In the weeks that followed, I had time to think about Kira and me. She'd made me very happy - I knew how much effort she'd put into pleasing me. Now I worried about it. Was she some sort of submissive? A pleaser? And if she was... so what?
We communicated by email (texting seemed too superficial). Video calls all felt horrible. We did three of those, and I inevitably felt worse afterwards - fully erect, and nowhere to go. All those calls did was to remind me of what I'd lost.
Kira let slip that she might be able to come home for Thanksgiving. It wasn't even the end of July, and she was talking about October.
Anita invited me up to her cottage again. It sounded to me like a pretty clear invitation for more than water-skiing and euchre. I wasn't ready for that. I was still thinking of Kira, but I also considered Marco. He wouldn't be too thrilled if I went up there and hooked up with his ex-girlfriend so soon after she'd dumped him.
I wasn't blind, or stupid, either. Anita was incredibly hot, and she was sending out pretty clear signals that she and I might make some beautiful music together. But Marco would have hated my guts - and I wouldn't have blamed him.
Even Luke wasn't completely over her - and they'd only had a one-night-stand. Marco was still among the walking wounded, though, and I wasn't about to make his pain any worse. Kira wouldn't have been too thrilled about it, either.
I had mixed feelings about Anita, anyway. Maybe
I
wasn't over the fact that she'd banged Luke the night before I was going to ask her out.
Then Millie called.
- "You may not believe this," she said, "but... I'm getting engaged."
- "You're kidding! You found him? Rich
and
good-looking? Wow, Millie - I'm happy for you."
- "You're a sweetie, Ben." she said. "Can you come to my party? Next Friday?"
- "Tell me where and what time - I'll be there."
- "Awesome. We're going to have
so much
fun." said Millie. "Umm... there might be a few girls there who want to meet you. Hope you're okay with that."
- "Ahh... can't complain about that." As far as introducing me to her friends went, Millie was batting.500.
***
Millie's fiancé was loaded. He had a
fucking
mansion. Marble everywhere, massive rooms, an Olympic-size pool. Who needs all of that? This guy had money to burn - and I could smell the smoke. Millie had already told me that he wouldn't even be here tonight, because he had to fly to Belize on business. Belize? On business?
- "Ben!"
Millie was thrilled to see me. She was also well on her way to getting thoroughly wasted. That saddened me, a little; I'd been hoping to ask her few things about Kira.
- "You have to come with me!" said Millie. She grabbed my arm, and took me on a freakishly accelerated tour of the place. A kitchen fit for an Emperor (or two), marble bathtub, Olympic-sized bedroom. Millie was clinging a little too tightly, pressing her small boobs against my arm.
She was also fading quickly. She must've started drinking far too early. This was no place for yours truly. But Millie needed a good friend - and she needed her now. I got her up onto the massive bed, and made sure that she was lying on her side.
- "Stay here." I went looking for help. Was it just luck - or destiny? The first person I ran into that I knew was... Anita.
She'd done something to her hair. She was also wearing a skin tight top, that showed her incredible body to full advantage. She smiled at me, and threw her shoulders back.
- "Millie needs you." I said.
Anita's face changed immediately. "Oh - shit."
- "She's drunk. Or high. She's completely out of it. Anita... you have to keep her away from everyone else. And make sure she doesn't choke if she pukes."
- "Okay, Ben - I'll do it." said Anita. "For you." I led her to the enormous bedroom. Millie was sleeping peacefully. Well, snoring peacefully.
Anita turned to me. "I've got this. Don't worry about it." Then she smiled. "But I need to talk to you, later. Okay? You're not leaving or anything, are you?"
- "No." I'd really just arrived - and I wasn't about to take off without making sure that Millie was alright. I had a feeling that I knew what Anita wanted to talk about - but I couldn't dodge her forever. Plus it would've been cold to skip out after she'd just agreed to help me with Millie. I was mildly annoyed, though: why was she looking after Millie
'for me'
? Why not take care of Millie because she was her friend?
I stepped out of the bedroom, closing the door behind me.
I needed a little time to think. That, and a beer.
The kitchen area was weird. There were two attractive women critiquing the decor, and comparing notes on what they'd learned from Fashion TV and the Home Renovation Channel (or, Property Porn, as I called it). Shallow bullshit garbage.
To get away from their horrific conversation, I snagged a beer from the fridge (plus a second, to save myself a trip) and went out to the pool area.
It was a beautiful evening. I had time to consider some of the great philosophical questions of our time: who needs a house this big? How long would it take to clean the whole place, from top to bottom? Is it okay to have sex with your ex-girlfriend's friend? Does the answer change if said person is
also
your buddy's ex-girlfriend?
The answers can be very elusive. Beer helps. Well, it doesn't hurt. No one interrupted my musings, so I returned to the kitchen and helped myself to another couple of beers. I sat down on a marble bench, with my back to the house/fucking mansion, and admired the view.
I missed Kira. She wasn't coming back, though - not in the near future, if ever. Anita was broadcasting on all channels, but... I just couldn't go there. My two best buddies would be justifiably pissed off at me,
and
it would hurt Kira's feelings. That was it; that was what I'd tell Anita. It would have been easier if she wasn't wearing that skin-tight top, and if I didn't owe her one for coming to help Millie so quickly.
Yeah, I know: she was helping her friend.
At my request
. I estimated my odds of getting out of here without having sex with Anita at around... 60%? Then my lower brain kicked in, and asked
why
I would want to avoid that.
- "Hey, cutie."
That wasn't Anita.
Light brown hair. Incredible grey eyes. Nose, lips... absolutely beautiful face, with a little cleft in her chin. Ridiculously tight body.
Millie was a beauty. A 9. The hottest girl I'd
ever
been with, or ever would be.
This woman was a 9.1.
Her face was mesmerizing. She was wearing a tight little dress that said 'Hey - look at me!'... and I didn't see how anyone could not have. It barely covered her pussy, revealing long, shapely legs. Legs I'd seen before - at Millie's birthday party.
- "Carla?"
- "You remember me? That's so sweet!" Carla sat down beside me, and put down a glass of champagne next to my beer. Beers.
"How are you, Ben?" she asked.
She remembered my name. Now, I was no 9.1 - that was for damn sure. I'd never really understood why Millie had singled me out, that night. Maybe she was tired of filet mignon and wanted to try some macaroni & cheese for... nostalgia's sake?
Why on earth would a fox like Carla remember my name? It made no sense.
- "Just enjoying the view." I managed to say. "How are you?"
- "Good, now that I've found you." she said. Honestly: her voice was like a sauna. I felt hot and sweaty just listening to her talk.
- "
Me
?" I remembered that I'd said the same thing to Millie, when she'd plucked me out of that disco/nightclub.
- "Of course you." said Carla, with a breathy giggle. "Don't sell yourself short, Ben. Millie said you were awesome. And that bitch Anita can't wait to sink her teeth into you."
Bitch? That was a bit much. I thought they were friends. No - wait. Anita didn't like Carla. Were they rivals? Frenemies?
Carla pulled out a baggie. "Share a joint with me, pretty boy? I don't do that hard stuff, but... can you roll one up for us?"
I could, and did. It would have been un-chivalrous not to.
"You have hidden talents, don't you?" said Carla. "Millie's no size queen or anything, but you must have been something special. What did you do to her?"
- "Ahh... I don't know."
- "You can tell me the truth, Ben. She said you couldn't dance to save your life - it must've been something else."
I felt Carla's hand on my thigh. I was trying to gather my scattered wits. Was she serious? I couldn't tell what she was after - okay,
that
I knew. But why? I wasn't even remotely in her league.
- "Oh - look." Carla looked back at the house. I turned around, but couldn't see what she was referring to.
- "Turn around." she said. "Sit facing the house."
- "Uhh..." I had no good reason not to. I spun around on the marble bench.
Carla stood up, and then straddled my legs.
"Did Millie tell you that I'm a
great
dancer, Ben?"
I didn't remember any such conversation. Millie hadn't said word one about Carla. It didn't matter. Carla was happily astride my thighs, grinding against my growing erection.
Really? She wanted me to fuck her by the edge of the pool, in full view of a dozen party guests? Okay, there was no one else out by the pool, just at that moment. But there were tons of people who could be looking out the patio windows, or who could come outside at any moment. Carla was nuts.
That brought to mind a famous saying from my college years: 'Don't stick your dick in crazy.' Of course, they hadn't been talking about a super-hottie like Carla. A 9.1. Who was going to resist
that
?
Carla didn't stop at grinding. She unbuttoned my shirt, and ran her hands over my chest. She brushed the tips of her polished nails across my nipples. As her hands dipped lower, I used the last of my willpower to stop her - well, to slow her down.
Carla stood up again. She grinned at me, and then peeled her tight dress over her head.
She stood in front of me with nothing but a thong - and there wasn't a whole lot of material covering her pussy. Carla straddled my thighs again, and resumed her dance. That is, her grinding.
I had a mostly naked supermodel sitting astride me. She was small-breasted, supple and graceful - and I was harder than a rock. There was only a tiny scrap of material separating Carla's steaming, moist pussy from the overstretched fabric of my pants. I swear, I could feel the heat of her straight through my pants.
Yes, I had the urge to unbutton, yank down my zipper, and plunge my full length into her. I wanted to fuck her into oblivion.
But there was something... off. You may find this hard to believe, but insanely beautiful women don't often jump on my dick by the pool at the mansion (with a party going on inside). It was a really strange situation, and there was something
odd
about Carla.
She managed an impressive dismount, and spun around - wearing nothing but her heels and that thong. Then she planted her ass on my lap, and began having some sort of seizure. She might have been dancing. Or she might have been twerking.
Then she settled down, and resumed lap dancing, grinding her ass and pussy on my erection. Does it count as sex if you come in your pants? I was close to doing just that.
- "Aah!" said Carla. It was an expression of deep satisfaction, but it didn't sound like a sigh, or a groan. There was no trembling, or even a muscular contraction. It didn't sound - or feel - like an orgasm.
It was bizarre, though.
Weird.
