Getting sexy. Kayla Perrin
I pull at the ribbon, then the gold wrapping, giggling the entire time. But when I lift the lid and pull out all the tissue paper, my smile fizzles. In fact, my stomach tightens with immense disappointment.
“It’s my gift to you,” he says while gently stroking my arm.
It’s a huge dildo. And I mean huge. It’s got straps on it, as well, so there’s no doubt that this is a strap-on.
But Adam already has a penis. One I’m very happy with.
“I don’t get it,” I admit.
“You remember what we saw last week—at that club?”
How can I forget? My eyes are still burning. “I saw lots of stuff.”
“Remember that woman in the cage, and the guy she was with?”
The visual hits me in the face. Yes, I remember. The woman was wearing the strap-on and screwing the guy from behind.
“Adam…” I laugh nervously as I look at him. “Come on, you don’t want me to do that…do you?”
He sucks on the tip of my finger. “If you want to try it, I’m up for it.”
I stare at him in total disbelief. “Are you gay?” It’s the only thing I can think of to ask. Especially after Lishelle’s disastrous date.
He throws his head back and roars with laughter. “Gay? Me? Come on, you know better than that.”
“Then why…” My voice trails off and I shake my head.
“There’s a whole sexual world out there that we have yet to discover. I want to discover it all with you.”
“Are you unhappy with me?” I can’t help blurting.
Adam’s smile is full of love as he gazes at me, and he frames my face with his hands. “Of course not. I have so much love for you, so much passion, that I want to try everything with you. That’s what this is about.”
“You’re sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. I want us to have the kind of relationship where we can try anything, knowing it will bring us closer together. And I never want you to be timid about suggesting anything to me, because whatever you want to try, I’ll be game.”
“Anything?”
“Anything.”
I swallow as I gaze into the box. “I’m not so sure I’m comfortable—” I lift the strap-on “—with this.”
“It’s not a world we’ve experienced before. Who knows? Changing roles…it might be fun.”
I really don’t know what’s gotten into Adam. It’s like he’s become a freak.
Or is it me who’s a complete prude? But how can I be a prude? Adam and I have tried every position. We’ve had sex in public places, tried a myriad of sex toys and watched sex videos together. He even convinced me to try anal sex—something I haven’t dared to tell a soul. I thought I would hate every second of it, but I liked it. It was taboo and dirty and turned me on more than I expected.
But this?
I drop the strap-on back into the box and move it behind us. Then I stretch my body out on Adam’s. “Sweetie,” I purr in his ear. “I like being the girl.”
“And I like being the guy. Nothing’s gonna change that. But I saw how much that woman in the cage enjoyed the way she was doing that guy…and I thought…I want that for you. A different kind of sexual pleasure.”
I make a sound of derision.
“Hold on to it until you become comfortable,” Adam tells me. “Maybe you never will, but you never know.”
I don’t see that happening. The truth is, the things I’ve tried with Adam I would never have suggested. And quite frankly, while we don’t do it often, I don’t care if we never watch another porn video. And I certainly don’t want to go to another sex club. Adam turns me on. Him alone. Everything about him.
“I’ll tell you right now, I’m not bringing that thing to my parents’ place. We’ll keep it here. I can just imagine what would happen if the cleaner stumbled upon it, or worse—my mother!”
I laugh, and to my relief, Adam does, too. But Lord, I hope he forgets about this strap-on thing. I can’t help wondering if he’s going through some sort of sexual crisis with all the weird and different stuff he’s wanted us to try in the past few months. I pray this phase passes soon, and we can start our lives in the wedded bliss I’ve dreamed of since I was a child.
Is Diana staring at me weirdly? I can’t help wondering the next morning as we sit across from her in my parents’ backyard. We’re getting together with the wedding planner this morning to go over the final menu. It’s decision day. The week before the wedding, we fly the chefs up from New Orleans to prepare all the items on the menu for us to sample. If there’s anything we don’t like, we can change our minds then, but we need a pretty solid idea of what we’re going with today.
Diana, a graying woman in her late fifties who looks a lot like Diane Keaton, slips her glasses on and opens her planner. “So for appetizers you’re going with the five tomato mozzarella salad, the gumbo and the petite cou-chon baton. What about the main course? Were you still hoping for beef?”
I look at Adam. He’s wearing dark glasses so no one can see his eyes. But I already know what they look like. Red. He got high this morning before we came to meet Diana.
It’s one other change in him I don’t like. In the past year, Adam’s weed smoking has gotten excessive. He says he needs to relax because he’s so stressed with all the planning for the wedding, as well as his aspirations to run for mayor. I understand that, but there’s a limit for everything.
I ask, “What do you think, Adam?”
“I told you what I think. Let’s have beef.”
I face Diana. “My mother and I have been getting calls. People are wondering why there isn’t a beef option.”
“Those people aren’t planning a wedding for six hundred guests.”
“I know, but—”
“Can I make a suggestion?” she asks.
“Of course,” I answer.
“You’ve got onion-crusted American red snapper and pecan smoked Muscovy duck breast. That’s an excellent menu, certainly satisfactory for even the most discriminating eater. If you want to add anything else, I’d suggest another appetizer. The truffled soft-shell crab bisque. There’s plenty of choice for everyone.”
“You’re probably right.”
“I am right,” Diana assures me. “If anyone wants to complain, tell them to come to me.” She smiles sweetly, a smile that says she’s been planning weddings for over thirty years and knows her stuff.
“Can we make a decision on this, Adam?”
“Whatever you suggest is fine.”
I roll my eyes slightly. I swear, I wish he’d get more involved.
“What about the dessert?” Diana asks.
“The best part,” I say. “I think I’ll gain ten pounds before my honeymoon.”
Diana lifts the sheet with the dessert items and their descriptions. Adam and I have a copy of the same sheet to peruse. “Lemon flan,” Diana reads. “Chocolate-fudge Sheba, crème brûlée, Commander’s pecan pie à la mode, praline parfait, Creole bread pudding soufflé and Creole cream-cheese cheesecake.” She lowers the sheet. “You’re choosing two.”
I glance at Adam, but he’s not even looking our way. His gaze is off in the direction of the woods behind my parents’ house.
I