The Real Girl

"Don't worry, I'll pay you back for the wedding. I...I love you Scott. I'm so sorry! "

"Lis..." But it was too late. She had already ran out of the living room and shut herself in her bedroom. I ejected the DVD from the player and threw it in on the table in front of me. Drained of all emotion, I sat on her couch and let my mind roam.

When she finally emerged from her cocoon nearly two hours later, she looked like a zombie. Imagine her surprise when I was still sitting on her couch.

"Scott! I thought..."

"You are going to tell me everything. Neither of us are leaving until you do."

So she told me everything. Her childhood was fairly typical. Well, she thought it was typical. She was aware that mommy made daddy angry at times. During these times, he and mommy would go into their room to "talk". The crying and the loud banging were nothing for her to worry about.

When she turned 18, she noticed that her dad began to look at her funny. It was unnerving to say the least. It wasn't too long after that when he started paying late night visits to her room when her drunken mother was asleep. This nightmare continued until she finally disappeared one night. She never looked back.

Unfortunately, she had a new issue to contend with. With no job skills or work history, her high school diploma wasn't enough to get her a job that would allow her live independently. She was able to stay in a shelter for a while, but that became more dangerous than the home she left. Luckily for her, she met a man who was lonely enough to pay house and board to a pretty face. He was over twice her age and extremely perverted, but at least he wasn't related to her.

As far as perverted lechers go, he was actually fairly decent compared to what she could have had. Sure, he used her as a warm, wet dick massager, but he didn't hit her like her father did her mother. He even bought her nice things when she made him happy. The only other requirement that he made of her, other than bouncing up and down on his dick, was to "be nice" to a couple of his friends when he requested her services.

One of the friends that she was told to be nice to was a director of sorts. He was scouting for new talent to star in an upcoming film that he was shooting. She was very friendly to him one night when her landlord told her to make him feel extra welcome. This guy was owed money, and she was supposed to be a one time payment to clear the books. The director was so impressed with her warm hospitality and her innocent nature that he promised to make her a star. Her would be boarder was outraged that he lost his live in pussy, but there was nothing he could do about it without facing serious prison time. Thus, Sasha Stars was born.

Life in the porn business made her grow up rather quickly. Everywhere she looked there was someone trying to take advantage of her. She became very callous when dealing with men. Everyone around her wanted her body for their own pleasure of profit. The upside now though was that she was able to survive on her own. Porn money wasn't as lucrative as people assume it to be, but she had her own place and car. When she locked the door to her apartment, there was no man trying to separate her from her panties. She had a safe haven to call home.

Twenty-six movies later, she sat down with me for the first time before I closed up my modest coffee shop for the night. Ironically enough, she had just finished the gangbang scene that I was ferociously fisting my cock to at the beginning of this story. Who says that fate doesn't have a sense of humor?

That was the last time she stepped in front of the camera and had sex. I had fallen in love with her that night, but her life was forever changed.

We, and I mean us humans, go through life as we inhabit this planet behaving as if no one else matters but us. We move around every day innocuously bumping into people that we encounter. Life is so full of distractions that we don't give people the time of day. We become so jaded about our role in this world that we simply brush these happenstances off as unimportant blips on our radar. As we narcissistically navigate our short lives, we forget that even the slightest encounter with another person can have lasting effects.

That night, after our talk, she wanted to be a better person. She did not want to become an old used up hag doing mature fetish films. She always thought that the only thing that she was good for was being a pincushion for dicks. All of the men in her life treated her that way, including her father. But at my coffee shop, she was a person. She wrote poetry that people wanted to hear. No one yelled "Suck it Bitch" or "Spread your ass"; the only command that anyone yelled at her was when they told her to get on stage and share those beautiful words that made us feel things. Then they yelled, "encore" as they gave her applause of gratitude for sharing her heart. It was her mind, not her ass, which we couldn't get enough of.

"You killed Sasha Stars that night. Lisa was reborn. Rather, the Lisa that I wanted to be. The Lisa I should have been all along. But when you brought that video in here and called me a whore, you resurrected that three hole slut."

My heart broke for her. It also broke for being the one to do this to her. After she had fought so hard and valiantly to put her humiliating past behind her, the one person whom she trusted the most thrust it back into her face and condemned her for it.

I forcefully grabbed her and pulled her in tight. She put up a minimum bit of resistance at first but then she gave up and melted into me. Her tears drenched my shirt and she cried into my chest. I pulled her away from me so that I could look into her eyes.

"Lisa. Listen to me. You are not a whore. Okay? Do you hear me? You are the woman I fell in love with. The woman on that DVD" I pointed to the disc on her coffee table "is not real. She is in your past, along with all of the pain that she's had to endure. You are my woman now. I am your future. Nothing is ever going to change that. I'm so sorry I made you feel that way."

She nodded and I leaned in until our foreheads were touching.

"No more lies Lisa. Promise me you will always tell me the truth."

"I promise Scott."

A week later, we were Mr. Mrs. Reed. We moved on as if I had never seen that DVD. That infamous day was never talked about again.

Chris gave me a nodding smile when he saw that Lisa and I patched things up. He never revealed to Lisa the fact the he knew about her past, nor did he treat her any differently than he did before. He had known Lisa just as long as I had, and he still viewed her as the shy girl with a complex way to recite simple words.

Life was great. Lisa was everything that I wanted in a woman. Scratch that, she was everything I NEEDED in a woman. She listened to me ramble on about whatever was on my mind. I don't mean she sat there and let me vent from time to time. I mean she really LISTENED to me. She heard me. She felt me. If I had a problem or just something that was vexing me, she would sit there and look me in the face without saying a word. Half of the time, I don't know how she even knew something was on my mind, but she did. I would see her looking at me imploringly and the story would just spill out of me. It was as if she was mentally pulling it out. Funny thing though, after I would talk to her I would know exactly what I had to do to fix it. She didn't give me unsolicited advice or spill forth words of wisdom about what needed to happen. She would just nod her head and ask a couple of questions when she didn't understand something I was saying. Getting it out into the open would give me unbelievable clarity. People do not know the power of active listening until they have someone in their life who actually does it.

Her poetry though is what kept me enamored. I mean, she would put words to feelings that you didn't even know existed. She had this way of connecting with you when she spoke. It was more than just making pretty sounding words that occasionally rhymed. She gave those words life. Once they were out of her mouth, they crept into your heart and made a home.

There was however one hiccup on our road to marital bliss. There is always something, isn't there? It was our sex life, or lack of it. It was practically on life support. At least to me it was. We did have sex, but there was always that proverbial elephant in the room. When in bed, she would give me everything that I wanted, but she was more like a warm blow up doll. I don't think I ever gave her a single orgasm.

I know that you are picturing a bored woman blowing on her nails as her clueless husband pumps away at her as he handles his business, but you couldn't be further from the truth. Her favorite position was missionary. She loved this because as we made love, she would stare adoringly into my eyes. She kissed me tenderly as she held my face in her hands. When I came, she would grab me in and hold me tight as I tried to catch my breath.

"I love you so much Scott." She would whisper in my ear as she kissed my neck and cried.

It wasn't like this was news though. From the very beginning, I noticed that Lisa was very inhibited about sex. We did not even do the deed for the first time until we had been dating about 4 months. Before that, there was kissing and a little groping, but nothing inside of clothes. When we finally did have sex, it wasn't wild or passionate. It just kind of happened. While it was very beautiful and romantic, was just as anti-climactic.

Married sex didn't get any better. It was very tame, very vanilla, and very sparse. There was no dick sucking, no anal banging, and no dirty talk. I began to doubt my manhood when I failed to make her achieve orgasm time and time again. But after the sex was done, she would cuddle up to me and lay her head on my chest. Her hand lovingly stroked at my stomach and she would tell me that no one has ever made her feel that special. She told me that she was the happiest woman in the world. You know what? I believed her.

Before I found out about her past, I just chalked up her lack of sexual ambition as something that I had to deal with. I loved her unconditionally, and I knew that love was returned tenfold. While I would have liked to have sex more, I was perfectly happy with her as a sexual being and as a partner.

However, when I found out what she was capable of, a seed was planted. I didn't suddenly want her act like a porn star, but a lingering nugget lived in the back of my mind. I found myself with two trains of thought when it came to Lisa; both of them warring with each other for dominance. Though I loved the woman whom I married, I began to crave the slut.

Slowly and carefully I tried to extract the hidden femme fatale from Lisa's inner essence. When we watched movies that had a sex scene in it, I would start rubbing some erogenous areas. That would get me laid on occasion, but it was still with the homemaker and not the vixen. I even tried to bring home a dildo once. That little stunt was met with hostile objection. Not only did it get me a wife who wanted absolutely no sexual touch whatsoever, it got me the silent treatment as well. It took a little bit of bribery and a lot of begging and apologizing to get me out of that doghouse. My future attempts were more subtle than that, but every one of them was met with denial or anger.

As a consequence for my repeated attempts to bed the vivacious Sasha Stars, Lisa Allen-Reed began to feel inadequate by my yearnings and became self-conscious. She began to doubt her ability as a wife to keep me satisfied. This caused her to retreat even more from me in the bedroom. Fear of failing me made her not want to try at all. This put a strain on the real intimacy that we had previously shared. It broke my heart to have her doubt my love for her. She meant more to me than my fantasies. Having a happy wife was worth more than fucking a wanton slut. So I stopped pushing. I settled down and made myself content with what I had. Things returned to normal and my wife was exuberant again.

Still, I could not completely erase my desires. Believe me, I tried. Unfortunately, my unquenched lust was like this little smudge on a perfectly waxed car. No one else could see the smudge but owner. To everyone else, the car was beautiful. But that smudge would nag and irritate the owner until he broke down and waxed the car all over again.

While I made myself settle for what I had, I still craved what I did not. Those erotic hungers didn't just disappear. They simply simmered on the back burner. Then, one fateful afternoon, Satan himself showed up.

It was at my best friend's (Chris) bachelor party that I met my devil face to face. Yes, Chris was finally tying the knot too. He met a wonder woman named Beth that astounded him in a similar fashion to the way Lisa did me. His wife to be was lovely and she got along with Lisa famously.

I must say now that Chris is the only one to put Lisa together with her former self. You would think that someone else would make the connection by now, but no one did. It wasn't like Lisa lived like a recluse. When we got married, Lisa worked next to me in the coffee shop. She took orders, waited tables, even MC'ed some of the poetry readings and contests. With all of the person-to-person interaction that she came across every day, it was really a miracle that no one suspected her former life. On reason could have been that Lisa looked and acted as much like her alter ego as I did George Clooney. Without the make-up, the wigs, and with the dark rimmed glasses that she wore she was a real life Clark Kent to Sasha Star's superman. Her soft spoken and often shy demeanor did not make anyone think that she was the ultra-seductress that had men slobbering into their jars of Vaseline.

Anyways, one of Chris's friends brought a couple of pornos to the party to set the mood for the real entertainment. All of us laughingly sat back as he popped it in.

As we watched the innocent but sexy vixen dressed as a Catholic school girl get pummeled by a priest while she feasted on the hairless pussy of a nun, the room was filled with drunken laughter and horny praise as they shouted over the moans of ecstasy that blared from the television. The constant "slap slap" of the priest's stomach making contact with the girl's curvaceous ass as he thrust his meat into her gaping hole repeatedly became a sort of rhythmic tune. The drunken men whooped and cheered as this girl took the punishment given to her and begged for more. Everyone at the party felt compelled to give very detailed and graphic description of what they would do to that schoolgirl if they ever had a chance to fuck her. Two people in the room weren't participating in the conversation, not that any of the others would notice. They were too busy frothing at mouth to care. I looked at Chris and saw that he returned the same uncomfortable stare. Chris heard my silent plea and jovially turned the video off.

"C'mon guys. I can watch porn at home. Where are the strippers?" A united cheer rose up in the room as the best man (Chris' brother) went to the back room. I shot Chris a silent "Thank you" as I witnessed him inconspicuously throwing the DVD in the trash. He nodded just as the music started playing and the strippers made their dramatic entrance.

In case you haven't guessed it by now the schoolgirl was my wife.

After that night was over, I was plagued with a problem that I could no longer ignore. Although I was disgusted to have a bunch of guys leering at my wife like that, I was hopelessly in lust with the woman on that screen. She was so open to sex. So sensual. So...nasty. She practically oozed sex from her pores. Everything about her made you want stick your dick in every place her body had to offer; her manicured hands, her full dick sucking lips, even her perfectly pedicured toes made the blood rush from the brain and below the belt. I had to admit that given the chance, I would fuck the shit out of her.

That is when I began to covertly search for my wife's movies. From her first audition on, I found them all. How do you think I know that she made twenty-six of them? I eventually bought every last one of them. I had been secretly watching them for the past year and a half whenever I had about an hour or two separate from my wife. As time went on, even that wasn't enough for me. I started watching them at night as Lisa slept. Even after Lisa and I made love, I would slip out of bed as she slumbered.

Don't get me wrong, I loved my wife. However, Sasha Stars was just pure sex. I could not get enough of her. I became hopelessly addicted.

If I am being perfectly honest with myself, the day that I opened the door and let Sasha into our bedroom, my sex life with Lisa became inadequate. SHE became inadequate in that respect. When I made love to her, I was constantly wishing she were someone else. It was so hard not to do when they both shared the same face, mouth, tits, ass, and feet.

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Back in the present, I sat on the couch in the eerie silence that enveloped our house. I don't know what I expected to hear coming from upstairs, but abject silence was definitely not in the list of possibilities. Sobbing, yelling, maybe even the shattering of valuables hitting the wall would have been a welcome replacement. But all I heard was silence.

That was until I heard the rolling of tiny wheels when the bedroom door opened; this was followed by the "clunk clunk" sound that a heavily packed suitcase makes when it is being dragged down a flight of stairs. My heart jumped into my throat and restricted air from reaching my lungs. Please Lord don't let this be...

Then she stood in front of me with her suitcase, her coat, hell, even her laptop. Her naturally beautiful face was void of emotion.

"I'm going to a hotel for a couple of days Scott. I...I need to get away for a while." Before I could lift a voice in protest, she was gone.

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She'd been gone for a full week before I heard from her again. I honestly could not tell you anything that happened during those seven days. If it wasn't for Chris, I doubt that the coffee shop would have made any money. He didn't even ask about why Lisa wasn't showing up to work or why I was in a funk. He just took over. When he would encounter me, he would give me an encouraging smile and nod.

When Lisa finally called, I was a wreck. Hearing her voice was like hearing the Chorus Angels singing.

"Hey Scott." Her voice sounded withdrawn and hollow, but it was the most beautiful sound in the world.

"Lisa honey. How are you?"

After a second's pause she said, "I'm fine Scott. I've just been staying at a hotel downtown. I had to...clear my head."

I didn't want to beat around the bush so I got straight to it. "When are you coming home?"

Another pause. "Tonight. But we need to talk."

"Okay Baby. Just hurry home. I love you baby."

Her voice caught in her throat on the other end of the phone. "I love you too baby. I...I would do anything for you. You know that right?"

"Just come home Lisa."

I hurriedly pulled my head out of my ass and cleaned the house that I had allowed to fall apart. Beer cans, pizza boxes, half-eaten Chinese food, dirty dishes, and dirty socks had accumulated in the short seven agonizing days that I was single. I wasn't a slob or anything like that. I was just too depressed to care.

The butterflies in my stomach were doing gymnastics. I didn't know what to expect when she came home, but whatever it was, I was determined to be prepared for it. There was no way that I was going to let her get away from me again.

I thought I was ready for whatever confrontation was ahead. I was so completely wrong. What I got was so unexpected that I had no defense for it.