Chapter Two: Lane
So, there we were. Meredith, the aforementioned young journalist from Psychology Monthly Magazine sitting with her legs crossed on the other end of the sofa, as if she thought she had to keep her thighs pressed tightly together to keep me from crawling up them to find the treasures that awaited between her legs. I wanted to tell her to relax. I had been interviewed by dozens of pretty young things over the years and had never forced myself on one.
That’s not to say that I didn’t fuck a considerable number of them, just that I never made the first move. Ever. Legal repercussions aside, it was a thing with me. I could fuck a different woman every day simply because of who I was, but I would never force my fame—or my sizable cock—on a woman without some clear indication that she wanted it thrust upon her. Like I said, I was no Bill Cosby or Harvey Weinstein. To the contrary, in my practice, which I gave up a few years ago when my first book hit it big, I counseled a lot of women who were used and abused by powerful men. I would never do that to a woman. Ever. I only wanted to please, never to inflict harm.
Meredith’s voice jarred me back to reality.
“So, Dr. Curtis, in your latest book, Trade Offs: How Men and Women Use Sex and Love To Get What They Want, you write about how women exchange sex for affection while men exchange affection for sex.”
“That’s right… Meredith…was it?”
She tucked a lock of red hair behind her ear and smiled even though she was trying not to. To her credit, she was trying to keep things professional. At least for now. She had a job to do. If we ended up in bed together or naked on the couch, it would be after she got what she needed for her interview, not before. Smart girl. My brain didn’t work that well after my cock took over.
She said, “Yes. Meredith Wilson.”
“Well, Meredith Wilson,” I said with a warm smile. “Yes, I do believe women give men sex in exchange for affection, and men give women affection in exchange for sex. And it’s that exchange that is the focus of the new book.”
“What about love?” she asked.
“Love?”
“Yes. Love.” She narrowed her blue eyes to give me a suspicious look. “Where does love fit into your equation?”
I gave her my best “that’s a great question” face and held up a finger to accentuate the point. “Don’t get them confused. Love and affection are two entirely different things. Affection may grow into love, and you can love someone without being affectionate, but true love is not an exchange for sex. When two people truly love one another, there is no exchange. They are one. There is simply them.”
She frowned at me. “Them?”
“Them.”
“Uh, exactly what does that mean?”
“It means that when you truly love someone, their happiness comes first in your mind. You do things to make them happy because that’s what makes you happy. You don’t do things for the ones you love expecting anything in return. There is no exchange. You have achieved nirvana.”
She still looked confused. Sigh. These young girls. Sometimes they just didn’t get it. She twisted her mouth to the side and frowned. “Nirvana? Like the band?”
I brushed a knuckle to my lips to keep from smiling. To achieve nirvana, as referred to in Buddhism, meant that one has reached a state of perfect happiness. Bliss. I wasn’t too surprised that the word brought to mind the Seattle grunge band whose lead singer blew his own brains out. Kurt Kobain did not achieve nirvana. He was the leader of the band Nirvana… whatever… I didn’t have time to explain it.
“Yes, exactly. Nirvana like the band.”
She arched a pierced eyebrow and waited for me to say more, but I didn’t bother. I hadn’t noticed it before, probably because I was focused on the size of her boobs, but she had piercings along the ridges of her ears and across her eyebrows. She had a small diamond in the left side of her nose, and a stud with a gold ball in her tongue, which she had a habit of rolling over her lip as she waited for me answer her questions.
“Look at it this way,” I said, holding out my hands as if they contained a visual display of the point I was trying to make. “The relationship between a man and a woman is much like a board game. The dice is rolled. Moves are made. Forward and backward. Options are explored. And in the process, sex and affection become tools in the game, used by men and women to get what they think they want.”
She held up a finger to stop me. Her fingernails were painted the same crimson as her lips. “Can you explain that… to get what they think they want…”
“Sure,” I said, crossing my legs and wrapping my fingers around my knee. I bounced my foot like I didn’t have a care in the world to try to relax her. This girl was wound tighter than a broken watch.
I said, “People often think they want or need something, only to later realize that they actually wanted or needed something else. We spend an inordinate amount of time obsessing over things, only to realize that those things were not what was best for us. In fact, sometimes those are the very things that do us harm, physically, emotionally, spiritually, mentally.”
She glanced up from the tablet she was using to take notes and narrowed her eyes at me. She was also recording our conversation on her phone. It was lying on the sofa cushion between us. “Have you ever done that?” she asked. “Wanted or needed one thing, only to find out that you would have been happier with something else?”
I smiled at the question. “Hundreds of times,” I said, head bobbing. “We all do it. It’s simple human nature.” I gestured toward her. “Haven’t you?”
“I suppose,” she said with a sigh that made her frown at the tablet. So young, I thought, but so many regrets. Bad haircuts. Bag hangovers. Bad relationships. Hot guys who ended up being total douche bags who fucked her best friend. Her story was not unique. I’d heard it all.
“You’re young,” I said. “We all make lots of mistakes in our youth.”
“I’m not that young,” she said, glancing up into my eyes, her fingertips tucking the strand of red hair behind her ear again. “I’m twenty-six.”
“Wow, twenty-six,” I said with a grin. “My darling, I have suits older than you.”
“You’re only thirty-nine,” she said, scolding me playfully with her eyes.
“Actually, I’m forty,” I said, putting a hand to my chest, making a pained face. “Granted, I’m a very young forty.”
“Whatever. Forty is not that old. You still look… I mean…” She gave me the first genuine smile of our time together. It made her face light up. I gazed into her blue eyes until she looked away.
“I still look what?” I asked playfully as the imaginary door between us started to creak open. “Please don’t say that I still look good for my age.”
“You still look very nice,” she said, uncrossing her legs. She turned sideways to face me on the sofa and held the tablet to her breasts. Lucky tablet. “At any age.”
“Well, I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Good, because that was how it was meant,” she said. “Now, tell me more about the tradeoff of sex for affection.”
Ah, warming up, but still on the clock. That was perfectly fine. I still had half an hour before the seminar began downstairs in the Grand Ballroom. Plenty of time to do whatever came next.
I said, “Quite simply, the male/female relationship is a series of tradeoffs and exchanges. Women trade men sex in exchange for affection. And other things, of course, like attention, security, safety, and hopefully, eventually, love. Men trade women affection in exchange for sex. Men are not nearly as concerned about where it might lead.”
“Because men just want to get laid,” she said, one eyebrow arching in judgment of all men and their naughty cocks.
“You’ll get no argument from me,” I said, smiling, nodding. “It’s the way we men have been wired since the dawn of man. It’s in our DNA. From the moment our cavemen ancestors first came out of the cave, we have been wired to want and need sex, to procreate, to spread our seed. To get laid.”
“In the book, you refer to men as ‘bees with penises, spreading their seed like bees spreading pollen through a field of sunflowers’.” She narrowed her blue eyes at me again. “Do you really believe that?”
“I wouldn’t have put it in the book if I didn’t,” I said playfully, leaning in and rolling my eyes. “Yes, men, by our very nature, are wired to spread our seed to ensure the survival of the species. Think about it this way, if it wasn’t for the male libido, the male need to reproduce, the human race would have died out eons ago. If we waited on women to initiate sex, well, there goes the planet.”
“Because most men are too lazy to get off the couch,” she said, giving me the look I had just given her. “And the only thing that will get them off the couch is the promise of pussy.”
I grinned at her use of the word. “Yes, the promise of pussy. And maybe beer and nachos. It depends on the man.”
“What does it take to get you off the couch, Dr. Curtis?” Her tongue went across her lips. The little gold ball in her tongue wedged between her teeth. She glanced around the hotel room. We were alone. The door was locked.
“What do you mean?’” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“Is the promise of pussy enough to get you off the couch?” she asked, pursing her lips. “Or do you require beer and nachos?”
I smiled. Bingo. I turned to mirror her posture on the couch. “The promise of pussy can make me do all kind of things,” I said. “Especially when I don’t even have to get off the couch for it.”
She picked up her phone and tapped the button to turn off the recorder, then set the tablet and phone on the coffee table and slid toward me. Her hand started at my knee and slid slowly up toward my cock, which was waiting patiently and smiling slyly.
She cooed at me. “So, you wouldn’t get off the couch to have sex with me, Dr. Curtis? My pussy hair is red, just like the hair on my head. Most men love red pussy hair. Do you love red pussy hair, Dr. Curtis?”
“I am a big fan of red pussy hair,” I said, setting my hand on the back of the couch as she slid closer, her hand finding my cock chubbing up inside my linen pants. She gasped a little at the size of it. “And I would definitely get off the couch for you. Although, as hotel couches go, this one is pretty nice.”
“Can I suck your cock, Dr. Curtis?” she asked suddenly, her tongue rolling across her lips. The gold ball glistened with her spit. “I think you’ll love my technique.”
I pretended to glance at my watch. “Are you sure you want to do that now? We only have about ten minutes left, but you could come back later tonight and—”
“I’m sure,” she said, her voice low and husky. Her hand kept rubbing my cock until it was rock hard. It felt like it was going to rip through the linen material. A wet spot appeared at the tip, prompting her to tug at my belt. “I want your cock in my mouth. Now.”
“Have I answered all your questions?”
“Yes, just shut up and get your cock out,” she ordered.
“Yes, ma’am.” I leaned back and lifted my ass off the couch so she could open my pants and work them down to my knees. My cock was thrilled to be set free. She giggled when it sprang out and bobbed in the air before she could wrap her fingers around it.
“Wow, Dr. Curtis…” she said, her fingers working up and down the ten-inch shaft. “Your legend is true.”
I put my hands behind my head and took a long breath. “My legend?”
She smiled with the head of my cock at her lips. “My friend, Ursula, works for People Magazine. She gave you a blowjob when she interviewed you in Las Vegas last year. She said you had a huge cock and could make it do magical things.”
I chuckled. It always made me smile, the things these young girls talk about. Guys in biker bars talking about the pussy they’ve had had nothing on these girls. I shrugged as she took the round head into her mouth.
I sighed. “Well, so much for what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”
She cupped my balls with her left hand and started to milk the veiny shaft with her right hand, twisting her fingers as they slid up and down. She stuck out her tongue and rolled the little gold ball under the head of my cock. Wow… she was right… I did love her technique.
As she took me fully into her mouth, stopping only when the head of my cock hit the back of her throat, my cellphone on the coffee table buzzed. It was Arianna, my agent and handler, calling from downstairs to let me know that everything was all set and the seminar would start on time.
There were several hundred people in the Grand Ballroom downstairs, mostly women, waiting for yours truly to bring a little wit, wisdom, and advice into their otherwise empty lives.
They wanted me to tell them it was okay that they were totally fucked up because there was a fix. There was hope. And it was detailed fully in my latest book, which they could have autographed for $50.
If they wanted a selfie with me it was $100.
If they wanted to attend the private VIP dinner later on tonight that was $1,000 a head. The dinner was capped at 100 and had been sold out for months. I still had a hard time believing anyone would pay $1,000 to dine in the same room as me, but I sold out these events wherever I went.
I can honestly say that I love my job… especially since I usually got one of these wonderful blowjobs or a nice quickie in the elevator before every event and usually had several ladies to keep me company for the night afterward. I loved one-on-one sex, but I really loved it when the bed was crowded with naked bodies.
My phone stopped buzzing. I looked at my watch. It was time to get the show on the road. I put my hands on the sides of… what was her name… oh yeah…Meredith… I put my hands on the sides of Meredith’s head and helped her along, bobbing her head over my cock, hitting the back of her throat without so much as a gag. Her fingers tightened around the shaft as she milked it up and down, twisting as they went, the ball in her tongue rolling over the underside of my cock, setting off a thousand tiny nerves that made my whole body tense.
She could feel my muscles tightening. She let my cock slide from her mouth, then used her spit to lube the shaft. She started pumping faster and faster. “Fuck… I’m gonna cum…” she said, though I had not had the chance to even touch her pussy. “Shoot your cum on my face… Dr. Curtis… make me… fuck… I’m cumming…. Yes… yes… yes…”
I pointed my toes and let the orgasm hit, crashing into my balls like a wave slamming into the shore. As Meredith pumped my cock like an oil derrick, I shot ropes of milky white goo in the air. It rose and fell on my cock and on her hand. She giggled like a kid watching a funny show and clamped her mouth onto the head and pumped the shaft until I had nothing left to give. She swallowed every drop, then cleaned me off with her tongue. I lay back, spent, struggling to breathe, until someone knocked on the door. That would be Ari. Telling me play time was over and work time was at hand.
I smiled down at Meredith, who was licking her fingers as if she’d just had a gourmet meal. I tucked the hair behind her ear and smiled.
“Did you get everything you need?” I asked.
She licked her lips and smiled. “Yes. Everything.” She pushed herself up and dabbed the corners of her lips with her fingertips. “If I need anything else… can I…”
“Of course,” I said with a smile. “I’ll have my assistant text you my number.”
“That would be great,” she said, leaning in to kiss my cheek as the knock on the door came again. She gathered up her things while I put myself back together. She packed them into her bag, and followed me to the door. When I opened the door, Ari was standing there with an impatient look on her slender face.
Arianna Goldman was fifty-seven, stick thin, with short silver hair and coal blue eyes that could stare down a cobra. She was dressed in her usual black pants suit and silk blouse with six-inch heels that brought her to about five-foot-eight. She wore no jewelry other than the silver Rolex I had given her ten years ago after she sold my first book at auction. Ari was my manager, my friend, my confidante, and my keeper. If it wasn’t for her I’d still be doling out hack psychiatric advice from a tiny office somewhere in Encino.
“It was great meeting you, Dr. Curtis,” Meredith said officially, sticking out her hand for me to shake. Her hand was sticky to the touch. Ari just rolled his eyes.
“It was great meeting you, Meredith,” I said, letting go of her hand and giving her a little nod. “I look forward to reading your article.”
She giggled a bit, then skipped off down the hall. Ari shook her head as we watched her go. “Jeez, man, it sucks being you,” she said. “The last time I had a girl that hot in my hotel room she left with my purse and a big chunk of my pride.”
“I’m sure it was a small price to pay for that moment of bliss,” I said with a sigh. “Is everything ready downstairs?”
Ari nodded as she let her eyes go up and down me. She noticed the wet spot on the crotch of my pants. “Yes, but you need to clean up and change,” she said, rolling her eyes like a teacher scolding a student she was fond of. “Then get downstairs. There are five hundred women ready to hang on your every word and write you a check.”
“Okay, I’ll hurry,” I said, stepping back into the room and leaning against the door. “And you’re right, you know.”
She frowned at me. “I am? About what?”
“It does suck to be me.”
I grinned at her until the door swung shut.