The Education of Lisa Ch. 06

Recently, I went out to lunch with my best friend Carrie. I'd been very sick for a long time, incapacitated with a nearly fatal tropical virus (long story) and this was the first time I'd been out in over a month. As always with Carrie, the conversation eventually came around to sex. The question of my "number" came up, how many guys I'd been with. Carrie announced proudly that she had just passed sixty.

"How do you even keep track of that many?" I asked.

"I keep a diary," she said. "I've written down every sexual encounter I've had since . . ." She smiled coyly at this point, but I knew that she had been an early starter.

I did some quick calculating. "Do blow-jobs count?" I asked.

"I count them as half," Carrie said. "But, you know, you have to come up with your own system."

So after some deliberation, I said: "Five."

"Five?" Carrie said incredulously. "Bullshit. I know you've been with more than five guys."

"You said I could come up with my own system," I said.

"OK," Carrie said. "Who are your five?"

"Number one, Jerry," I said.

"A.K.A. dickhead," Carrie put in. She'd never liked my first boyfriend.

"I wasn't sure if I should count him, since we never actually had real sex, only anal."

"I count anal twice," Carrie noted.

"Number two, Tom Petty."

Carrie laughed. "That was fun." She and I had been groupies for one night, meeting Mr. Petty and his Heartbreakers in a hotel room. Tom Petty was actually the one to technically deflower me.

"Number three, all those guys I slept with before I met Will."

"You can't lump them together as one," Carrie protested.

"Why not?" I said. "I barely remember their names, they all blur together when I think about them, and all told they equal about one good man."

"Cheater," Carrie scoffed.

"Number four is Will," I said, smiling as I thought of him. Will, with whom I finally understood the phrase "making love."

"OK," Carrie said. "Then who's five?"

Lucius. My demon lover. Or ghost, or zombie, or whatever the hell he was. Probably just a figment of my imagination, but I had to count him. He gave me the best fuck I'd ever had. I couldn't really tell Carrie about it, though, despite the fact that I could have told her just about anything else. Not only would she have thought I was crazy, I doubted I could have put it into words that she could have understood.

"I counted Will twice," I said.

"Oh, please," Carrie said, disgusted. "He hardly touches you. Or has that changed?"

I shook my head sadly. I had complained to Carrie many times about Will's frustrating lack of libido. She had suggested several strategies to overcome this, but so far none had paid off. So we went off on that tangent for a while. Carrie thought Will was gay, as she could see no other explanation for his refusal to give me the sexual attention which Carrie truly believed was mine by rights.

"He's not gay," I said. Of that, at least, I was reasonably certain.

"It's criminal," she shook her head sadly. "A young, hot, sexy woman like you, wasted."

That was when Carrie came up with the idea of a Vegas get-away, just the two of us. I warmed up to the idea quickly. After my long convalescence, I felt like getting out and having some fun.

"Who knows?" Carrie said. "Maybe we can hook you up with some young casino stud."

"I'm not going to cheat on Will," I stated firmly.

"It's not cheating if he doesn't give you what you need," Carrie said. "Besides, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas."

"I thought that was Mexico."

"Whatever," Carrie said. "Go home and start packing. We're leaving Friday night."

When we arrived in the fabled city late Friday, I was a bit dismayed to learn that Carrie had booked us in a rather seedy motel located very far off The Strip. I'm sure this had to do with the fact that she insisted on paying for half of everything. When I told Will that I wanted to go to Vegas, he went to the bank and drew out a thousand dollars in traveler's checks, then gave me his Platinum credit card in case that wasn't enough. Carrie, on the other hand, had to dip into the meager savings she had accumulated with her waitressing tips. I wouldn't have minded paying for the room, at least, but for Carrie it was a matter of pride. Which was how we ended up at the E-Z Rest.

We were lugging our luggage up onto the second floor balcony when we saw two teen-age boys lingering before one of the rooms. They started guiltily when they saw us coming and hurried away, so of course we had to stop in front of the room and see what it was that had caught their attention.

The curtain was drawn back on the window, and all the lights in the room were on. Laying on the bed, her back to us, was a young woman, asleep, wearing only a pair of sheer yellow panties.

"Holy shit," Carrie said.

We could see the woman's ass clearly through the nearly transparent material, and with the way she was laying, also the side of one naked breast. Her face was buried in a pillow, so all we could see there was a tangle of black hair, but she did have a nice body. Seeing her exposed like that was both unsettling and more than a little arousing. I felt guilty for staring, but at the same time could not drag myself away. That is, until a man appeared behind us carrying an ice bucket.

"Enjoying the show?" he said to us, smiling ghoulishly, then went into the room and pulled the curtains closed.

Shaking my head in disgust, I made my way down the row to our room.

"That guy deliberately pulled the curtain open so people walking by would check out his wife," I said once we were inside. I was absolutely appalled.

"Yeah," Carrie laughed. "I think you're right."

"That's disgusting."

Carrie shrugged. "Maybe she doesn't mind."

"What?"

"Maybe she's a little bit of an exhibitionist," Carrie said. "He'll probably tell her what he did when she wakes up, and then they'll fuck like bunnies."

"Yeah, or maybe he's just a jerk," I said.

I was a bit irritable after the long ride, but we were both too tired to argue. Tomorrow we would do the town, but as for tonight all either of us wanted to do was sleep.

The next afternoon found us beside the swimming pool of one of the big casinos. Technically, the pool was only for guests of the hotel, but nobody had the heart to turn away two attractive young bikini-clad women. We were lounging in pool chairs, taking in the sun, checking out guys and being checked out, when I caught Carrie looking at me in a very strange way.

"What?" I said.

"Uh, I have kind of a confession to make," she said, looking away. She was actually blushing.

"What are you talking about?"

"You have to promise you won't get mad."

"Why?" I said, beginning to grow alarmed. "What did you do?"

Carrie grinned, disarmingly. "Well, last night, after you were asleep, I kind of . . ."

"What?"

"I kind of opened the curtain and turned the light on."

"Carrie, you didn't."

"I did," she laughed.

"I don't believe . . ." I grasped for words that would express my anger, but I could only goggle in fury.

"Oh, come on," Carrie said. "You promised you wouldn't get mad."

"I did not!" I protested. "Carrie, what the hell were you thinking? Anybody could have looked in and seen us."

"Oh, I'm sure they did."

"I was undressed!"

"Lisa," she said. "The panties you were wearing last night covered more than the bikini bottoms you have on right now. Plus, you were wearing a t-shirt. You're way closer to naked now than you were then."

"That's different," I said.

"How?" she challenged.

"I . . ." I faltered. "I don't know, it just is."

"Anyway, I don't know what you're worried about. I doubt anyone even looked at you considering what I was wearing."

"What were you wearing?"

She only smiled in answer to that.

"You slept naked in front of an open window with the lights on?"

"My God, the dreams I had."

"I don't believe it," I said, although with Carrie of course I'd believe about anything. "Carrie, you're lucky nobody broke in and raped us."

"What do you mean, lucky?" she said. "That was what I was fantasizing about all night."

"You're unbelievable," I said.

"Oh, come on," Carrie said. "It doesn't turn you on, just a little?"

"No!" Though I think I might have protested a bit too much.

"Look at you, you're half naked right now. You've got a great body. Gorgeous tits and a perfect ass. Don't tell me you don't like people looking."

"That's not the point, Carrie."

"What is the point, then?"

"The point is . . ." I tried, but for the life of me could not say.

"Besides," she said. "I know you're turned on."

"How do you know that?"

"It's almost a hundred degrees out here and your nipples are hard."

I folded my arms self-consciously over my chest and fumed for a bit in silence. The worst part, I think, is that I knew Carrie was right. It did turn me on, a little, to think of the men who might have watched us sleep. Just the slightest bit.

That evening we hit a casino. Carrie, as she invariably did, managed to hook up with a guy. He was a slightly older dentist from Kansas or Nebraska or some awful place like that. Not bad-looking. He was doing very well at a blackjack table and seemed to think that Carrie was his good luck charm. The casino had already comped him a suite, and I knew it was only a matter of time before the two of them went up there.

I was playing slots without much enthusiasm. I guess I don't really have a gambling temperament, as I didn't see the point in feeding coins into these machines which never paid out nearly as much as they took in. Basically, I was just wasting time until Carrie got herself laid. I was bored, a little irritated, and was beginning to think that this trip had been a mistake. Then Carrie found me, flushed with excitement.

"Hey," she said. "I need you to do me a huge favor."

"What?" I said wearily.

"I mean, gargantuan."

"What, Carrie?"

"Joe wants you to come up to the room with us."

"Carrie, we've been through this a dozen times." For some reason, the Carrie's guy friends always wanted to include me in a three-way. Carrie seemed strangely willing, but I always refused on the grounds that I was afraid it would damage our friendship. "Besides, I told you I'm not going to cheat on Will."

"You won't," she said, smiling in such a mysterious way that I was curious despite myself.

"OK, what then?"

When she told me, I could hardly believe it. Part of me automatically revolted at the very idea, but another part of me was intrigued. I don't have to tell you which part won out, because this would be a very boring story otherwise.

Dr. Joe Johnson, DDS, if that was in fact his real name, had a long-standing fantasy about meeting an attractive young woman at a Vegas casino and having wild hotel-room sex. So far, pretty generic. But the interesting part was, he wanted a permanent record of the encounter. This was where I came in. He needed someone to hold the camera.

I went straight to the bar and fortified myself with liquid courage. Then I accompanied my best friend and the strange dentist up to the luxurious suite.

Once in the room, not much was said. Champagne was poured and electronic dance music with a pounding sexual rhythm was played. After a quick tutorial from Dr. Johnson on how to operate the camera, they began to dirty dance as I dutifully recorded the whole thing on tape.

Through the camera's viewfinder, I watched my friend Carrie dance. I realized that I had never seen her before in quite this way. This was the face she showed to the men she gave herself to, and I found this fascinating. There was something undeniably beguiling about her smile, about the way she blushed. Something both innocent and wanton at the same time. She was like a little girl in her kittenish play, but her body was all woman.

I zoomed in close and she smiled at me, or maybe just at the camera.

I've always thought Carrie was pretty. She was down on herself a lot, always said that I was the pretty one, but now as she closed her eyes and moved to the music, I saw her as absolutely beautiful. Her body was a writhing mass of sensuality. The good doctor held her from behind and lightly cupped her breasts in his hands, toying with the nipples through the thin material of her dress. One of Carrie's main complaints about herself was that she was flat-chested, at least compared to me. She always says that she's going to get a boob job someday. Personally, I hoped she never did. I thought her breasts were nice just they way they were. Mine were so big they hurt my back, but hers were just these perfect little pieces of fruit, so tantalizing and ripe. Plus, they were just the right size so she never had to wear a bra.

Dr. Johnson's hands moved slowly down her stomach and reached up her short loose skirt. Here his fingers found a bit of a pleasant surprise. Carrie never wore panties when she was in what she liked to call "fuckable mode." His hand stroked her there and I zoomed in for a close-up. Dr. Johnson obligingly lifted her skirt so the camera could get a better shot. Carrie used to completely shave her pubic hair, but now she usually left a thin, neatly trimmed patch. A "landing strip," as she called it.

Dr. Johnson's fingers glistened with moisture, I could see this even through the viewfinder. Another detail caught on tape: the faint hint of a tan line on his left ring finger. A married dentist. I doubt Carrie would have minded even if she had known, she'd been with married men before, but I felt a sharp twinge of outrage. Still, I was starting to get turned on myself. My clothes felt uncomfortably warm and tight, and there a fluttering warmth spreading from between my legs all the way up to the pit of my stomach.

Dr. Johnson fell to his knees before Carrie. She arched her back and pulled her skirt up to afford him access. He leaned into her, lapping her dripping dew, sucking all her honey. Carrie was still moving to the incessant beat of the music. She grasped the doctor's hair in her fist and he put his hands on her swaying hips. Together they continued to dance.

Carrie cried out. She opened her eyes and gave me a smile. I'd never seen her like this, lost in ecstatic sensation. It was amazing to watch. I felt a connection to her that I'd never known before, a new kind of intimacy. Strange to say, but it was like the man wasn't there at all.

Dr. Johnson, jaws dripping, looked up at Carrie.

"Your turn," he said. I think he meant it to come out as ironically authoritarian, like he was playing at being the in-charge male, but his voice was breathless and a little weak.

Carrie obeyed though, eagerly. They traded positions, her on her knees, him standing before her. Dr. Johnson quickly pulled his clothes off. He was a good-lucking guy. What I think they call a "metro-sexual." Gym-toned and booth-tanned body, suspiciously hairless as if he had certain areas waxed. Not much in the way of body fat. And, when he pulled his expensive silk boxers off, I saw why he called himself "Dr. Johnson."

Still, I had the weird feeling that he was only some kind of prop, like he was just some anonymous actor called in to do the scene with Carrie, who was the undisputed star of this show. She licked her lips in appreciation of his meaty erection and opened wide to take it in.

This was a unique opportunity to closely observe another woman's style of cocksucking. Carrie was a ferocious fellatrix, sucking hard and deep, moving fast and showing no mercy. When I go down on a guy, I like to take my time, to savor the feeling of power which comes from knowing that the man is completely under my control. But Carrie was all business. Maybe it was just because of the camera, like she felt like she had to perform. Or maybe it was because Carrie watched so much porn and that was where she had learned to give head.

Whatever the reason, Dr. Johnson seemed to appreciate her fervor. He grabbed her hair and began to move with her frantic rhythm, which was at least twice as fast as the beat of the music. He moaned and groaned and tensed his tight hairless buttocks as his fat monster cock slid in and out of Carrie's red painted lips.

Finally, he pulled the head out with a pop. "I don't want to come yet," he gasped, and led Carrie over to the bed. I followed, feeling like I wasn't even there, like the camera was just a floating eye. I was only an observer of this strange human ritual.

I got an interesting close-up of Dr. Johnson rolling a condom on, then he instructed Carrie to get on the bed on her hands and knees.

"I want to be able to see it going in," he told me.

So I knelt beside the bed and got in close between Carrie's legs, studying the gasping flower of her cunt and her puckered brown anus. I had never seen a woman's genitals up this close before, my own included. Fascinated, I moved the camera slowly over the geography of her exposed sex, and was almost disappointed when the rubber-sheathed phallus entered the frame and spoiled the purity of the shot. Still, the penetration had an undeniable visual impact.

I held the close-up for a while until I grew weary of the repetitive in-and-out piston motion of fucking. I pulled back for the more interesting sight of naked bodies grasping, of Dr. Johnson's smooth, gliding plunges; of Carrie's desperate backward thrusting.

They went at it for a long time, switching positions as I floated around them, merely observing. I didn't care so much for the missionary position, from a visual point of view. Carrie was almost completely obscured by the man on top of her, and no matter from what angle I filmed, Dr. Johnson's bobbing buttocks seemed incongruously comical.

I liked better when Carrie got on top. I sat on the bed beside them to get a good shot of her lean, aesthetic body, and the way she moved. Dr. Johnson laid still, his arms behind his head, and I'm afraid he was framed him completely out of the shot. I captured Carrie's orgasm, though; her eyes closed, sweat dripping from her, her chest turning splotchy and red. She cried out a little, but it was nothing like the cheesy overacting in a porno, not like a Meg Ryan orgasm at all. It was real, and it was amazing to behold.

I was utterly detached from the scene, like I've said, but at the same time I was living it intensely. I know that probably doesn't make sense. I remember thinking at one point that it was like I was fucking Carrie, using the hapless dentist as some kind of surrogate cock. In any case, I was so aroused my head spun. I was dazed, overwhelmed by what I was seeing and by the heady smell of sex which was so thick in the air you could have choked on it. But I knew that I absolutely could not just put the camera down and join them. I'm sure Dr. Johnson wouldn't have minded, and I'm nearly positive Carrie wouldn't have any objections, either. But participating in the scene would have ruined it for me.

After Carrie came, she rolled off Dr. Johnson and lay beside him, grabbing his pulsing cock in her hand.

"You about done?" she laughed. "I'm beat."

"Let me fuck you in the ass," he said breathlessly.

Carrie's face wrinkled. "I don't know . . ."

"Oh, please," Dr. Johnson begged. "That would make this perfect."

Carrie finally shrugged. "All right," she said. "But hurry, OK?"

They rearranged their positions again. Lubricant was searched for, but all we could find was a little bottle of hand lotion in my purse. Dr. Johnson spread a generous glob over his condom-sheathed cock, and worked the rest into Carrie's asshole. I cringed, both in memory of all the ass-fucking I had received from my first boyfriend, and also because I knew my hands would be dry for the entire drive home.

I zoomed in close and the camera captured the sight of Dr. Johnson's fat prick snaking into the tight burrow of my best friend's anus. She made a startled noise and grasped one of the pillows tight in her fist, but then moved backwards to take his cock all the way in.