I’m not that kind of girl…am I?

IMAGE 12 IS A yes. I move it to the folder titled keep and advance to the next one. Image 13 is too blurry, so I promptly delete it. I’m sitting in my office, reviewing the proofs from my most recent photo shoot when my cell rings and my mom’s face flashes across on the phone. Hoping she’s calling to congratulate me on my new account, I swipe across the phone to answer the call.

“Hey Mom, did you get my message?” I left my parents a voicemail about my new account last week, but I never heard back from either one of them.

“What message?” she asks.

“I got a new account at work,” I remind her, smiling.

“Hmm, what does that mean? I don’t understand, is that like getting a new client?” My mom is a lawyer, and so is my dad…as well as my older brother, and my younger sister.

I am the only one in the family that didn’t get the lawyer gene, and I’m my parents’ biggest disappointment because of it. They hate that I didn’t follow in their footsteps. It would have been forgivable if I didn’t go into criminal law like them, but choosing to go into an artistic field like photography? I might as well have committed murder.

“It means I’m getting more work in my firm, expanding my portfolio, and making myself a more valuable asset to the company,” I explain.

“That’s nice dear,” she says, distracted and unimpressed, “Did you get my message?” My smile fades. Her message was about coming to a family dinner next Sunday at the country club they belong to. I hate going to those things. It’s all about appearances and making everyone else believe your life is better than theirs, and I hate that shit. Not only was I born without the lawyer gene, I was born without the fake gene, too. I say what I think. When I’m asked a question, I give an honest answer. I don’t see why everyone has to pretend to be something they’re not. People might balk at my bluntness, but more often than not, they appreciate my directness.

“Yeah, I got your message. I’ll be there.” I sigh, bracing myself for her warnings.

“Charles, this is going to be a big night for your sister. You need to make an effort to act accordingly,” she says meaningfully. Here we go. What she means is, Come, but don’t act like yourself.

“Mom, if you don’t want me there, then don’t invite me. I’m not going to pretend to be something I’m not in front of your stuck-up friends who you actually hate.”

“You can goof off when you’re with your friends. Would it kill you to tone it down a notch when we’re in polite company? I know Tabitha is looking forward to seeing you.”

That’s how she gets me—I have a soft spot for my baby sister. “No worries, Mom. I’ll be there, and I’ll try not to embarrass you.”

“Please bring an appropriate date this time,” she adds.

“I’m not bringing a date. I’ll be there by myself.” Last time a plus one was required, I brought my flavor of the week. Suffice it to say, she did not meet my mother’s standards. Also, it gives the wrong impression when you introduce a hookup to your family. She thought it meant she was important to me, and despite my blunt honesty about simply needing a date for a family function, she started looking at me with hearts in her eyes.

I don’t do hearts.

“You must bring someone—I’ve already put the reservation in and marked you down with a plus one,” she insists.

“Well, can’t you call them and tell them to subtract my plus one? I don’t have anyone to bring.”

“If we change our headcount then we can’t sit at the center table, and I want to sit at the center table,” she whines.

The center table. I hate this shit. God forbid I’m the reason we can’t sit at the table that affords everyone else the best view of the Nelsons.

I grit my teeth. “Fine, Mom. I’ll be there with a plus one.” Maybe I’ll bring Max with me.

“Thank you, dear. Five o’clock sharp, don’t be late.”

“See you then.”

I hang up and sigh. It’s such a chore to deal with my family lately. When we were kids, my brother, Domenic, and my sister, Tabitha, and I were close. Dom and I used to wrestle around and joke all the time, and we totally ganged up on any guys that approached Tabby—she hated every second of it. Then they went to law school and I didn’t. I wish I could say we remained close in adulthood, but they’re off doing lawyerly things. I miss their camaraderie, and it’s probably my fault as I try to avoid family functions as much as possible because of my parents, which means I don’t get to see them as much, either. I decide to start a group text with them.

Me: Just got orders from Mom to be at Green Briars Sunday at 5pm.

Dom: You coming?

Tabby: Please say you’re coming! I miss you!

Me: I’ll be there. She’s making me bring a date—how pissed do you think she’ll be if I bring Max or Logan?

Dom: Don’t tell me you can’t find anyone to come with you.

Me: Who are you bringing, D?

Dom: Friend from work.

Tabby: Don’t you have a female friend you can bring?

Me: Maybe.

Tabby: I hope your date wears leopard print again. Do you remember Mom’s face last time?

Me: Ugh. How could I forget?

Tabby: LOL

Dom: Have a meeting in five, see you Sunday

Me: I’ll be the one at the bar.

Tabby: We’ll join you. See you then!

Female friend…I don’t have many of those. Quinn is the closest thing I have to a female friend, but I’m not sure I can convince her to go to this with me. Maybe I can bribe her with orgasms—surely she’ll agree to put up with my family for a couple of hours in exchange for sex.

THIS EVENING FINDS ME wearing comfortable sweats with my most favorite throw blanket over my lap and a bowl of pistachio ice cream covered with hot fudge in my hand. I take a bite and moan in delight as the combination of sweet and salty melts in my mouth.

“So what’s up with you and Charlie?” Monica asks me as she takes a bite of her own ice cream. The question is not a new one.

I give her the same answer I always give her. “Nothing, we just like to fuck. He has an amazing cock.”

“And you have no romantic notions about him at all?” Her hazel eyes study me as if trying to catch me in a lie. This is her standard follow-up question to my standard answer. We might as well just record the conversation and play it back every so often.

“I don’t want a relationship, Monica. You know this. Why is it so hard for you to believe that Charlie and I are just fuck buddies?”

“Well, I guess it’s because I don’t understand it. You guys have been sleeping together for what, almost seven months now?”

I stop to think back. Has it been that long? “If you’re counting from the first night you introduced us, then yes, though we’ve only had sex a handful of times. It’s not like we’re exclusive either. I’ve been with other people and so has he. We just like to have fun,” I insist.

“But don’t you ever miss being in a relationship?” she asks.

“No, and please don’t go there. The only thing I need a man for is sex. Everything else is under control.”

“Okay, okay.” She holds up her hands in a placating gesture. “I’m sorry. I just worry about you, sweetie. I want you to find your happily ever after.”

“Ugh, barf. Reid sabotaged any notion of happily ever after for me.” Reid is my ex-husband, the fucker who promised me forever. He showered me with love and affection, told me it was us against the world, was my number one fan and best friend, made me believe in love.

And then, when I was going through an emotionally tough time, he proceeded to cheat on me with his secretary.

How cliché.

Fucking asshole. I don’t want to think about him. He made an ass out of me and taught me a valuable lesson: love is for fools. After I divorced his ass and wallowed in misery for a while, I wised up and decided to use men simply for sex. I’ve been so much happier ever since. No feelings are involved, only orgasms, a mutual exchange of pleasure (if I’m lucky) and then we both move on. No unmet expectations, no disappointment, no hurt feelings, and no cheating douchebags.

“I just think you’re letting him rob you of a chance at something beautiful with someone,” she says wistfully.

“I’m glad you have Max, babe, but I’m okay the way I am. I’m 32 years old, I make a living off of my art, and I love my home. I’m happy with my life, honest,” I say, trying yet again to convince her. “Tell me about you. How are things with you and Max?”

She blushes—actually blushes at the thought of him. “Really good. He says he has a surprise date for us tomorrow.”

“Ooooh, maybe he’ll take you shopping for sex toys. Have you guys ever played with toys together?” I love watching her squirm. Monica isn’t exactly shy, she just hasn’t embraced her sexuality as openly as I have.

“No way!” she splutters.

“Maybe he’s planning for your first night of anal!” I guess.

“Uhh…” She looks to the side.

“Shut the fuck up! Did he already pop your anal cherry?” I’m impressed—Max is taking good care of my girl.

Her face turns bright red and she bites her lip. That is all the answer I need.

“He so totally did! Was it good? Bad? Tell me all the dirty details!” I press.

She clears her throat and shrugs. “I never thought I’d like that kind of thing, but Max makes everything so good for me.”

“So you liked it! I knew you were a closet anal whore!”

“Quinn!” She throws a pillow at me in mock outrage.

“What’s the big deal?” I deflect the pillow and save my bowl of ice cream from falling off my lap. “I like anal. If it’s done well, it’s awesome. It’s all about lube and preparation. Toys help, too. If you hold a vibrator against your clit while he’s breaching the back door, you barely notice any pain at all,” I inform her, matter-of-factly.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Miss Sexpert.”

“The next step is to put the vibrator in your hooter while Max’s dick is in your tooter. That, my friend, feels amazing. Max would love it and so would you. I recommend you surprise him with it next time.” I wiggle my eyebrows. “Double penetration for the monogamous.”

She laughs at my choice of words and licks her spoon. “Sounds painful.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing unless you try.”

“Have you ever?” She raises her eyebrows.

“Used a toy during anal? Yes.”

“No, I mean, have you ever had sex with two guys at the same time?”

“Not yet. I’ve never had the opportunity arise. Have you?” I’m 100% sure she hasn’t.

“No way, threesomes are a hard limit for me. I’m not that kind of girl.” She shakes her head from side to side.

“Listen to you, Miss Hard Limit. Where did you learn that term?”

She rolls her eyes. “I do read you know. I love me some good smut.”

“Ooooh, tell me, tell me! What’s the kinkiest, filthiest book you’ve read that you never want anyone to find out you read?” I love reading smut.

“I’m not telling you!”

“I bet I’ve read it, too. Hey, you want to know what I just read that was so good?”

“What?”

“The Unrequited by Saffron Kent. It’s amazing, you have to read it.”

“What’s it about?”

“Forbidden love. A college student falls in love with her professor—her married professor.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Teacher-student is my favorite.”

“It’s hot as fuck. She gives him a BJ under his desk.” A small, secretive smile blossoms on her face at the word desk. “Wait, have you and Max fucked on your desk at work?”

There’s that blush again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Oh, look at the time.” She checks her wrist that doesn’t have a watch on it.

I laugh at her. “Monica! You hussy!”

“Shut up!” She laughs.

We chat about books for a while, then catch up on other less fun topics like work and family.

Once she heads out, I tidy up our mess, wash the ice cream bowls, and wash up for the night. I change into my sleep attire, which consists of a tank top and underwear, and then I slide into bed and burrow into the soft sheets. I reach for my laptop, open my nightstand drawer, and pick out my favorite vibrator.

It’s Tumblr time.

As I log in to my account and wait for it to load, my thoughts drift back to that night with Charlie. I remember him watching me when I kissed the sexy guy on the dance floor. He didn’t look away when he saw me entwined with someone else, and he didn’t look jealous, either. He looked aroused, and he kept watching me. I loved it. Holding his gaze while I was in the arms of someone else…it was intoxicating. I wanted him to watch me.

Then later, stumbling on him, seeing him touch that other woman…I should have left right away, but he caught me and his eyes dared me to stay.

Fuck.

My body warms at the memory. My Tumblr account is my go-to source for porn and I follow a wide variety of pages. I scroll down, skimming over the pictures of male/female couples. Then I see a GIF that catches my eye: a naked woman with a man fucking her from behind. The look on her face is pure pleasure and she stares into the eyes of a second man, seated in the corner of the room. This man is fully dressed, but he has his cock out and is stroking it while he watches the woman get fucked.

I picture myself as the woman, in a room with two men, one fucking me while the other watches. God, why does that turn me on so much? Then I picture Charlie being the man who watches me take another man’s cock and my pussy clenches. I imagine him jacking off, watching me come while another man comes inside me. Whew.

Time to turn on my vibrator. I run it over my underwear, teasing my clit without giving it too much stimulation. I could come in two seconds, but where’s the fun in that? I want to draw it out a bit. Closing my legs around the vibrator, I hold it in place against my panties while I keep scrolling down the website. I want to find a video to watch. I play a little game with myself when I masturbate—I try to see if I can come at the same time the people in the video do. On Tumblr, though, not all videos are created equal. Sometimes it takes a while to find something that strikes my fancy.

A few scrolls later, a video gets my attention. This time, it’s a brunette woman watching while a man fucks a busty blonde. Yes. I scoot my underwear down and touch the vibrator directly against my wet folds, moving it up and down while I watch. The man is nowhere near as hot as Charlie is, but the blonde kind of resembles Miss Double D. The brunette is sitting back against the headboard while the couple fucking is lying across the bed sideways, right in front of her. She strums her clit as the man thrusts into the blonde over and over again. Fuck, I like that. I push the vibrator inside me and pump it in time with the man on the video. He comes all over the girls’ tits, and the brunette crawls over to them and licks it off her. My eyes widen as I watch her lick the man’s cum off another woman’s chest and I can’t hold back my orgasm. Pleasure so intense it almost hurts courses through me and I tremble through my release. I turn my vibrator off, the sensation quickly becoming too much for my pulsating clit, and catch my breath.

Fuck, that was hot.

Would I ever want to do that? Watch Charlie fuck someone else?

Lick his cum off of someone else?

Or would I want him to watch me? See him stroke his cock while I suck some other man’s dick?

My imagination goes wild with the possibilities.

But that’s all it is—a fantasy. Just my imagination.

So what if I get off to thoughts of a threesome?

That doesn’t mean I want it to happen in real life.

I mean, I’m not that kind of girl.

Am I?