Vicarious (The Vicarious Trilogy) (5 page)

My friend Sylvie was a sophisticate. She habitually read the most stylish publications, had her hair done at the most chic salon, and wore a custom wardrobe tailored to elegant perfection. She often attended lavish social functions around the globe. Men found her flirting irresistible, but what Sylvie really liked are girls.

As we lingered in a restaurant, so late that even the after-theater crowd had departed
, Sylvie told me the following story. She sat across from me, comfortable and lush-looking, leaning back in the padded booth, completely relaxed.

“Have I ever told you about my ‘Night at the
Naughty Opera’?” she asked. “This was an especially pleasant little adventure.”

I
settled in, knowing I was in for a treat. Sylvie could be a masterful storyteller. She swirled the wine in her glass and lifted it to the light in a theatrical pause.

“Remember when I was spending so much time in Paris, two or three years ago?”

I nodded. “Go on.”

“My friends
took me to an opera at some refurbished venue that was enjoying a popular moment. It was one of those grand and shabby old theaters that litter Europe, but this one was very odd. It had been painstakingly restored with all the gold leaf, crystal chandeliers and thickly plush carpeting one expects. However, if you looked closely enough, you would see that the pattern on the wallpaper resembled rows of stylized flower-vulvas and that the polished brass door handles were disturbing, reminding me of nothing so much as enslaved penises.”

“What do you mean by an
enslaved penis?” I asked.

“In chains. Engorged but constricted by a dec
orative band of metal. Pierced by thorns or rings. As I said, disturbing.” Sylvie took a sip of wine.

“There was a bar on the mezzanine level, and over its polished mahogany surface hung a fantastically large painting in the neoclassical style. I don’t recall the subject, per se, just images of young, passionate men in brief garments that strained across the sculpted muscle of arms and thighs, while a group of young women in flowing draperies arched and leaned, showing off white conical breasts with pink nipples. Every
where I looked there was something to inflame the senses.

“The opera was something modern, with lovers twining and writhing about, and a darkly handsome villain who strode across the stage in a commanding
—and altogether sexy—way. It was fairly well-done but I was having trouble focusing on the plot, and feeling restless, I lingered at the bar as intermission ended, looking at people, sipping a glass of champagne.

“I decided to stop in the ladies lounge before returning to my seat. The lounge was dazzling, decorated
like a harem with plush seats and glittering mirrors at individual vanities. I sat and finished my champagne while staring at my image. I was pouting, I suppose, because I was feeling aroused, but had no one to turn to that night. I was alone in the lounge, so I pressed the heel of my hand against myself, for some small relief.

“The door opened and two women entered. The small, slender woman wore a very short dress with a loose top that hung from her
throat in a perfect parabola of cherry-colored silk, leaving a pale strip of skin vulnerable and gleaming all the way down to her navel. The other was taller, a pretty but bland-looking blonde with beautifully full lips and breasts.

“‘I don’t know if I can resist!’ Cherry Dress said to her friend. They stood in the middle of the room, oblivious to my presence in one of the alcoves tucked between sumptuous curtains and potted palms.
I watched them in the mirror.

“‘Oh, you must!’ said Blondie, as she caught her friend’s two hands in hers. They were of course speaking French. ‘You can’t have sex with him tonight. This is only the first date.’

“‘Yes, I know, but feel me! I’m so turned on!’ Cherry Dress slid her friend’s hands into the front of her dress and pressed them against her chest.

“Blondie nodded sagely, and said, ‘It could be the chill in here.’

“‘No, it’s not,’ said Cherry Dress, ‘feel
here
.’ She pulled her skirt up and pressed Blondie’s hand between her legs. Blondie’s breath caught.

“‘Yes, I see. You are very moist, and I can feel your pulse.’

“For a moment, I was convinced they hadn’t seen me seated at the mirror. The whole place was decorated beyond reason. It would be quite possible to overlook one petite woman seated amidst all that erotic rococo frippery.

Then, Cherry Dress winked at me and pulled her friend’s hand away.

“‘No, I am too, too horny. If I don’t do something about it, I swear I am going to ask him to take me home right now. He’s not even that attractive, but I suppose if he has a dick, he will do.”

“She waltzed to the mirrored vanity next to mine and leaned i
n to inspect her face. Her silk-sheathed ass hovered at eye level, and the fabric of her dress fell away so that I could see her tiny, perfect breasts in profile.

“Blondie was visibly upset.

“‘No, no! You can’t do that! He works in Jean-Georges’ office, and it will be awkward if you screw him tonight. Then the mystery is gone! The chase will be over, and I’ll be stuck on these couple dates with him, and who knows what troll he would dredge up on his own.’

“She sat down on the pouf next to me, arms crossed. I was enjoying the little drama, even if the acting was over the top.

“‘Darling!’ said Cherry Dress while touching up her lipstick. ‘Don’t pout. After all, there is something we can do about this wretched problem.’

“‘What do you mean?’ Blondie tried to sound dull-witted but she spoiled the illusion by licking her lips.

“‘Don’t be silly! It’s obvious,’ Cherry Dress turned to me. ‘Isn’t it obvious?’

“I can be very quick when I choose to be, and I had caught the spirit of this diverting little game.

“‘Oh yes, I think I follow your line of thinking,’ I said as I pulled up the hem of my skirt to slowly smooth the garter of my stocking and, of course, to display my thigh. ‘You may need to be pro-active, as my American friends say.’

“‘Yes, that’s it!’ Cherry Dress cried. ‘We need to take action.’ She moved to sit pertly on the edge of the marble-topped vanity, and her naked back glistened in the mirror.

“‘However, I think your friend might need to see a demonstration, so she can understand. She seems a bit slow,’ I sighed.

“‘Yes,’ Blondie said, panting a little and squeezing her knees together. ‘I really want to understand. Perhaps you can show me what you mean.’

“‘When we are too eager for a man, sometimes we girls need to help each other,’ I said, ‘and my darling, you are far too eager.’ I used one finger to tilt her pretty face toward me, and kissed Cherry Dress on the cheek. ‘Yes?’

“‘Yes,’ she breathed. Permission, then. I trailed my fingertip down that luminous strip of skin from her collarbone to her navel, and pushed aside the silk to reveal very delicate
breasts with diamond-hard tips.

“‘Shall we help her?’ I asked her friend. We gazed at each other while we each nuzzled a breast.

“‘I’m feeling worse,’ Cherry Dress cried, ‘I’m even hornier now.’

“I kissed her lips and then Blondie’s and then motioned for Blondie to kiss her friend.

‘Use your tongue like a man,’ I directed. Blondie went to it, admirably.

“I sat down on the pouf vacated by Blondie, then slid the silk skirt up and pu
shed Cherry Dress’ knees apart. ‘How naughty of you! No panties! Tsk, tsk!’ I scolded while she squirmed. ‘Now, show me where the problem is.’

“She broke off the kiss with Blondie, and as I spread apart her lower lips, she pointed to her clitoris with one
lacquered nail. ‘Here…’

“‘Yes,’ I said probing delicately, ‘It does seem to be
abnormally
enlarged. However, I think we should compare, to judge how serious this is.’ Blondie was eager to yank up her own skirt, revealing a pair of lacy, crotchless panties. I grazed her throbbing clit with a fingertip.

“‘Hmm…I am concerned for both of you, but I do believe I can be of assistance.”

I opened my handbag, and retrieved a lipstick-sized vibrator. I turned it on, and licked it slowly before pressing it deep into Cherry Dress’ vagina.

“‘Hurry! Bite her nipples!’ I commanded Blondie, who followed orders to the letter.

“I alternately flicked Cherry Dress’ clit with my tongue and sucked it like a miniature penis until she came, overwhelmed. Blondie received a similar tongue lashing (pun intended) while reclining in Cherry Dress’ arms.

“For my turn, I posed Blondie between my legs—she really was very good with her tongue—while Cherry Dress knelt behind me and inserted the vibrator up my bum. It was marvelous to watch our reflections in the mirrors, while I vigorously squeezed and handled my breasts. I came in seconds.

“By the time I went back to my seat, the last act was underway. My friend—wise and discreet—leaned in to whisper, ‘You smell of adventure, my dear.’ He was so right!”

Chapter 10:
Lust and the Librarian

Every writer is indebted to a librarian. I am grateful for the devoted professionals at my local branch, where I pick up loads of
reference materials and where I go when I’m too restless to sit in my writing studio. The comfortable study rooms are especially useful, offering wired Internet access, excellent lighting, and privacy. Their policies have kept pace with the times: I’ve never seen a librarian shush anyone, and patrons can now buy drinks and snacks to enjoy in the lounge area.

The librarian
and I sat in a glass-walled study room to review the books and DVDs she had retrieved for me through interlibrary loan. Over the years, she had helped me track down an obscure self-published novel from the 19th century, detailed schematics of famous buildings, and a recipe for a particular West African poison.  My current interest in the history of erotic literature had led me to work by the Marquis de Sade, Henry Miller, Anaïs Nin, and the memoirs of Emanuelle Arsan and Elizabeth McNeill, before the librarian helped me discover older material, such as Ovid’s
Ars Amatoria
and Nefzawi’s
The Perfumed Garden
, along with erotic writing by Günter Grass, John Updike, and even Mark Twain, although I have to say, I expected more of Mr. Clemens.

“Ah,” she said, “This brings back memories.” She handed me a copy of the
Kama Sutra
, the ancient compendium of sexual positions. The book was beautifully illustrated and fell open in my hand to an image of one of the more complicated positions.

“Oh?” I asked
, turning the book sideways to scrutinize the twining bodies more closely.

“Yes,
from my college days.” She looked up from the next book. “Would you like to me to tell you about it?”

“Of course,” I said, surprised by her unexpected offer. We’d been acquainted for years, s
he was even acknowledged by name in two of my most recent books, but we’d never conversed outside of the library, and I certainly hadn’t planned to collect a story of sexual adventure from her.

She put the book down and took her reading glasses off.
“During my junior year, I took a course on ethics, a small class led by a professor who favored the Socratic Method. Unsure of myself and shy, I struggled to participate, eager for a good grade if not eager to risk the spotlight. Every class meeting was torture as I steeled myself to say
something
before class ended.

“The other students were a
mixed group, some business majors toying with the idea of law school, a returning student in her 50s, a couple of undergraduate liberal arts majors like me, and a man with two prosthetic legs, a serious young man. I heard that he had enlisted after high school and was wounded in Afghanistan.

“I found him very
frightening—and very attractive. I couldn’t meet his eyes or speak directly to him. I knew that if his body had been whole, he would never have looked twice at a girl like me. I imagined him before his injury as an athletic, confident teenager, the kind of a strapping, good-looking, all-American boy who leads his high school football team to state championships and dates the prettiest cheerleaders. He still had bulging biceps, a trim waist, and a chiseled jaw, but walked with a slight jerking motion that drew the eye down to the artificial limbs.

“One day after spring break, the professor happened to touch on a subject I was keenly interested in and I jumped into the conversation with a little more spark than normal.

“My classmate’s face lit up, and he suddenly laughed out loud. ‘You do have an opinion after all,’ he said, the first words he had ever spoken directly to me. It was also the first time I’d seen him smile. The professor ignored him and asked me another question, but the sudden attention from the handsome young man had flustered me and I shook my head, mute.

“A door had opened
, though. He spoke to me as we left class, then the following week, he invited me for coffee, and soon we began to leave together after every class, enjoying careful conversations in the student lounge before I left for my next class. On the last day of the semester, he gave me his phone number and invited me to lunch at his place the following week.

“I think my mother was more excited than I was. I
had told her very little about him, certainly not that he was years older than me, lived alone, and had 2 artificial legs. She encouraged me to bring a batch of brownies, but he didn’t seem to be the kind of man who had patience for indulgences. I decided to bring him a book instead,
Siddhartha
by Herman Hesse. I had just finished it, and it filled my thoughts much of the time that summer.

“My instincts were right. He ate like an athlete, serving
us salads and lean steaks he had prepared himself in a surgically clean apartment kitchen. He seemed to be more at ease here than he had been at school. He moved through the apartment’s small space easily, with his face and shoulders relaxed. The music was low enough that we could hear the birds in the trees outside his window while we ate in companionable silence.

As he took our plates into the kitchen, I pulled the book out of my purse and placed it, wra
pped simply in paper, on his empty placemat. He returned to the table and sat down. ‘You didn’t have to bring me a gift,’ he said quietly. ‘I enjoy your company and that’s plenty for me.’

“’It’s just something small,’ I said,
feeling a sudden stab of anxiety. ‘I hope you haven’t already read it.’

“
’Tell me what you like about it,’ he said. I realized I had forgotten to inscribe the book, after spending hours composing a message that was neither too casual nor too romantic. After all, the occasion was just lunch with a classmate.

“’Well, I just discovered it, and I think it’s beautifully written and inspiring,’ I said, then instantly felt I’d stumbled. Did I sound condescending? Who was I, with my two good legs, to suggest he needed to hear an inspiring message?

“Thank you. I’ll read it soon.” He set the book aside and rose from the table. He stood with his back to me at the stereo. After a moment, I went to stand beside him. ‘Here’s something else I find inspiring,’ he said. He adjusted the volume and turned to smile at me. For the next hour we listened to music and talked about the songs we had loved at different times in our lives.

“
I was close enough to be dizzied by his light cologne, and I found myself staring at his face, falling for the straight bridge of his nose, of all things. When he laughed, I noticed that one of his incisors sat crookedly, and that slight imperfection seemed suddenly too dear for words.

“
When I left, we shook hands, the first time we’d touched, and for a shy girl like me, even that seemed very romantic.

“
That summer was like a beautiful dream. I worked part-time at the bookstore in town, and I read a lot, and when I wasn’t reading, I was daydreaming about him, and when I wasn’t daydreaming about him, I was with him. Once, we went out to see a movie, but mostly we stayed in his apartment, listening to old records I brought from my father’s collection, or reading to each other favorite passages from the novels he found at the library. Finally, after several weeks of chaste afternoons, he sweetly kissed me goodbye. The next day, I showed up unannounced. When he answered the door, I threw my arms around his neck. We kissed standing up for an hour and then staggered to the sofa for another hour of more intense kissing. I left after dark with a tiny love bite high up on the side of my neck, where, fortunately, it could be hidden by my hair.

“
When I told my cousin what we were doing, she looked worried. ‘Sounds like junior high, or maybe high school. Like, is he gay? You’ve been going out for two months and he just now kissed you?’

“
No, he was not gay, and it wasn’t as if I were a virgin. Before we started college, one of my best friends, another shy bookworm, suggested a pact. If we were both still virgins when he came home for the holidays, we would do the deed. The encounter was awkward and a little silly, to be honest, but I was glad to be with someone I trusted, and to have that rite of passage behind me. It wasn’t love, or a grand passion, though, and now I wanted both.

“What was he waiting for? Was it because of his legs? Did he worry that I couldn’t handle it? Or, had he been wounded
there
as well?

“
That evening, I stood in his living room and slowly removed my clothes in the candle light. I was naked in front of another person for the first time since childhood. He reached for my hand and pulled me onto his lap. He tenderly touched my face, my throat, and my breasts as he cradled me against his chest.

“I had fallen in love with his face, his mind, and his heart, but had stubbornly
refused to think about his body or his manhood, as I quaintly phrased it. Now I knew what I’d been secretly wondering. His erection was pressing into my naked hip. Was I truly ready for this? Could I go through with it? I looked into his eyes and saw the same questions reflected there.

“
This wasn’t any high school boy. This was a man, but one whose confidence, along with his legs, had been shattered by an explosive in another country. This was a handsome man who should never have had to spend two months of his life just working up the courage to kiss an inexperienced and unremarkable girl like me. In that moment I promised myself that I would live up to him. No matter what happened next, I would be calm, generous, brave and loving. I would be his feminine equal. I stood and pulled him to his feet, and then into the bedroom.

“I wish I could say our first time together was
romantic and sexy. I had had just the one experience, and I thought it unlikely that he had slept with anyone since his injury.  He kept his prosthetics on, and with the covers pulled up, it was too hot, and he kept asking if he was hurting me, and frankly, the prosthetics were in the way. Both of us were too self-conscious to really let go and enjoy ourselves. If he hadn’t finally suggested we turn over so I could be on top, I don’t think we would have succeeded at all.

“It was clear to me that the missionary position with his prosthetics wasn’t going to work
, and I knew I wasn’t yet ready to face him without them. In my vast inexperience, nothing I could picture seemed plausible. It was natural for me to turn to a book, so I called my cousin for a recommendation. She was glad to hear we’d made progress, although she couldn’t have known that I was looking for sexual positions that would work for a double amputee.

“That’s how I discovered the Kama Sutra. It
sat on the shelf at the bookstore where I worked, right next to the book my cousin had recommended. The book’s illustrations with its jewel-toned colors and intricately patterned costumes and furnishings appealed to me far more than the garish photos in the modern sex manual. I bought it, telling my coworker it was a joke gift for my cousin. I hid it in my closet at home and pored over it late at night, after my parents were asleep.

“As I examined the 64 different positions, I realized that
many wouldn’t work for us, but that most could be modified. Some were just impossible to consider at the time, positions that would have exposed my most intimate places to view, or required a flexibility I didn’t have or balance he couldn’t achieve. I secretly read the ancient advice alone at night, and as we spent more time together, began to feel more and more able to explore and experiment.

“
In the days after our nearly disastrous first attempt, we regressed to kissing, petting, and oral sex, which I grew to love both receiving and giving. It was uncomplicated, and for his pleasure, didn’t require us to deal with the prosthetics at all. He would stand, or sit on the edge of a chair with his pants pushed down onto his hips. I would kneel between his thighs and run my hands over his chest and taut stomach before wrapping my fingers around his hot, heavy penis. I naively thought of him as wounded and noble, and I secretly dedicated myself to his sexual happiness.

“I
learned to listen to his breathing and pay attention to the contractions of his scrotum and the sudden hardening of his cock right before ejaculation. I learned to pace his pleasure with my movements, taking short breaks to slow him down. I learned to alternate the shallow and the deep, light and heavy pressure, the playful scrape of my teeth, the pressure of tongue and lips. I loved to have him in my mouth, and his body’s responsiveness and his throaty groans and panting thrilled me and made me wet. When he came, I often swallowed it all, but sometimes I would pull away so his semen would splash my throat and my breasts, and that made my knees weak and I would throb, close to the edge myself.

“When it was my turn, we had to be creative. He couldn’t kneel comfortably, so
we had to find ways for him to sit in a chair or even stand. His bed was too low. Perching on the arm of the sofa raised me to a good height. I supported my legs on his shoulders as he sat on a chair in front of me. This was my favorite position until I lost my balance and fell into the space between the sofa and the stereo. Not long after that, I arrived to find him supervising the removal of his old bed and the delivery of a new one. The new bed sat on a platform, and was much higher. I blushed when I saw it, knowing he’d done this just for me.

“That night we tried
intercourse again, in a new position. I lay on my back with my bottom at the very edge of the bed and my legs in the air. He stood, holding my ankles apart, and I found it exciting to watch his face as he watched himself enter me. At first, he had some minor trouble balancing and keeping the pace steady, but as long as I kept my legs strong, it was possible.