Lana and Malachy had been living together a little over three years when a gradual subsidence began to erode the beautiful garden the lovers had worked so hard to cultivate. So much had begun to unravel, Lana thought she too might decompose for without Malachy, the man of her dreams who filled her every waking moment with joy and hope, what was she but a filament pulling a cauldron of foibles, a slimsy skein of what life could hold?
Their favorite restaurant had changed hands and so their brasserie as haven in the city’s storm was no more. Books went unread and bottles of wine uncorked. It was a sere period that put their relationship to the test with the lovers coping in their own loose, idiosyncratic ways. Malachy had been promoted from an itinerant “staff” position which perforce had him teaching at various charter schools and community colleges to a full-time professorship at the prestigious Emerald City School of Fine Arts on Capitol Hill. He and Lana had both been excited about the promotion but after a weekend of celebrating and lovemaking, Malachy took a twenty thousand league nosedive into his work. He was drifting away incrementally but steadfastly into the ivory tower world of ideas.
Lana retreated into a fantasy world. She went through a phase where she masturbated constantly, rewarding herself with orgasms the way other women treated themselves to lattes or sugary desserts. She had a fetish for fellatio and part of the warp and woof of her loving union with Malachy was how grateful she was to have finally found a man who appreciated her oral fixation. Sure, most men would never turn down a blow job, but they secretly think women who are good in bed are dirty in the head. It’s just another double standard and double standards served only to bore Lana straight to the boudoir where she had no qualms whipping off her panties to pleasure herself.
She was doing just that when the phone rang interrupting a reverie which included lots of bondage and blindfolds. She stayed her hands for a moment, hoping the caller would give up and leave a message. Then, she became worried it might be Malachy calling to say he got picked up for soliciting a hooker but it was all a big misunderstanding.
“Hello,” she intoned, trying not to sound like a woman caught masturbating.
“Lana! It’s Casey. Hope I’m not calling too late. I know you and Mal are night owls.”
Lana sat up straight and checked the clock. She and her boyfriend were night owls but it was close to midnight and unusual for even relatives to call so late. “Casey? Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, sure. It’s just… well, ever since Carrie and I broke up, I’ve been taking stock of things and asking myself what I’m doing here. I miss San Francisco. It’s hella expensive to live there but I’ve got a friend who wants to hook me up with a job in Berkeley. I’m leaving next week.”
Lana sighed. Casey and Carrie had been together a year longer than Lana and Mal; the two couples often dined out together or just invited each other over for drinks and laughs. Then Carrie got accepted to grad school in Boston and decided she didn’t want to be tied down anymore. And that, as Lana’s distaff Italian relatives would say was that.
“Oh, Casey. I’m sorry. And I know Mal will be sorry to see you go, too. We’ll stay in touch, though. It’s not like you’re moving to the moon.” She said that knowing once her friend crossed the state line she’d probably never see him again. Lana and Malachy drifted from couples who moved twenty minutes away to the suburbs, let alone out of Washington altogether.
“Well, ahem. Reason why I’m calling is, I wanted to invite my closest friends over for dinner Saturday night. Think you can make it?”
Lana’s mouth began to water. Casey had trained at a well-known cooking school and worked for a year as a personal chef to a minor celebrity. One simply did not turn down an offer to sample his wares.
“We’ll be there!”
Malachy came home shortly after the phone call. When Lana told him about the invitation, he simply shrugged and said, “Sure, why not?”
“Try to show a little more enthusiasm when you say farewell to your good friend.”
The busy English professor slipped into bed beside his girlfriend, kissed her goodnight and promptly fell asleep.
“This relationship definitely needs some spicing up,” she said to the snoring hunk beside her. She nestled into the space between his neck and shoulder, breathed the fine familiar scent of him before falling asleep herself.
The days passed quickly and then Saturday night found the couple crossing a garden courtyard to lean on the bell-push of Apartment C in the departing friend’s brick apartment house.
Casey greeted his guests effusively, and begged they turn a blind eye to some of the boxes already strapped and taped so tightly as to appear to be wearing straightjackets.
They drank champagne then switched to an excellent Sauvignon Blanc, talking over old times and swaying to the barely perceptible classical music playing for ambiance.
For starters they had cheese risotto and Fagiolini Verdi – green beans in olive oil and lemon – then rosemary chicken and oven-roasted vegetables. And for dessert: chocolate soufflé.
Lana noticed Casey let his fingertips laze on her skin a little longer than necessary when he passed her a dish or gentled her elbow to point out something she might have had the folly to ignore.
“Did you try these almond cookies, Lana?” the good host asked, pointing to a cut-glass dish on a nearby mantel. “There’s just a hint of anisette in them. I remember how you said you liked anything with anisette.”
She licked her already moist lips and nodded. “You know how to spoil your guests, that’s for sure.”
Casey raked his fingers through a bramble of wavy brown hair then said, “You know the old saying about substituting sex with food.”
Lana laughed. “In that case, can I get a To Go box?”
Malachy shot his girlfriend a look, a glancing measure not lost on the chef. Casey pressed more wine on his guests and the evening began to unfurl. You could cut the sexual tension in the room with the string of Lana’s thong.
Come back one week from tonight to read Part Two of this sexy story.
Read Olivia’s other sexy stories published on Every Night Erotica, here.
Olivia London is the author of the story collections San Francisco Lovin’ and San Francisco Bliss: California Erotica, both published by Renaissance E Books and available from Amazon.com. Titles available frome Xcite Books include Lesbian Love 3, Healthy Addictions, Woman Friendly and the erotic paranormal story Soul Bumping. The author may be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org.