The only way for her to overcome victimization was to
lose inhibitions and pursue physical pleasures just as ruthlessly as he did.
Through the magic of net lookups, I have ascertained your location. And sent you a gift. A limosine will drive you to the luxurious Arts Barcelona hotel, and the chaffeur will hand you a key to a room with a gigantic bed. On that bed sit three black men. They rise, bring you over and lay you down. One hands you a note; another gives you a kiss; and the third whispers, "tonight is your night for fantasies to become real."
At my request, the three men flew here from America to be with you (so the note explains). The men were handsome and strong; it took me a good two months to find the right ones. If they served you well this evening, they would be paid well. Persuading them to come to Barcelona was not easy. First, they thought it was a joke. Then, they insisted on a photograph, thinking there had to be something wrong with you. Elena does not permit photographs, I explained. Photos could only hint at a woman's beauty; they could not convey the thrill of your sexy presence, the naked curves, the tantalizing sighs. On the basis of nothing more than my words of admiration, the men agreed to the deal, and now they are here, ready to offer enjoyment.
The first of the three men, the tallest and most muscular, was an 18 year old named Wayne. He played basketball in high school and won a scholarship to play at college next year. Because of his star quality and humble manner, he was wildly popular at school. But the attention made him nervous. He was awkward around the multitude of girls who thronged around him at games or parties. The reason was sex. He craved it, but was afraid to show his desire to any girl for fear of scaring her off. His penis was large, and when he masturbated, he felt so out of control that no girl would like him after he fucked her. Although most girls at his school were black (and pretty), in fact he desired small white women the most (and was ashamed to admit it). They were cute and agreeable and always a little afraid of him. Wayne agreed to my proposition without hesitating. It was an opportunity to have sex (he was still a virgin) with a white woman (something he'd always dreamt about) who lived in Europe (far away from school friends and the rumor mill). Because you already had experience, he guessed that you could instruct him about how to satisfy a woman. And how to be passionate without being a beast. Truthfully, he just wanted to bury his nose into your sex, wrap his black body around you and start thrusting away. But he didn't want to offend. If you wanted him to stop or slow down, he would obey; he wanted you to like him (even though you were just a European stranger). He wanted to prove that he could satisfy a woman without losing control or ejaculating prematurely. He sat on the bed, covering his sexual organs with his hands to hide his erection (the first in the group to have one); he worried about how you would react. He held your hand, kissed you quietly and awkwardly, unsure of how to start or convince you to disrobe.
Fortunately, the second black man, Michael was an expert at such things. Michael curled you over and slid your blouse off, then in a quick snap undid your bra. It was like magic. Michael had lots of experience with these situations; he must have seduced dozens of women in his life, maybe even a hundred. Michael honestly believed that no woman could resist him, least of all you. He liked to laugh and make woman laugh. With his shiny bald head and strong broad shoulders, he had a charming personality – and used it to his advantage. When he saw you lying in an awkward position on the bed, he cheerfully teased your body with his fingers. He knew how to move you (or any women) into any position. He had worked five years as a massage therapist and handled many woman, old and young, fat and skinny, beautiful and ugly. Although he made love only to the most beautiful women (such as you), he knew the ways they responded, the ways they liked to be touched, the ways they experienced passion. He had read every how-to manual on how to make love to women and had even written a book, 300 Secret Techniques of Cunnilingus (which was still a bestseller in some countries). He could proudly say that every woman he had made love to had achieved orgasms frequently (although sometimes more than one session was required). Only once was he prepared to declare failure. The 35 year old woman was a sexually frustrated nymphomaniac who never had an orgasm, either alone or with a partner. He tried unsuccessfully for an hour to pleasure her using all 300 techniques (and even a dozen intended for later editions of the book). They met the next day to try again. He changed tactics by giving her various massages, a sensuous bath, a nice walk in the forest, a swim in the nude on the beach, a romantic film, and finally an evening alone with their bodies. When he touched her again, she came in no time at all, and amazingly in 10 minutes she came again, and by midafternoon of the next day, he had helped her experience 17 orgasms, each more powerful than the previous (he himself had experienced 4). By the end, both of them were sweaty and sore; their limbs and bodies had melted so completely into one another that he no longer was certain where his body ended and hers began. At the end, she lay next to him, drained, exhausted and utterly satisfied; she proposed marriage to him on the spot, and when he politely refused, she pleaded, begged and cried with him for over an hour. A week later, a Jaguar convertible arrived on his driveway as a gift; she later admitted that she borrowed a lot of money to pay for it, but continues to make the monthly car payments with enthusiasm.
As he bent closer to you and stroked your arms and back, he was mentally calculating which of the 300 cunnilingus techniques would be most effective and which kind of thrust he would perform. He brought you close to his naked chest, marveling at how responsive your breasts were to even the slightest touch, and realizing how good this was going to be. Not just good... excellent! He kissed your cheeks, and nuzzled into your neck while wrapping his arms around you and noticing by the sound of your Mmmmm's where and how you liked to be touched. He held you like a bear, and you could feel his warm penis – only somewhat erect and very very soft – against the lower part of your back, aching for your touch and the chance to enter your small moist pocket. Your body reactions were unusual and surprising; he was discovering new things, new feminine reactions. Good material for his next book.
The third black man, Jack, stared at you with steely eyes. He owned an engineering firm and frequently made business trips to other countries. He was accustomed to the finer things in life; he obtained whatever he desired and spent lots of money on whims. Whenever he visited a new country he made it a point to sample the women. His secret was simple: give undivided attention to the object of his lust, whether she was a waitress, a person on the subway or a business client. Find an excuse to be alone with her, make small talk for a few minutes and then ask her out. 60% of the woman just laughed at him. 35% politely took his number, but never called. But 5% actually called him back; this 5% was more than enough to keep him busy. He thought nothing of asking out pretty 18 or 19 year olds or even women with husbands or boyfriends. The younger girls were easier to catch (and more innocent); the married women were more wild when they succumbed. On weeks where he made no love connections, he relied on prostitutes and past flings to keep him happy. For a man who cared so little about women, who viewed them as mere toys for his pleasure or mere mouths for swallowing his sperm, he rarely had a lonely evening.
After taking a woman out for drinks or dinner, he would kiss or touch her gently for the rest of the date until the girl felt comfortable enough to return to his apartment. Once inside, the kisses became more intense, and he rapidly took off his clothes, letting her feel his hairy black chest against her soft baby-white skin. If the girl complained, he would apologize (how easy apologies were!) and suggest five more minutes of passion before the evening's end. The girl usually agreed, leaving him five minutes to explore her vulnerabilities and find a position permitting maximum control. After a while, she would tap him on the shoulder and announce that the five minutes were up, to which he would sneer, "well, you're enjoying it!" holding her firm while ignoring her resistance, taking his pleasures until it finally dawned on her that he wouldn't release her until he had completely satisfied himself.
It was a kind of rape, and the woman sometimes fought tears as he lay beside her, kissing her soft back. He usually ignored her sobs unless she cried too loudly or tried to leave. In a tender voice, he would hold her naked body and ask what was the matter. His strategy was to apologize profusely for treating her so roughly, explaining that when he made love, he lost control to animal instincts and couldn't help himself. He'd say how happy and grateful he was just to be close to her; stroking her hair and comforting her tentatively, asking for forgiveness. Bullshit like that. Most of the time the woman would relent, and her body would eventually relax at his touch, leaving him to bask in the glow of feminine forgiveness. Often, as long as he didn't overdo it, he could persuade her to give him a blowjob later.
Throughout the night, the women he seduced experienced a variety of emotions: first, outrage at being taken so forcefully, then passive acceptance at the event's inevitability, then an admission that even in this passive state she could feel pleasure, then a desire to tame his angry passions with feminine embraces, and finally a desire to match his naked selfishness with her own, refusing to let go until she could guide his thrusts and prevent him from climaxing before she did. The women he slept with never loved him; many despised him and resented his indifference to a woman's sexual or emotional needs. His sexual aggressions forced a woman to learn active resistance and even to demand her own right to pleasure. The only way for her to overcome victimization was to lose inhibitions and pursue physical pleasures just as ruthlessly as he did. And when she found orgasms with him, what made him happiest was knowing she acheived them totally without his help.
Jack examined your body as the two other men helped to remove your clothes. He laughed. So he was being paid to be this lovely woman's sexual slave! In no time at all the servant would subdue the mistress. Yes, he admitted, you were a lovely sexual specimen, certainly one of Europe's finest; he couldn't wait to have you. But by the end of the evening (he thought), you would be just another sexual adventure, just another surrendering woman who received his sperm. He laughed and reached toward your pussy, caressing what would soon be his.
As the men started their caresses, you reread my note which explains the evening's details. Everything was paid for, and you would be free to do what you wished. The room was equipped with a giant bathtub, handcuffs and all sorts of sex toys and prophylactics. The three men would receive $5000 for serving you well. If any of them displeased you for even the smallest reason, they would be sent home immediately without reimbursement.
At the same time (explained the letter), your Spanish boyfriend was being escorted into a hotel room at the other side of town and kept company by two celebrity models. Giggling, they would put him in handcuffs, act out a little lesbian show and offer sexual treats. Or (if you prefer), he could receive front row seats to a football match and a VIP pass to meet the players afterwards. Either way, he will be busy all night and even feeling guilty for not telling you about his whereabouts. Everything according to plan.
In addition, the letter explained a prize which all three men were competing for, and you would award. For tonight, these three men would serve you, but at the end of the evening, you could invite one (and only one) for a second evening of pleasure. That man, in addition to enjoying your embraces for one more night, would receive a cash prize of $2000. He would also win something bigger: the satisfaction of knowing he was the best of the three lovers, the one you preferred most. Each man moved closer, eying you with lust and a desire to prove himself. While the basketball player gave you a deep lingering kiss, the writer of sexual manuals swept his hands over your breasts; and the engineering CEO put kisses down your back, looking for points of surrender.
Now was the time. The men, though polite and waiting for you to express some preference, were inching toward sex. Now must you decide which fantasy needed fulfillment. You need to tell them whether you want to make love simultaneously or one at a time, whether you want all or none of them, whether you want it fast or slow, rough or gentle, top or bottom, whether you wish to be pleasured or do the pleasuring, whether you want to taste or be tasted. Now was the time where you could say anything, and it would be done; it would have to be done without complaint, or else the man given the request would immediately be sent home. Or you could say nothing at all, forcing them to guess blindly at your pleasures. Or you could undress before them and just tease them, forbidding them to touch you, keeping them so close that you could hear their heavy breathing and frustrated sighs. Before beginning, your hand feels something along the side of the bed. It is a small on-off switch. At first, its purpose is unclear, but then you notice a whirring sound from several points around the room. You look closer and realize that the on-off switch controls three miniature videocameras located strategically around the room.
In a flash you understand. Several thousand miles away in Texas, images from these cameras spill onto a wall cluttered with videofeeds of various couples indulging their passions. In this Texas room on a bed sits a man who has paid for your evening. Now with a click of a button on the remote control, your videofeed covers the entire wall. That man, of course, is me; I am sitting here nude, letting my Indian wife (and ex-yoga instructor) teach me Hindi and demonstrate the Kirtibandha sex position while I catch up on email and keep a lecherous eye on you. I embrace Manjiri warmly and smile, wondering which man will be your choice for an extra night of pleasuring.
Call me … curious.
Written, November, 2003
