Vicki Marie’s Sexy Summer Reading Series: One Chapter A Day
THE BACHELOR CHAPTERS: A THINKING WOMAN’S ROMANCE
It was Sunday morning, and I had dragged Andre from my bed to the comfort of my living room. We sat under the down blanket in front of the fire, a deceptively romantic scene, cups of coffee in our hands. I had been hopeful, but we’d had our third strike the night before, and then fallen asleep without a word. With everything to lose, I said the five big words I’d had the pleasure not to utter since I began my bachelor chapters.
“Baby, we need to talk.”
I explained it as straightforwardly as I could. I described my idea of sexual responsibility, that as individuals, we were the caretakers and agents for our own sexuality. I told him that I didn’t know what was up with him not getting it up, but that I believed that was his business, not mine. And then I explained that I was taking care of my business by letting him know I could no longer participate in unsuccessful and silent attempts at penetration. He listened, sitting quietly beside me.
“I adore our time together,” I said when I was finished, “but the sex-part has to change.” It was a minute before he spoke.
“I just think you need to find a younger man,” he said.
I said nothing, waiting to hear if there was more, but the whisper from the fire was the only sound in the room.
“Is that what you want?” I finally asked.
We were on the couch for close to an hour, as Andre finally ended his silence, and gave me some background. First he told me he was healthy and capable of more than an erection; he was active in the manly art of self-stroking, and his ability to climax was normal. It was a relief to hear that he had no problem with ejaculation, at least when I wasn’t in the room.
Next, I learned that he hadn’t had sex with a woman in several years. That was almost impossible to comprehend. I knew that people had dry spells, but I just didn’t understand celibacy. I would never do that. Sex was too important to me. Sex was life to me.
Finally he told me about another sexual relationship which had started out the same way, but he overcame it.
“So, you’ve had this problem before—and then it went away?” I wanted to make certain I had not misunderstood.
“Yes. Everything worked perfectly. It fact, sex got better. Once I was able to keep an erection with her, I always came two or three times when we had sex. We were together almost four years.”
That was significant; and something I’d rarely experienced. I was immediately encouraged.
The conversation had started bravely, and while we hadn’t crossed over to comfort, I think we were both relieved by the honesty. We were just two middle-aged adults, and these were our life experiences. Andre’s new willingness to be frank made him even more interesting to me.
“So, when you were struggling with an erection, I didn’t understand why you didn’t try something different to get hard— either masturbating, or sucking my tits, or putting your mouth on my pussy. I know I should have said something then—but I was confused and felt so damn awkward. I’m sorry I kept my mouth shut. But I wondered.” I saw no reason to stop being brave at that point. The worst was behind us.
“Well, your pussy—it smells—” he said, the words coming out slowly, while I burned in disbelief at the sentence he left hanging between us.“…it’s kinda—well—it’s strong,” he said. “Your pussy smells strong.”
I was horrified. I did not see that coming. Why would I? I’d been hearing about the sweet scent and delicious flavor of my pussy for years. My pussy was a celebrity, for crying out loud. She had a fan club.
Your pussy stinks. That’s really what I heard. I’m not sure if I was feeling the equivalent of limp-dick shame, but I was embarrassed to my core. I stared into the fire, frozen. I wondered if I would ever speak again.
“It wasn’t like that the first time we had sex,” he said.
My God, there was more? Couldn’t he see I was mortified? No, of course not. I was hiding my shame. Can’t let anyone see, or get close enough to smell it. I knew the drill. This was old school shame.
“Is there something different?” His question was sincere.
But I said nothing as my mind fortified all safety zones. Without moving an inch, I had vacated the room. Generations of female self-horror had suddenly sprung to life in me, triggered by those four simple words: your pussy smells strong. Everything messy and shameful and unspeakable fell out of our pussies; blood and sweat and urine and lubrication and babies—and all of it smelled. How could it be, that we had all been left alone—as eleven and twelve and thirteen year old girls—left in silence to contend with the mystery of the strange smells and unfamiliar fluids? Who told us that they were normal? Who told us that some of those strong smells were actually exciting? For eleven or twelve year old girls, we knew why no one had told us. It must be so bad, that no one could even talk about it.
My brain went into crisis mode to silence the shame. It had taken too long, but I knew the truth now—the truth was—my lovers craved my pussy! My lovers were turned-on and inspired by the beauty, yes: the breathtaking beauty of my pussy! The look, the smell, and the taste: the total package that was Vicki Marie’s kitty-cat. I couldn’t change the flavor, or the sex-scent, or the weight of my lips. I couldn’t make a man treasure what bloomed between my legs; I only knew the truth—my pussy was made to be cherished.
Assuming Andre Cassidy could correct his erectile dysfunction, I could live without his mouth on my pussy, if that wasn’t his thing. I had other lovers. But how could I be with any man who didn’t adore my pussy, the beloved protagonist of my sexual dramas? She was the queen. She ruled. And with that, our promising conversation had taken an unexpected spiral. The direction was down.
TOMORROW: Chapter 60
Copyright Vicki Marie Stolsen, 2014, Forever Forty-Four Publications, Publicity Rare Bird Lit, Tyson Cornell, Tyson@rarebirdlit.com, Distribution by Ingram, Available online and in bookstores in paperback, eBook, and audio format.