Moist Lips

"We'll have to work on that," I say. I turn and see if I can still see the couple that just passed us. The woman is looking back at Alexandra. That's the power I'm beginning to realize she has -- even over women.

Alexandra turns around to face me and immediately shoots out one final spurt onto my bare foot -- deliberately. She laughs, gets right up in my face. "So there," she says. "Better watch out, mister. I have impeccable aim." Her eyes are wide and smiling, almost laughing. She is having a splendid evening.

For most of us, the days often run together. To Alexandra, every day is a personal adventure. It's no longer a matter of just lust. This woman has stolen my heart.

That night, our final night at the beach, she crawls into bed next to me and falls asleep. She trusts me now. There is something about that -- her lying in nothing but panties and a T-shirt right next to me -- that at least makes me feel good.

* * *

The next morning we are reluctantly packing to make the trip home. In the kitchen, I see the vegetables we bought at the market. "What do you want to do with them?" I ask.

I have an idea for this, she says as she picks up a fairly large cucumber, grabs my hand and heads into my bedroom. We're going to play again.

Alexandra tosses the cucumber to me. "Oil her up," she says.

I don't have to ask. I think like her now. I pick up the baby oil and stroke the cucumber back and forth until it's covered. She points to the bed. I sit, cross my legs, and watch. She grabs the hem and pulls up her summer dress, lies on her back, spreads her legs wide and begins rubbing the tip of the cucumber on her vagina. God, her thighs are gorgeous, milky white and inviting. I watch, taking in the contrast of the dark green cuke against her delicate pink slit and the blondish hair in small curls on each side.

The cucumber seems massive -- really thick and a good 10 inches long. The vibrator is beside her and ready. Alexandra works the cucumber back and forth, until her moist lips start to part, and the cucumber's tip slips inside. She pushes gently in, pulls it back, pushes again.

"I've never done this before," she says. "So bear with me."

This goes on for five minutes until she's stretched her vagina to get it almost totally in, all the while giving off almost silent little grunts and groans as she's working the thing back and forth. Then come soft sighs. She keeps her eyes directly on mine. Then she surprises me.

"Albert," take your dick out and jack off for me. See if you can time it to my orgasm." I freeze.

"Please do this," she begs. "Please."

I'm uncomfortable and embarrassed but do so. My penis is already hard as I unzip and it practically leaps out of my shorts. I leave it weaving there, back and forth. "Stroke it," she says. "Come on, I want us to do this together." So I begin slowly stroking myself in front of her, terrified at who I've become.

She starts the vibrator on her clit and within a few minutes she's in full orgasm, dropping the vibrator, grabbing the cucumber and ramming it in and out, hard as she can and fast. I'm fearing she may hurt herself. Her eyes again fluttering as she begins that entry into her own secret world. I stroke harder, and still watching her, come easily, shooting sperm all over her, and over me and the bed. I had no control of myself. For a moment or two I feel awful that I have done this.

Eventually, I begin seeing the tremors in her again. I stay silent. Her inner muscles contract so tightly that the cucumber begins working its way out. She pushes back in. But it works its way out again, finally falling on the bed. We're both quiet for a few minutes. It takes time for her to come down.

"You know, Albert. I've been thinking." she says, still lifeless on the bed, her vagina totally exposed to me and still dripping wet. I know she relishes my fixation on what is between her legs. She's fixated on it as much as I am.

"Maybe I could get a woman for you. Or maybe one we could share." It could be an interesting experiment, she explains. "The kind novels are written about." She sits up, and shocks me by leaning over and, in a show of affection, lightly touches the head of my now quickly wilting dick. "What do you think? Another woman?"

Before I can answer, she hands the cucumber to me. "Here, want to lick it off?" she asks. I do exactly that, tasting her for the first time. I will never forget that sensation and the accompanying aroma. "I'll take it home and cut it up for a salad," I joke. She thinks this is hilarious.

"I know!" she exclaims. "We'll throw a dinner party and start with drinks and the salad!" * * *

That keeps her laughing on the drive all the way back to Norfolk, where we are in the air before we know it. Alexandra falls asleep in the seat beside me on the plane, her head against my shoulder, still wearing her fedora. I'm thinking of what lies ahead. I haven't told her about Melanie, a young grad student who teaches at the college. We're casual friends, have bumped into each other in the food court several times. Before this trip, I was thinking of asking Melanie to dinner. She's nice looking, with an air of intelligence about her, and a warm personality, the kind of girl you could have a long relationship with, maybe marry. A nice, normal woman.

Think what you will, but I don't cheat. It doesn't suit me. There has to be a choice. So it's down to this: I can no longer imagine the rest of my life without Alexandra. But I also can't imagine the rest of my life without actual sex.

Alexandra's is a life with a different set of boundaries. Why am I so drawn to it? I imagine because she makes me feel so alive. I'm Doctor Watson to her Sherlock Holmes on all these wanton adventures of hers. And I know there could be many more ahead. After all, she's a creative person.

Melanie, I'm certain, has so much to offer. She laughs at my jokes. She seems genuinely interested in me. And, by the way, there haven't been very many Melanies come my way recently. I think about how good it would feel to find myself spooning with her on Sunday mornings when we wake up, fucking each other's brains out before we make our obligatory trip to my coffee shop to read The Times. Normal may not be so bad.

But how can it not get dull up against the likes of Alexandra? I mean, how many women are really into anal beads? How many are going to let me watch them do really naughty, lewd things? What woman would even consider peeing her name in the sand at the beach while I watch? And would any other girlfriend, or wife, even consider letting me share a woman with her? Won't happen. Not to me, anyway.

You know what Alexandra told me the other day, as she was reading to me on the beach, sitting under our umbrella?

She put her book down, and said, "Albert, I've done the vilest things... the foulest things. But I've done them -- superbly." No, wait. She realizes it's actually a quote she lifted from June Miller, the wife of writer Henry Miller, who we've both been reading diligently. But you get the point, she said. And I did.

After we land, we're on the tarmac waiting for a departing plane to clear our gate, everyone still seated. Alexandra wakes up, leans over and begins to whisper to me. Except a flight attendant walks by, so she stops. I'm wondering what's on her mind after her nap. She starts up again, still whispering.

"Did you know, Albert, that I'm teaching myself how to squirt. It's a real talent and I think I've got it down. By the time we get to Europe this fall, I can show you. Do you have any interest in this?

"Alexandra," I say, "There is no one else on this planet like you. No one." She brushes it off.

"Say, why don't we fly straight to Amsterdam to begin the next trip," she says. "The Moulin Rouge club, I'm told, has live sex shows, such a fun spectator sport. We see the sites, smoke a little legalized pot, drink Danish beer and practice squirting. Maybe find us a girl. Does it get any better than that?"

No, I don't believe it can get much better than that, at least on the one hand. So I ask myself -- Melanie or Alexandra? Which one? What is right for me. What should I do?

What would you do?