Lucky Jim Cannot Get Any

I found a furnished two-bed room apartment in Suburban Boston thirty miles from where I had lived for a dozen years. It is no secret that the law is a jackass. However, it is only when you have to deal with it, you come to understand what an unpleasant animal this is. It took the Commonwealth of Massachusetts months to grant our application of no-fault divorce.

My breakup with Margaret had left me shaken and in such a confused state of mind, that for the first month of so, sex wasn't an issue. The beast, however, was only dormant, not dead. When the libido finally awoke, it awoke like a lion. Once the pleasures of sex filled the hours of my life; now its lack occupied me with equal intensity. First time in my life, I was without a woman and without a clue of how to go about getting one. A heroin addict could not have felt stronger cravings for his fix than I did for the company of a woman.

In search for this fix that does not come from a needle but from a woman's body, I tried the nightclub scene but my clueless-ness went with me to every bar or a dance club. Unlike my clueless-ness that stuck with me like a faithful dog, my self-esteem turned fickle and abandoned me every time I needed it most. As they say, if you think you are a looser, you are. It didn't take me long to figure that I couldn't pick up common cold from these places, much less a woman.

A normal man in my place would have used the phone and call himself a call girl. End of story. But I was a prisoner of my scruples. By my merely looking at the Yellow Pages under 'escorts', memories of my long ago misadventures in Las Vegas brothels would become as fresh as if it was only yesterday. I would remember the emptiness of sex without an emotional component, its bitter aftertaste as strong as if I had just let a quinine pill dissolve on my tongue. Even the insights earned then, were still valid. That it degraded the woman as well as my need of her, as soon as I thoughtof her as a comodity, is as true today as it was then. A woman is yours only if she gives herself. A whore can never be more than temporary rented cum dumpster. I stopped looking at the Yellow Pages under escorts.

I love masturbation. It is a singular and pure act of self-love. It asks nothing from anyone or gives anything to anyone. It is a private and personal pleasure possible only in solitude. It is not a substitute or a replacement for a woman. During my high school and college days when there were dozens of co-eds waiting in the wings, I still found time to jack off. Margaret and I were married only about six months when she caught me polishing my rod. We had made love about half an hour earlier and she was heartbroken thinking that she was not sufficiently satisfying me. She rushed to help me when she walked in the room and saw the scene. The greedy man that I am, I placed myself into her hands. It was a great pleasure; but it was no longer masturbation but a variety of lovemaking. From then on, an occasional hand-job from her became a part of our sexual repertoire. I still masturbated, alone. Margaret never understood my need but she came to accept it with good humor.

"You know Jim; I will never have to ask you who you are fucking now." She said one day. We had just finished a passionate session.

"What do you mean, Margaret?

"I was thinking of the jealous wife who asked her husband who was vigorously humping her, 'Who are you fucking now?' She was sure that in his imagination, he was with another woman. I would never need to ask you that question."

"Why would you say that?"

"I already know the answer, Jim. If you are not fucking me, you are fucking your right hand." She laughed with her rich throaty laughter.

"I wouldn't be too sure of that, Margaret. It could be your right hand I may be fucking."

"You pervert, I wouldn't put it past you." She said and grabbed my cock with her hand and began a new round of ministrations. God, how long ago it all seems.

Masturbating was never a substitute for a woman for me. I tried to make it so by introducing fantasy. Unfortunately, the only woman I could conjure up to fuck in my imagination was Margaret. Afterwards, I was always racked by feelings of guilt. I felt that I was violating her in some psychic sphere and breaking my promise to let her go. Margaret's last words to me, "one very last time", kept reverberating in my mind as if it was a curse put on me, or at least, a prediction of lonely pussy-less future.

My fears were for nothing. Just as the downward spiral of my life had begun, it started to turn around. 'Life begins at fifty' may be over the top exaggeration by Viagra salesmen; for me it was becoming true. Of the series of surprises that were to help me out of my doldrums, first one came from Susanna, my ex-wife's friend since high school. On the very day our divorce became legal, there was a message on my answering machine:

"Jim, this is Susanna. Please call me as soon as you get my message. It is very important."

Susanna and Margaret, as I said, were girlhood friends and Susanna was the maid-of-honor during our wedding. She looked so much like Margaret that people often thought them twins. First years of our marriage, Susanna was often at our house and I became smitten by the fantasy of fucking twins. A fantasy about twin sisters is probably the most exquisite of men's fantasies involving two women and seems to be universally shared across cultures. It probably springs from the same greed that makes us want twice as much of everything. It was no accident that the chewing gum jingle 'double your pleasure' was the most successful of its kind. I knew, of course, that she wasn't my wife's twin, just happened to look a lot like her, but that seemed a minor detail at the time. One day I told Margaret about it. This was early in our marriage and we were enthusiastically experimenting with our sexuality. I was almost certain that Margaret would jump at the idea of manage-de-trios with her best friend. I was wrong.

"If you want a threesome, James, I am willing to try it once. I personally don't understand what you would do with two women. It is not as if you aren't getting enough from me. If you really must, I will agree to one-time experiment but it will not be with Susanna. It will have to a woman that I do not know. And James, if you want our marriage to have any meaning, don't mention Susanna to me in this context again."

Only later, I came to realize how right my wife was. Susanna looked like Margaret physically, except, of course the eyes, but she was a cold and conniving woman who used people like cheap toilet paper. She had none of the genuine and wild sensuality of my wife. All three of her husbands whom she discarded when it suited her, used almost identical words to describe her: 'selfish frigid bitch'. Her first marriage lasted two years and I came to know her husband; a descent man, devoted to her. By the time Susanna was done with him, he was a basket case. Since I was somewhat of a witness to this ball-busting process, I had come to quietly dislike and distrust her. Physically, she remained stunningly beautiful but I felt no attraction to her. Although I never brought up the subject of manage de trios again, I felt gratitude to Margaret for sparing us both from a terrible mistake. Knowing what I know now, Susanna would have surely found a way to use my thoughtless lust for her against my wife and me.

Still, I returned her call.

"Oh Jim, I am so glad to hear from you. I have been sitting by the phone all day waiting for your call." Her voice was breathy and urgent.

"I just got home Susanna, and the only reason I am calling is that you said it was important. What is this all about?"

"It is important, Jim. I can't talk about it over the phone. Please come over so I could talk to you personally."

"It will have to wait until tomorrow, Susanna. I have had a long and unpleasant day and I am tired. I just want to have some super and go to bed."

"No, not tomorrow, Jim! Please come now! I have made a small dinner for both of us. Do come now, it is important!" She sounded desperate.

"OK, Susanna. I will be there around seven." She got worrying, thinking that may be she has some bad news about Margaret."

"Thank you, Jim. Please don't be late. I will be waiting for you."

I was dutifully ringing her doorbell at seven. She was dressed in a light green silk dress that was more lingerie than a dress and the material was so sheer that I could clearly see her nipples practically poking through it. She hugged me hard, pressing her breasts against me. I could see the dinner table in the dining room was set for two. There were candles and roses, and a bottle of champagne set in an ice bucket. In some way, this scene of luxury lessened my worry, making me feel that whatever it was she needed to tell me, couldn't be such a bad a news. She poured us both tall flutes of Champagne, guided me to the sofa and sat so close to me that I could feel her thigh against mine.

"Jim, I know it has been hard for you, this divorce. I feel so bad that I was no help to you. I hope you understand that I had divided loyalties. It is over now, and there is a new life waiting for you out there. I truly believe that a divorce should be celebrated the same way as a wedding. Since I was there to celebrate your wedding, I also want to celebrate your divorce with you. So here to your freedom and new life."

She drank most of her champagne in one long thirsty swallow.

"So, what is it that you want to talk to me about, Susanna?" I asked as I sipped my champagne.

"Just give me a little time, Jim and let's have a little more champagne to build up my courage. Come on, drink up!"

She got up and refilled our glasses and this time sat even closer to me. Her hip was pressing against mine and I had a strange sensation that there was nothing between the diaphanous silk and her skin. You would think that it would make no difference whether she was wearing anything under her dress or not, especially in the light of what most women wear as panties these days; but to men, it does. I am not implying that a postage-stamp size bikini underpants are some sort of a chastity belt; all I am saying is that knowing it is NOT there surely stirs the male imagination.

She took another long sip that I matched with a long sip of my own. It was excellent champagne. She drained the remainder of it in a couple of big greedy gulps, put the empty flute on the coffee table and turned towards me.

"Do you remember your wedding day Jim? I remember it like it was yesterday. After the reception, when you and her drove away for your honeymoon, oh Jim, how I remember!"

Then she took my glass from my hand and put it on the coffee table. She put one hand on my knee; well actually, it was closer to my crotch then my knee.

"I stood there on the steps of the reception hall and watched your car getting farther and farther away, dragging those silly cans tied to the back bumper. How I ached thinking that it should be me with you, not her. The two weeks you were gone, I couldn't think of anything else but what you two were doing. From what Margaret told me later, my imagination was way too poor. Oh yes Jim, she told me everything you two did on your honeymoon". 'Susanna, the man is insatiable. At first, my pussy was continuously sore but I didn't mind it, it was such a sweet soreness. We would be sitting in a restaurant and I would feel the soreness, remember what we did, and know what we will do when we get back to our room. Sitting in these public places, I would blush at my own thoughts. I am a lucky woman Susanna.' "she bragged over and over again. I felt like strangling her, I was so jealous."

At this point, I almost told her about my fantasy about fucking both of them together but I never got a chance. One minute she was next to me, the next minute she was naked and on top of me. She had pushed me back on the sofa, her tongue was thrust in my throat, and she was grinding her tits against my chest. She seemed to have as many arms as an octopus, an accusation normally leveled against men. She had unzipped my fly, pulled out my cock and was vigorously pumping it. I was fully erect now but the initiative all belonged to her. She pulled her mouth away from mine and said, "I want you to do everything to me that you did to her. I want you to fuck me every which way like you use to fuck her."

I wish I could say my will power stopped me -- it did not. Her brazen wantonness had lit up my lust and my dislike of her was adding to the excitement. I wanted to fuck her hard right there and then. One should never underestimate the passion of a grudge fuck. Two things saved me from folly. "I want you to fuck me every which way, Jim", was the phrase Margaret used when she was horny, especially in the early years of our marriage. It was her signal that anything goes and no holds, (more appropriately, holes) are barred. Susanna's using the same phrase made it clear to me that all this passion was not for me but was initiated by her envy of Margaret. I was a mere tool for her to settle some old festering score, nurtured from God knows how long ago, and for what petty reasons.

I may still have done the deed because I was very near the point of no return for male rutting and I was achingly horny. I raised my head to take one of her nipples in my mouth and saw her guiding my cock into herself. Her pussy was bald, clean shaved and as hairless as if it belonged to a girl of six. My cock shrunk like someone had let out the air from a balloon. Shaved pussy reminds me of pre-pubescent girls. Only mature women turn my lights on. Also, I am strictly a bush-man, an unabashed lover of hair. Obviously, Margaret had not told Susanna everything about me. I pushed her off me and tucked my disinterested dick back in my pants.

"Get a hold of your self Susanna and put your damn clothes back on."

Her expression changed from surprise to anger and then to tears of frustration.

"Why Jim? Don't you like me? I am prettier than she is. Look! Look at these tits! She doesn't have perfect tits like these. Are you blind?" A kind of hysteria had entered her voice.

"No Susanna, I am not blind. You are beautiful, and you already know that I admire your breastwork." I said, trying to mollify her. It didn't work.

"Then why won't you fuck me? Have you become a faggot? Or can't you just get it up any more?"

Her voice had become loud and shrill. She was still naked and with her hairless pudenda, she looked as sexless as a rubber doll.

"I wouldn't fuck you with a dick borrowed from a cadaver, Susanna."

I wanted to say, but instead I said,

"Susanna, I have gone through a lot of shit lately and I can't handle any more confusion right now. I need time to think things through."

"May be I rushed you too soon, Jim. It is just that now you are a free man, I was afraid that all those nymphos from our club are going to be spreading their legs for you the first chance they get; and knowing you, you are going to be humping them like a rooster on amphetamines. I just didn't want to lose you again, especially to any of those phony baloney bitches from the club."

I didn't think there was any chance of any other woman opening their legs for me just because I was no longer married. I was wrong about that and Susana was right. May be there is something about freshly divorced men that turns women on. Although no other woman tried to force her tongue in my throat or flashed pussy in front of my face, over the next two months, I got seven unambiguous offers of comforting arms and yielding thighs. There were other offers couched in more shy and uncertain words and gestures that I could interpret as an invitation to bed or just kindness. All these women were acquaintances/friends of both my wife and me. Many of us belonged to the same social circles. What surprised me even more was that all of these women were supposedly happily married. I declined all these offers. Those who were straightforward about their intentions, I pleaded confusion, stress, and in one case even impotence.

For example, Claudia Gorman who regularly played tennis with Margaret, called me one afternoon and didn't beat around the bush.

"Jim, Ted left for England yesterday and he is going to be away for a month; meetings, he said. I don't know about his meetings, but I have no doubt that every night he will be fucking a different English whore in his hotel room. He has a thing about those English bitches with their clipped accents even if their cunts are as wide as the fucking Piccadilly Square. I am stuck here and even the God damn batteries in my vibrator have run out. Besides, I am sick and tired of vibrating myself to measly little orgasms. I need a good honest hard fuck and you are just the man to do it. I need it from you, Jim. I need it bad. Please come over and fuck my brains out."

"Oh God, Claudia, if I wasn't in such a bad way, I would have thought I had died and gone to heaven, sexy woman like you asking me. But I won't be any good for you, Claudia. I am stressed out and my libido readings are at zero."

"That is even more the reason for you to come, Jim. I am just what the doctor ordered. I will give you a good massage to get the stress out of your system; and quit worrying about your libido. Just come on over and I will have it flowing like an oil gusher before you can say suck me Claudia. What time can you get here?"

That is when I went to drastic measures.

"Claudia, I am going to share something very personal with you and I hope you will keep it to yourself. It is not something I can tell many people but I trust you. For the past two years, I have been impotent. I am so shrunk up that when I need to piss; I have to look for it with a flash light and a magnifying glass."

"So that's why she divorced you! I was wondering what went wrong between the two of you. You poor man, you must see a doctor."

I could tell that she no longer had any more interest in me. Obviously, a limp dick is even less useful than a vibrator without batteries. The vibrator, at least, stays hard.

There were other invitations offered more tastefully than Claudia's. One of them, for example was an invitation to a movie by Mary Nelson.

"Jim, this is Mary. I am calling you to ask you a favor. I have these two tickets to this avant-guard movie tonight at the Orpheum. John just called from Huston; he not going to get home until Monday. I really want to see this flick but it has an erotic theme and I am afraid I may be hassled if I went alone. Please come to my rescue and escort me, Jim. We can have dinner at Max's Plum before the show. It is right next to the theater."

It turned out that the movie was more than erotic; it was a fuck-fest of kinky sex by a famous Japanese director and he had done a bang-up job. All through the movie, she hung on to my arm with both hands and during explicit sex-scenes; and there were many, she would lean into me and press her breast into my shoulder.

"Do people really do those things, Jim?" she would ask.

"I am sure people do all kind of things, Mary."

"Did you ever do that, Jim?"

Her curiosity so personally directed, her husky voice, her warm breath against my neck and the dreamlike sensuous camera work created such a powerful erotic ambience that at that moment, I had no scruples left. Fortunately, it was a public place.

After the show, she asked me to come to her house.

"Jim, please come up for a little while. The movie left me very disturbed. I am kind of all mixed up. I am disgusted and aroused all at the same time. Just come up and talk to me for a little while."

I declined. It was one of my harder decisions. Walking out of Susanna's house, pretending impotence to Claudia, there was a sense that I was doing the right thing. I did not have that clarity walking away from Mary. To this day, I wonder what she thinks my reasons were. I am sure she knows it was not disinterest; my sustained and visible tumescence in the theater, could not have been lost on her.