We awoke just after dawn the next morning, already talking, already kissing. Hungry.
We made love all day.
And while I had initially given in to our hunger, simultaneously fisting and fucking Madeline's cunt within moments of our reunion, this day had passed with meat-and-potatoes sex. I was usually on top, she was usually below. My eyes were open to her. We kissed our lips raw. She came and sweated profusely under me.
Sex like that works up an appetite.
Madeline had eaten only a few crackers the day before. As the day progressed, I would offer meals, and she would accept, but we never got around to making them. That would have meant leaving bed, and neither of us had the stomach for that.
By dusk, we were famished. I craved a change of venue.
The sun was setting on a very overcast summer evening. The lamps remained dark, and the apartment slumbered in a dim velvet haze.
The phone rang. Marla called with an invitation. Her new boyfriend's friend is a disk jockey and painter, she said, with an opening that night at revered pizza restaurant in the Village. Was I in the mood to look at art, she asked? It meant free pizza and wine, she added, plus the chance to hang out and meet the new guy.
I looked at Madeline, who was slowly getting dressed, a little stoned from sex.
"That sounds fine," I said. "But get this: Madeline is here."
"What, the online girl?" Marla asked.
"The very one."
"You have to bring her! She's really here?"
Madeline was a little hesitant, allowing her good manners to wonder if she would be intruding, or if she was dressed well enough for the event.
Perhaps she was also reluctant to break the spell of our intimacy by meeting another of my lovers.
"It's an art show in a pizza parlor, dear, not the opera," I cajoled. "And it's Marla. She's very cool. Let's go."
We arrived to find a long line of patrons waiting to be seated. Marla waved us past, ushering us into a small side room, humid with closely packed bodies.
I kissed her in greeting, indicating Madeline. They said hellos as we followed Marla to the back, where wine was being poured. Pizza was served nearby as it emerged fresh from an open brick oven.
I had only caught a glance of Marla, but enough to see that she was in top form. Her long hair was wavy--somewhere between her natural curls and the straightened version she prefers--and streaked with blonde and pink highlights. She was tan from days on the beach near her home. Her tight shirt and jeans suggested she had lost a little weight, with no ill effect to her voluptuous figure.
When Marla looks this good, she is putting the world on notice: she is sexy as hell, and she knows it. Feminine sensuality is not wasted on this broad.
"Vincent," Marla called to the bartender, her Brooklyn accent rising above the din. "These are my friends, right?"
"Yeah, Marla," Vincent nodded, smiling to us. "Nice to meet you guys."
"This must be the hottest place in New York," I apologized to Madeline as I passed red wine her way, taking another plastic cup for myself.
"Um hmmm," Madeline nodded, sipping, her bobbed hair already wet at the edges.
Marla took a white wine and smiled. "So you're Madeline," she said, rolling her brown eyes toward me. "You came all the way here to see this one?" She slipped an arm around my waist.
"Yes, I suppose so . . . "
"Ooh, looks like it was worth the trip," Marla said, lowering her eyes to the nape of Madeline's neck. My bite the night before had produced a hickey that Madeline was unable to disguise with anything she had packed.
Marla's face turned serious as she pushed aside Madeline's collar for a closer look.
"Damn, Jefferson," she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You do good work."
"You should see my thigh," Madeline whispered back.
The two women laughed.
It was suddenly as if we three were in on a big secret.
With a few words, we had identified ourselves among the secret society of perverts.
Whatever reservations Madeline may have had about meeting Marla were gone in that moment. They bonded instantly over a hickey.
"Did Jefferson tell you about my new boy? I call him 'Morning Glory,' because I met him after spotting him on my walk to work."
"Of course! Is he here?"
"Over there, by the bar. He works here, he knows everyone." She waved to a slim young man with close cropped hair. He practically blushed as he nodded back.
"Fucking cute," I admired. Madeline had grabbed some slices on paper plates. I sank my teeth into scalding mozzarella.
"No shit," Madeline added, taking a bite. "I'd do him."
"Yeah, right? Isn't he hot?" Marla nodded."I'm tempted to bring him to your parties, Jefferson, but . . . "
" . . . that would reveal your secret life as a slut."
"Well, that, plus he's never done anything like it."
"That's not a problem, of course. But he's not bi?"
She shook her head, taking a bite of pizza. "You kidding?," she chewed. "Total straight boy"
"How unfortunate. Any threesomes?"
She shook her head.
"Ah, an innocent," I nodded, watching as he reached for a stack of plates. "For you to corrupt or to keep as your own."
"Yeah, tough call," she replied. "Oh, but get this Madeline: we were out dancing, and--did Jefferson tell you? It was so hot!--he fucking grabbed my throat and pushed me against a wall to kiss me. He's a choker!"
"Oh my dog!" Madeline covered her mouth with a hand,laughing as she chewed.
"Fuck yeah, I was so wet!" Marla laughed herself into a cough, a slice poised in her hand. "Though he does need work. You know, the other night he asked if, you know, I wouldn't mind maybe going down on him. When you know, what I wanted to hear was . . . "
"Suck my cock, bitch!" Marla and Madeline finished the sentence together, laughing. They were on a roll.
"Seems he can be trained," I smiled.
"Oh, I need to thank you for that," Madeline said, turning to Marla. "You trained Jefferson, but good."
"For selfish reasons," Marla said, raising her cup. "But glad it works for you!"
I had been with lovers who liked it rough before meeting Marla. But she sensed my raw talent and honed it, pulling my fingers to her throat, showing me how to apply pressure, nodding when my cock and my grip were in perfect synch.
Marla likes the rough trade. Bring her unlettered boys with muscles and tattoos and she is in hog heaven. Yet too few of her boys get that the machismo she craves in a man is not just an external pose.
I was surprised when she sought out the brute in me, a skinny fair-haired bookworm. "I don't know why," she told me, when I asked why she picked me as her tough guy. "I trust you. You want to please me, and really, this is what I want."
She said what I had to hear. Of course I wanted to give her what she wanted.
By the time Madeline asked me to slap her, I was prepared to give her what she needed.
The three of us talked and ate with gusto, fueling ourselves on free wine. In time, we moved away from the oven in search of cooler air by an open door.
Madeline was melting away.
Marla's girlfriend clock began to tick, as she cast her eyes about for the boy who was taking her home that night.
I picked up on the shift in tone and suggested that Madeline and I should be going.
Marla and Madeline kissed goodbye, already chums. Marla kissed me.
"Have fun tonight," I told her. "You look very happy."
"I am," she smiled. "You look happy too."
She raised her voice and looked at Madeline. "You two are going to go back to fuck now, huh?"