The next day I called Liz and replayed the debacle. She laughed, surprised they had come back, pronouncing them a bizarre couple. A rematch with Brian intrigued her, but she wasn't eager to tangle with Mona.
While my adventure with Brian and Mona had unfolded, she and Angela prowled for a few young studs. From the story she told, they'd met with considerable success. They had been their usual selves, draining their randomly selected partners before giving them a show. Tonight they were off to a swing party with some of their new acquisitions.
Liz's graphic blow by blow left me horny and depressed. The chance of a rematch with Brian and Mona seemed as remote as the chance of my hooking one of the young women in the bar where I spent the evening licking my wounds. I wondered what might have transpired had the condom not burst. I concluded it would have made little difference.
Liz and I talked again the next day. She told me that she and Angela had ruled the party, the central attraction. She admitted to being sore and hung over. I asked what was left to do for the remainder of the visit, but she told me not to worry. They had just started.
I asked her who she thought instigated the contacts, Brian or Mona. She didn't have a clue, but guessed it to be a joint decision.
I thought that made no sense. One partner plants the seed and either it sprouts or it dies. One of them had browsed on-line profiles looking for locals with a bi-female. Which one?
A couple days before Liz returned I received an e-mail from Mona's address. It said they were going to visit relatives for a couple weeks and would contact us when they got back in town. Three weeks later Mona called Liz. We arranged dinner at a simple Italian bistro.
This time they found us seated and drinking. Brian appeared to have lost some weight, but the plaid sport coat and blue jeans he wore might have created an illusion.
Mona hung on his arm. She'd cut her hair short and wore it in studied disarray like a trampled clump of sooty grass. She'd also changed her make-up scheme. Somber grays outlined her skeletal structure as if chiseled in bas-relief. Painted shadows hollowed her cheeks beneath arching facial bones, the brows thin black lines, lip gloss almost black, chin sharper than I remembered. The fierce blue eyes glowed, but muted like dying embers.
She hugged me when I stood up, then sat on my right side, smiling and upbeat. She placed her hand on my forearm and drew me in with an almost melancholy glance, like she spied some omen looming on the horizon.
Liz went after Brian, corralling him the moment he sat. Fresh from prowling strangers in another city, she wore her intentions in the white knit dress that clung in obscene mockery of business wear.
Mona and I paired off in conversation, Brian a distant memory. The moment she spoke I knew she had a head cold. I remarked on it. She said she'd had it about a week, but felt better now.
Mona went on about a wild strip club in their home town, where the laws allowed the girls to go totally nude, on and off stage, mingling in a joint rowdy with drunken men and more than a few women in attendance. She started into a lurid account of a flesh-kneading lap dance with a willing strumpet when Brian interrupted her.
"Yea, well that son of a bitch at the other table had his eyes on you." He looked at her while he spoke, then turned to me. "He came up to us and said he was going to fuck her right there on the table."
Mona's eyes flamed, haughty and righteous and mean. I sensed neither of them had broached this subject prior to this moment, that it had festered and bubbled like a canker verging on eruption.
"He was a drunk, Brian. I handled him."
"You didn't handle anything. I told him to back off and he wanted to fight me."
"I got the manager," she said. "The bouncer threw him out."
She spoke in a voice I hadn't heard before. I didn't like it. Icily withering and contemptuous, her words meant less than the way she spit them out, precisely hissed in an even tone.
Brian's voice deflated to the edge of a whine, but he held his ground. "The son of a bitch waited for us in the parking lot," he said.
"That's why they have attendants. They took care of it."
He looked at me again. "They had to call the police."
He spoke without rancor, his righteous anger trivialized. It had been a week and he still felt the humiliation. I felt his humiliation.
"It was nothing, Brian." She spoke as if to a child who has failed a simple test.
"I'm not going to those places again," he said.
"I like them. That was a first and only problem, and it wasn't that big a deal."
"I'm finished going to strip clubs."
"I don't need for you to go with me."
As if the light went out in Brian's eyes, he collapsed at her words.
I knew we wouldn't see them again. I pushed for one last time and Mona went along. She wanted to go back to our place and Liz was up for it too, so Brian had no choice. He pleaded her cold, but she answered it was nearly gone. For me the cold seemed a small price to pay for one more fuck.
At the house Mona and Liz paired us off. I prefer all together in one place, but Liz led Brian to our bedroom while Mona whispered she wanted to be alone with me. We ducked into the guest bedroom.
It started with deep kisses and frenetic disrobing. We flopped on the bed and I worked my way from her mouth to her nipples to her pussy. She lay on her back, my lower body leaning over the edge of the futon. I ate her like I would never see her again, sucking her labia into my mouth, licking inside, nibbling at her clitoris. I pulled myself onto the futon beside her, my drooling erection in her face. She didn't take it.
"Help me out here," I said, trying to move her hips into position so I didn't strain my neck.
"I can't," she said. "I want to, but I promised Brian I wouldn't suck another man's cock."
"That's not what I mean. This position is uncomfortable. Sit on my face, it's easier."
I helped her up into a squatting position over my mouth and devoured her cunt.
When I came up for air, my face wet with her juices, I asked, "Is it okay?"
"Yes. I could do this all night. Now fuck me."
I rolled on a condom and she moved from squatting over my face to squatting on my dick. In control, she lingered on the upstroke, squeezed, lingered on the downstroke, picking up speed until she pumped like a piston in a race car. Eventually exhausted by the pace, she rolled onto her back, pulling me with her, holding me inside, and I pumped her, holding her wet butt under my hands, her legs wrapped around me, then over my shoulders.
"Wait," she said, getting up to kneel against the futon, knees on the floor, raising her ass up for me to gain leverage. I fucked her hard, ejaculating with painful force against the tight reservoir of the condom.
As we lay panting, Liz stepped inside the room. Brian hung back in the doorway.
"Can we come in?" she asked.
"Sure. Join us."
"Brian?" Liz said. "You want to join in?"
He didn't respond.
"What's wrong honey?" Mona asked. She got up and went to him.
"I don't like this," he said. "I want to go."
* * *
That ended it. They left and we never saw them again. Liz told me Brian hadn't been able to get it up, no matter how she tried. In the end he wanted to find Mona. They stood in the doorway and watched me fuck her.
I caught a hellacious cold.
A month later I went online and checked Mona's profile for the first time since the initial contact. It said "No couples, no men." Six months later it said "Lesbian and taken, no couples, no men."
I sent an e-mail asking about her and Brian. She replied they were divorcing. She had found a woman who could be friend, lover, father to her children and husband in one person. She felt satisfied, she said, for the first time.
We corresponded for a while, but nothing kept us talking and it ended.
Jim Chaffee is an old guy who writes about what he knows: sex, violence, mathematics and dumbasses. His first science fiction pieces were weapon systems proposals to the Air Force. These days he's pondering which country will be best for immigration to escape the coming US military state. His crime novel, São Paulo Blues, which pisses off a lot of people who read it, is available at The Drill Press, where you'll find details regarding this book and others by authors such as Tom Bradley, Robert Levin, John-Ivan Palmer and Mickey Z. It also publishes three online journals in English and one in Portuguese.