Sex and the Social Network (18 page)

I thought I’d harbor some guilt about my affair with Todd, but strangely, I didn’t. I’d been carrying around a secret my whole life. It defined me for years, even before I remembered its horror. Being raped at ten years old had turned me into a little slut. I had sex with a college guy when I was fourteen, slept with half the football team in high school. I whored around all through college, fucking every frat guy in sight.

I’d get wasted and let them do whatever they want. I could see the primal lust in their eyes; they loved the idea of taking a girl against her will. It was date rape before anyone actually called it that.

Alcohol was my enabler. It allowed me to escape during my many liaisons, letting my mind wander to another place. In and out of consciousness, my mind would float off to a beach, somewhere warm and safe, only to be brought back to reality and feeling the hot breath of a sweaty man pumping on top of me. I simultaneously loved and hated it. But it didn’t matter
, because the next day when I’d try and piece it all together, alcohol was my excuse.

It wasn’t me who wore the short skirt and low cut top; it was just the drink talking. It wasn’t me who flirted shamelessly with the guy in the bar and then rubbed up against him so he could feel my nipples against his chest. It was the alcohol. It wasn’t me on my knees giving him the best blowjob of his life. It wasn’t me spread wide on the bed begging him to fuck me senseless. It was Naughty Girl, and Naughty Girl
loved sex and everything about it.

Alcohol let me go to another place; it was the adult way of coping with what I had done as a kid. My therapist said that is what people going through trauma often do. Their minds e
scape the torture their bodies must endure. They’re like POWs who invent their own little worlds, safe from their own harsh realities.

That is why there are only blips of memories; our minds leave the scene so we can cope and function in the “no
rmal” world. For years it had worked. Now it was all coming back to haunt me. We can try and block out the trauma, but our memories hold on, even if only our body’s memory. Now twenty-five years later, the memories of Uncle Gene’s abuse were flooding in faster than I could contain them. I felt like I was drowning.

Pleasure and guilt had become tangled into one complicated feeling, one complex em
otion. I didn’t know how to separate them. I tried; I really did. I tried to wait for love to have sex with guys I dated, but “love” wasn’t what I felt when we made love. My body wanted to feel shame in the act; it was the only way it also knew how to feel pleasure.

So sex with Steve became intolerable. He was too nice and too gentle and too caring. I couldn’t cum like that. So I sought out a guy that I knew wouldn’t be nice or gentle or caring. A man who would treat me poorly, who would treat me like the whore that I am, that I’ve always been—even as a ten-year-old little girl.

I had always been drawn to guys who treated me like shit. They didn’t ask me what I wanted; they told me what to do, how to do it, and that I had to surrender my body to them. Just those words were enough to practically make me orgasm. All I needed to put me over the edge was a little hair pull, for someone to call me a slut, or to spank my ass. I’d do whatever they wanted, fucking over and over again, coming all over them and every surface in the house.

TODD: Hey, babe. I’ll be in town this weekend. You coming to see me?

GABBY: Probably won’t be able to, logistics hard with kids, etc.

TODD: Yeah, I get it, but I’ll be so close by.

GABBY: I know, but what I am supposed to tell my husband?

TODD: You’re missing out.

GABBY: Trust me, I know it.

TODD: I want to make you cream.

GABBY: You do?

TODD: Yeah, I want to kiss you and rub you all over.

GABBY: Where would you kiss me?

TODD: Neck, ear, then down your chest.

GABBY: Nice, that gets me wet.

TODD: Yeah, then I’ll lick your nipple and blow on it as my hand goes down your pants and gently rubs your box.

GABBY: Mmm, and then?

TODD: Slide my finger in your wetness, then kiss your stomach and then devour your perfect pink paradise.

GABBY: I’m getting so turned on.

TODD: Take a pic pls.

GABBY: Of my panties?

TODD: No, your wet lips where my tongue should be.

GABBY: No way.

TODD: Please Gabby. Then I’d kiss your stomach and tits as my thickness penetrated your tightness.

GABBY: Mmm . . . that sounds so hot.

TODD: Yeah? Do you want me to slide it in deep while slowly kissing you?

GABBY: Yes, slide it in deep while I suck on your perfect lips.

TODD: C’mon, take a pic for me since you won’t come see me.

GABBY: I want to. You make me very horny.

TODD: I’m so hard for you sugar, please take a picture.

The next text that came through was a photo of Todd’s huge hard dick. This guy really knew how to turn me on.

GABBY: Damn, Todd, I really do love your cock. Remind me again why you like me? You could have any woman.

TODD: You are smokin’ hot and I love the way you take my cock in your mouth and moan. Take me a pic of where you want my tip sliding up and down before it goes in.

GABBY: Oh, I love that. Just the tip?

TODD: Yes, just in your lips. I’m hard now.

GABBY: LOL, you ooze sex. What position do you want me in?

TODD: First you on top, then me roll you down and fuck you sideways. Take that pic and send it.

GABBY: I can’t, I’m a lady. LOL.

TODD: Do it Gabby, right now.

I snuck into my bedroom, took a picture of my pussy, and texted it to him.

TODD: Good girl. Man, I’m so hard looking at your picture, thinking about how ama
zing you felt riding me. Gabby, say you’ll meet me. I’m aching for you.

GABBY: Todd, I want to meet up, really I do. But listen, you have nothing to lose here. I’m married, kids. You can’t get hurt here. Only I can.

TODD: Why are we talking about getting hurt here? Didn’t you have an amazing time last weekend?

GABBY: You know I did.

TODD: So then, what’s the problem?

GABBY: Seriously? I’m still married, Todd. I’m feeling kinda guilty.

TODD: Guilt is a wasted emotion and not for nothin', but guilt was the last thing you were feeling last week when you had my cock inside you. I need to see you again.

GABBY: Ok, let me think about it.

TODD: How about this? We meet at the hotel this weekend. If you still feel like you don’t want to continue then fine, but let’s at least have a little closure.

GABBY: Ok, I’ll be there Saturday night, but I can’t promise anything.

TODD: You don’t have to, but you’re going to be living out such a fantasy you may never leave.

GABBY: LOL. Okay, see you then.

I spent the next day in a haze thinking about Todd. Finally, that afternoon I pulled my act together enough to take the girls to the park. They were so sweet, so innocent. I pushed Katie on the swings, and the back-and-forth rhythm made me think of Todd. I smiled at the thought of what we would do on Saturday night.

I knew it was wrong to see him again, but I needed to anyway. He made me feel things Steven never had, and I craved that. I needed to feel like the dirty whore I really am.

“Mommy, look!” cried Kerri from the top of the slide.

I waved to her. How did she get over there? I thought she was in the sandbox. It didn’t matter, I guess; she knew not to go far.

Katie jumped off the swing and ran to Kerri. “I slide too,” she said, laughing as she ran.

I sat on a bench and continued daydreaming about Todd. I could picture him on top of me, his thickness plunging into me while he told me what a dirty girl I was. After I came, he would make me suck him, pulling my hair to guide the rhythm. He would lose control and slam his cock into my mouth as he came, moaning my name and telling me I was a good girl.

For the next month, I was miserable. I missed Enrique so much. I tried to keep busy with work and the kids, but I had a hole in my heart, a hole in my life.

I was surprised to receive a letter at work from him:

My dearest Maria,

I know I said I would not be in touch, but I couldn’t stay away. It’s been a month since we last spoke and my heart aches for you. Not being able to text you, talk to you, see you, taste you . . . It has been so much harder than I ever imagined.

I’m working hard on my marriage, but not an hour goes by that I don’t think of you, wishing you were wrapped in my arms in the middle of the night, wishing I could see your beautiful face every morning when I wake up.

I hope this letter doesn’t make things harder for you, but I just felt I had to tell you how much I miss you, how much I love you.

The three months we spent together were incredible, the best of my whole life. You were my first love… my only true love.

Even though we can’t be together, I wanted you to know how much you mean to me and how much I cherished our time together.

I hope you are happier with Zack now. I want so much for you to be happy, even if it can’t be with me.

I miss you and love you, Maria, and I always will.

Te quiero por siempre.

I was sobbing by the time I finished reading the letter. I read it again and then again before I folded it up and tucked it back into the envelope. I missed him so much, my heart literally hurt. I felt like I couldn’t breathe sometimes; it was as though he had brought new life into me when he came back. And now with Enrique gone, my life, my happiness was slowly being sucked out of me, one breath at a time.

The next day I called Liz to read her the letter.

“Wow, that is heavy. So do you regret having the affair with Enrique?”

There was no hesitation in my answer. “Nope, not at all. Even if it was for a short amount of time, I felt more alive, more happy than ever.”

Liz paused and then asked, “But doesn’t it make it harder to go back to your old life, to Zack?”

“No, it made my life more tolerable. And it gave me hope. Hope that maybe I’ll find that kind of love again with someone else. Maybe Enrique and I find our way back to each other one day. And if not me, then my daughter or my sister will find the kind of love and passion Enrique and I had. Having that kind of passion and love is worth giving up everything for. It’s a lesson I had to live through to learn. It’s one I know was worth learning.”

After work on Friday night, I saw what I thought was an ad under my windshield wiper. I almost threw it out, but then I saw my name scribbled across the paper.

I opened it up and there were the lyrics to the song “Maria” from West Side Story.

I wasn’t sure who would leave this for me. I suspected it might be Blake, the new guy in the accounting department at my office. He was twenty-five, tall, blonde, and tan. He looked like he’d stepped out of the J. Crew catalog. He was lean and muscular and had a strong, chiseled jawline. He wore his blond hair a little long, so he constantly had to sweep his bangs out of his bright blue eyes.

He was so good looking he was almost pretty. I remember him saying he loved musicals. Although the office buzz was that he was gay, I think he was just metrosexual—he loved women, but also loved the finer things and wanted to look good. At least once a week he would compliment me on my outfit, and he undressed me with his eyes daily. Yeah, it was probably Blake. He even asked me if I wanted to meet for drinks one day after work. When I told him I was flattered but married, he made a face like I had just slapped him on the cheek and it stung. I had a feeling Blake rarely got turned down by the ladies.

I hung up my phone. My friend Robin had called and told me something I knew I had to share with Maria right away. I dialed her number, and she picked up on the first ring.

“Hey, Maria. How are you, sweetie?”

“Okay, I guess. Just trying to get through one day at a time.”

“I have to tell you something. Enrique and Claire split up.”

“Oh?” Maria was oddly quiet. I thought she would be excited, but I quickly realized she was u
pset because Enrique hadn’t called to tell her. Here I was thinking I was delivering good news, and instead I just hurt her even more.

Her “one day at a time” comment made me think of Alcoholics Anonymous and their mo
tto. It made sense, actually; love and lust and sex are all addictive. Take it away from someone, and there is no doubt they will feel the pangs of withdrawal.

I thought back to the conversation we had after she received a love letter from Enrique about a month after they broke up. I had asked her if she regretted the affair, and her answer was an unequivocal “no.” She talked about how alive and happy she felt.

Maria’s attitude was inspiring. Here she was devastated about losing Enrique, but instead of dwelling on what she didn’t have now, she reveled in the memory of what she did. It was a powerful message to me about life and how we’re supposed to enjoy what we have while we still do.

The next day Julia texted me and asked me to meet her for coffee at Starbucks. When I showed up, she was glowing.

“Hey, Liz. Thanks so much for meeting me.”

“Sure, Julia. How you been? You look fantastic.” And she really did. She was extra cute in a low-cut black top, a white mini skirt, and wedges. She looked like she was lit from the inside.

“I’m great!” she gushed.

“Okay, spill it,” I demanded.

“I think I’m in love.” She batted her lashes and was smiling ear to ear.

“Wow, really?”

“Yes, really. Tyrone is absolutely amazing.”

“Are you sure that’s not just the orgasms talking?”

Julia giggled. “Well, his skills in the sack don’t hurt, believe me. But it’s so much more than that. He is thoughtful and sweet and generous and funny.”

I nodded in agreement. Tyrone really was all she mentioned and more. I could not attest to his sexual prowess, but I had no doubts. And the way Julia was bouncing in her chair, I had a hunch she would be getting some lovin’ very soon. “Do you think he feels the same way?”

With no hesitation Julia nodded. “Yes, I do. We haven’t said it yet, but I don’t even need to hear those words. The way he makes me feel is better than any kind of love that I’ve ever known.”

“Wow.” That was all I could say for the moment. Those were pretty powerful words coming from my spoiled friend. “I’m happy for you, Julia. I really am. I hope things all work out.”

“Thanks, Liz. I think they will.”

That night I was working in my home office trying to meet a deadline.

“Mommy, Mommy, look at me!” Isabella was standing at the door of my home office.

“One second,” I barked. I was in the middle of typing up a presentation, and I didn’t want to look.

“Mommy! Mommy, look!” Now she was shouting.

“What?” I snapped and looked up.

Isabella was rolling her eyes in back of her head and sticking her tongue out at the same time. She looked like some kind of possessed alien.

I shook my head from side to side. “Isabella! That is what was so important?”

Her crazy face got sad. “I didn’t say it was that important. I just wanted you to see me.”

“Well, I’m working, darling.”

“Fine!” My temperamental child yelled as she stomped off.

I slouched in my chair and thought to myself, Jesus Christ. I’m not doing anything right. I’m a horrible mother, I’m behind at work, and God only knows what kind of wife I’ve been lat
ely. And what is Isabella’s deal? I see her. What the hell is she even talking about?

Then I got that sick feeling in my stomach like I was on my way to a client meeting and forgot to bring something really important.

“See me, see me?” Was it those words that were speaking so loudly to me?

Just then I heard a text come through on my phone. Annoyed, I picked it up; it was from Braden.

Hey, babe. I just got invited to go golfing tomorrow with some work buddies. Do we have plans?

Was he for real? I had told him at least five times this week that we were going to my nephew Johnny’s birthday party tomorrow.

Does he not listen to a word I say or see how important it is to me that the kids spend time with their cousins?

That was my aha moment. That’s why Isabella’s words hit me so hard. That was exac
tly how I felt with Braden. He didn’t see or hear me anymore. I wanted to be seen. That was why when Nick appeared in my life, I was so tempted. He looked at me and really saw me. That’s what I need. Maybe that’s what we all need.

I wanted Braden to look at me and tell me I was beautiful and feel like he meant it. Not a drive-by “you like nice,” but an actual locked-in moment where he was truly seeing me. I wan
ted him to look at me like he did when we were first going out, like the first time we made love, like he did on our wedding day.

But how could he tell me I was beautiful if he wasn’t even looking at me?