Dealing Flesh (27 page)

Ragelina:
Shall I strangle him now or later?

For the rest of the evening, I watch how the two repeatedly engage in wordless “I Can’t Wait To Screw You” stares, shamelessly flirting with each other, caring little whether I’m around. Avengelia instructs me to check out the husky, tall colored man with the stature of a bodyguard who is standing across the room.

“Whooo is that?” I ask Ken with a well-enacted parody of fascination, simultaneously running my eyes up and down the other fellow’s anatomy.

“Why do you want to know? You like him, don’t you?” I sense tension in Ken’s voice.

Avengelia (longing to scream in his face):
Hell, yeah, I like him, asshole
.

“I think he is really good-looking,” I say with a sly smirk.

Ragelina:
Who gives a flying fuck about anything anymore? I won’t subject myself another minute to watching Ken fantasizing about boning that blonde bimbo.

“I’m leaving.”

“Oh…well…okay. I’ll walk you to your car then,” he suggests.

“No, that’s okay. Really, I’m fine.”

“Let’s go. I’ll bring you. Don’t want you to walk around this late by yourself. C’mon.”

Ken prods me forward. While we are strolling along the sidewalk toward my car he puts his arm around me. I free myself instantly. We reach the car.

“Kiss me, honey,” he insists as he hugs me.

Romy:
Kiss him. He wants to make up.

Ragelina:
Bullshit.
Don’t you dare? Not after all this.

Doubt Cloud:
I bet ya’ he’ll go right back in there and work his way into the blonde’s pants for tonight.

Tough Gal:
He needs to earn your trust again. Get packing. You are going home.

I turn my face away as Ken gets closer.

“Don’t…I am not in the mood,” I say, gently nudging him backward.

“Fine. Take care,” he mumbles, walking off once he sees me get inside the car.

Too enraged to turn in yet, I swing by a
karaoke
joint that is on my route home. I return to my ride fifteen minutes later. When I pull my phone from the glove compartment, I discover a message. It’s Ken’s number…I check it immediately. I hear him conversing with a woman, but because of background noise, I only detect muffled garbling…with only a couple of clear words here and there. I could be wrong, but from my familiarity with every nuance of the highs and lows of his voice and his way of flirting, I could almost swear that what I’m hearing is him trying to score with another woman. Disgusted, I throw the phone onto the passenger seat. Fuuuckkk. My head hits the front wheel as the image of him banging the chick in the evening gown poisons my mind in most intolerable ways.

~~~

It’s almost 11 p.m., and I feel like piranhas are feasting on my insides again. Having reached a plateau in my enslavement to the classified section of the weekly paper, Fantasia insinuates that I explore more advanced arousal ads. She urges that I pick up one of those sleazy publications that can be found inside a box on certain street corners. I get dressed and hurry to one of those cases, pull one out and bring it home. I rip it open like a lion does a zebra on the Savanna and scan it from cover to cover, hunting for words that will supply an instant hit.

Inflamed by the idea of attending swinger clubs, I take myself straight to the spectacle, participating in one orgy after another, only in the safety of my head, of course.

Whip Cracker:
You better get out there and make it real. Now that you know how to orgasm, you’ve got the responsibility to truly participate in what the world has to offer. But if you want to keep it on a smaller scale for the time being, at least, bring your most favorite fantasy to life. You know, having two hotties rock your world at the same time. It’ll hit the pleasure jackpot, I promise.

Lustania:
Mmmmh, yeeaahh…more orgasms, stronger orgasms, longer orgasms, climaxing all day, everyday for as long as I live. That’s what I’m talking about. I need nothing else, just that…ultimate happiness.

Too horny to focus on the things “normal people” do, I place an advertisement by morning that reflects a condensed version of my wish list.

Within days, an abundance of messages trickle in, apparently all of them belonging to nicely built African-American males. Their dark manly voices get Lustania so worked up that she insists I lie down right away and masturbate. I do. Right in the middle of it, I notice Fantasia introducing two white men to the plot.

Lustania (indignant):
What? Are you crazy? You are spoiling the mood.

Fantasia:
Oh, I forgot, no white boys unless they look like ‘Vin Diesel’ or ‘Jason Statham.’ And only a certain kind of black male—no pro-athletes, extreme body builders, rappers, ‘Mac Daddies,’ the ‘Too Cool For This World,’ or guys with piercings, right?

Lustania:
Precisely.

Fantasia:
Noted.

I arrive at the coffee shop in Woodland Hills around six this evening to interview applicant number one who replied to my request for a threesome.

“Hi. I’m Chevana,” I say to the towering beefy male in the hip flannel shirt across my table. We shake hands and sit down across from each other.

Scaredy Cat:
Pure madness.

While we keep talking, I am trying to envision us between the sheets.

Lustania:
I’d do him.

After digging a little deeper, I find out that he has got a woman whom he lives with.

Lustania:
On second thought, who needs that drama?

We leave it at “I’ll call you once the interviewing process is over.” He takes off. Guy number two shows up a few moments later, a fellow with a diamond studded earring in his left lobe, gray hairs around his temples, wearing a Lakers’ shirt and tight black jeans.

Fantasia:
No chemistry. Next.

I wrap this one up and head back home.

Doubt Cloud:
What can you expect from a want ad in a sleaze paper? Best of luck. I doubt you are going to find what you are looking for.

Waking up once again with the knowledge that I am flat broke, I see the walls of bleakness rise even higher this morning.

Fantasia:
Why not let a voyeur watch you while you have sex with the two guys of your choice? For an entrance fee, of course.

Lustania:
That is genius…If you’ll excuse me? I have some serious jacking off to do to that excellent plot.

Keenly, I reformulate the initial ad this evening and place it. Several responses arrive in a matter of days, mostly from white men for the role of “the watcher.” I sense Fantasia’s growing excitement while I try to decide which one to call back.

Thursday, at 9:00 p.m. in Beverly Hills, I am waiting for one of “the doers” from the first batch of applicants, a guy named Zack, to arrive at the upscale restaurant on Rodeo Drive. It’s clear to me that if he checks out alright, we’ll be partaking in our first trial run for sexual harmony tonight.

Staring out of the window from my table, I watch a fancy white sports car drive up. It stops a few feet away from the eatery. Within seconds a six foot tastefully garbed man in his thirties steps out. He’s wearing a hip-long brown leather jacket and is now coming my way.

Big Shot Mama:
If that’s him, kudos for the ride.
And he isn’t shabby either.

He smiles as he notices me staring at him. The fellow enters the locale and walks up to my table.

“Zack?” I smile invitingly.

“Chevana?”

“Hi, nice to meet you.” I step towards him, and we hug.

Fantasia:
He’s attractive, sure. Nice eyes, good skin, but his face is a bit on the
soft side.
I had hoped for a bit more of a dare-devilish look. But…okay…he’ll do.

Lustania:
As far as I can tell through his clothes, he seems to be well developed in all the right places.
I love his deep voice, too.

He sits down and orders a drink. While we are talking about our future endeavor, I throw my idea of adding a benefactor into the equation. Reluctance invades his face. I tell him about the motivation behind it. A few minutes pass.

“Can you hang on for a moment?” Zack asks. He gets up and walks outside to his car. When he returns and sits back down he hands me a little stack of hundred dollar bills.

“Here. Take this.” I look at him with a perplexed expression.

“What’s that for?”

“Use it to pay your most urgent liabilities,” he says with a kind voice.

“Wow…but…but I won’t be able to pay you back for some time.”

“Don’t worry. Pay it when you happen to have it. There’s no rush.”

I gratefully accept what turns out to be a thousand dollars. But regardless of the relief it brings, the mental picture of a horny rich dude watching us fuck periodically flashes into my mind and makes me squirrelly.

Zack pays the bill, and I follow him in my car to a luxury hotel in West Los Angeles. We enter the foyer. He takes care of the room arrangement while I wait near the elevator in front of the check-in counter. We step onto the airlift and whiz up to the fourteenth floor.

Scaredy Cat:
This may be the last elevator ride I’ve ever been on because what, if dude’s a serial killer?

Lustania:
Get a hold of your self; serial killers don’t drive fancy sports cars.

We step off the elevator. After turning down a hallway, we eventually enter one of the rooms on the right towards the middle of the tract.

Romy:
How dare you. Don’t you know that, if you go through with this, Ken will never take you back? Have you got a heart?

Whip Cracker:
Shut up, bitch. It’s not up for debate. Besides, no one wants to hear your mushy gushy crap. No mo’ pussyfootin’ around. Your mental bond with Ken will be severed tonight…for good. Basta.

Zack hangs the “Do Not Disturb Sign” on the outer doorknob. The views from up here are fantastic, but it only registers for a second…then fades to gray.

Romy:
Only a few more moments ‘til execution. Any last words?

Zack positions his six foot two physique in front of me, looking like he expects me to start us off. The mist of his masculine aftershave blends well with the sweet designer fragrance that is sticking on me. I slowly unlatch the crystal buttons on my violet cotton blouse, at the same time keeping his eyes imprisoned with a captivating stare. Down to a white push up bra and my classy gray colored skirt, I sling my arms around his neck. His warm breath strokes my face. I feel his lips move in the direction of my mouth.

“Hold it. Don’t you go anywhere! I’m gonna get us some champagne from downstairs, alright?” Zack blurts out right before our lips can lock.

I nod, watching him instantly disappear in the hallway. My watery eyes stay peeled to the advancing pointer on the wall clock for the next few seconds…
tick, tick, tick
—I like the regularity of the sound it makes, so reliable, crystal clear. Gosh. What am I doing? It’s preposterous. Even if I wanted to turn back now, what to? Ken’s face flashes before me.

Romy:
I miss him endlessly. He still is the only one I want to allow sole privileges to my body.

Whip Cracker:
You are beyond redemption. There is no future. No one’s gonna come for you…no one even knows you are here. Why not, at least, go out in style?

Freefall from the fourteenth floor looks mighty appealing right about now.

Scaredy Cat (screaming):
What’s taking Zack so long? Anesthesia pleeeaaassseee. Noooooowwwww.
I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to do this. Please.

“God, or whoever you are, if you’ve got anything else to say to me, you better speak up now, because this is it.”

My heart starts sprinting, hearing the knock on the door. Unnerved, I give my boobs one last adjustment inside the padded bra. I waddle over to the door in my six-inch heeled cork sole sandals, and open. Zack scuttles inside with a puzzled look on his face.

“Where is the champagne?”

“You won’t believe this, but I have to leave.”

“Why?”

“My ex-girlfriend is in the lobby causing a huge scene because she saw us getting into the elevator. I must go back downstairs immediately to calm her down. Sorry. Stay all night, if you like. The room’s paid for in full. I’ll call you soon,” he says and vanishes like a genie.

Romy:
Whoa…whoa…whoaaa. What the…??? I’ve been saved. It’s a miracle…a real miracle.

Tears hurry down my face.

Scaredy Cat:
Hurry up, will ya? I don’t want him to change his mind.

I quickly round up my things and begin the journey down the fourteen flights of emergency stairs. Arriving at street level, I hit the ground running, not bothered by the heels on my feet, although they slow me down significantly.

Romy:
I’d climb ‘Mount Everest’ in these heels if that brought Ken back to me. I am so glad our bond remains unblemished.

Three minutes pass, before I reach my car. On the way home, I cry and pray, cry and pray, thanking the Universe repeatedly for having spared me, pledging to never call Zack again.

Two days elapse.

Whip Cracker:
In case you have forgotten, I run the show. Got plenty of things for you to do.

Convincing me that being a good girl is not going to bring Ken back, I recommit to new adventures.

Romy:
But…but…you can’t. You promised
.

Lustania:
There is nothing that can top the happy feeling of an orgasm…not a thing.

Romy:
Yes, there is.

Lustania:
And what would that be, little idiot?

Romy:
Being married to and being forever loved by Ken.

Whip Cracker:
You must be talking about the available, loyal, trustworthy family man version of him, if I understand you correctly…the one that does not exist?

Romy:
I guess.

Doubt Cloud:
Men that perfect don’t live on this planet.

Whip Cracker:
Exactly. What you see is what you get with Ken. Stick with what I have for you, and you’ll find that he isn’t the end-all and be-all, after-all.