With the liquid dripping between my fingers, I slowly placed my warm, wet hands down the shaft of his penis. He smiled. I watched as his eyes closed and his head sank deeper into his pillow. He brought his arms down to his sides. It almost looked like he was melting into the sheets.
He moaned. I took it as a sign that I was doing something right.
I spread the lubricant all over his genitals until he was one beautifully glistening masterpiece of manhood. I was heady with my accomplishment as his fully erect penis indicated my work was well done. It was time to find out exactly what the pink sleeve did.
I reached over and grabbed it putting some of the lubricant still left on my hands into the opening. It felt squishy and warm against my fingers. I couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like for Manny.
I stretched the opening of the toy over the head of his penis and slowly slipped him into the sleeve. His eyes were still closed. As the sleeve descended down, he let out a guttural moan from his throat.
I felt a rush of confidence.
Once the sleeve was completely on his penis, I sat and stared at it, unsure what I should do next.
I was glad Manny’s eyes were closed so he couldn’t see me looking around for inspiration, almost expecting someone to be there to give me some tips or guidance. I struggled to remember what Clarissa had said we were supposed to do with the toy once it was on. In a sudden flash, I had an image of her stroking the pink sleeve on the cyber-skin penis she called Hank. Somewhere in my drunken state I remembered thinking how sensual it looked to see her pulling and twisting the pink sleeve up and down on the fake penis.
I started to yank at the toy but it was so slippery that as soon as I pulled it up, it began to ooze lubricant and threaten to fly skyward. I securely anchored the sleeve down at its base with one hand and then began to squeeze the sides in and out with the other.
Manny’s back started to arch.
I nestled into my position like I was glued to the sheets and then continued to gently tug, twist and pull on the pink sleeve. With each movement his face contorted into a new expression. He started to breathe heavily and erratically.
The toy felt like warm dough in my hands, just like my mother made for samosas. I started to knead the sleeve like it was atta.
With every twist Manny arched higher, moaned a bit louder. Somewhere in the midst of preparing the dough for samosas, I lost sight of the most important aspect of the toy - anchoring it to the base.
I began to tug, twist and pull with more vigour when I suddenly lost control of the pink sleeve. Just as I felt Manny rise to his climax my hands slipped and lost their place. In the split second that Manny bucked upwards and ejaculated, the pink sleeve shot at bullet-like speed into my left eye bounced off my face and ricocheted toward the lamp at the side of our bed. The base cracked and split in two colliding with the sound of Manny’s groaning and the crash of my ass hitting the ground as I slipped from the bed to the floor.
When I opened my right eye, I looked down at my hands which were covered in a combination of volcanic eruption from Manny’s penis and a sea of lubricant. Without thinking, I raised my left hand to my left eye to alleviate the throbbing sensation, which resulted in an even more shocking sting from the combination of lubricant and sperm I had just introduced to the delicate tissues of my eye.
I screamed out loud and darted from the floor to the bathroom. I instinctually cleaned my hands and began to douse my eye with cold water in an attempt to ease the burning sensation.
When all was said and done, I emerged from the bathroom with my left eye red and starting to swell, the black mascara I had forgotten to remove from the previous night dripping down my cheeks making me look like a swamp zombie. Manny came to his senses when I returned to the bedroom. He struggled to sit up, a confused expression on his face. He looked from the side lamp to my pathetic figure by the bed.
He smiled sheepishly. “Good luck explaining to your mother how you got that black eye.”
I instantly burst into tears.
Though the swelling around my eye healed fairly quickly, it took a full week before my ego did.
After a long week at work, Manny and I planned to do little more on Friday night than catch up on some television shows we had missed or possibly rent movies.
Sitting on the sofa, fat and full from a dinner of dosas in an Indian restaurant, I watched Manny flip through a series of sitcoms on television. I felt restless and bored. My mind drifted to the sex party. I found myself mentally going through what was in the bags in the spare room. For some reason, I continually returned to the same image of a large black box marked with the words Sex Games for Couples. It showed a picture of a man’s hands massaging a woman’s bare backside.
“Want to play a game?” I asked. Manny began to randomly flip through the sports channels.
“You want to play Rumi for cash? I’ll let you win if you’re nice to me.” He smiled without taking his eyes off the TV.
“I wasn’t thinking about beating you at Rumi, I had another kind of board game in mind.”
“Monopoly? Sure. We haven’t played that in a while.” He raised the volume on a sports channel he had locked onto.
“No, not Monopoly. I was thinking we could play Sex Games for Couples. I bought it at the party. Jenny’s party,” I added at the last moment.
“Seriously?” Manny focused on my face and muted the station.
“Yeah.” And then more emphatically, “Yes! It looks like fun!”
Manny turned the television off.
“Okay,” he said. “Sure.”
I studied his expression for sincerity. Finding nothing but slight intrigue and what I thought was a small dose of fear, I decided to seize the moment and got up from the chaise. In no time I returned from my secret stash. Manny sat on his chaise, hands neatly folded in his lap. He looked like a nervous young school boy. I handed the game to him and sat down at the end of his chaise.
“I thought you might bring down Monopoly as a joke.” He tore open the cellophane wrapping on the box.
I chewed on my lower lip as Manny rifled through the contents of the game. He unfolded the board onto the coffee table in front of us. It had the same image from the cover in the centre, the woman’s backside slick with massage oil. In the middle of her tailbone was a dial that spun around to different coloured squares. Manny put out a small sand-filled hourglass, a white vibrator shaped like a torpedo and a black silk blindfold.
Of all the things on the table only one scared the hell out of me: five inches of satin in the shape of a figure eight. The vibrator didn’t scare me half as much as the blindfold.
When I was fifteen years old, my friend Julia invited me to her house for a birthday party. I was shocked when I saw a few boys from school were also there. I sat awkwardly in the corner of her basement unsure of how to engage with anyone. When Julia’s mother said she was going to leave to go pick up more chips, someone suggested we play the racier version of pin the tail on the donkey. The idea was to blindfold someone, place them in the centre of everyone else, spin them around and wherever they stopped, they had to kiss the person who was standing in front of them.
Julia went first. Her long red hair spun like a blanket in the wind as she twirled and giggled with delight. She stopped right in front of Dack Grover, a lanky but handsome senior. He reached down to kiss her while the others quietly smirked. When she took off her blindfold she was glowing. Carrie, Julia’s best friend spun next. Her kiss was with Trevor Hamm. They locked lips so tightly I thought they were going to melt into one person.
Then