What do you get a woman who's financially set for any holiday, much less Valentine's Day? Lexi was not one to buy into the commercialism of the holiday. But, under that sometimes bitchy exterior was a hopeless romantic. Lexi had let me see that side of her more than once.
So it was a surprise to me when I found out we were not spending Valentine's weekend together. Were we not lovers? My gag gift of edible panties and other body desserts would have to wait. It was just as well. It had been an awkward two weeks since we had last tasted each other's bodies.
I wasn't sure how to break the wall that seemed to be building between us. All because I had dropped my guard and suggested we become exclusive to each other.
"I'm meeting a client out of town but, I'm not leaving you stranded," said Lexi. "Hope you don't mind."
"Stranded?" I asked.
"Think of it as a gift, she'll call you." winked Lexi.
This was cryptic, to say the least. Since I moved into the guest house, I learned not to ask questions I didn't want the answers to.
Lexi waved to me as she pulled her '68 Jaguar E-Type convertible out of the driveway. Sleek with a custom elongated body encased in pristine ruby red paint, it was everything you expected from Lexi. Classic, sexy, temperamental and with a tight trunk you had to force things into — to make it fit.
It was the car she used to take clients out to see premiere properties up and down the coast. Wives moving to the west coast, after seeing Lexi and the car would often insist their husbands find a new realtor. It was as if Lexi had "Other Woman" painted on her forehead.
It wasn't long before I found out what Lexi was talking about. Our neighbor called to see when I could come over. She was starting a new online boutique and needed help with written content for the website. The project was extensive and promised a four-figure payday.
It wasn't the most exciting way to spend the weekend but, it wouldn't hurt to make a little bank between writing gigs. Vanity Fair and Esquire magazine were not exactly beating a path to my door.
Have laptop, will travel. I drove next door because no one walks in California. I buzzed in through the gate and pulled into the driveway of an opulent but, otherwise nondescript house. The voice on the intercom told me to come upstairs — the front door was open.
As I cleared the top of the spiral staircase, I was in the presence of a raven haired beauty. She was a bona fide MILF like Lexi, maybe a few years younger.
"Hello neighbor, can I get you a drink?" asked my hostess.
I must have been standing there slack jawed for a while since she stood up and walked over to the bar and poured me a glass. I was slack jawed because my hostess was essentially nude.
"Sangria?" she inquired, "before extending the glass."
"I'm Andrew," I stammered.
"I know, Andrew. Your reputation precedes you. Lexi speaks very highly of you. I'm Salma. Like Salma Hayek. I'm not her but, I am Mexican."
Salma may not have been "the" Salma but, she boasted some of the same features.
"Why don't you put down your bag and we can talk."
I sat down opposite of her as she went back to her original perch. Salma flipped her long black hair over so it cascaded over her right shoulder. It exposed the left side of her neck and diamond drop earrings.
She was a striking woman lying on an oversized white leather ottoman. She was unapologetic about her attire and seemed to like the fact that I was giving her the once over.
"You should take a picture, Andrew," smiled Salma, "it would last longer."
I was taking a picture. My subconscious was recording every single detail of Salma in my masturbation memory bank. Years later I would still be able to recompile the image that lay before me.
Salma was a doe-eyed beauty with olive skin. She lay on her stomach facing me. Her ample breasts created cleavage that swallowed the diamond drop pendant around her neck. As she traced her neck and reached down to grab her breast I was privy to the lingerie that accented her body.
Black ribbons of silk framed her exposed breasts and united in a strap that disappeared beneath her. She had breasts that, unfortunately for her, would invite unwanted cat-calls in public. The kind of cat-calls that would include references like, "Nice rack!" or "Show us your tits." Salma did have a spectacular set of "tits."
Over her shoulder, I could see the delicious whale tail of black panties with ribbons that met in the center of the small of her back. Her legs were spread wide and bent at the knee as if she was a girl propping herself in front of a TV. Her ankles were crossed and she wore what were unmistakably some of the sexiest fuck-me-pumps a gay man had ever designed. You know these things when you have a fetish for women in high heels.
Her Christian Louboutin fuck-me-pumps were accented by silver cobras that snaked down the stiletto heel.
"You like those don't you," smiled Salma, "I had the embellishments made custom. Men seem to especially gravitate to them because it reminds them, of hands on their cock."
"I'm sorry Salma," I blurted out, "I thought you were hiring me to work on some copywriting. Did Lexi set this up?"
"Oh my god. Please, Andrew, I don't need Lexi's help to attract men," replied Salma. "I thought we could play before work. All work and no play make Andrew a dull boy."
I excused myself, using the need for a bio break as the reason. Salma rolled her eyes and let me know where to find the bathroom.
"Hurry back lover boy, " she yelled at me while I was dialing Lexi.
Lexi was laughing as she answered the phone, "Isn't she a hoot? Are you having fun?"
I told Lexi I was definitely not having fun and I wasn't her property to sell or swap as she pleased.
"Oh my god, Andrew. You're going to have an aneurysm. Calm down," said Lexi, "Are you about to have sex with Salma?"
"No, I most definitely am not," I whispered back.
"Sweetie, that's too bad because that's what is happening to me right now." Lexi replied, "You should go do the same... Oh, fuck that's a big cock."
Her voice trailed off and I hung up the phone. She was definitely getting fucked by somebody else. Somebody that wasn't me. I had no right to be angry but, I was.
Later on, Lexi would explain to me that she was creating space. I had become too clingy. The one thing men accused women of doing, I was doing to her. I should have left it alone. I had become one of those people who worried about what they didn't have instead of someone who appreciated what they already had.
