Tales from the Club: Susan's Reboot

Susan was introduced in part 8 of my Novella, New Xanadu, which is the back story of the club that features in this story, and of the characters who formed it. There's not a lot of Susan there, as she was put on ice for her own protection shortly after being introduced. So, while I hope that everyone will read my earlier stories, I'll admit that you don't really need to look there to understand Susan here.

Please rate this story and, especially, make a comment. If there are things you like, it would be great to hear about them. If there are things you don't, it would also be great to hear about them -- criticism can be constructive.

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New Xanadu had been open for 3 months when Susan's divorce came through. Giver her husband's wealth and abusive character, not to mention strong support and pressure from his fundamentalist church members, I had expected it to be hotly contested. It started out that way, but thanks to a combination of the legal bulldogs that Mary selected for Susan to sic on him, and the hidden wealth unearthed by Ron's and Mike's network of data miners, things changed dramatically after four months.

It turned out that Brutus had been an even more successful hedge fund manager than he had let on. His face-saving reason for caving in was that he did not want the physical and psychological injuries that he had inflicted on Susan paraded before his church members and investors. But I am certain that the real clincher was his desire to keep off the record the fact that he had salted away roughly $20 million without mentioning it to the IRS. He had never shared this information with Susan, and Mary and her attorneys decided it would be best to keep Susan and her legal team in the dark about it to shield her from any tax evasion charges should the IRS find out. Even after Mary's people let Brutus know that they could blow him up with the IRS, he put up enough token resistance that Susan elected to take less than half of the couple's documented wealth, rather than fighting for years for what might have been much more. Still, when it was done, we all agreed that $6 million was nothing to sneeze at.

When she first came to our happy sex addicts group, Susan had told us that before marrying Brutus when she was 25, she had enjoyed an active sex life with multiple partners, usually one at a time; and that she and Brutus had had a good sex life for the first 9 years of their marriage. When Brutus got religion in a very bad way, that was followed by a year of marital rapes and beatings. Susan had been advised by her attorneys simply not to have any sex while her divorce was being litigated, not that, as a sexually battered woman, she was particularly interested in sex. Consequently, she had been celibate for nearly a year when her divorce was granted.

When the divorce decree became final and Susan's money was safely in the bank, Martha, Mary and Joan decided it was time to begin helping her rediscover the joys of sex. From their own experiences, each recognized that this was a dicey proposition. Mary had helped Martha work her way through a teenage date rape, and had herself been drugged up and pimped out while a runaway. Joan had been seriously injured in a Looking for Mr. Goodbar encounter. They knew that however horny Susan might think she had become from her forced celibacy, the sexual abuse that she had gone through before might be enough to leave her with a fear of men and sex, if not with a full-blown PTSD.

Strong, highly intelligent and very sexually positive women that they were, Martha, Mary and Joan sat Susan down for a mid-life version of "the talk."

After months of abstinence, was she horny? Yes, frequently, but not on days when she had bad dreams the night before about being raped and beaten.

Did she want to go to counseling for those? An unenthusiastic maybe.

Did she want to go to our new sex club just to look and see what was available; sort of anonymously shop around? Maybe, but not yet.

Would she be willing to go on a date with a guy, or a woman or a couple for that matter, who could be trusted not to push her into anything she didn't want? Yes; a guy. Sex with a man was the horse she was going to have to get back on, and she guessed that it would be better to start trying sooner than later.

All were agreed that Susan's sexual reawakening needed to be put in the hands of someone they could trust. Mary, in particular, was against professional therapy. She'd been there, repeatedly, and felt that she had gotten more help from a hooker with a heart of gold and her cop boyfriend than from any shrink she had ever met. Joan was ambivalent because as a medical professional she didn't like the idea of unlicensed sex therapy, but she felt that my lovemaking had done her at least as much good as her sessions with her counselor. Martha wasn't for or against counseling, but her vote about me was split because she was still pissed at me for having lost my head with Salome one night. Ultimately, she agreed that of all the males in our group I was the most empathetic and the most likely to be patient.

Which is how I came to be the designated sexual surrogate to try to restore Susan's mojo.

The three women sat me down one night at the club and told me that I was going to have a date with Susan. This came as a pleasant surprise to me, since I'd wanted her from the first time I'd seen her at an SAA meeting. Then Mary and Martha told me that there was a lot riding on this, for me as well as for Susan. Given Mary's family background, anything she said was serious had to be taken seriously indeed. As for Martha, she chose the carrot over the stick: maybe if I carried this off well, I could get out of her doghouse, which I chose to mean back into her bed. Joan just tried to give me positive reinforcement while being realistic. She reminded me of how I had helped her when she needed it, and said that she was sure that if this plan had any hope of success, I was the man for the job. At the same time she warned me that Susan might need more than I could accomplish, and that if I sensed things were not progressing, I should back off and let them know immediately.

They chose a Tuesday night, when restaurants were open but business was slow, and New Xanadu was closed. Our first date was to be at Campagnola, a very nice traditional restaurant in Evanston that just happened to be owned by one of Mary's cousins. She assured me that while this would give Susan the mental comfort of a public place with other diners, the adjacent tables would be empty, allowing us to talk freely. I was to meet Susan there at 7, rather than picking her up at her apartment, again to take pressure off of her. What happened after 9 when the restaurant closed was to be left up to Susan.

I arrived a little before 7 and was shown to a table for two along the back wall. As promised, the other tables in this area were empty. It was a late March evening, so I had added a sweater and a sport coat for the extra layers. The restaurant is frequently described as "cozy," and it was plenty warm at the back, allowing me to give the waiter my sports coat along with my outer coat.

As I sat waiting for Susan, I realized that I was nervous, which was unusual for me. Meeting women with the hope that by the end of the evening we would be in bed together had not been a big deal for me for a long time. But Mary and Martha and Joan had drilled it into me that this was not one of those "Let's grab dinner and jump into bed" sort of evenings. In a way, I was on ground that, if not exactly new, was so far removed from the landscape of my recent life as to be unfamiliar.

I'd sought advice from the guys in our group, and the only one who came up with anything that sounded remotely useful was James: "Treat her like she's a virgin." The only virgin I had ever been in bed with was me, so not even distant memory served, especially since I was pretty sure that as a general rule guys and girls approached the loss of their virginity with vastly different sets of emotions. So I went back to Joan, the woman in our group with whom I had the best rapport at the time, and asked her what James's advice meant in practical terms. Even though it was a serious discussion, we chose to have it in bed, which we'd long ago learned helped us open up to each other emotionally.

She said, "I've always enjoyed being with James because he seems to be a perceptive and caring lover. Just like you only with more experience. Oh, don't look hurt; that was a compliment. You are miles ahead of him for your age, and unless you run into a lethally jealous husband or lover, I expect time will solve the experience issue.

"Anyway, I think James is sort of right but totally wrong. Yes, Susan is sort of like a virgin here, unsure of herself, curious and horny, but afraid. The big difference, though, is that your average virgin female is influenced, almost governed, by a hormone soup that helps a guy get into her pants. She has an overwhelming need to be loved, so it is easy to smooth talk her. And at the same time she has this biological urge to make babies, or at least to do the thing that would make babies if she didn't have the good sense to get some birth control. Add a little inhibition-reducing alcohol to some sweet talk and those raging hormones, especially if the guy is someone she'd like her children to look like, and most virgins are easy. At least I was," she said with a wistful smile.

"Now, with Susan in her mid-30s, you don't have as much of that hormone soup. Granted, Mary tends to mention our orgies around her, and months of that has had to get Susan's motor going a little. But that's not as good as hormones, especially when her more recent memories kick in. And that's the biggest problem in my opinion. A virgin fears the unknown future. Is it going to hurt? Will he still love me after he gets what he wants? What would her friends and family say if they found out? And maybe she fears getting pregnant, despite the fact that her built-in biological imperative is pushing her to do just that. Susan's fears are not speculative; they are grounded in her experiences: her most recent sex hurt her badly, both physically and emotionally. Unlike the virgin, here you're dealing with 'Once burned, twice shy.' If you can bring Susan around, and that is a serious 'if' in my mind, she is not going to be easy."

"Great," I said, "I appreciate the theory and the confidence, but what do I do."

"John, sometimes you can be your own worst enemy, and I'm not talking just about what you did to get Martha pissed at you. You overthink things and try to plan ahead too much. Probably it's your own insecurities coming out. You need to put those aside, and put your own needs aside too. You do what you did so well for me. You get her to talk; you listen and respond to what she is telling you. You focus on Susan's needs and insecurities rather than on your own. You build up her confidence, in herself and in you.

"By all means sweet talk her -- every woman wants to be told nice things about herself -- but never say anything that isn't absolutely grounded in truth, even if you embellish it a little. You don't need to give her presents, but if you find out she likes something, you should respond to that.

"As to the physical side of it, you need to probe very gently. Remember that 'Once burned.' Think of Susan as one big first-degree burn and hope it's not worse than that. Until or unless she tells you or shows you that she wants more, all of your touches are soft, tentative. Kisses are the same. Believe me if, and hopefully when, she wants more, she'll let you know.

"Don't expect everything to go in a straight line, either. Remember, she's a mix of fears and desires, and the desires won't always be on top. What worked for her yesterday might not work tomorrow. When you hit a setback, you can't show frustration. If possible, you try not even to feel frustration. We women read emotions pretty well when we're not being moonstruck in love. Comfort, understanding without pressure, and letting her know that you are there for her and only for her; that's what you need to offer, all the time. Hell," she laughed, "if you do this right she'll probably end up falling in love with you; it's a risk therapists run. But we'll see if we can fix that later -- if you want. A beautiful woman about your age with $6 million in the bank. I should be jealous already."

"Ah, Joan, if it comes to that, we'll always have Rosemont," I quipped.

"And not just that, I hope," Joan said as she lifted up and threw the covers off of me. Now lie there and be a good boy. I want to show you something I've been working on."

With that, she scooted down in the bed and wrapped her lips around my cock. All the talk-talk had left it completely soft, but in no time at all she had me rock hard and standing tall. Then, carefully, she started pushing down my shaft until I felt myself hit the back of her throat. She gagged a little, backed off, and then resumed her descent. This time I could feel myself sliding into her throat. When she hit bottom she rested for a few seconds, then she slowly brought herself up off my cock and gave me a big, sloppy smile.

"Martha's been teaching me how to deep throat," she said proudly. "Yours is the first real cock I've tried it on. You're bigger than the banana I've been practicing with, so I wasn't sure I'd be able to do it." With that she went back to my cock again, bobbing up and down, gagging a little most times when I passed into her throat. I made a point of lying as still as I could to avoid doing anything that might hurt her.

When I got close I gasped "I'm gonna come" and Joan pulled back far enough to get me out of her throat, allowing her to suck and lick the head of my prick as I shot my cum into her mouth. The sensation was almost unbearable, and it was all I could do not to pull her off me as I came. But I hung in there until she had sucked me dry, then I pulled her back up and gave her a big, deep kiss.

My reveries about Joan ended when, at almost exactly 7, Susan walked through the front door of Campagnola. She spotted me and came straight back. There as an awkward moment as I debated whether to stand up or not. Thinking about Joan's deep throat debut had left me with quite a woody, and the sight of Susan with her long red hair, lovely oval face did nothing to lessen it. The gentleman that my mother had trained me to be forced me out of my seat. Clearly Susan noticed my predicament because when she got to the table she hit me with that old Mae West line. "Why detective, is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?"

I think I turned redder than her hair and then we both broke out laughing. Noticing the waiter on his way to take her coat, Susan said in a deadpan voice, "Please, don't stand on ceremony, have a seat," which I was glad to do before I embarrassed myself further.

As the waiter helped her into her chair Susan looked up at him and said, "I could really use a martini, stirred, not shaken please. And," looking at me, "for my friend here," she said with an upward inflection.

At that point I dearly wanted a strong vodka tonic, but one of us needed to stay sober to avoid the risk of any morning after regrets following drunken decision making. So, "A glass of Chablis, please," is what I told the waiter.

After the waiter left, Susan looked me straight in the eye and said, "John, it's good to see you again. And thank you for helping to get me out of that mess of a marriage and quite possibly save my life. Mary and the others almost insisted that I come out with you tonight. Now, would you like to tell me why we are here?"

Wow, what a take charge performance, I thought; coming on kind of like Mary at our first encounter: she the $6 million woman and I something much less. If I hadn't seen the tremor in her right hand as she nervously fiddled with the knife beside her plate. I might have bought it and been offended. Instead, I realized that sometimes hard is brittle, and that she was almost certainly acting hard to cover her insecurity.

Making a point not to reach out and touch her hand, or even to lean forward to close the space between us, I said "Speaking for myself, I am here to have dinner with a beautiful woman who is a friend of some special friends of mine. I'm extremely open minded, but whether anything more ever comes of that is entirely up to you. As to why you are here and why we are here, that's a little hard for me to say. At the least, I hope we are both here to enjoy a pleasant meal."

"Alright," she said, still fiddling with the knife, "this is not some set-up where our mutual friends brought in their favorite stud to wine and dine me before you whisk little old me off to your bed to return me to the world of the sexually liberated?"

"For the record, you are not old, and you are not little. I'd say pleasantly average sized, and neither of us will be old for some time. Now, more seriously, I am not planning on whisking you off to my bed for any purpose. And if you think you are here because you are supposed to take me home, I should warn you that I've been known to refuse to be whisked on a first date." Well, in keeping with Joan's advice about honesty, this was technically true, even though that had been a long time ago.

That got a little bit of a smile from her, and at last she stopped messing with the knife. The waiter brought our drinks and menus, explained that there were no specials on weeknights, and said he would be back in a few minutes to take our orders.

The rest of the evening went off with light conversation and no attempt at physical contact. I tried to keep the focus on her, whether she had any job plans, where she thought she would live, was there maybe a cruise in the offing. Basically, what she returned was that she as completely unsure about where her life would lead, except that it would continue to rely on Martha, Mary and Joan for support and guidance.

After dessert and coffee I offered to drive Susan home but she said that she'd driven herself in Martha's car. I asked her if I could call her and she gave me her cell phone number, which I called while we were still at the table, so that my number would be on hers. As we left the restaurant and began to go our separate ways, Susan surprised me when she gave me a hug. As we stood there, briefly cheek to cheek, she whispered in my ear, "Thank you John, tonight was wonderful," and then, before I had time to make any wrong moves, she was gone.

I must have done alright because when I woke up I had texts from Joan ("Looking good") and Martha ("SFSG. Try not 2 scru up"). Most importantly, by the time I had gotten ready for work there was a text from Susan ("TY! 4 last nite. Dinner 2nite? Pls call.") So far so good indeed.

I called Susan from work and we set up dinner at Tapas Barcelona, another great restaurant in Evanston. Significantly, I thought, she asked if I would pick her up at her place, which raised the likelihood that I would be taking her back to her place. Interesting.

I called Mary and asked if she could arrange a parking space for me in the garage under her building so that I could more easily pick Susan up and bring her back. Mary asked me for how long and I told her I wasn't planning to spend the night, so midnight would be okay. In spite of being born with a gold spoon in her mouth, Mary is a serious businesswoman, so her simple "Okay, not a problem," did not tell whether that was the right answer or not.

Susan was noticeably less tense all through this evening. I'd made a table reservation just in case, but when we arrived the bar was mostly empty and I suggested that we sit there for the closer proximity it would allow. Throughout the evening as we talked of inconsequential things I managed to brush against Susan and touch her hand while we shared bites of each other's food, and she didn't flinch or draw away. As before, I limited my booze intake, but Susan upped hers, from one dink the night before to two.