"I don't have any imperfections."
He leaned over, his lips hovering over mine. "No, you don't." He closed his eyes and waited, asking my permission. Despite my better judgment, I leaned forward, closing the gap, and pressed my lips to his.
They were soft, and salty. He opened his mouth and grabbed me with his free hand, sliding me until my body was sandwiched into his. His tongue met mine in perfect harmony, and there was nothing to think about, no moves to make with the kiss. It just happened, perfect and hot, and passion grew with every second that our kiss lasted. I pulled away, gasping, and looked into his eyes. Dark and full of fire, I felt like Alice, falling into the rabbit hole, getting sucked further and further down. I looked away quickly and tried to scoot back, but his strong arm kept me there, kept me still.
"Okay," I said quickly. "We have established that you find me attractive."
He shook his head, and tried to find the track he had been on. "What else… oh, the control issues. I like to be in control. If we were dating, exclusively, I am sure that I will occasionally tell guys to back off of you. I'm not naive enough to think that that is something I can control. It is hard-wired into my body; I am a strong, aggressive person. If that is a deal-breaker for you, than I understand that. But don't take my control habits as jealously. Jealously can be an evil, two-headed snake. I understand that, and stay away from it.” He pulled at the back of his soaked dress shirt, and looked over at me. “Anything I missed?"
"Yeah, that gigantic elephant in the room - your secret sexual need that no normal women can fulfill. What, you need it like eight times a day?"
He laughed softly, and removed his arm from around me, placing his palms together and thinking. Then he turned and faced me head-on.
"Before we go into this, if I didn't have any sexual hang-ups - would you date me? Would you be my girlfriend?"
"I don't know. I don’t really want to answer that question yet."
---
He didn’t respond to that, just thought quietly, mulling something over. Then he turned to me, his eyes burning with intensity.
“I know that I have what many people would consider a f**ked up view of relationships. But for me, it just comes down to being honest with myself, and with my partner, about what turns me on.
"I thrive on competition. I want to know that I am pleasing a woman better than any other man. The idea of my wife only having sex with me for the rest of my life doesn’t feed that competitive streak. I love to watch. What you did with Montana - at Safirre. Like that, but typically the game goes a lot farther than that. It would turn me on to see you with women and other men, to share you sexually."
I didn’t say anything but all my mind could think was what the f**k.
He refolded his jacket, and then started talking again, his voice deep and measured. “Our than it being what turns me on; I also don't think humans are engineered to be monogamous. It’s against our basic instinct to be tied to one person for the rest of our life. It is a losing concept, that we fight hard to keep because it is what society expects. I believe, for a couple to value their partner and learn their sexual needs, they need to occasionally sample sex with other people.”
I spoke for the first time, my words careful and measured. “So you’d want me to let you go around f**king other people every once in a while?" And he wonders why he can’t find a good wife.
“Not just me, you too. But not alone, it would be something we do together, as a couple.”
“I don’t get it.”
“I'm part of a group that meets occasionally. You and I would attend, and if you were attracted to any of the guys there, you could f**k them. The same with me and women at the party. Or, if you wanted to hook up with me and another women, or with two guys - anything that turns you on is available. But we f**k together, either in the same room or in a threesome scenario."
I put my head in my cold hands and groaned. “Oh my god. I can't believe I had sex with you without a condom.”
“That's your response to this?” He shook his head and pressed his hands together, looking at them and then at me. “Don’t worry about that. Everyone wears condoms at the parties. Safe sex is a non-negotiable.”
“So that's the big thing. You're a swinger.”
He winced, making a face, then nodded. ”Yes, though I’m not crazy about the word. And my girlfriend, or soul mate, or wife, would need to be part of that lifestyle as well. It is the only way I know that I will stay committed.”
“So it's a Non-negotiable?”
“Yes.”
He grabbed my chin, tilting it to him so that he could see in my eyes. I tried to pull away, but he held strong, forcing me to meet his gaze. His eyes looked turbulent, tortured. I wondered what he saw in mine. “Julia, nothing would turn me on more than to watch you f**k. A guy, a girl, it doesn't matter. Just to watch you cut loose and succumb to your deepest fantasies, for me to be a part of making that happen. Whether you know it or not, you are an incredibly sexual person. You drive men crazy and I would love to watch you with a group of them."
My mouth dropped open. All the things I had imagined, whatever it was that I thought he was into, group sex hadn’t been it. My head spun from the assault of concepts on my brain. I shivered.
"I'm wet." The minute it came out, I realized what it sounded like. "From the sprinklers. Wet and cold. I need to get home and shower."
"Come home with me. It's closer, and you can shower there." I was too overwhelmed by everything to argue, so I just nodded, and he stood, offering me his hand and pulling me to my feet.
I drove my own car, planning on leaving Brad's after I had a chance to shower and to talk. Though I wasn’t sure talking would solve anything. I didn't know what to think, what to do, but could tell you right away I wasn't interested in the prospect of orgies. Within five minutes of pulling out of CDB's parking garage, we were driving down Brad's oak-lined street. The other night, in the dark, I couldn't see much, but in the daylight, the impressive homes set back from the road gave quite an impression. Brad had a big, plantation style home with big white columns in front and an ivy-covered privacy fence enclosing the sides. His driveway ran down the side of the house, and I rolled in slowly after him. He had a three-car garage set back on the lot, and as we pulled up one of the doors opened and he drove in. I parked my car to the side and left my keys in it. I'd be lucky if it got stolen in this neighborhood; Brad's homeowner’s insurance would probably replace it with a Mercedes.