?” I heard from the shadow in the darkness near the fire pit. The person stood and walked toward me until I could see it was the doorman. “You don’t look like you kept an open mind.”
“Maybe I didn’t want to…” I stumbled on the words. “Fuck someone else. Maybe I am plenty happy fucking my husband every night with his need to take off his clothes and fold them into a neat pile on the floor before he climbs on top of me.”
“Wow,” the guy said without any amazement. “Okay. Your approach to this is all wrong.” He was circling me like a hungry shark.
“My approach to what?”
He stopped and reached down for my ankle. He circled it with his fingers and then dragged them up the inside of my leg. When he approached the hem of my coat, he ignored it and kept moving up until I tensed from his touch. “To sex.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Almost as absurd as the guy from the gym’s hand reaching up my dress.
He moved in front of me and took my hand. “Let’s start here.” He put it over the crotch of his pants where I could feel his hard on. I flinched, but he held my hand tight against it. “Do you feel that?”
I nodded.
“That’s what you do to people. I get a chubby watching you in yoga and I’m so fucking hard right now if I don’t come my pants are going to rip.”
“What?”
“You’ve never been told the things you need to hear. If Jackson,” he said my husband’s name with complete disdain. “Ever told you how much he needed to feel the warmth of your pussy maybe you’d be excited for someone else to touch it tonight.” He reached up my skirt, slid his hand down my tights, and caressed my bare skin. “Every guy in this house was hoping to pull your card, I’m sure.”
“I…I…”
“Can you take this coat off?” He asked, but he was already unzipping it. He dropped it on the ground next to us. “Unbutton my pants,” he said as if he were giving directions to check the weather on an Ap--Now tap the radar icon.
I did as he said and completely stopped thinking for myself. His dick fell forward, no longer hampered by the black pants and never having been restricted by underwear. He was huge, and I swore throbbing in the moonlight even though I was sure that part I’d imagined.
“I want you to get down on your knees and suck my dick more than anything, but since I’m a gentleman, I don’t want you to rip your tights.” He guided me backwards until I was against the wall of the house. He spread my legs with his knee, reached up my skirt again, and ripped a hole in my tights. “Or maybe I do.” He pushed my underwear to the side and pressed two fingers into me. He closed his eyes and shook his head. “I knew you were going to be warm. Your pussy is so fucking wet.” He kissed me, but only for a second. He stopped and placed his fingers in his mouth and then traced my lips with his fingertips. “Tastes good, huh?”
I was blushing. I had to be because my cheeks felt like they’d been set on fire. I couldn’t move, or so I thought until I reached down and began stroking his dick.
“Ahh,” he said and let his head hang back. He was pleased, and it was because I was touching him.
I wanted to ask his name. Why he lifted weights so often. If he’d ever been in jail and if he did this sort of thing often, but I knew better than to ruin the moment with typical Dorothy curiosity. Instead, I kept stroking him and asked, “You like that don’t you,” like the women in the cable movies Jackson made me watch because of the “excellent writing.” (Excellent writing, my ass.)
“Fuck yes. Don’t stop.” He reached out and touched my breast through the fabric of my dress. After a few seconds, he pulled the dress open with both hands and freed my breasts to the night air. He watched as he pinched my nipples and then closed his eyes again.
He stopped me with a hand covering my own. “I’m going to come.” I was going to make him come. My eyes widened at his giant dick still in my hand.
He lifted me up in a swoop. I held onto his neck to steady myself and cried out, “What the?” when he slammed his dick into me. I’d never had anything that large inside of me and at first, I was unsure how I felt, but I kept pulling him closer with my fingernails digging into the shirt on his back. With every move he made I wanted him to thrust into me. “Again!” I yelled and he smiled. “Fuck yes. That feels so good.” The dirty words flew from my pristine mouth like a river to the ocean. “Fucking slam your fat cock into me until I break in two,” I said through gritted teeth as I fought the orgasm that was building inside of me. At the same time, I craved the release and never wanted the encounter to end.
He pushed my hair off my neck and sucked on it without breaking his stride. He pulled my skin between his teeth and sucked until I screamed out in pain and exaltation. I was going to combust and every particle of me was going to dissolve into the universe that rested near this man’s balls and I was going to have a hickey to show for it.
“Fuck…” It was happening. On the Cummings’ back patio. “Yes!” I held onto him while my body seized to the pleasure he’d created. I shuddered as he finished.
Out of breath, I waited for him to say something. Everything was unclear, like he’d fucked the clarity out of me.
He gently placed me back on the ground and buttoned up his pants. I followed his lead and started to pull myself back together although I was never going to be the same. I didn’t even want to be.
He leaned down and whispered in my ear. “That should be your approach to sex because you are fantastic.”
For the first time in what seemed like a hundred years, I felt fantastic.
Book Spotlight ~ My Name Is Not Isla
My Name Is Not Isla
A man can’t set you free—only you can. Backstage and in front of the world, a vicious record executive rules over his kingdom and the perfect little doll he’s created. He pulls the strings and poses her under the lights, and in the cage of the public eye, she’ll remain, until one day . . . she takes flight. Where she lands, only one man will know—the one who’s being paid to watch her. He’s a killer by trade, a lonesome soldier for hire. Clearly not a fan, he begrudgingly follows her. From the streets of New York to the coast of North Carolina, through the center of the country to a pot shop in Portland. The assignment is elementary and completely beneath him, until he finds himself teetering between love and obsession. The public devours her. Friends betray her. Men try to possess her. Every single one of them underestimates her. |