Stupide Passion - Prendre Deux
Chapter 1 -- Le Coup de téléphone
Entering the kitchen, Chantez dropped her purse heavily on the countertop and threw her keys sharply into the bag. She was still agitated by her boss's reprimand, the chauvinistic pig. Every year he pulls this shit around merit-review time to save the school district money and probably earn himself a bonus for staying under budget. Well, one of these years, she's going to...
The melodious tones of her cell phone interrupted her mental rant. Digging in her purse for the incessant device, she was ready to bite some poor caller's ear off just to make someone else feel as miserable as she did. Chantez's thoughts stumbled to a halt. She didn't recognize the phone number on the display, not even the area code. "Hello!" she barked into the unfolded device.
"Oh," the woman caller interjected, obviously taken aback. "I'm sorry to bother you. I'm trying to reach Chantez. Might that be you?"
Damn the further annoyance! Probably a saleswoman selling vacation cruises. But then, what phone-bank operation teaches its operators to speak French? Or even recognize it? Most solicitors say Chantez as though they assume it is Spanish when they read it off their lists; some horribly mangle it speaking phonetic English. As the woman's faint southern drawl would suggest, her mouth obviously struggled with the unfamiliar pucker. "Yes, I'm Chantez. Look, I'm busy. Who are you?"
"Caramel, is that you? This is Sandy. Do you remember who I am?"
The names seemed so otherworldly to Chantez that confused silence greeted the questions for a long moment, until the nickname clicked. "Sandy? ... Oh! OH! Sandy Mustard!" Chantez gushed, catching herself just in time to honor the caller in the same way with a French pronunciation of her surname. "The Sandy Mustard? You're calling me? How did you get my number?"
"Oh, I'm so glad I found you. You did give us your real name, remember? We looked you up online. Lucky for us, your cell phone number is not private. Of course, I could have emailed you but I wanted to speak to you in person. So how have you been?"
Friends over the internet for a little more than a year, they had never spoken to each other before or met in person. Having begun under a volunteer editor arrangement, they became immediate and intimate friends, albeit through electronic media. For nearly an hour, the women discussed their lives, the words flying back and forth like a speed-talking guide to friendship.
Finally, Sandy broke her news. "So, I have a surprise for you. I will be in Albany on July sixteenth."
"What are you coming here for?" Here being a relative term, Albany was seventy miles away but Sandy lived somewhere near Chicago.
"To see a publisher from there, they're taking over publishing my novel, gonna print it and put it in stores. I'll be signing some papers that day and arranging cover artwork but I'd love to spend time meeting you if you can get away on a weekday."
"I don't work in the summertime. You know I'll make sure I'm free to meet you. This is so wonderful. I'll actually get to meet my sweet friend in person."
Sandy giggled. "Caramel, dear, you'll get to meet your hero, too."
Chantez's heart fluttered when she realized what she heard. "Woody? He's coming too?" Not since her teenage years, had she reacted like that to the mention of a guy; and of course, she thought of his promise. Her breath squeezed from her lungs. "Sandy, are you sure you know what you're doing? I'm being honest. I can't be responsible for..."
"Nonsense!" Sandy interrupted. "We're all adults here. I know you think he's some macho lover-man but he only promised you a kiss. C'mon, you're not afraid to kiss him, are you?"
"Yes! I'm afraid I'll throw myself at him and make a big fool of myself."
Another giggle preceded Sandy's reply. "You wouldn't be the first. Well, I trust Woody with anybody so I hope you manage to relax and enjoy getting smooched."
Despite the storm clouds that brewed in Chantez's head over the prospective meeting months away, the two women continued a light-hearted conversation, establishing the itinerary for three people to connect without the ubiquitous internet. Chantez still voiced her concerns. How could she enjoy something so simple knowing it would irritate the raw yearning she battled throughout her life? Normally perceptive of the emotions of others, Sandy seemed headstrong about bringing what would be torture into Chantez's real life and discounted her objections.
A Jamaica-born woman with a black hole in her passion experiences sucking the life out of her, a Southern-belle with a heart of gold and a fairy tale love story, and a gifted man who could touch the soul of any woman, were coming together as the elements of a perfect storm. Chantez didn't want to be the grim reaper that would kill her friends' perfect marriage. Many times, she would resolve to call off the arrangements; not once, could she abort her lockstep march toward destiny.
Chapter 2 -- Sa Vie
Growing up and living in several Caribbean island nations with her parents, Chantez sensed a void between her and other children, a distance that increased when boys paid no attention to her development. She saw herself as an ugly duckling, oversized and lacking any redeeming beauty. It's cruel what the devious nature of young men did to the psyche and self-image of the trusting girl when they used her to further their own lustful explorations, doubly so when adults subjected her to mentally scaring abuse.
At nineteen, in desperation, Chantez had given herself totally to a boy who promised his feelings were sincere. He was not even aware of what he had taken, or what could have been his forever if he gave a small measure of love in return. Sadly, his deception broke her heart and chased the true essence of her passion into a dark prison within her where no man could ever coax it out again... or so she believed.
With her passion in lockdown, Chantez's life moved on. A college degree led her into the world of academia where a man of respectable means pursued her until she consented to marriage. It was a logical decision if not emotional; Chantez felt her chances of attracting a husband to be minimal to begin with. Sex for them was dutiful, at times enjoyable, but always sedate and ordinary, never approaching the raging passion she imagined was achieved by only the very fortunate.
She followed her husband to the United States and New York City with its uber-international cultural mix. Her color, nationality, and gender were nondescript among so many but always held her under the glass ceiling despite her four-language abilities and two university diplomas. Teaching was her gift, her love ... yet also her dungeon. Even in tough economic times, Chantez was always employed; her vocation was forever in high demand but miserly compensated. Qualified for administration, she believed not once was she ever honestly considered for the positions for which she applied.
Four children filled their family and raising them occupied the endless years of married life, crowding out the dreams and fantasies that hibernated in her soul. Financial stability and astute investments allowed them to purchase a palatial home, far north of the city, her job, and the companionship of a busy world. When her motherly duties wound down, long quiet hours in the empty rooms allowed the ticking of her biological clock to become a maddening knocking at the door of her conscience. So, too, did the forlorn wails of the inner prisoner drive her nearly insane.
The internet beckoned; a smarmy suitor that promised gratification like the lustful boys of her youth. With her anonymity protected, she played with on-line relationships until she recognized that if she were ever given the opportunity, marital fidelity would stand no chance. When she opened the curtains of reality by exchanging pictures with men that she thought she knew, most adventurers disappeared like vampires in the daylight. Some continued their horny tête-à-tête but never offered to hook up; two went so far as to plan a rendezvous but each time, cold feet superseded hot promises. The most injurious to Chantez's self-esteem was the arranged tryst with a lover whose failed appearance left her sitting in a café for several hours. So glorious was the expectation, so crushing was the aftermath.
Jilted and jaded, Chantez discovered erotic literature, hollow calories for her passion's voracious appetite but satisfying to a degree. Stories of mindless passion for others filled her with the belief that anything was at least possible for her if she could find the right partner. Contributing her own stories, each was a fantasy, a successful, passionate conclusion painfully derived from real encounter failures of her life. When she put her scholarly English teaching to use as a volunteer editor for other erotic authors, she found the work heartbreaking at times; the good stories touching too close to home as they described passion she had never known.
In the most disturbing case, she imagined herself falling in love with the author's romantic husband. Writing a fantasy story about the couple and her in an experimental threesome, she gave herself so fully to the man and him to her, she ended the story at the edge of a cliff, unable to divine a conclusion that resolved how a man could desire two women and still love the one. Chantez realized that, while she could break her own vows and live with her conscience, never could she accept the real-life role as a lover to a married man.
Chantez faced that turmoil again with Sandy and Jack. Sandy had contacted her to be a beta-reader for her novel rather than an editor. Oh, what a story she had of her true-life love and courtship with the man who would be her husband, an experience that thrilled her and sexually excited her until they consummated their love with a passion Chantez had only dreamt about. So clearly had Sandy described Jack as the perfect lover, that Chantez could not suppress her deep longing to know Jack as Sandy had. She only knew the teenage Jack from the story yet warmed to Sandy's clear descriptions. Chantez's lifelong weakness, to want a man she couldn't have, shouldn't want, wouldn't ever know, was breaking her down again.
During enlightening email exchanges with Sandy, Chantez became very fond of her new friend with an erotic embrace on life. She praised her story, her style; she admitted her envy of Sandy's experience and fondness for Jack; she declared him her hero while hiding her imaginary love affair with him in the darkness of her bedroom.
From the day the email from Jack appeared in her inbox, life for Chantez would never be the same. Every bit the romantic man Sandy had portrayed, Jack opened with a greeting to her, calling her by the name of a flower from her native Jamaica, polygonum orientale. The closing of the email explained the flower choice and its common name, Kiss Me Over the Garden Gate, followed by the promise to do exactly that to her if they ever met. The promise to kiss her forever polarized her emotions submissive to his conquest.
Sandwiched within the email was a message pertinent to the novel as Jack served as Sandy's primary editor, but the business purpose was almost lost on Chantez. Hammered right between the eyes by Jack's romantic thoughtfulness, she almost swooned from the desire his promise stirred to life. Chantez reacted as Sandy had the first time Jack had spoken to her, she gushed like a schoolgirl.
Everything was out in the open amongst them, too. The emails from Jack came from Sandy's account so their often-flirtatious exchanges were seen and even discussed in Sandy's communications. Chantez discovered Jack was intelligent, witty, humorous and caring, everything that attracted her to him as a man. Sandy showed a magnanimous side and urged them on to intense dialogue and a risqué friendship that tortured Chantez's desire.
Rather quickly, Chantez felt the need to be honest with Jack and Sandy. She would love to meet them in person and would thoroughly enjoy being kissed, but she admitted to a stark fear that her inane hunger for passion would make her act so slutty as to embarrass her and to be disdained by the loving couple. Her honest attempt to control her behavior was subverted by Sandy's warm invitations to speak freely and more so when daring discussions that took wild flights of fantasy became frenetic and lasted long into the night.
The threesome bonded on a very intimate level until fondness, approaching love, clouded Chantez's emotions. She loved the nickname 'Woody' that Sandy used in her novel for Jack. Although it had never really been his nickname in real life, it became so between Woody and Chantez just as both Sandy and Woody called her 'Caramel' because of her use of 'caramel colored skin' to describe female lead-characters in her own stories.
When Chantez let down her guard and occasionally allowed her inner-vixen out to play, the exchanges became bawdy. In a manner completely out of character for the reserved woman and never practiced even in the presence of her husband, she described for them wanton behavior such as lying naked and touching herself. Ultimately, the secret truths about her past and most lustful desires were laid bare to Sandy and Woody, even her weakness for men, white men in particular, and the symbol of their sexual power, their erect cocks.
Just as Chantez revealed her true self to them, Sandy and Woody provided more than the novel's glimpse into their lives. They had a shared fetish for exhibitionism. Reading their endless stories of public nudity and lovemaking presented a shocking behavior to the reserved Chantez who was repressively shy in front of her own husband. While their admitted practice of mutually exposing their genitals to strangers was equally foreign, a voyeuristic vein in the women from the West Indies was aroused by the thought of seeing them exposed ... of seeing his cock.
Despite their suggestive word play with Chantez and publicly erotic behavior, they said they were everlasting monogamous lovers. Sandy and Woody were first time lovers together and remained faithful through the free-love-generation. They didn't need outside influences to find and experience the wildest passion in life unlike Chantez, who with multiple partners and lengthy marriage, never found the same boundless release of passion, not once. Chantez would sell her soul for a night in Woody's arms, his manhood pleasing her eternal need. But Woody belonged exclusively to Sandy, and to honor her newest friend, Chantez vowed never to let herself be the interloper who destroyed a match made in heaven.
Sandy and Woody were compassionate people; the friendship they offered was not superficial. Both read many of Chantez's stories and saw the passion-deprived soul of the author in every leading character. Sandy once wistfully described having considered sharing Woody to heal others but acknowledged such plans would never work out.
Real life details and family pictures were exchanged. They offered kind support and generous wishes on a regular basis that diminished in frequency but never stopped even after Sandy's novel was accepted by an independent publisher and Chantez's contributions were concluded.
A year went by.
Chapter 3 -- Le Baiser Promis
Chantez was relieved that she never faced a real test of her behavior, yet disappointed too. Realistically, their imaginations outstripped their physical abilities. None of them were young, passionate, worldly people who pursued life with vigorous sexual appetites anymore. Chantez was nearing fifty-five with ebbing estrogen that withered her libido but not the deep-seeded desire for thrilling fulfillment. Always a large girl, life and habits had ballooned her body into something she imagined repulsive to any man. She resigned herself to never knowing what unbridled passion could be like.
Although Sandy wrote some of the hottest descriptions of passionate sex Chantez ever read, her experiences dated back to the 1960s. Woody was now almost sixty-five and Sandy sixty-two. Time had slowed them to a sexual crawl too. While pictures declared Sandy retained her petite size-8 or was back to it, Woody had lost weight battles similar to Chantez. The scenes of such a oversized ménage à trois would not be arousing to anybody, perhaps except in the imaginations of the trois when they engaged in solo-sex.
But now, the real possibility of a beautiful friendship collapsing into something decadent approached. Chantez chided herself; it wasn't going to be anything like what she feared. She went ahead with the plans for two reasons. They were just mature friends meeting for a meal and conversations. She was hitching up her big-girl panties and facing her demons. Yet, she knew an inescapable truth that if some man was ever to actually seduce her, she had to be there for it to have any possibility of happening. She wanted to meet Woody to see if he was as exciting in person as Sandy's story and his emails made him out to be.
Eventually, mid-July hung its muggy blanket over the Hudson. Chantez imagined she knew the precise moment that her friends were motoring past over on the interstate while she made dinner. An exhilarated waiting possessed her not unlike the night before her wedding. Her meal and evening of relaxation passed quietly with emotions on a short leash. She had purposely stayed off the internet the entire day and worked Zen-like to clear her head of thoughts, a brain-vacation. Sandy didn't call; she wasn't going to give Chantez a chance to recluse herself, her typical, indecisive-nature reaction to life-changing moments that required commitment.
In the morning, a sexual tension knotted her stomach. Chantez thought it would be wise to get relief before she met them later ... before she was in his presence. As soon as her hubby left for work, she fairly ran to the bedroom, shut the door, and closed the curtains. Opening her dresser drawer, she reached under the clothes in the back corner and pulled out the bundle wrapped in pink cloth. Her secret satisfier was a simple dildo called a Rabbit which she nicknamed Bugs after a funny email exchange with Woody.
Stripping off her clothes and jumping onto the bed, Bugs was soon rooting around her carrot patch in the most delightful way. Her pink garden furrow was especially moist that morning, making the horny hare slip around her ripening bud. Normally, Chantez enjoyed edging play with her bunny friend but to save time for her other preparations, she took the direct route to get to bliss.
Talking to Bugs as if it was alive, she said, "Watch out, Bugs, Elmer Fudd is coming to see me." Her rabbit dove into her burrow and tried to dig deeper. Chantez was panting hard as her hand pushed Bugs deep and her palm thumped on her clit. Her body shook with the ferocity of her orgasm and it left her spread-eagle on the bed; the carnal device left inside her and its protruding end quivering from her vaginal spasms.
A large block of her morning was set aside as bathroom time, as had been the day before when she carefully painted all twenty nails. With copious minutes to indulge, Chantez trimmed herself; no ulterior motives were involved in the action as she kept herself groomed down there. She put her razor and gel in the shower for touching up her legs and armpits; after all, she might have missed something yesterday and a second pass would be expedient. However, a long minute standing in front of the vanity was needed to convince her there were purely social reasons to include using the disposable douche in her shower routine.