Addendum to Phoebe's Sex Manual

"So that was your first sexual experience? Groping a flat chest?"

"It was a little more than that. Like I said, eventually she let me strip her and feel up every part of her. I say eventually, but that was me. If I'd pushed her, she probably would have let me do all that by the fifth date but I was as slow as molasses."

"And as sweet, I bet."

He laughed. "If you keep interrupting me, I'm never going to get to the end of my tale."

"Please, then proceed."

"So she let me enjoy her body but she never reciprocated. She never unbuttoned a single button on my shirt. Never touched me, even through my clothes. It was all a one-way street. I was never sure that she wanted me in that way. Until she dry-humped me one night. She was naked on the floor and I was fully clothed on top of her with my leg between her thighs and she started rubbing herself against me like there was no tomorrow and moaning out of control. It was the first time that I ever felt a woman come and it was wonderful. Indescribable. I still get warm right to my toes thinking about it.

"I reciprocated a couple of weeks later. She was naked and I was clothed as always and I began pressing against her and came in my shorts. That felt good. But I've always liked more that she dry humped me than that I dry humped her. Much more. Like I said, feeling that girl come against my leg was a high point in my life. Giving that pleasure to a woman made me feel like a man for the first time.

"But that was it. We never made love really. I never even undressed in her presence. So I leave it to you to decide if reciprocal dry humping on two different occasions counts as legitimate sex."

"It sounds like better sex than some of my more conventional experiences," Phoebe said. "I can tell you that."

"Being with you was great. Fantastic. Maybe the greatest sex I ever had. But I have to be honest about one thing. I wouldn't trade that feeling of Beatrice dry humping me, coming in my arms, for any orgasm I've ever had."

She smiled and said nothing about that. She only reached across the table and squeezed his hand. He was a sweet man.

"So what about you?" he said. "I've bared myself to you. Now it's your turn."

Phoebe was waiting for this opening. Exchanging their sexual histories was the point of this dinner date. She didn't want to admit how young she'd been when she lost her virginity, so she skipped straight to her general history. "I've had my share of lovers, some good, some bad, but not as many as most men assume. I'll admit to a few one-night stands but that doesn't mean that I sleep with a different man every week. Most of the time, I'm in a long-term relationship with a man. And I've been married a couple of times – three times, if you want an exact count – so that took up a fair part of my adult life. I'm always exclusive. I've never slept with two men at the same time. I'll always break up with one man before looking for someone else. I've been lucky. The only STD that I've ever had was when I was young and it was one of the ones that's easy to cure. If I keep taking three or four lovers a year, the odds'll probably catch up with me eventually and I'll get herpes but that hasn't happened yet.

"I'm telling you all this to be proactive. I know what men think. I'm sexually adventurous and men jump to the conclusion that I must be sexually promiscuous. I'm not. I got most of my experience by experimenting a lot with a few men rather than experimenting a little with a lot of men. I jumped into bed with you as soon as I met you, but that doesn't mean that I jump into bed with every man that I meet. That means that you were special." She reached across the table to take his hand. "It also means that I want to jump into bed with you again. Soon." She squeezed his hand again and he grinned broadly. "Of course, you realize that I use the term 'bed' figuratively. You never know where I'll want to make love next." She had used that line before to keep lovers off balance.

"You do make life an adventure," he said.

"I try. I hate being bored. And I hate being boring even more."

"I doubt that anyone has ever found you boring."

She grinned. "Not lately."

"Since you're being so brave and honest with me," he said, "then I should be just as forthcoming with you. My sex life has been fairly dull. A handful of girlfriends in college. No one night stands, I'm sorry to say. I married Lillian before I finished law school and was faithful to her until she died a little over a year ago. You're the first woman that I've dated since. Never had an STD, curable or otherwise. There are a couple of hot women in the office but, like you, I never fish off the company wharf, so I haven't had any action there. And I haven't been looking for any. It's taken me a while to get over Lillian's death."

She gave his hand a different touch, a sympathetic squeeze, and said, "You don't get over something like that. You let it become a part of what you are as you move forward. You nurture the love that you had for her and let yourself become more loving. You don't get over any part of your life, you accumulate more life to add to it. That's what we did last weekend. Added a little more to what we already had in our lives. Something good."

"Last weekend was good, wasn't it?"

"It sure as hell was. It was terrific." Phoebe decided to do something dramatic to banish the ghost of Lillian from the table. "Will you excuse me for a minute? I have to visit the lady's."

"Sure."

He watched her thread her way through the restaurant towards the woman's washroom. She had a great ass. He was surprised how quickly she returned. In his experience, women spent a long time in lady's rooms. He sometimes suspected that they read magazines and watched movies in there. But not Phoebe. She barely had time to go in before she was coming out again, threading her way back to their table.

As soon as she sat down, she asked, "Notice anything different?"

He looked at her in puzzlement. This sounded like a trick question. "No," he said at last.

"Keep looking," she replied. "Let's see if you can figure it out before we leave. I'll give you a special prize if you do."

They talked about inconsequential things for the remainder of the meal, which was fortunate because Roger was distracted by her claim that she had changed something when she had slipped into the bathroom earlier. He looked at her makeup, her hairstyle, her jewelry. His eyes were busier than his ears.

Finally the penny dropped. He stared at the top of her little black dinner dress. She had cleavage when they first sat down. Now her breasts were hanging apart. "You were wearing a bra when we came in here, weren't you?"

She laughed. "Good observation, Sherlock." She pulled a wad of black lace from her purse and tossed it on the table in front of him. "I was wearing that bra, to be specific. I was beginning to fear that you weren't paying attention to my tits at all."

He was certainly paying attention now. He was staring at her chest more intently when it was covered by the dress than he had the previous morning when she had been sitting nude across from him at breakfast.

"Do you want to know what your reward is, Sherlock?"

"Sure," he said without raising his eyes to her face.

"How adventurous do you want to be?"

"As adventurous as I can."

"Have you ever heard of the British slang, dogging?"

"Nope." He raised his eyes at last.

"Well, I'm going to take you dogging tonight. You'll know what it means soon enough."

"What is it?"

"I'm not going to spoil the surprise. You'll know it when we're doing it."

He frowned. "Do you think that I'll like it?"

"I won't know that until we try it."

"Is it something that you like?"

"It's something that I haven't done often. It's a really special treat that I save for really special guys."

"I guess I should be flattered, then."

She smiled enigmatically.

"Practical sex is sex for a purpose. But that doesn't mean that it can't be a hell of a lot of fun."

Page 4,Phoebe's Manual of Practical Sex

Roger stared at his Coke morosely.

"Don't be sad, sport," Phoebe said. "You need to be sober for this. I'm relying on you." She knocked back the dregs of her third gin and tonic.

"And you don't?"

"I need my courage." She had consumed more than her share of the liter of house wine at the restaurant and then insisted that they spend another hour and a half at the Harbourview Lounge in the nearest hotel. She has also insisted that he drink only soft drinks. It was now almost ten-thirty at night and he was a sober as a Baptist on a Sunday Morning.

"Okay," she said. "Let's do this thing."

"I don't even know what we are doing."

"We're going dogging," she said.

"I still don't know what that is."

"That's okay. I do."

"Should I get a room?"

"No, silly. You don't go dogging in a hotel. We go dogging in your car."

His car was still parked on the street near the restaurant. She was staggering a little as they walked the few blocks but did not hold on to Roger to steady herself. In her opinion, even with her judgment impaired by her self-administered chemical regime, intimacy was the wrong state of mind for going dogging with a man.

"Now, drive me out to the Bedford Highway to the Rotunda and park on the nearest side street."

"The Rotunda?"

"You know. It's that little white round building between the highway and the harbor. Some old duke built it for his mistress a couple hundred years ago." She giggled. "That's a good place for a little dogging."

Twenty minutes later, she was pulling him across the highway toward the little building. It was built on a slight rise by the water, surrounded by a thin screen of trees.

"It must be locked at this time of night," he said.

"We're not going in the building, silly. Take me down by the water." She giggled again as he scrambled to get her off the asphalt before one of the many pickup trucks roaring down the highway turned them into road kill.

"Follow me."

He followed a few paces behind her as she lead him around a little copse of trees to the narrow muddy space where the tide was receding.

"Just stand there," she said, turning him to face the city buildings across the small stretch of water at this end of the Bedford Basin. "Don't do anything."

She pulled the straps of her dress off her shoulders and let the top gather at the swell of her hips, leaving her naked to the waist.

Roger could see her full breasts at intervals when they were obliquely illuminated by the headlights of passing cars and trucks. They were lovely.

He glanced toward the highway. They were far enough from the road and partly screened by enough tree trunks that passengers were unlikely to know what they were seeing unless there were looking specifically in their direction. And, even if they did happen to be peering into the darkness at exactly the right angle at exactly the right moment, they would get only the merest glimpse of the two people, too brief to see exactly what they were doing. In the other direction, over the water, the buildings were too far away for anyone to see them without an exceptionally powerful telescope.

Phoebe had chosen exactly the right spot to feel like they were both exposed to public view constantly while running little risk that they would actually be seen.

She dropped to her knees, heedless of the mud, and began unbuckling his belt. "Don't just stand there," she said, "help me get your pants down. This isn't the time or place for a leisurely dalliance."

He could see the truth of that and hastened to drop trou.

Despite the surprising turn of events, he was already half aroused when his boxers billowed to his knees and quickly achieved a full erection when the topless woman kneeling before him took him into her mouth and began working his glans and frenulum with her lips and tongue.

Then she began working down his shaft until he felt himself butting against the back of her throat.

He had received oral foreplay from women on rare occasions before, but it had never been like this.

The foreign object in her throat, his prick, was generating copious amounts of saliva. Rather than swallowing it, she used it to coat him with a slick layer. Thus lubricated, and forcing her throat to open by making repeated swallowing actions, she took him in her mouth all the way to his root. Her nose was pressed into his pubic hair.

She could not breathe with him blocking her windpipe, so she had to repeatedly withdraw him, gasp a deep breath, hold it, and swallow him again.

Her amazing oral gymnastics, coupled with the thrill of constant near public exposure, some vigorous hand stimulation of his shaft, and the sight of her face turned up to look at him over her vigorously bouncing breasts had the predictable effect of accelerating the arc of his arousal.

He came in record time.

As orgasms go, it wasn't a great one. Among the many distractions created by the situation, a distant rumble was amplifying into an earth-shaking roar as his climax approached.

At the exact moment that he began to throb and jet into her throat, a train roared passed on the tracks that lay between the basin and the highway.

He could feel the wind from the diesel behemoth fanning his naked buttocks. If this was a VIA train, the passengers would be getting a much better view of open-air fellatio than anyone on the highway.

He didn't care. He was too busy watching Phoebe grin up at him around his cock as she swallowed his ejaculate.

He had only come in a woman's mouth a couple of times in his life and each time, the woman had spit his seed back out with ill-concealed distaste.

To see Phoebe appear to enjoy the flavor like it was some rare and exotic treat was an amazing sight.

Then, she gave him an even more amazing dénouement. When she pulled his flagging member from her mouth, she milked a last dollop of semen from it onto her finger and then spread the white goo across the tops of her naked breasts.

"The mark of a well-dogged woman," she said, leering up at him. Then she rose smoothly to her feet, slipped her dress back up over her semen-daubed breasts and added, "Hoist yer gallants, matey. It's time to weigh anchor and hie to safe harbor before the king's marines clap us in irons. There were passenger cars in that train and their tickets bought them a show they never expected."

He had to scramble to catch up with her. By the time he got his belt buckled, she was on the other side of the tracks and moving fast.

"Dogging: British slang. Originally it referred to furtive voyeurs who 'dogged' couples in 'lover's lanes' in hopes of seeing sexual acts. The term has mutated to refer to the act of having sex in a public place, especially in view of others. Though it often refers to strangers who arrange to meet solely for that purpose, its meaning is expanding to include any sexual activity that takes place in a car or outdoors where there is the possibility of being seen by strangers."

Page 201,Phoebe's Manual of Practical Sex

"So why did you want to talk to me?" Cory asked as soon as he took a seat across from Phoebe.

She was surprised by the question. She took a sip of her coffee before replying, "It's been a week. We're a quarter of the way through our bet so I thought that I should report on my progress. Reassure you that I'm fulfilling your terms. I've been a steady partner for Roger for the past seven days and have neither asked for nor received a single thing of significant monetary value from him."

"Good for you. You want a medal? You know, like in AA? You get a pin for a going a week without falling off the good Samaritan wagon?"

"Why are you being so sarcastic?"

"I'm just a cynical guy."

"Roger's not so cynical."

"He's a good guy." There was a pause while both considered the implications of that statement. Cory felt a bit of his hostility seep away. "I've known him for a long time. It's funny, him being a lawyer, because he doesn't have what you'd call a killer instinct. He never goes for the jugular like I'd expect from a lawyer. He's a conciliator. A referee rather than a gladiator. He almost never goes to court. He specializes in getting two parties together and working around their disagreements until he can get them to find the middle ground. He'll spend days negotiating a compromise between unreasonable people."

"That's the opposite of my lawyer," she said.

"You mean that guy who chewed off my balls in court when we got divorced?"

"That's the only lawyer I've ever had."

"He's one mean son of a bitch."

"I thought all lawyers were like him. I thought that Roger would turn out to be like him once I got to know him."

"No. Roger's nothing like that."

There was another long pause while they sipped their coffee and thought about their bet.

Finally, Cory smiled and said, "I was talking to him yesterday."

"Did he tell you that I was holding up my end of the bargain?"

"He told me that you were one scary lady." Cory's smile grew broader. "He said that you took him dogging but he wouldn't tell me what that was. He made it sound a lot more intense than just bending over for him."

"It has nothing to do with doing it doggy style. It's quite a different thing altogether."

Cory raised an eyebrow and said, "A real dog? Is that why Roger wouldn't give me any details?"

Phoebe laughed. "Get your mind out of the kennel," she said. "I don't do bestiality, either."

"What, then?"

"Maybe some day I'll show you."

"Not likely." Cory lost his smile and his tone grew cold.

"Don't forget the terms of our bet. Three more weeks with Roger and I win your affection for a month. Even if you don't feel it, you promised to act like it."

Cory flinched. He hadn't forgotten but he'd hoped that she had. Or, if not forgotten, at least decided that the stakes in their so-called wager were silly.

She read his mind through his body language. "Oh, no. You're not welching on our bet. We shook on it. I finish my part and I expect you to do your part. That's the deal."

"Whatever." He didn't want to talk about it. He'd deal with that bridge when he had to cross it. "Anyway, Roger seems happy with the way things are going."

"Yeah. I'm giving him a bit of a rest after our dogging date." For the last few nights, she'd been letting him make love to her in the comfort of her bed like any other normal couple. "He's going to need his strength for this weekend. It's time for another adventure."

"A man's most deeply held secret is his sexual fantasies. It is easier to convince a man to confess to murder, betray state secrets, or rat out his best friend than to get him to tell you what he thinks about when he jerks off. If you can get him to tell you what really turns him on, you have the power to give him his ultimate reward. Which is why he protects that secret so well. To reveal it to you is to give you power over him."

Page 123,Phoebe's Manual of Practical Sex

"That was nice," Phoebe said when her breathing returned to a normal rate.

"Just nice?" Roger asked.

He was smiling but she knew that his question was serious.

"Very nice," she replied. "You're a good lover."

"Very nice," he said. "Your bedroom curtains are very nice. My car is very nice. I was hoping that my loving would be terrific. Stupendous. Wonderful."

She propped herself up on an elbow and looked down into his eyes. "Do you want me to lie to you?"

"No."

"Then be happy with very nice. I like nice sex. It makes me feel good. It makes me want to have more nice sex with you. Most of the time, nice sex is better than terrific, stupendous, wonderful sex. It's the meat and potatoes of love. You can't live on chocolate cake and strawberry ice cream. Most of your meals have to be good basic food or you'll starve to death. I've known guys who've insisted that every night had to be another scene from a porno film. A woman can't keep up with a guy like that for more than a few days before she has to dump him. I hope that you can be as happy with nice sex as I can."