The Best Mirror Is an Old Friend

"The Best Mirror is an Old Friend"

Meaning: An old friend will give you a better picture of yourself than an actual looking glass. Old friends will be truthful, honest and tell it like it is.

"Harry, am I still sexy?"

Paula sat across from me in the coffee shop, sipping her latte. She was maybe 5' 3", thin to the point of almost being anorexic, but with nice-sized breasts and good curves.

"Why are you asking me?" I replied.

She brushed some of her expensively-coiffed, wavy brown hair out of her face and sipped again.

I'd known her since junior high when we were in band together and I'd had a huge crush on her. Every time I asked Paula out on a date, she always put me off, saying her parents would never approve of a gentile for her.

Yes, she was Jewish and beautifully so. It was fate that had us both hired by the same real estate firm, Paula coming in 2 years after I started there and then being assigned to me.

I wasn't her boss; though; we were partners. Within a year, we were the top sales team in our region.

"I'm asking because you've always been honest with me and I've always been honest with you," she replied, checking her makeup in a compact mirror and looking unhappy. She pursed her lips after applying lipstick. "So, am I still as hot as I was before I got married?"

"Physically? Yes, you're still incredibly stunning. You turn heads wherever you go. Why do you ask?" I gave her a puzzled look.

She looked off into the distance, sipped at her coffee again and then said in a voice that was almost inaudible, "Then why doesn't David have sex with me anymore?"

David was her husband, an accountant, tax lawyer and financial planner. He was also a Jewish Mother's dream; wealthy, successful, handsome and

very

Jewish. You probably know him because he's been on television, on radio and had a syndicated column in newspapers and magazines across the country. He's also in love with himself.

I'd told him that once and he laughed. "I like you, Harry," he told me then. "Paula said you were honest to a fault, and I have enough people around me telling me what I want to hear. Promise me you'll stay that way."

"I don't plan on changing, David."

While I didn't really like him much, he would invite me on golf outings and talk to me, asking my opinion on a variety of things. That's how Paula ended up at my firm. He said she "needed something to do" so she would quit bugging him. We were hiring, so I suggested she try for the position.

"Earth to Harry!" called Paula. I dropped out of my reverie.

"Oh, sorry Paula," I said.

"I swear, you men are all alike in some ways, "she groused. "So, why do you think David doesn't pay attention to me anymore if I'm still sexy?" She paused, gave me a sincere look and said, "The truth, Harry. I know you two talk. He says you're the only guy he's ever been able to unload to. What's wrong with our marriage?"

"Well, first," I said, clearing my throat before continuing, "you married the most narcissistic bastard I've ever known."

Paula laughed at that, then stopped abruptly. "What do you mean, 'narcissistic'?"

"He's in love with himself. He is the center of his own little universe and everything that orbits around him has to compliment him in some fashion, whether it be in looks, prestige or in other ways. You'll notice he thinks I'm his best friend, but I'm never invited to any of his gatherings, unless it has to do with business. Then I'm introduced as

your

associate."

Paula thought a moment and said, "Yeah, there's that. So, it's all him?" She gave a smug little smile.

"It always takes two to make or break a relationship, Paula." I told her. I was now about to test the limits of our friendship.

"Meaning?" she said, giving me a shocked look.

"Meaning that

you

are also one of the most narcissistic females I've ever known. You obsess about your appearance and constantly worry about whether or not you

look

sexy, but without really knowing how to

be

sexy. I mean, lying in bed while a guy uses your pussy to masturbate and thinking that 'looking this hot should get any guy off his nut' gets old and boring really fast."

"WHAT?"

I knew it!

"Hey, you said to be honest! If you don't want to hear the answer, don't ask the question!"

I could see her thoughts smoldering behind those beautiful brown eyes.

"Don't give him that much credit," I said, interrupting her thoughts. That broke her reverie.

"What are you talking about?" she barked.

"He didn't say anything like that to me."

"Then why the fuck did you say it?"

I pushed my chair back and prepared to leave. "Because you asked me to be honest with you and that was the report I received from

every single fuckin' guy you dated in high school and college.

Why do you think they always broke up with you a few weeks after you had sex? Why do you think I quit trying to date you in our junior year at State?

"Yeah, David was perfect for you. That's why he married you. He didn't want to have someone to have sex with; he wanted a trophy-wife! He doesn't want you having kids and ruining your figure either. Honestly, I don't

know

what his sex-drive is like because I've never talked to him about it, but I've heard from others that it runs into some pretty kinky stuff.

Heard it from others.

Keep that phrase in mind!"

She sat there stunned to silence. I got up to leave.

"I'll see you at the office."

Paula didn't talk to me when she came back. In fact, she didn't talk to me the rest of the week and everyone noticed the tension. Mark, our boss, came in and asked me what was going on and I told him. He shook his head. "Harry, there are some days and times when it's more tactful to not say anything."

At lunchtime, Paula came into the office. Fridays were casual days and she was wearing one of those flouncy denim kilt-skirts, a cream silk camisole and a black bolero jacket. It sort of hid her figure but made her legs look tanned and long. I closed my eyes, took a breath, opened my eyes again and said, "Oh! Hello Paula. Look, about the other day..."

She held her hand up. "Mark already talked to me. Look, I asked and you've always been honest," she said. "Sometimes what you say infuriates me because it hits so close to home. But there is an old Jewish saying;

The best mirror is an old friend."

"That was George Herbert, Paula. He was a Welsh poet."

"Well, he could have been a Jew!" she replied, smiling.

I smiled back. "He was an Anglican priest."

"Whatever," she said, still smiling, but looking sad. She closed my door and sat down across from me. "Am I really that bad?"

"Bad? What do you mean?"

"Am I really that much of a bitch and that horrible in bed?"

"I can't answer that. Go home and ask David."

"He's... gone for the week. Won't be back until a week from next Monday."

"Then call up an old boyfriend." I said, not really wanting to discuss this anymore.

"I want

your

opinion, Harry," she said softly.

"Why?" I shot back. "You've made it very plain that I wasn't what you wanted in your life and rebuffed every attempt I ever made. Hon, I've never had you in bed. All can go by is from what others have said."

"You know what I mean, Harry. And yes, I just lay there. I-, I don't know what else to do!"

I shook my head and leaned back. "Try watching some porn."

"Oh good Lord no!" she blurted.

I shrugged. "Might give you some ideas. Also, I'd quit whining about things."

"Whining? What do you mean?"

"Well, today for instance. You were whining about how you need to lose 10 pounds..."

"I

do!"

"Goddamn it, Paula, you have the hottest body in the office and you damn well know it! The only thing you need to lose is your fuckin' attitude! Hell,

that

could be fixed with a ball-gag and a pair of cuffs!"

I stopped. She was blushing furiously and I'd probably just overstepped all sorts of office boundaries.

"So," she said icily, "you think I need to be bound and gagged, do you?"

"Look," I began, but realized that anything I said would just be thrown back at me. I waved at her in disgust. "Go back to your office. You don't want to hear anything I have to say and you think that anything I'm telling you now is just sour grapes because you married David. Think what you like. You're not going to listen to me anyway. I've got work to do."

She got up and I could see that she was crying a little, but she left my office. As it was Friday, the rest of the place was quiet as most folks, other than the support staff, left by three.

I stayed late. I was usually the only one that did. I didn't currently have a girlfriend and I didn't feel like going back to my condo and watching a whole bunch of twenty-somethings wandering around in bikini's and talking about the latest TV Reality Series. It was around 6:15 when my door opened and I looked up with a frown. The cleaning staff wasn't supposed to be here on Fridays.

It was Paula.

"Why are you still here?" I asked, my tone belying my irritation.

"I could ask you the same thing," she snapped back.

"The Colquist deal fell through and I'm trying to see what can be done to salvage it."

"Don't bother," she said, blushing.

"Why not? I've known Templeton for years and..."

"I slept with him. He called me a frigid bitch so I called him a twig-dick. We fought. You won't get it back."

I looked at her in shock. "You

slept

with Tem Colquist?

WHY?

"

"Because he had the hots for me and was agreeing to just about anything in order to get into my pants and I was horny. Instead, I made a mess of it... because... because..."

"Because why?"

"Because, as he put it, I

am

a frigid bitch and just laid there!" she cried, bursting into tears. "Harry, what the fuck is wrong with me? I'm toned, I know I'm attractive! Guys flock to me - always have - but, when we get into the bedroom, I can't seem to have fun with sex! Why am I scared to death of it?"

"Scared? Why?"

"I don't know! I lay there and let them push their cocks into me and then they squirt their stuff into me."

"You don't caress each other, you don't talk?"

"No. I'm afraid of doing something foolish or saying something stupid or inappropriate or just... just..."

"Paula...?"

"What?"

"Have you ever... had an orgasm?"

"A what?"

"Orgasm. Have you ever cum from having sex?"

"No!" she wailed and began to cry on my shoulder. "I don't know what that is. Everyone talks about it but I just don't seem to know what to do during sex," she sobbed. "No guy has ever talked to me or told me anything. They just assume I've had all sorts of experience. In reality, this is the most I've ever discussed it with anybody."

"What about your girlfriends?"

"What about them? They'd talk about their wonderful sex lives and I'd just agree with them, saying that I'd done much the same things. It didn't help that guys spread rumors about sleeping with me, either!"

I held her and let her talk.

"My parents always taught me that sex was wrong. When I asked my mother, she said the only reason to have sex was to make babies! It's probably why my parents got divorced after I graduated from high school and my dad ran off with Ophelia."

"His secretary? The hot..."

"Yeah, the hot black chick. He's fuckin' fifty-one and they're having a baby! A freakin' baby! Mom wants to move in with David and I, but he's told her no because he knows she's a busybody. Instead, he bought her a condo down at a Florida retirement community." Paula shrugged. "For the first time, she seems happy.

She's

happy, but I'm not."

I shook my head sadly. "Paula, if you wanted to learn about sex in the past, why didn't you just let guys try things with you?"

"Like what?"

"Let them kiss you all over. Let them fondle your body. Let them lick you, nibble on you, bite you, suck on your clit..."

"Ewww! No! Putting our lips down there? That's dirty! I won't let anyone do that!"

"You have to experiment before you dismiss something."

"Nope! No! Ain't gonna happen! Guys keep trying and my girlfriends are always telling me how great 'oral' is, but, nope. Uh-uh! I make that perfectly clear with every guy I've ever dated."

"Why? How do you know you won't like it?"

"I just

know,

, okay?"

"That's probably why you always had such a hard time keeping guys."

"No, it's just that I'm not going to give up that kind of control."

"What do you mean, 'that kind of control'?"

"I'm not going to let go and lick dirty areas like that."

I shook my head and sighed. "Oh, holy fuck! As long as I've known you, Paula, you've always had to be in control when it comes to your relationships. Until you learn to give up some of that control and experiment a little bit, you're never going to enjoy sex."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning doing more than just the missionary position. Meaning that you should probably loosen up your prudish morals a bit and find out how to enjoy yourself. You're so concerned with propriety and your image that you don't even realize what you're missing. You're always talking about how other girls you know seem to be happy in their relationships and marriage, but you don't see that it's because there is give-and-take, that there is experimentation, that there is a constantly changing dynamic where they learn to be at ease and have fun with one another."

"But, what if I make a fool of myself?"

"Then you make a fool of yourself. You laugh about it and move on!"

There was a long, uncomfortable silence where she was clearly shaken. It took several moments before she asked, "How... do... I... give... up... control?" the words punctuated by her soft sobbing.

"You give it to someone you trust. And you only give that to someone you know won't hurt you or damage you, or talk about it to others, but will push your limits. Someone who has experience and is willing to work with you."

Paula kept sobbing for a few more minutes and then put her arms around me and pulled me close. I did the same and her breathing calmed a bit.

"The only person I know like that; the only person I've ever trusted not to hurt me," she said softly into my shoulder while we hugged, "is you."

Inside, I was experiencing all sorts of turmoil. I'd wanted this woman forever and now my cock was hard as she pressed herself to me. I knew she could feel it against her belly, but I also knew that she still had to do a lot of changing. When I was in college with her, I'd heard what a cold-fish she was in bed. I tried chasing after women that reminded me of Paula, but none of them ever measured up.

Then I met Karin.

Karin was an Irish exchange student, and the exact opposite of all the other women I'd dated in that she was neither skinny or short. She was the same height as I, had thick, flaming red hair that tumbled around her face in waves. She was curvy, not thin, with large breasts, broad hips, and a boisterous manner. I'd met her at a campus party, initially attending it with Paula, then getting pissed when she wandered off with some Jewish guy that interested her because he had more status and money.

When that happened, I fell into a pissy mood and drank more than I should have. I was a little tipsy, otherwise I probably wouldn't have done what I did.

Karin cut in front of me while I was waiting in line at the bar and I grabbed her hair to pull her back. She gasped and everyone around us stopped talking, knowing that she had a temper and very sharp tongue, expecting her to go off on me full-blast. I wasn't in the mood for attitude and didn't give her that chance. Instead, I got in her face and began to yell at her.

"Look," I hissed, my hand firmly grasping her locks and bending her backwards, "I don't know who the hell you think you are, girlie, but you had better learn some fuckin' manners and stand in your place in line.

Got it?

"

As I pulled her head back, Karin's eyes went cold and she attempted to grab my crotch, but I snagged her wrist and yanked back harder on her hair until she was bent back far enough to look at me. Her green eyes flared and then softened when I bent close, staring into those blue orbs as I hissed at her again in a voice that was soft, but filled with venom, "I'll ask you once more, girlie;

do you understand me?

"

She and I locked stares for a good ten seconds before I saw a change come over her face. "I do...

Saire

," she said in that lovely brogue.

I don't know what possessed me, but I bent down and kissed her. She surprised me (and everyone else) when she kissed back. And,

oh, could that girl kiss!

She didn't try to ram her tongue down my throat (well, not right away, at least), nor did she slobber all over my face. She kissed with just lips and we both instantly felt the connection. I gradually let her up and she simply put her hands on my head and kept kissing me. We stayed like that for a good five minutes. Paula saw it as well because she'd stopped talking to the guy she'd been chasing and just gawked at us until our lips finally parted.

"Holy fuck," panted Karin.

I smirked and grabbed her hair again, looked around and said, "Mine!"

That made her laugh and kiss me again. "I like ya, Yank," she told me.

I looked at her and said, "Mine!" again.

"Yes, Saire,

yours.

Karin and I then proceeded to spend the rest of the night together, with me holding her hand or having my hand grasping her belt possessively, which ended up around her neck and had me tugging on it like it was a leash. We were then the talk of the campus gossips and dated for two years until we all graduated and she went back to Ireland, tearfully explaining the obvious; that "she was betrothed." During those two years, we explored a lot of our kinky side and she brought out the Dominant in me. I was also surprised to find out she'd even told her fiance about me and that he approved.

When Karin went back to Ireland, it left a terrible void in my life. The trouble was, I couldn't find anyone like her since then. I take that back. I did find them, but they didn't measure up. Karin was both fun and intelligent; probably smarter than I was. But she was also one that would discuss things with me without getting emotional or upset about it. The last several submissive women I'd dated were either afraid to say anything to me about what they liked (oh, how I hate the "Whatever you desire, Sir!") or they would

tell

me exactly how I was to dominate them, leaving no room for negotiation and even less room for a relationship.

"Paula," I said to her, "I'm your friend. I'll do what I can to help you, but..."

"I know you're more than just a friend; you're in love with me," she stated softly, stopping my little speech. "You've been infatuated with me since 7th grade band when we were practicing that September day and I wore that loose spaghetti-strap top and no bra.

"Every time I bent over, you got an eyeful of my tits, though I didn't understand what you saw in them, as small as they were. I was copying something Marcia Brady told us she did to torment guys, thinking it was funny. I was doing it on purpose because I liked being a tease and liked even more that someone actually appreciated them.

"I'd discovered that Trachtenberg was only interested in getting into my pants. I was about to give up on Jewish boys in college and say yes to you when that Karin O'Casey came along. I don't know what you ever saw in that chunky, freckled bitch. Everyone knew she was going to hurt you because you seemed to be the only one oblivious to the rock on her finger. But suddenly, you didn't have much time for me and that hurt!"

Paula shifted a little bit and pressed into me, purposefully rubbing my cock against her belly. "I hated her. Mostly, I hated what I saw when I came to your apartment one day."