Helping Alexandra

Helping Alexandra

Alexandra was right about him. Just as importantly, right about herself.

I am always somewhat skeptical when a woman approaches me saying she has read some of my non-academic writing (such as this piece) or overheard from a friend of a friend or some such that there is this woman... well, just whatever they may have heard or imagined, and that they want to 'try their hand', so to speak, at one of my soirees. And, of course, they think they have the 'perfect man' for it. Well, maybe not perfect, they say. 'But I could get him to do it.' These women, they just need a little help or advice.

There's the rub (no pun intended); the 'get him' bit. This often implies there is some subterfuge or 'gotcha' involved, or at the very least a kind of mis-direction; an erotic magic trick where the man is looking in one direction as we clever girls do our thing, then we snap our fingers and "My oh My!', he didn't see that coming, did he? But now that we've got him this way, he can hardly object, can he? Don't get me wrong, I'm all for clever girls; I just have no interest in stupid men.

And as for the women themselves, I think they are sometimes too clever by half. I mean, might they stop and ask themselves, if the man is really so perfect for this, and they are so certain of their own level of comfort and enthusiasm for it, why hasn't the whole 'get him' bit taken care of itself already? I sometimes feel there is a 'wanna be' factor at work here. You hear these stories about women getting together and enjoying themselves sharing and doing this and there's a natural tendency to just want to be one of the girls. Make no mistake, the feminine camaraderie can be very intense and seductive; it's one of the main pleasures of the sport. But you do have to have a real taste for the sport itself. There are other, less eccentric ways to go about female bonding; join a reading group, hold a slumber party or just schedule a weekly girl's night out.

All that said though, I do realize there are levels of anxiety and inhibition in both men and women that actually serve to enhance the pleasures of exposure and transgression when you confess (even to an intimate partner), let alone act out, the impulses you are helpless to deny your pleasure and need to indulge. It's the need that makes us vulnerable; the fact that our arousal can't be hidden even if the other person is offended, amused, disgusted or dismissive. Once it's out there, YOU are out there. I do get that... in spades.

So when Alexandra drew me aside at the guest reception at a recent conference, I was skeptical, but I did listen.

Now, sitting here with her on her pool patio in side by side reclining chairs, enjoying the view across the way in front of us, I'm happy I did.

Alexandra was right about him; there in a recliner opposite facing us, naked, leaning back to present properly - laid back enough to tilt his pelvis up to offer a good view of his ass, but not so far that he can't watch us as we watch - his legs spread wide as he slowly masturbates for us.

I like that look; the way his balls are lifted like he's offering them to us. Well, he is, and I don't want to seem unappreciative.

I reach into my purse on the tiles nearby and fish out my phone. It has a very good camera and he's well worth recording, at least for a bit, though I find focusing too much on working a camera and 'getting the shot' can detract from the immediacy and intimacy I enjoy most about such moments.

He sees what I'm doing and as I lift the phone and focus, he gives us the most satisfying half moan, half gasp of, "Yes, Laura, Please!" and lifts his hips, propping his penis up for the camera with a thumb pressed hard behind the base.

I pause to enjoy the moment; his excitement as he strains to lift and hold himself there to give me a good shot; the way he's looking at me over his raised hips, almost pleading for me to press 'record'. Let him wait just a bit, displaying that flushed penis, his eyes straying now over to his wife in the chair beside me for just a moment before returning to mine.

Yes, Alexandra was right about him. Oh. She did tell me he was well hung. But that's a vague expression and hardly the most important qualification. This, this right here; the need and the willingness to confess it, have it exposed; not just his cock, which, Alex is right, is lovely - a long, thick, rope veined, circumcised pillar with a prominent, plump crown - but this; that look of pleading, the strain to display and offer himself not just to my camera, but to me, for my pleasure and entertainment. There he is. He knows he can't take this back. And here I am, beside his wife, accepting the offer, not pretending that, in my own way and for my own reasons, I don't need this any less than he does. He hears my confession too.

That was my question about Alexandra; was she willing to really confess her own need (if she really had one rather than just being curious to find out); her need to feel empowered to use and enjoy men this way. Or did she think it was all on him and she'd 'try it, just to see' and reserve to herself the option to leave him there exposed while she decides if it's really a good look for her to be so... whatever it is we tell ourselves we'd be embarrassed to have others know we were. Well, we have our answer.

"That's it, Brian, just how I want this." She purrs at him. "My girlfriends will love this." Then to me, "You'll share, right? Send me..."

"Of course." I assure her and hit record.

I've looked back fondly and masturbated to that recording several times since then, just as I told Brian I would. If there is any magic to this, it's the openness and honesty that works it. That's why when Alex and I went out for drinks later the previous evening and she solicited my 'help' getting her husband to agree to serve as sexual eye candy and ejaculatory entertainment at an upcoming bachelorette party for her and her girlfriends, I told her straight out

"I'm not going to ambush him."

'It's not an ambush. I know he wants to do this..."

"You keep saying that, but how do you know? I mean, what have you actually told him about what you want and why? If I show up, just some strange woman out of the blue, and you expect me to sit around making small talk and dropping veiled sexual innuendos as we slowly beat around the bush in smaller and smaller circles until..." I snort and wave the rest off with my free hand, take another sip of my drink with the other, then, "Not happening."

"Well, fine then, so how would you do it? I mean, okay, so, before you leave town I have you over and he comes home from work and I introduce you and you say..." she spreads her hands, brows raised. "How would you go about it?"

"Me? I'd explain how we met and at least a little about why you picked me for this, which, okay, I do think he needs to understand so he knows he's not going to be offending or shocking me. But in pretty short order I'd just tell him you told me you wanted to have your husband strip down and masturbate for me while you and I shared drinks and compared notes on his performance because you want to use him with your girlfriends in a few weeks to toast the lucky bride. And I'd say to him that, when you told me that, I said "Fuck yeah, girl! I'd love that.' And I'd say, 'She tells me you're really well hung and shoot come hard and thick, like a twenty year old. So here I am and I want to see it."

Alexandra is laughing. "I didn't say all that!" she bats it away and glances nervously around the small hotel bar like she's worried someone might overhear us. "But no, you wouldn't. C'mon, be serious." she hisses at me.

"The fuck I wouldn't." I balk. "He needs to know exactly why I'm there and that, yes, I do want to see that. Stayed over an extra night and all hoping he'd live up to your billing and give me a nice memory from what was otherwise a pretty fucking boring conference. I mean, yeah, I'll reschedule a little for this. I love adding new men to my list, seeing them work for my approval that first time. Why wouldn't I just tell him that? More to the point, why wouldn't you?"

"Cause, like you said, just out of the blue..."

But I interrupt this, "I was talking about me, I'd be showing up out of the blue. But this idea or topic, it damned well better not be coming as some big surprise to him. I mean, you're so sure he wants this as much as you do, but have you ever actually told him it turns you on to think of him performing for other women that way while you..."

"Actually, yeah." Alexandra says a bit defiantly. "I mean, not just 'other women' either. I've even said I want him to do it in front of my girlfriends and that I want to see him up there with other guys that I get to watch and compare and tell to do things that I want to see."

"Well, shit, Alex, then what do you need me for?"

"BECAUSE," she exhales in mild exasperation, "when I tell him that stuff it's not like I'm actually asking him to do it; not saying, 'Hey, on Wednesday, I've asked Sherry to come over and bring her new boyfriend. We want to get the two of you naked and we want to see you handle each other's cocks and make each other come so we can..." she's laughing again. "Not that Sherry would probably ever do that. But honestly, I think I'd love something like that and I'm pretty sure Brian knows it."

"Well, then..." I'm really failing to see the problem here at this point.

"But SO," she holds up a hand to forestall me, "I do tell him this stuff but it's always in the context of when we're, you know, playing with it. You know how you say things when you're..." she shrugs a bit sheepishly. But then, firmer, "I've always loved those videos of solo guys jerking off, at least the ones that women shoot for women, you know, girl porn. I love the come shots, I just do, seeing them lose it and imagining them thinking about women like me watching them as they..." breaks off, frowns. "But it's probably mostly gay guys watching those and for all I know that's what they're thinking about, not women like me. Kinda spoils it. So, I wanna be there where they can see me. It would be so different than just a video, to stand over them, make them look up at me as they show me that." She pauses, then, "Yeah." She says with a little sniff. "Anyway, Brian knows that and he'll do it for me, knows I like it slow, want to sit back and just make him work it for me, show me that cock and how excited he is to do it for me, do it the way I want and then give me his best come shot so I can compare how he spurts it to those guys I like to watch on-line. I tell him that, just like that, I'm gonna compare how he spurts." She laughs, pleased with herself. "And not just that. Like I said, I'll tell him how I wish my girlfriends could all be here to watch this, tell him how bad I want to share his cock with them so they can see what I have, what I come home to every night, tell them 'look girls, he'll do this for me whenever I want and would they like to see him come? Yes, they would. I tell him to do a good job. Don't disappoint my friends.

"I tell him all that stuff, and you should see what it does to him. Not just him, but me. And he fucking knows it's getting me off and he gets so turned on by his bad girl wife that... I get wet just telling you about it. Sorry, TMI maybe, but I do. He gets so worked up, coming almost doesn't seem to dent it. He just has to fuck me after, I mean HAS to, and it's different, better actually than I think he used to before we started playing these games. He's like out of control almost. I want it so bad by that point too, but it's almost sweeter to sort of be passive or even resist a little, to just feel how bad he has to have me, how he'll throw me down and..." she rolls her eyes.

"Ah fuck, you see?" she sighs. "I know he wants this. I know. But it's really different to say those things when we're both wound up that way. It's different the next morning over breakfast, at least for me, even though I can be all flirty and sexy still and tease him about it and how I look forward to him coming home tonight; it feels different to say, 'Hey, you know, all those things I was saying last night, do you ever think you might want...?"

She sighs. "I don't know why, but I just can't quite get there. And he's not the one to take that kind of initiative. Not because he's passive totally, but he loves how I get when I'm in that space and I'm pretty sure he's worried it would scare me off and spoil it if he suggested we make it real. I know him; he'd feel like he was asking to cheat on me with other women when here I was just being open about my kinky fantasies, feeling safe and trusting him not to take it the wrong way. And like I said, if you could see him when I get him that way, you'd know there's no fucking way he's gonna risk spoiling that dynamic we get into by getting over greedy."

She blows out a long breath, takes another sip of her drink. "Yeah, I kick myself, cause I know, I really do know, it's right there for the getting if I would just..." her voice trails off and she looks away out across the bar.

I make up my mind. "Fine." I say.

"You mean..." her eyes swing back to mine.

"Yeah. I think I get it now. And to be honest, the way you talk about him, it gets me a little wet too." I smirk at her expression. "Never TMI with me. So yeah. Uhnm, last speaker is at three tomorrow but I'm not interested in that, certainly not like I am in this now." We're both laughing, bonding. "You said you're about twenty minutes from campus?"

She nods, beaming.

"I can probably be there by 2:30 or so. Why don't you call him at the office, tell him you want him home early because there's someone you want him to meet. Tell him it's important," I pause, considering, then, "for your marriage." I add. "Maybe that'll give him a bit of a clue. But it surely ought to get him home, shouldn't it?"

It does.

He's in business casual; kakis, a nice shirt, jacket but no tie; six foot and some, sandy hair, slight stubble, not movie star handsome but kind eyes and a tempting mouth. She says he works out and he does seem to be in decent shape; nothing discernable hanging over that snug leather belt, clearly wider at the shoulders than the waist, but we'll see... at least I hope.

He's come out to find us on the patio. He's looking a little worried or maybe even a little annoyed at whatever he thinks the situation is that prompted that rather strange message from his wife.

Alexandra and I have done a bit of strategizing, but I've told her I won't use a script. I am willing, however, to take the lead in broaching the subject. This isn't rocket science. He either wants this, like she thinks he does, or not.

Introductions are quick. I intentionally don't get up from my recliner to shake his hand as I normally would when first meeting someone. I make him come to me, lean down, hand out; I intend to be civil, of course, but I am not here for civilities. He is here to entertain me, whether he knows it or not. If we're doing this, then we're doing it.

He's not impolite, not at all. But he's clearly a little baffled by the juxtaposition of my presence and his wife's message about 'the marriage'..

"Honey, not to..." he breaks off with a slight frown at his wife. Then looking back to me, "Lovely to meet you, really. But if I might just steal Alex for a second." He looks her way, tosses his head to indicate they should step aside a bit.

I step in; that's why Alexandra brought me. "Curious about the marriage thing?" I ask sweetly. "Important for your marriage?" I cue him in on my complicity.

His eyes come back to me, shift to his wife, back again to me. Okay, he gets it without someone needing to spell it out; wifey and the new girl are conspiring. But about what?

"I write stuff." I say in what I know is to him a non-sequitur, but he'll connect things soon enough. "Articles for academic journals mostly, some literary criticism on the side for various..." I wave this off, he's got enough. "But I also write the occasional piece of what used to be called one handed reading before everyone read such things on a monitor so they could free up both." I pause. It's a bit euphemistic but I suppose I do need to ease into this at least a little.

He knits his brow. He gets the euphemism but it's clear he has no idea, at least yet, what to do with or about it. I'm finding him increasingly tempting, standing there over us, frowning slightly as he looks to his wife for guidance, or at least clarification.

"That's kind of why she's here." Alexandra says, getting a bit red but pushing on. "No." she says more firmly. "It's why she's here. Why I wanted to meet her; and you to meet her. Have her..." she glances aside at me quickly, then, "Laura spoke at the conference and I enjoyed her talk. It was on Periclean..." she stops, waves her hands, determined to stay on track before losing her nerve. "So when I googled her, yeah, the academic stuff came up, but there were these other things it listed that she wrote that... I read a couple, anyway, and..."

I can tell she's losing a little steam.

"Alexandra told me how you'll jerk off for her."

Bang. Alex's mouth snaps shut. She looks slightly panicked, but when he turns to her she says,

"I did." She swallows hard, then, "I mean really told her." She clarifies without 'really' clarifying anything.

I'm watching for his reaction. If he interprets that 'really' the way I think a regular guy would, he should already feel exposed standing up there over this strange woman who's eyeing him after being told such intimate things about him. Unless of course, he's one of those emotionally stunted frat boy types who haven't got the curiosity or empathy to wonder about what might be going on in a woman's head in this situation.

Well, he's apparently not the frat boy type. The wheels are turning. He's looking straight back at me, meeting my gaze. He gets the implications of that little smile I'm undressing him with, but he's not taking the bait; not being defensive or adopting the socially correct 'gosh, golly' evasion of surprised embarrassment. He is surprised, but not embarrassed. He's intrigued.

This could be delectable.

Ball's back in my court where I'm getting increasingly anxious to get his. Don't fuck this up Laura.

"You see, Brian, I write about that kind of thing; that dynamic between men and appreciative women; I mean, how she describes you, the way you'll turn yourself over to her pleasure and let her have you," I pause, gauging, say it, "let her use you. I write about my own pleasure in using men that and other ways; making them entertain me and, yes, other women - I like it best with a group of other women and enough men to provide variety and sport. But I definitely wouldn't pass it up, at least not with the right man; you understand though, I do expect a certain level and quality of performance, but from your wife's glowing descriptions..." I leave that there. "Anyway, even if it's just Alex and I here to share it..."

"Wait." Brian says softly, holding up a hand. He gives a little snort and turns to his wife. "Is this her talking or you?" he asks her.

"Babe," Alexandra sniffs, her head shaking slightly, but not in denial. "At this point I might as well be a ventriloquist with my hand stuck up her pussy as my puppet."

Whoa. Didn't see that coming. The sentiment, maybe, but the metaphor, not so much.

There is a moment of complete silence as husband and wife look at one another and I may as well not be here.

And then they are both laughing; Alexandra with a slightly nervous but relived expression; Brian in a full, clear burst of deep merriment, looking at his wife as if he might marry her over again twice every day just to show her. And you can see her kind of melting into it, as if with just that adoring look from him she see's this is going to be okay.