Different Circles

He had taken none up on the offer. It was not that he did not want to have sex. On the contrary, he craved it very intensely, thus his current activity. It was that he was not ready to throw himself out into that scene, was not sure if he would ever be ready. Even before he had become involved with Celia—that seemed so long ago now—he had never been a fan of the one-night stand; of picking up some anonymous bimbo, using her, and then discarding her when he was finished. Like Celia herself, he needed to have some sort of connection with someone he was having sex with. It did not have to be love. He had not loved Cheryl the makeup girl and he most certainly had not loved Mindy Snow, but there had been a connection, a certain kind of chemistry with them. Even the two bimbos he was watching on the video screen now. He had to come up with a fantasy in his mind in order to enjoy the sight of the two of them, some sort of fantasy that would explain why they were having sex with each other and allowing him to watch it. It did not have to be a realistic fantasy (and it was not—in his mind the two women were support staff on a project who had confessed their bisexual curiosity to him separately and, grateful that he had introduced them to each other, invited him to watch and participate) but it had to meet the basic requirements of suspension of disbelief. Even when he had looked at the pictures in the edition of Smooth Operator where Mindy’s escapades had been documented, some form of fantasy was required for him to become aroused. It was just the way he was wired.

And he was not ready to go out and make that sort of required connection with a real woman just yet. It was still too soon after the breakup, for one thing. And if he were to meet such a woman, there was the small fact that he was a multi-millionaire and thus a prime target for a pregnancy scam—again. He would certainly never be able to trust any woman—no matter how trustworthy she seemed—if she told him she was on birth control pills. And even if he did not deplore using condoms—he did—they were far from a perfect method of contraception, especially when dealing with a possibly conniving female. Jake had told him horror stories of women would go so far as to dig a condom out of the trash after use just to impregnate themselves. And even if there was no conniving, accidents happened. Jake had told him the story of Celia’s drummer, Coop, who was now paying five-digit per month child support to a woman he had had a brief affair with because the condom he was using had come off in the middle of the act.

“Never let a chick suck your dick right before you put the rubber on,” Jake had advised sternly (and in all seriousness) during this discussion. “That’s just asking for a Coop incident.”

And so that was why the man who could have almost any woman he desired was sitting on his couch and whacking off to high quality lesbian porn. And why he had no serious prospect for changing the equation on the horizon.

When the two women on the screen switched into a sixty-nine position—blondie on the bottom, brunette on the top—and the camera focused on brunette’s rear end and blondie’s tongue licking at her swollen, wet, gaping vagina, Greg finally reached the point of no return. In his mind, this was when the two women invited him to get in on the action. This was where he would walk up and slip his member into the brunette’s body while the blonde licked and sucked his testicles. This is where the spasms started and he shot his load all over the towel that was arranged specifically to catch it.

When his breathing returned to normal, he took a few deep breaths and then wiped his right hand, which was sticky with semen and slippery with hand lotion, on a clean part of the towel. He then picked up the remote control, stopped the VCR and ejected the tape. He stood carefully, extricating the towel from beneath him and then bunching it up into a ball, dirty side inward. He pulled up his pants and buttoned them and then fastened his belt. He then carried the towel up to his bedroom and tossed it into the hamper. After this, he washed his hands in the bathroom sink, doing a thorough job of it. He sighed. After releasing his tension, he always felt a little ashamed of himself for indulging. But he was getting used to it now.