Get REAL Ch. 07: Renewal
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The sensation was quite enjoyable. It was as if he were back on the school playground being pushed on a merry-go-round. Not the fastest speed a bunch of guys could get him up to, but the languid pace a girlfriend might prefer. It was rather pleasant, he admitted, to be a little wasted. He had forgotten.
Marcos lay there, naked and supine, wrists and ankles secured to the four posts of their bed. The music mix he was left with had segued through latin classics like Bésame Mucho to nuevo tango to now Tantric drumming. Incense was filling the room with an aroma of burning sage, and except for taste, all his senses were provided for. Especially so now, as brilliant orange, permanent rose, cad yellow deep, and vibrant turquoise, washed across the dusk sky and into their bedroom window.
“Where is she? Why hasn’t she returned?” sputtered Marcos. His erection hadn’t sagged any, even though his annoyance had risen as his buzz began to wear off.
“Realistically,” he calmed himself out loud, “last spring, no one would have even expected me to be in this bind, so to speak.”
After weeks of therapy, days of dialogue, hours of explaining, recounting, and contemplating, Marcos and Maria had something they could now call a happily-ever-after marriage–if anyone or any two, for that matter, could ever call it that, except in the moment.
For now, thought Marcos, he was happy. Not the ecstatic surge that being in love produces. But not the crazed worry, either, about whether his lover really cared for him as much as he cared for her.
He knew Maria loved him. Why else would she have put up with his ambivalence for two decades, and given him so much leeway to pursue his artistic passions. The greater mystery was how she had consented to staying married, especially after he had hurt her so by saying he wasn’t sure he loved her any more.
And why had she changed? She had become a new woman–suddenly really interested in sensuality, in sex. Reading it, fantasizing about it, looking at his very sensual artwork, and initiating intimacy. For that, he loved her. All he had to do was to promise not to seek love outside their relationship. And for that, she loved him.
It seemed so simple. Too simple? Had the traumatic experience of separation been like an ECT treatment for marital depression? Perhaps it was best not to probe too deeply, as it might change things. “Just be thankful,” thought Marcos, “that Maria still loves me.”
In fact, she so loved him, she had said, that she wanted to give him a special gift–actually, a pair of gifts–for his fortieth birthday, today, the first of August. What’s more, she had wanted to surprise him. He had only to make the house ready–clean it, which was his job anyway–and have dinner waiting for her when she got off at 5:00 p.m. Dinner was also his marital responsibility.
He complied with both wishes. He made a nice meal, which they enjoyed with perhaps a bit too much Chardonnay. They had showered together, and he agreed to her wish that he be tied to the bed and tickled. But that last act had not been availed of yet. The peacock feather was still in the bud vase across the room.
Sounds of the Tantric djembe made him restless, wanting to move, but stirring against the ties was limiting–and painful. Every several seconds, a woman’s erotic panting sounded in rhythm with the drumming, and it made him long for Maria, but which also got him irritable with her for being away for so long. He wanted to call out, but kept his composure, and tried to content himself with just listening for her footsteps.
He was soon rewarded. But rather than the sound of shoes echoeing on a wood floor, it was with the sound of a trio of chittering voices down the hallway, growing steadily louder.
“Was it…Oh, my God!” thought Marcos, recognizing them. “What has Maria done, inviting Cassie and Tara to my birthday? And with me like this? My goodness, Maria. What will you think of next?”
As if saving his marriage was obstacle enough to overcome, Marcos had also suffered the double agony of reconciling with Tara and Cassie. Tara, his good friend and confidante for years, had herself secretly fallen in love with the very woman, Cassie, he was preparing to become unmarried for. And Cassie, with whom he had had some of the most wondrous experiences in his life, had rejected him for his best friend, Tara. Somehow, Cassie’s Siren Song had had to be transformed into words of sincerity, and She-devil Tara had had to become an honest friend again. Both had happened, but had taken time–like all things originally forged from such molten emotions.
And he couldn’t forget Maria’s casino siteleri ordeal in forgiving Cassie. Fortunately, that was made easier by the fact that Cassie didn’t violate their vows of marriage by encouraging Marcos to leave. In fact, in Maria’s eyes, her estimation of Cassie had risen because of that.
So for all, the gauntlet of betrayal, anger, and depression had been run. For his part, he had purged the rage, worked through the grief, and emerged, he felt, a better man. He knew. Because the good memories of their threesomes were coming back to him now in the form of his tightening sac and aching rigidity.
The door flung open and Maria strode in, followed by Cassie and Tara, hand in hand.
“Happy Birthday, Marcos!” the two shouted. Then, startled at what lay before them, Tara added, wryly, “Maria warned us we might be surprised when we saw you, but I never imagined this.”
She walked over to the bed, her eyes roaming over him, and laughed, “You’re good at getting yourself into some compromising situations, Marcos.”
Fingering one of the neckties used to cinch him to the bed, she turned to the other two.
“Very creative use for them, Maria.”
Tara’s mouth turned up at the corners, and her eyelids batted twice.
“Wouldn’t you agree Cassie, my love?”
Maria smiled back.
“I wanted him to dress up for his party.”
“Happy to oblige, you, my dear,” smiled Marcos.
“Then let the celebration begin!” shouted Tara. “We’re playing party games, right Maria? Like what you told us about?”
“Yes, indeed,” she replied with a broad smile.
“And giving presents! Where shall I put Marcos’ gift?” asked Cassie.
Maria replied coyly, “We can give it to him in just a minute.”
Marcos watched as Maria untied her new black kimono and dropped the silken robe onto the oak floor, nonchalantly scooting it with her foot toward the wall and out of the way.
Cassie followed her by lifting Tara’s sleeveless top from her waist and peeling it over her head, letting Tara’s ponytail flop down against her bare back. Tara’s breasts gradually undulated to a stop.
Tara repaid Cassie’s kindness, helping her out of her blouse, then unclipped the teal green bra to free those perky breasts Marcos knew so well. She slid Cassie’s capris to her ankles, kissed her on the belly, then pulled her matching bikini briefs down as well, helping her lover to step out of them.
Cassie reciprocated, with long sweeps of her hands up Tara’s arms, down along her trunk to the waistband, then unsnapped, unzipped, and tugged off Tara’s skirt.
Marcos gasped. Not only was Tara not wearing any underwear, but her brown pubic hair had been completely shaved.
“Present time!” announced Maria, which sent Cassie to retrieve, from her bag, a package gaily wrapped in azure blue and burnt sienna.
“As you’re a little tied up,” chuckled Maria, stroking his now scarlet hard-on, “let’s allow Tara and Cassie to open it for you.”
Marcos stared wide-eyed as his former ménage members slowly pared away the tissue paper from a long glass rod with two smooth ends, one ribbed and of greater girth, the other long and gently curved. He felt a little uneasy over the gift, and puzzled the intention behind it.
As if to answer him, Maria announced the first game: “Blind Man’s Bluff!” and then explained the rules.
As Maria blindfolded him, he felt the bed rock with Tara and Cassie’s arrival.
Coolness weighed atop his abdomen–the double headed dildo, judged Marcos, by its mass. He heard empassioned kissing and peals of excitement; felt knees bump into his thighs. The bed swayed, then the pressing of his leg into the bed with enough poundage to be Tara. Warmth wiggling against his other leg. Probably Cassie? Then Cassie’s moaning, excited gasps from Tara, another shift of the bed, and his Cassie-leg was pinned to the mattress.
Tortured by the restraints preventing his active participation, Marcos could only groan, madly rock his pelvis, futilely thrusting his excited member into the air already thick with incense and now, with womanly arousal.
Fingers lightly touched his scalp, perspiring from the excitement and the ultimate frustration.
“Maria?” he mouthed.
She kissed him firmly on the lips, then looped her tongue all around his. Maria was enjoying this, thought Marcos happily, forgetting his earlier worries.
“I love you,” he mumbled with his mouth full.
“Si! Si! Si!” Cassie panted, as her body jerked against Marcos’ thigh, making his hardness wobble around its base.
The burden from his abdomen was removed.
“Oh, güvenilir casino yes” Cassie exclaimed, and she laid herself supine atop Marcos, her hair tickling his chest, her back sandwiching his erection.
Another force intensified the weight upon them, then the rhythm of urgency, thrust upon thrust, rocking the bed, gyrating him, roughly mashing his penis in a new way that he was now liking.
He reacted by jerking his pelvis upward, in counterpoint against their load. He could feel his sexual tension begging for release, and imagined himself exploding, pumping semen all over Cassie’s back just as the two of them climaxed. But he checked the intense desire. He wanted to save himself–for Maria. Besides, Cassie had shown him the grandeur of the view from the heights achievable in a lengthy arousal.
“Ai-yee,” shouted Tara. “Uh. Uh. Uh,” she continued in loud grunts.
“Sí. Sí. Buena, buena,” exhaled Cassie. “No pares!” she begged, her exclamations morphing into Spanish, as always, at the point of orgasm.
Deep breaths. Gasps. Shrieks of catharsis.
The pace of compressions slowed. Maria’s hand ringed his balding scalp, gently tugged on strands of his thinning hairs. His wrists chafing, right hip aching, erection twitching beneath the delightful pressure, Marcos was steeping in a sensual brew.
“Ready for your part, dear?” queried Maria.
He was awoken from his reverie. As the heaviness on his pelvis was alleviated, Marcos marked the awkward shift of masses with the appearance of familiar post-coital fragrances, one musky and the other, like sandalwood.
Maria spoke directly, “By taste alone, Marcos, you need to tell us which of the two ends of the glass is Cassie’s? If you are correct, you will get three long kisses along your mushroom’s heavenly stalk. But if you are wrong, thirteen and a third birthday spanks from each of us.”
Marcos flinched. It’d been so long. Too long. Could he even remember Cassie’s taste? And had he ever sampled Tara? It would be even odds, if he just guessed, unless….
He felt the still-warm glass dildo being pressed against his lips. He inhaled, then opened his mouth and tongued the tip, before delighting everyone as he swallowed the ribbed bulb whole, savoring what he had found.
“May I taste the other end,” he managed to say, with it still inside. He repeated his sampling with the long curve, amid a chorus of laughs.
“This is near impossible,” he protested.
“You gotta say,” demanded Tara.
“Well, alright,” he sighed. “The ribbed end is Cassie’s.”
“Wro-ong!” everyone sing-songed, elatedly.
And the bed groaned mightily. First, the foot sagged when his ankles were untied, then the head sunk as he was jack-knifed at the waist, and his legs were stretched up and over his face and secured to the headboard posts.
“Birthday spanks! Birthday spanks!” chanted Tara.
“Do you have a hairbrush?” asked Cassie.
“I’m using my hand,” proclaimed Tara.
“Me, too” Maria replied. “But here’s a favorite one of mine, Cassie.”
A tentative thud landed against his bottom. And another.
“I’m not very good at this,” admitted Cassie.
“More wrist,” advised Tara, and four stinging blows landed, two on each cheek.
Marcos couldn’t stifle a yelp, surprised as he was. Four more expert spanks followed, by Maria, no doubt, then the hairbrush again with more authority, one of which caught his sac, and Marcos screamed.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Cassie cried.
“Don’t be,” reassured Maria, as she witnessed Marcos’ erection jerk higher.
Marcos squirmed, his moans telling all that he was liking this, as Tara landed six more swats on the mark. Maria quickly followed, intermittently rubbing his heated cheeks with her palm before delivering another strike.
Forty blows were delivered. Marcos felt his mind tugging against the body’s tethers, stretching him toward another world. To a place where searing was so satisfying. Where stings propelled him so high that he was on that swing set again. About to jump, yet never fall. So when Tara removed his blindfold, and Cassie’s hand circled on his chest, he was unaware of Maria’s absence.
She returned, drying off his glass present, and cradling a little bottle under her arm.
“Our next game will be Pin the Tail on the Donkey,” Maria announced with a grin.
Abruptly roused, Marcos’ mouth fell open as his initial fears returned, those that he couldn’t put words to when he had watched Cassie and Tara unwrapping his present. He looked for reassurance from the people he so trusted, that this wasn’t some nightmarish dream, canlı casino or worse, a cruel womanly payback from Maria for all she had been made to suffer through.
“It can be really great, Marcos,” Cassie whispered in testimonial. Tara pressed her hand into the bed beneath him and began massaging his back.
“Remember your dream, Dear?” Maria gently reminded him.
Marcos’ erection flagged a little, as Maria poured some of the liquid onto the longer, curved end. She pursed her lips as she placed the fat bulb against her slick vulva, then exhaled audibly as it slid easily inside. Reflexively, she rocked her pelvis as if to accustom herself to the new appendage. To Marcos, she looked beatific.
Maria squeezed out a puddle into Cassie’s hand and one into Tara’s. Then she began to evenly coat the entire curved surface of her glass penis, her gaze lovingly on Marcos. Initially, Marcos’ eyes fixated on Maria’s Pyrex cock, then he closed them, pleasantly aware of a pair of new sensations–his anus being massaged with slippery fingers, and his erection stroked back to life by another hand.
As Tara worked her magic to relax his tight sphincter, Cassie formed, from softened clay, an Objet d’Art that she would fire in the kiln of her affection.
Before she understood her deep and abiding love for Tara, Cassie had found her relationship with Marcos so fulfilling that she had cursed the fact that her potential soulmate was married. She had even gone to lengths to consult her art books to help her with the conflicts in the relationship the three of them had found themselves in. Matisse had answered with his painting Nasturtiums with ‘Dance’ II. But today, as she so innocently played at Marcos’ birthday party, it suddenly occurred to her the complete significance of that artwork with its three principle figures–she, Tara, and Marcos–accompanied by a fourth one, only partly revealed. Of course, of course, she realized. The fourth was Maria. Good old Matisse! He was right all along! And she dragged her nail down Marcos’ now hard shaft to its base and pulled a clump of his pubic hair taut, just the way he liked it.
“Breathe, Honey,” Maria entreated.
Pressure against his anus.
“Push against me.”
And, as his mind began once more to stretch against the confines of his body, he tilted upward against Maria’s force, felt the fire, heard the steady beat of drums, and was lifted upward to another plane.
How long had he been gone, he wondered. Had any time passed at all?
The pounding drums continued: boom-da-da-boom-boom. He was aware of fingers, of arms and legs, but mostly of that wonderful stretching as Maria entered him, again and again.
“Oh, Cassie. You are right again,” he heard himself confirm.
He was close. Too close. “No,” his inner voice intruded. “It was her turn. Her time.”
“Maria! I want to love you back!” he exhaled in gasps, as he again rotated his pelvis up and onto her glass erection, unable to stop himself. She plunged one last time, and relented. He teetered on the edge, but didn’t fall.
The three women removed his restraints for good. His eyes still closed, he heard Cassie and Tara scoop up their clothes and whisper “Goodbye” and “Happy Birthday,” followed by the closing of the bedroom door. He re-opened his eyes to behold his wife, his blissful love. She was now all woman, and he, all man.
And as darkness engulfed them,
and the coyotes began their plaintive calls,
lip molded into lip, chin, collar bone, chest
fingernail raked down spine to tailbone
nipples were nibble-sucked
clitoris was tongued
“Marcos! Marcos! Marcos!”
and the lovers entered
a realm of rapture,
in which they were held tightly
and rocking into oblivion.
This concludes the novella, Get REAL. It’s title comes from the fact that each chapter name begins with RE and ends with AL. The initial chapter, “Rehearsal” was inspired by my posing with another model for a drawing group. One of that group’s artists, a woman named Carol, agreed to have us over to her house beforehand to review our poses to see if they were compelling enough for her group. Nothing more than that happened in real life, but the fantasy of what might have occurred, prompted me to compose such a story. Characters were created and, in the style of my mentor, Anne Lamott, I let the characters continue to interact, develop, and the resulting plot line resulted. Chapter after chapter emerged organically, and I really had no idea of how things would end until the last chapter was done. Although I’ve always grimmaced when i heard it, I have to now admit that it’s true: this novella wrote itself!
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