I kissed Mitzi at the door.
She looked past my shoulder.
“Jefferson,” she whispered. “Who are all these people?”
I looked back. “Yeah, it’s a big party tonight. See that really cute guy with the dark hair? The rock-star looking guy? That’s Eric, a friend of Viviane’s. He brought his friend, Erik, and they brought the two model-looking blondes—Charlie is on the left, and that’s Deidre leaning against the bar.” I leaned to whisper. “Her name really is Deidre Van Pelt. Like Linus and Lucy!”
“One with a ‘k,’ one with a ‘c.’ Or, as they put it, ‘Good Eric’—that’s Viviane’s friend—and ‘Bad Erik,’ who is the curly-haired one.”
“Uh huh,” Mitzi eyes flashed. “And who is that child on the couch?”
“I take it you aren’t referring to Shelby.”
“No, I’m referring to that little boy sitting on your couch.”
I felt a little sheepish. “That would be Verdad.”
Mitzi looked at me. “You fucked that little boy? How old is he, twelve?”
“No, Mitzi, he’s nineteen. I fucked him just after his birthday.” I looked to the couch. “He does look very young, doesn’t he?”
“Jefferson, he is very young.” She shook her head, taking the bag from her shoulder. “You are definitely going to hell—you know that, don’t you?”
“Oh, that much seems certain,” I nodded. I tugged my ear. “So, you want some wine?”
I didn’t really expect Mitzi to approve of Verdad.
That’s why she wasn’t part of my secret project.
Mitzi and I poured glasses and moved to the living room. I introduced her to new faces in the group.
Mitzi sat on the floor next to Emma. They kissed hellos.
I returned to the couch to sit between Verdad and Shelby.
Seeing them side-by-side, I thought back on the odd transference when I first met Verdad. At that time, I had gone a while without Shelby, and I missed her pretty badly.
I realized that I missed her more than I knew when Verdad showed up at my all-male orgy. There he was, nude, and I thought how hot it was that he looked so much like Shelby.
Both were young, with pale smooth skin and hair that was naturally jet black (though Shelby kept hers streaked with magenta highlights).
So naturally, that night I had fucked Verdad for a couple of hours.
I mean, I wanted Shelby so I just had to fuck Verdad.
That makes sense, right?
Now that they sat as bookends at either side of me, I could see that the resemblance was entirely a product of my fevered imagination. They were each very cute, that’s all.
I noticed that Verdad was wearing a black Death Cab for Cutie t-shirt, backed with concert dates.
“Oh, hey, you saw Death Cab?” I asked. “I want to see them. They were great on ‘Saturday Night Live.’”
“Man, Death Cab is awesome live,” Verdad said. “You really have to see them.”
“Ew, emo kid!” Shelby scoffed, laughing.
“Excuse me?” Verdad asked.
“You like emo music, man.”
“Now, be nice,” I said, patting Shelby’s thigh. “I don’t think Death Cab is really all that emo anyway, do you?”
“It’s music for emo kids,” Shelby asserted.
Verdad looked down at the floor.
“There, there,” I said. “Shelby didn’t mean to be mean, she’s just a cruel music snob.” I looked at her. “And a pirate.”
“Arrrrr!” Shelby snarled.
Shelby has no patience for most people her own age.
I didn’t really expect Shelby to approve of Verdad.
That’s why she wasn’t part of my secret project.
This was the first sex party since my birthday two weeks before. That gathering had come at the top of my planned birthday week of wall-to-wall sex.
Now, it was two weeks later, and my birthday week showed no sign of giving up my calendar.
At this subsequent party, we had set the date aside to celebrate another birthday, that of my transsexual girlfriend Farahnaz. Alas, as the date approached, she was felled by food poisoning. And so we were left with a party lacking its birthday girl.
Still, we did have cause to celebrate.
I tinked my wine glass, speaking over the room’s conversations. “Excuse me, people? People? May I have your attention, please?”
Everyone went silent and turned to me.
“Thanks—sorry to interrupt, but I have an announcement. First of all, our sympathies go out to Farahnaz, who was too ill to join us tonight for her birthday . . .”
“To Farahnaz!” Mitzi raised her glass.
“Huzzah,” someone cheered.
“To Princess Farahnaz,” I echoed. “But fortunately, we are provided with a second cause for commemoration. For it was one year ago tonight that Mitzi and I first met.”
I smiled at Mitzi.
“Aww!” Emma patted Mitzi’s back. “How sweet—an anniversary!”
“That’s right,” I continued. “On this date last year, I hosted a male orgy. I fucked a few guys and then went over to Mitzi’s . . . where we had some very fine sex.”
“It’s also another anniversary,” Mitzi noted.
“This is true,” I nodded.
She turned to the guests. “It was one year ago tonight that you made me cum with your mouth, Jefferson, and . . . ,” she paused, “ . . . it was also the last time.”
“It’s true,” I shrugged. “Once we discovered high schooling and such, well . . . I guess I don’t often linger south of the Mason-Dixon line.”
“Shame!” Mark laughed.
“So tonight, Mitzi and I have a little wager,” I said, rubbing my palms together. “If I give her an orgasm from oral sex, she will serve me a salad with fine shaved Romano cheese. And if I fail to do so . . .”
“The salad is mine!” Mitzi cheered.
“Well, not so fast, Miss Mitzi. I’m giving it my all.”
“Let’s hope you’ve got what it takes,” Emma teased.
“Oh, I’m ready,” I replied, full of confidence. “I’ve been practicing. I’m gung ho. In fact, let’s do this thing now.” I stood and reached to Mitzi. “Ready to lose a salad?”
Mitzi stood and took my hand. “I’d really rather lose than win this wager, Jefferson.”
“You just ready the salad spinner.” We headed to the hallway. “But wait,” I stopped. "I want a witness for this. Gabriel?”
Gabriel looked up from his quiet conversation with Charlie. “Yes, Jefferson?”
“Can you join us, please? I think we may need a judge on this contest.”
Gabriel looked back to the leggy blonde by his side. “Do you really need me?”
Gabriel stood and took Charlie’s hand in his. He leaned to kiss it, excusing himself.
“Suave motherfucker,” I whispered to Mitzi.
Gabriel stepped around the guests sitting on the floor to follow us down the hall.
My bedroom was dimly lit by candles placed throughout. I turned Mitzi in my arms and took her face in my hands.
“Look at my face, you cute brown-eyed thing.” She raised her gaze to mine. I took in her soft lids and long lashes. “Tonight,” I said. “You cum on my tongue.”
Mitzi shifted from one side to another, fidgeting with anticipation. “Yes, Jefferson.”
Gabriel sat in a chair as I began to undress Mitzi.
I unfastened the wrap of her smart, gauzy black dress.
Mitzi kept her eyes trained on me.
I kissed her, removing her bra.
I cupped her breasts and suckled a nipple.
Mitzi moaned as the sensation shot down her torso, connecting her breasts to her clit.
My fingers slid into her panties, lightly teasing her clit and labia as my other hand firmly grabbed her ass.
She was in my hands now, and my hands signaled their intentions: we can go about this gently or by force.
But you will give me what I want.
My hands led Mitzi to the bed.
My hands took her panties.
She spread her legs to my touch. My hands left her pussy to roam her legs, but my eyes never left hers.
Gabriel leaned forward.
I shed my shirt, and dropped my pants.
I smiled as I positioned my body over hers.
Slowly, I lowered myself to her. My flesh met hers lightly.
Mitzi’s eyes jumped as she moaned.
This is going to be one tasty salad, I thought.
I brushed my lips over Mitzi’s. She opened her mouth, expecting a kiss.
I wasn’t playing to expectations, though. I passed over her cheeks, taking my tongue to slowly trace the length of her neck. I breathed in the scent of her vanilla perfume.
Her flesh turned to goose skin under my tongue. I gave it to her wet and unwavering.
Focus on my tongue, I thought to her. It can do so many things.
My tongue ascended a breast, shivering with light breaths.
At her nipple, my tongue flicked. The touch was rapid, lighting on her like a hummingbird.
She arched under me, moaning again.
I lowered my lips to suckle, pinching her opposite nipple and tugging.
I remained in place, recalling that for some women, the better part of pussy licking can happen on the breasts.
Mitzi was definitely a tit woman.
My salad dreams imagined I might make her cum with my mouth before ever tasting pussy.
But as she writhed under me, my fingers could not resist knowing if she was wet. Discovering that she was, my fingers signaled my mouth.
My tongue was beckoned to join my wet fingers.
Why not, I thought, as I lazily traced my tongue along her belly.
I lingered to flick her naval ring, just to let her know where I was.
She twisted in response.
I could already taste shaved Romano.
I leaned forward, rubbing my hair against her soft skin. As I turned my head, I caught a glimpse of Gabriel, shifting in his seat.
I smiled at him. He smiled back.
My tongue fell directly to her clit. No notice, no warning—I dropped in with an immediate landing.
Mitzi gave a startled cry, as if this was the last thing on earth she expected.
I knew her body. I knew to tease her clit for a good while, circling it, occasionally drifting the full muscle of my tongue to her delicate fold of skin.
Each time I crossed her clitoral hood, she responded with a jolt.
I wondered if I would request bacon bits on my salad.
I went in for the kill.
I wrapped my lips around her clit. My tongue could feel that it was fully swollen. Flicking and sucking, I gave it to her full force.
Mitzi arched her back and moaned.
It was coming.
Come on, baby—give me the salad.
I dug in, relentless.
Mitzi’s legs quivered.
I was ready.
She was ready.
I kept going.
She kept going.
But her orgasm proved elusive. It stubbornly refused to appear on cue, though we rehearsed every line flawlessly.
“Jefferson, Jefferson,” Mitzi sighed, taking my cheek in her hand. “I can’t do it right now. I’m sorry.”
I looked up. Her sad eyes floated above her breasts. “No, don’t be sorry, dear,” I said. “We’ll try again later.”
I moved to hold her.
Gabriel stood. “Hey, if you guys don’t need me, can I go? I was trying to make progress with that blonde goddess.”
“Sure, sure,” I waved. “Good luck.”
Mitzi pulled me close.
I nuzzled into her neck, letting the scent of vanilla chase away my craving for Romano.
I was discouraged, but not so much so that I gave up. I would not win my salad that night.
But I persevered. By the week’s end, I had accomplished my task. Mitzi gushed in my mouth, her moans calling in my ears as we ended a year of an overlooked orgasm.
As she relaxed in the afterglow, I took advantage of her content to gently request a stay on my lost wager. She granted it with satisfied nod.
At our next meal, we shared the task of making a fine salad.
But on the night of the sex party, I was disappointed that I had not fared well on my evening’s public project.
I hoped to do better on the secret project.
Death Cab for Cutie