Part 10 (1/2)
Not to mention the s.e.x slave.
”You've seriously never thought of that before?” Liv asks.
I must have the imagination of a doormat, because the answer is no.
”Not once in your entire s.e.xual history have you ever acted out your fantasies with a girlfriend?” Liv asks.
”I didn't say that.”
”Then what have you done?”
”I can't remember.”
”You lie like a rug.”
I glance at the door, which is closed but not locked. Because I'm not stupid, I go to lock it before returning to my desk.
”Where are you?” I ask Liv.
”Home and on the sofa,” she replies. ”Nicholas is napping, and of course he could wake any second so I'd suggest you don't risk anything by stalling.”
Okay, I can do this. Ignoring the fact that what goes on in my head are really just stripped-down fantasies about f.u.c.king my wife dirty. I don't have the time-or, apparently, the imagination-to visualize even a tenth of the elaborate scenarios Liv dreams up. I'll admit to a few ideas, but I'm still not willing to share them.
”I imagine making love to you on a deserted island,” I remark.
”Go on.”
”With you in a little bikini that barely covers your b.r.e.a.s.t.s and a.s.s.”
”What color is it?”
”Uh, blue. With white polka dots.”
”How did I find a bikini on a deserted island... oh!” Liv's voice warms with enthusiasm. ”Unless we're the sole survivors of a s.h.i.+pwreck?”
”Yeah, that's it.”
”And we have to live off the land, right? And of course you can't keep your hands off me.”
”Of course.”
”Do we just wander around naked? No, wait, you said I'm wearing a bikini. What are you wearing?”
”A... uh, a loincloth?”
”How did you get ahold of a loincloth?”
”It was a dishtowel from the s.h.i.+p.”
Liv laughs. ”No way would a dishtowel cover you up.”
”Maybe I made the loincloth out of palm leaves, then.”
”So we're on a tropical island.”
”Well, it's not an island in Antarctica,” I mutter.
”Okay, okay, sorry. It's your fantasy. I'm just going to get comfortable and listen.”
An expectant silence follows. Any l.u.s.t I might have had disappears as my brain works to think up a creative scenario.
”So it's a hot, tropical island with white-sand beaches and a cool ocean breeze,” I say.
”Mmm.”
”And you're... in this blue bikini with white polka dots...”
”Yeah, you mentioned that.”
”And I'm... okay, let's just say I'm naked.”
”I like it so far,” Liv remarks.
I'm trying hard to picture her spread out on the sofa, maybe even with her skirt hitched up and her hand between her legs, but the pressure of this fantasy is seriously killing my desire. I much prefer just telling her all the hot things I want to do to her. Or will do to her. Soon.
”Are you turned on?” I finally ask.
”You mean right now?”
”No, I mean yesterday,” I say dryly.
”What?”
”Yeah, I mean now.”
”Well, I was getting there a little when you started talking about the loincloth,” Liv admits. ”But we're off to a rather slow start.”
”Considering I was just thinking about medieval guildhalls, I'd say we're not doing too badly here.”
”Are you hard?”
”No.”
Liv lets out a sigh of exasperation. ”Then get back to the fantasy. Are there coconuts?”
”Where?”
”On the tropical island, of course.”
”Probably.”