Coming Out: Part Three by Lily Jane ©2015 Lily Jane
I really didn't intend to keep doing this--telling the story of my Big Life-Changing Adventure. I planned to give it a break, maybe for a month or two. But Jan (what is she doing there?) is still not back from Europe and I'm still staring out the window at the impossibly beautiful bodies arrayed around the pool. (I comfort myself by assuming they are all on the payroll of fat, stubby-faced producers like Harvey Weinstein).
But the babes by the pool are not the point. Or maybe they are: because, with Jan gone and with nothing to look at those perfect tits and asses in their micro bikinis, I have been spending more than my customary amount of time sprawled naked across the bed with my hands all over myself.
Not that I dislike masturbation or have anything against it. In fact, I love it! But I got really used to sex with Jan, and she's now been gone almost two fiucking weeks! (What would you do if you were stuck for two weeks in a high-class hotel room with a big, inviting bed, and nothing at all to do?)
An embarrassing confession: my all-time favorite masturbation fantasies is I'm on a bed in an expensive hotel and forbidden things to myself while, in a room overlooking mine, a beautiful older woman is studiously watching me. (I know, I know: I should have known right then that I was gay, or at least bi.)
But, apart from that, what is my thing for older women? Not horny girls my age, no matter how cute they are. But older, world-wise women like Jan. Maybe all my life I have been looking for an authority figure, a disciplinarian, a teacher....
Well, let's get back to Jan and me in San Francisco. You may recall that the "reason" for our trip to the Coast was to meet with this prospective new client for the agency--a hot photographer that everyone on the Coast was talking about.
It was on our third day in SF that Jan let me out of bed and arranged for us to meet her. And that meeting was a real shocker! Her name was Nikki (she had no last name, as far as I could tell) and we went to her studio on Folsom Street, right in the center of kinkyville, USA. On one corner there was a big leather fetish store and across the street was a coffee shop where the barista (who was wearing a red spandex bustier and mean looking stiletto boots) served us Macchiatos (whatever they are) in doggy bowls!
But Nikki was the real show-stopper! We went up the stairs to her studio and found her in the middle of a shoot. Let me describe Nikki, if I can. She is something like six-two and she looks a lot like Grace Jones--glistening, really-black skin and a crew cut. But--and this is the real shocker--when we walk in she is totally naked and prancing around this big empty room with her camera, while this model (who was probably four years younger than me), wearing a little white shift that scarcely covered her ass, did every possible thing that Nikki could think of with, including a bunch of things that, despite my fixation on older women, actually got me wet.
"She always works naked," Jan told me, matter-of-factly. "It's her thing. It inspires the models."
It turns out that Nikki specialized in street-waif-types who look like they grew up a tumbledown shack on the prairies, perpetually bored and perpetually hungry for sex.
But the surreal thing, at least to me, was that, unlike her, the models in her photos were clothed (if you could call it that: their girlish bodies were covered with little shabby chic items you could see right through and that looked like they came from Goodwill).
We were leaving Nikki's studio when Jan told me that Nikki and her "boyfriend" were going with us to Las Vegas for the weekend, "just to get away."
Well, this was all news to me! First I was making a quick roundtrip to San Francisco with my boss (a "business trip") and now I was running off for a weekend in Las Vegas with a naked Nubian princess and her (no-doubt) kinky "boyfriend."
Jan and I checked out of the Fairmont (her with her Luis Vuittons and me with my beatup old suitcase) and flew to Las Vegas, where we met up with Jan and her "boyfriend" in a sexy bar at the Wynn. The boyfriend was a British "film producer" with prematurely grey hair that he was really long and made him look like a mad man. I have to say, the boyfriend and Nikki made quite a sight!--him with his wild hair and his pasty white skin and her with her shiny ebony bod and her severe crewcut!
There was no doubt in my mind that Jan was planning a foursome (could this be the way she "checked out" new clients?). And all through dinner that night, which was in a cabana by the pool (where it was like 99 degrees at midnight!), I kept wondering how the fourway might work. Let me tell, you I had no intention of having sex of any sort with the pasty Brit. And I was equally dubious about Nikki: she looked like the kind of creature who would force some kind of rough sex on me--like trying to shove her fist up my ass.
So, by the time they served dessert I was giving serious thought to checking out of the Wynn and going back home--home to Hell's Kitchen and everything that was normal and safe (Eric belching as he guzzled his beer, me trying to keep roaches out of the fridge).
Then Jan got a phone call. Or, rather, I got a phone call. But Jan and I had got our phones switched up and she had mine in her pocket.
It was Eric. So what did Jan do? She whispered, in this soft, sexy voice, "Hold on, honey. She's right here." Then she handed the phone to me with a "It's for you, babe...." Maybe it was something about the way she said that, or maybe it was the giggling and clinking of glasses at the table and the splashes and sqeuals from the pool. But that's all it took for Eric.
He called me a "fucking whore" and told me we were through. I offered a lame, "I'm sorry...." (I really was, sort of). Then I told him I'd be back to pick up my stuff. But he just snapped back, "You know what you can do? You can pick up your shit at Patti's. I'll dump all your fucking panties and sexy skirts on her!"
Then he hung up. Just like that!
My days as a straight girl were over. And it was a great relief! Jan had freed me not only from a bad relationship but from an identity that didn't really fit. Now I was free.
But I still had to deal with the fourway. And the truth is, I just couldn't. So I pretended that the call from Eric had really upset me and I just needed to go back to the room and go straight to bed. And they bought it completely. So I left the three of them at the table with their martinis and went straight up to the room and crawled into bed, read a couple of erotic stories on this site, and then went off to sleep--feeling really good about myself.
Sure, I was Jan's sex slave. But I wasn't going to do everything she wanted me to do. I was a one-on-one girl. An old fashioned girl. A girl from a good family in Brisbane (I was once Miss Sunshine Coast, and they gave me a pink surfboard and put my picture in the paper). I made up my mind right there and then that, as soon as I got the opportunity, I was going back to New York.
Well, of course--given that it is now three months later and I'm sitting on the edge of my bed in the Four Seasons in LA, waiting for Jan to get back from Berlin or wherever--things didn't work out like I planned. I'm holed up here and I'm getting totally fucking addicted to masturbation. (If any of you have any good masturbation fantasies--I've pretty much wrung all the juice that I can from my favorite script, the one about the woman who's watching me--please post them on this site. I'm desperate).
OK, it looks like this story will have to go on. And you probably wonder how I got from Las Vegas to LA and why I am still here in this hotel, with my finger on my clit. (Actually, girls, in case you didn't know, you can't type that way. It takes two hands...).
Oh well. I'm pleased to say that my erotic eBook "The Moonlight Diaries" is picking up steam on Amazon (a nice double entrendre). Check it out if you need some inspiration on those nights when you're alone and feeling itchy. And if you have an itch to write to me, I'm here at lilyjane21@telenova.us.