Chapter 8

It appeared that most people had already dealt with dinner, as there wasn’t much of a line waiting to get in. There were still a fair number of diners already seated. A waiter led us to our table.

Seated, he handed us menus and assured us that he’d be back in just a moment. I was hungry enough that I quickly chose one of the specials, pot roast, while Emma tried to decide among several enticing options. In the end it was Dover sole for her, and some sides. “Oh,” she caught the waiter’s attention before he could escape, “and a margarita, please.”

I snorted. Emma was cutting loose, impaling her mother’s no-no list one item after another. I doubt she’d had anything stronger than a surreptitious glass of wine before arriving here.

“Make fun of me all you want. I like margaritas.”

I was about to poke her about how licentious she had become, when a couple came up to the table. “Emma? It is you, isn’t it. We saw you from across the room and waved but you were facing away. We just finished dinner. This is my husband, Donny. I told him about you.”

Donny, whoever he was, smiled and shook Emma’s hand. Emma finally realized that I had no idea who we were talking to, and introduced me. “Ken, this is Amy, from the spa, who I mentioned, and her husband, Donny.” I stood up and took her extended hand. “Pleased to meet you. Emma did in fact mention your adventure in the spa.”

I looked at the husband and held out my hand. “Kenny Walsh, very nice to meet you.” He replied, distinctly, “Hello. Donald Wright.” There was an emphasis on the first name, and a wild guess told me that he found the name Donny too childish, not befitting a man trying to be an adult.

I made a few social remarks, and then Emma said, “Do you have to run off? Why don’t you join us? We just ordered dinner, perhaps you can get coffee and dessert, and we’d have a chance to catch up.”

I thought Donny – oops, Donald – didn’t much care, but he knew enough not to snub Amy’s friends and acquaintances. She cast a glance at him, looking for guidance or some kind of clue what he wanted, but there was nothing to be seen.

So Amy decided for both of them and said, sure, they could stay for awhile if they wouldn’t be intruding. And reluctantly, Donald seated himself next to Amy, who had already taken a seat.

I thought Amy looked like a high school girl. I knew she was older, from what Emma had told me, but her appearance had naive and sheltered written all over her. She was pretty, not beautiful, with a nice smile, but had a kind of withdrawn, shy look to her. Her hair was dark brunette, and curly. Her clothing was loose-fitting, by intent, I thought, so it was hard to divine what kind of figure she had.

Donald didn’t look much older than her. There was a fresh-scrubbed look to him. He was trying very hard to don a specific persona, a young executive, focused, hard-working, and the boyishness made that a difficult role to play. Perhaps he’d grow into it over time. In the interim, I didn’t think he’d be much fun at parties. Still, since Amy and Emma were chattering like old friends, I had to make the effort.

“How are you enjoying this place? Emma and I tried a few of the outdoors things, canoeing, some walking, the beach and swimming. Relaxing. Have you two attempted any of the other activities?”

I think I had nailed my assessment of him just now. Donald didn’t look like anyone’s idea of a party animal. I’ll bet that even in college there weren’t a lot of wild parties, carousing with his buds. He was a bit ... stiff, controlled, a man of order and self-discipline.

“Well,” he said, clearly just conversing because it was expected, not because he enjoyed the interaction, “we took a walk around the grounds after we arrived. Very pleasant. I’m afraid I’m not much interested in sports activities.”

I asked him where he was from, what he did for a living, the usual questions between strangers, and got polite responses, the minimum required. I was wondering now what the hell Amy had seen in the guy. There didn’t seem to be much depth there, no sense of humor or adventure, no excitement. I was willing to bet that his idea of a good time was perusing the latest revisions to the U.S. tax code. Then he’d explain it to Amy. Shoot me.

Our meals arrived, and they ordered coffee. The food was good, but it was one of the most excruciating dinners I could recall in a long time. Amy and Emma were talking like old friends, but my attempts to have a two-way, give-and-take conversation with Donald, was like pulling teeth. An empty book. Still, I made the effort. I hoped Emma noticed.

Finally, we were done with our food. The waiter noticed and came to clear our plates, asking us if we’d liked dessert and coffee. I passed, not wanting to draw this out any longer than necessary. Perhaps Emma noticed, because she passed on the coffee, too. The waiter trotted off to prepare our check.

Emma was trying to draw Donald into the conversation, suggesting that they’d really like the lake, for swimming or sailing, trying to get him to commit. But he would say nothing more than they might consider it.

The waiter dropped off the check, and I saw that the extra coffees had been added, as I’d expected. But Donald wanted to pay for them, I thought because he was a believer in paying one’s own way and did not want to be beholden. I refused because, for heaven’s sake, it was just two coffees, and how small would a person have to be not to do that for someone? It looked like it twisted him up inside to accept.

We finally got up from the table, and Amy and Emma did the cheek-kiss thing. I told Donald that it had been a pleasure. He looked like he wasn’t sure, but grunted. They walked away, her arm wrapped in his, and a smile back over her shoulder.

“So, Agent 68, what was your assessment of the suspect?” she asked me as we walked out.

“She strikes me as very young and inexperienced, but pleasant. I didn’t say two words to her, so I can’t judge her intelligence or insight or sense of humor, if she has one. He ... well, I’ve had root canals I’ve enjoyed more. Emma, I shouldn’t be uncharitable, but what the hell does she see in him? Why did she agree to marry him? She’d have better conversations with a ventriloquist’s dummy.”

“I’m sure he’s not as bad as all that,” she said, but I was nodding that yes, he was as bad as all that. “Anyway, the marriage thing, I can’t remember if I mentioned it yesterday. We all talked about how we’d met our husbands, how they’d asked us to marry them, that kind of thing. Amy was kind of the odd girl out. The upshot was that it wasn’t really her decision, it was almost an arranged marriage, something her parents worked out because they didn’t think she was up to the task of selecting a suitable husband.”

“Are you serious? People still do that? Didn’t she get a say in it?”

“Well, her parents did ask her what she’d thought of him, once they were introduced and had gone to dinner once or twice. About all she could say is that he wasn’t offensive, didn’t hit her, had exhibited at least minimal social skills. There was never any talk of love, either from him or her parents, it was more like ‘will he take care of you, keep you housed and clothed and fed’. That was the criterion.”

“That poor woman,” I said, and I meant it. “He’s about as humorless a man as I’ve ever met.

No interests at all, other than his job, perhaps. She deserves more.”

“I guess so. I didn’t get any sense of excitement, happiness, when I talked to her, yesterday or today. There should be at least a little of that.” She shrugged, as if to say another problem we can’t solve.

We got on the elevator, which was empty, and rode up. She said, almost to herself, “I wonder if she’ll ever have the courage to break away.”

I didn’t know either. The elevator dinged and we stepped off. She had her keycard in her hand and let us in to the room.

She busied herself, putting away clothes she’d used, arranging toiletries. It was clear she was thinking, and this kind of busywork was her way of allowing herself time to think.

I watched her, then said, “It makes me a little sad that there are people who get married and don’t feel the kind of happiness I feel with you, of knowing that you’re finally in the right place with the right person. Everybody should get to feel that at least once in their lives. I’m sorry for Donald, that he lives such a narrow little life.”

She stopped what she was doing and looked at me from across the room. She walked over to where I was sitting on the bed and put her arms around me, quiet, just holding on.

“And I’m sorry that she won’t get to feel loved, to have someone who cares about her, wants to make her happy. Like you do for me. I want to fix it for her and I can’t.”

“Probably not. You’re not Supergirl. Maybe Donny will achieve enlightenment and things will get better for her. But maybe, if you run into her before we leave, you could give her some encouragement and remind her that her happiness is not worth sacrificing to a doomed marriage. If it turns out that way, I mean.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“You want to watch TV or something, get your mind off this?”

“That might help, I guess. Let’s see what’s on. I don’t know if I ever mentioned it, but I wasn’t allowed to watch much TV at home. My mother thought it was too trashy.”

“She wasn’t completely wrong, but don’t tell her I said that.”

That got a smile, which was the intent.

We channel-surfed and wound up watching one of those stupid dating shows where women all compete for the attention of some hunky bachelor while housed in a big McMansion in California or someplace. It was truly awful and Emma was fascinated, getting wound up in the lives and the chances of the ones she picked as her favorites. I tried to feign interest, just to be social. It was a challenge.

But it got her mind off of Amy and Donald, and by the time the show ended she was smiling again. She switched it off, then rolled over so she could see me.

“What if you were the bachelor? And me and some of those other girls were all competing for you. Would you still pick me?”

I mean, really, did she really expect that she’d get an honest answer phrasing the question like that? But I played along.

“The rest of them wouldn’t have stood a chance once I laid eyes on you.”

She smiled, then leaned up and kissed me, reassured.

I waited a beat.

“Of course, the show goes on for an entire season, and it wouldn’t be much of a show if it didn’t have some surprises each week, so I wouldn’t be able to home in on you right away, we’d have to drag it out. And I’d have to have some romantic evenings with the other hot women, y’know, swimming in the pool naked, tongue wrestling in front of the fireplace, long, hot showers, a little hanky-panky in the linen closet. Just for the ratings, of course.”

She grabbed a pillow and beat me with it. “Don’t even think of it, Kenny, not even for pretend.”

The threat lost its power when she started laughing.

“You’re jealous, Emma.”

“Well, maybe a little. It was kind of a silly show, wasn’t it?”

“It’s one of the great unstated truths of American culture: There is very little reality in reality television. A very silly show. It amazes me that so many people obsess over it, discuss it at the water cooler.”

She nodded agreement and rolled over so she was lying next to me, facing me. “So, what would you have done with me when it was finally my turn to have a date with you, the bachelor?”

“They’d have to edit most of it out, ‘cause they wouldn’t be able to show it on television. My problem would be that I wouldn’t know what to do with you first. Kind of like my problem when we arrived here at the hotel. Every part of you was so amazing that I’d feel like I was missing out on something if I did one thing before another.”

“Good answer. Just hold on to that thought for the next fifty years or so,” she said. I got my hand on her ass and started squeezing it, just because her ass cheek felt so firm and sensual.

She laid her head on my chest while I fondled her butt. After a few minutes, she told me, “That feels so nice, Kenny, really good.”

“Feels great here, too. Why don’t you take that off so I can feel more of it?”

She didn’t move for another minute, wrapped up in the feeling in her butt. Then she pushed herself up quickly, and tugged off her dress and her underwear. I was surprised at how quickly she was able to do it. She jumped on the bed again and found her previous position.

The only problem was that one of my arms was pinned at my side because she was leaned against it. I used the free arm as best I could to squeeze her ass, but it felt like I was giving it only half the attention it was due.

I wonder if she’d like this. “Emma, sit astride my face. Let me get my tongue in there and my hands on your ass.”

She looked up at me as if the thought was entirely new to her. If she had watched porn with her girlfriends, she would have seen that done before, wouldn’t she? I guess it depended on the particular videos she’d seen.

But she was game, willing to try anything once until she determined if she liked it or not. She moved a knee carefully over me and worked her way up. I gave her enough direction until her pussy was poised over my mouth. I asked her to settle a little lower, then I extended my tongue and heard her suck in her breath when it made contact.

I was able to reach both hands up to grab her ass a bit awkwardly, because of the angle of my arms, but it was enough. I found that a combination of licking and moving my face side to side was enough to get her engine running.

“Jesus, Kenny, that’s reallllly nice. Oh! Do that!” She was starting to grind on my face now.

She was seated a little too far up on my face for my tongue to reach her clit, but I was able to tongue-fuck her enough to get her choking.

I experimented and found that I could extend my fingers to poke at her asshole if I needed to, and that I was able to get my thumbs under her butt to rub her perineum. Or stick into her ass if I wanted. But she was dry and I’d need some lube to do that.

She was breathing heavily now, with a little cough at the end of each breath. I felt like I wasn’t in the right place, even though she seemed to be responding to my tongue.

It was difficult making myself understood with her pussy pressing against me, but I did my best to enunciate. “Baby, move your butt about two inches south.” She had to process the sounds before she was able to attach meaning to them, then she shifted a little lower.

I was still immobilized since she was straddling my head, but now my tongue was right at her clit and this time, when I extended it, she choked out, “Oh, fuck, right there!” My instructions were clear, so I attacked her clit, licking it, poking it, running my tongue around it, until she was commanding me. “Yes, yes, just like that, keep going!”

Maybe I’m just out of shape, but I was finding that I couldn’t keep my tongue moving like that for long without feeling like it was going to cramp up or something, so when I thought I couldn’t do much more, I extended a middle finger and pushed it into her ass.

I felt her whole body tense, then vibrate, then she shouted, “Yes! Yes! Yes!” and ground her pussy into my face, pushing, looking for greater contact. She grabbed my head in her hands and pulled it closer to her until she was gasping. I was very happy for her, but had no way to tell her politely that I could no longer breathe. I suppose there could be worse ways to die.

I finally got my hands around her waist and pulled her lower energetically enough that she got the idea. She sat on my chest, her hands on the bed, resting on her arms, muttering, “Christ. Christ.”

I let her wind down, and after a couple of minutes she swung a leg over me and rolled onto her back. I got up and went in to the bathroom. I peed and then washed my hands and face, and dampened a washcloth to clean my upper chest which had gotten wet from my own saliva.

When I got back on the bed, Emma was starting to move. I felt her hand drop onto my hip, which meant she was mostly awake now. “When we first started doing this, I really had no idea how many ways there were to have fun, aside from the usual dick-in-pussy. I don’t think I’d ever seen anyone do what you just did, in porn films, I mean. That was really nice, I liked it.”

“Me, too. But I think we’re going to have to work out hand signals or something, like in baseball, for those times when I can’t speak because your legs and pussy are over my mouth and nose and I can’t breathe. Like a time out or when wrestlers tap out because the other person is about to break something.”

“Oh,” she said. “I didn’t realize. Did I do that? Sorry.”

“It’s fine. You were otherwise occupied, so I can understand that you didn’t notice. Anyway, I’m glad you liked it.”

“There’s so many things I haven’t even thought about, much less tried. This whole sex thing is complicated. And interesting. And fun.”

“That’s for sure. Especially fun with you, because you respond so fully to what’s happening to you. I’ve got to find some new things to do with you. I’m thinking, when we finally get back home, I’ve got to find a bookstore and buy a copy of the Kama Sutra. That’ll keep us busy for a year or so.”

“Kama Sutra? What’s that?”

I looked at her, thinking, surely you’ve heard of ... Then I remembered the life she had growing up. No one she knew would have had a copy or possibly even had heard of it. It was all new to her.

“It’s a very old book written in India maybe 1500 years ago. It shows a huge variety of sex positions, more than most modern cultures employ. Many of them are designed to enhance a woman’s responses. It was like a sex manual for married people, from way before there were sex manuals elsewhere.”

“Okay. Worth looking at, I guess.”

I was pretty sure, when I finally did bring a copy home, that she’d study it like she was cramming for an exam. She was a student now. I would be learning from her.

She stretched languidly. “I like how this makes me feel,” she confided. “I can’t recall feeling this relaxed before. Even after I’d come back from jogging and my muscles were all rubbery, there was still tension there. I was tired but not relaxed. This relaxes me. And makes me tired. But I’ll sleep really well.”

“We’re not done. You only got off once, and I didn’t at all. I’m pretty sure it’s in the fine print on the marriage license, you gotta make sure I cum, too.”

“The marriage license? Really? That’s what you’re going with?”

“Well,” I told her, “that’s the law, I didn’t write it.” She snorted.

“Anyway,” I went on, “I had so much fun watching you get off, I want to watch you again.”

“What do you have in mind?” she asked.

“I dunno. Let me see if I can come up with a couple of surprises.”

I had taken it as a challenge. I loved fucking her, but she responded so differently to these sex toys and I was liking what I had been seeing. She’d used most of them on herself, and now I wondered how she’d react if I used them on her. I got up and went to the dresser drawer where we’d stashed the ones I’d bought her. I rummaged around and picked up the silver vibrator, the pink dildo and the lube.

She could see me from where she lay, and I could see her trying to work it out in her head. I put the items on the bed.

“Slide over here, baby, so your butt’s on the edge of the bed. That’s perfect. Just spread your knees a bit...”

She got settled and I dripped a few drops of lube on my fingers. With her watching me, I rubbed them on her pussy. She drew in her breath through her teeth. After a minute I pushed them slowly into her cunt, and out again. “Oh, Jesus, Kenny, that’s nice, like that.”

In and out slowly, as she let herself float on the feeling. I wasn’t watching the clock, but four or five minutes of that had her moaning softly. I pulled my fingers out and dribbled a few more drops of lube on them. This time I went straight for her clit. Her eyes were closed and she wasn’t expecting it, so when the lubed finger hit her clit, she gasped. “Oh, fuck!”