Kevin: 2

Saturday morning and it is one of his lighter mood-modes.

He is in his easy chair in khakis and a polo, and I am straddling him, my skirt flowing over his hips and my thighs like a small tent. His hands frame my waist, and he has not yet taken off my white top.

Out of the blue he asks, “So how is your Master McKenna?” He says it off-handedly, but his voice is too heavy to convince me it’s a fleeting thought.

I tilt my head at him. “What? Are you jealous?”

He grins back at me. “No, just curious.”

“Hmm… I don’t ask about your girlfriends.”

“Like who?”

“You once mentioned someone named Miranda. Is she still your current one? You go through them, I think.”

He cups his mug of coffee with both hands and sips. “You know you’re the only real one for me.”

I laugh, a derisive laugh. “You don’t think I’m buying that, do you?”

He chuckles. “No, I don’t.”

“If so, we really have to start over,” I say, “because you clearly don’t understand the program.” I playfully extend my hand. “Let me introduce myself. I’m Shae. I’m your whore. You may have seen me around.”

He takes my hand and we shake on it. “Pleased to meet you,” he says, playing along. “Yes, I recall you’re the one sometimes walking around here naked.”

“That might have been me.”

“You walk around here naked a lot?”

“It happens. There’s a man who lives here who keeps undressing me.”

“Really.”

“It’s so inappropriate.”

“But you keep letting him.”

“He’s very persuasive,” I say.

Kevin takes another swig from his mug, his eyes never leaving mine. “You know, I think we got off topic. Where were we?”

He starts to set his coffee down, but I intercept it and take my own sip from his mug.

“Right,” I say, “we were talking about Miranda —”

“Ha, ha. Not so fast. I recall it was McKenna I was asking about… just curiously, of course.” Kevin’s hands slide from my waist around to my back, then to the top arcs of my ass cheeks through my skirt.

“Of course…” I say, liking that we are together in some kind of playtime. “But you know, sir,” I say with wry seriousness, “there are confidentiality agreements involved here, and maybe some redacted files — some of it is top secret, you know — so I’m not sure what I can tell you…”

Kevin smiles. “Clever.”

“But I’ll see what I can do… What do you want to know?”

“Just curious, of course — if you have you told him about me.”

“No, I haven’t,” I answer. “But Amanda has. He knows… something. Not sure what all she told him.” I pause. “Probably that I am your whore. She likes humiliating me with that.”

Keven smiles and his eyes are happy.

“So,” I continue, “have you told Miranda about me?”

He doesn’t expect that. “I didn’t realize we were trading questions.”

“Yep. That’s the game. Your turn to answer.”

“I don’t remember joining the game.”

“Men never do,” I say with a giggle. I love this, toying with a man in my little way — while he possesses me in his massive way. “Again, have you told Miranda about me?”

“Not exactly.”

“Ah, so there is a Miranda. Confirmation! Ding ding ding!”

Kevin smiles and shakes his head in feigned exasperation.

I ask: “What do you mean by ‘not exactly’?”

“Hey — not your turn,” he says, “it’s my question.”

I lean back slightly in his lap, grabbing his forearms to steady myself. “Touche. OK, big guy, your turn.”

“How much has McKenna, ah, done with you?”

“Done with me? That’s rather genteel for you. Why don’t you just say it: you want to know if he’s fucking me.”

“Yep, that’s what I was getting at.”

“My god, Kevin, you really are just flat-out jealous.”

“Just answer the question.”

“No, he’s not,” I say. Then I add: “Not really.”

Kevin scrunches his eyes at me. “’Not really’ isn’t a real answer. Consider this more of an essay question. Explain.”

“That’s not fair,” I protest.

“You were the one who wanted to play truth or dare.”

I sigh. “It got sexual last time. But no, he hasn’t done me,” I finally say. “Not yet.”

“But he will.” Kevin says it not as a question, but as an inevitability.

“Yes.”

“Has he enjoyed your breasts?’

I pause a moment, thinking about how much to tell him. No, it’s not all top secret, but each of them deserves some confidentiality. “Yes,” I finally admit. “He made me topless for him — for the first time — last Saturday. So he’s seen my breasts,” I say. “But you’d have to ask him if he enjoyed them.”

“I’m sure if he saw them, he’d enjoy them.”

Kevin usually is not so interested in the rest of my life. His interest is in my availability to him in the moment. I am his Now Girl. I never say no, and during my days of visiting, I am present, attentive, and sexually devoted. We both understand I am there for his carnal pleasure. I am warm and gooey flesh for him in the Now moments. And it happens Kevin has a lot of Now moments.

I say this without regrets or other expectations. I don’t fault Kevin for using me as what I am. And I don’t mean he and I don’t like each other. I know he is drawn to my sense of humor and brightness and cleverness with words. I amuse him. He likes that. And he likes fucking me.

But he generally is not so inquisitive. My referring to his jealousy is my tease, but in fact it is true: he is asking about my life with Master McKenna in ways he doesn’t ask about other things about me. I’m sure it’s because he has a desire to possess me — exclusively. And because he truly is jealous.

Kevin breaks my silence: “By the way,” he says, “I think this top you’re wearing needs to come off.”

I smile at him with a slight shake of my head: “You really are jealous — and so competitive. You can’t stand the thought of McKenna seeing me topless, and now you have to have the same.”

“No, It’s not that,” he says. “You always make things more complicated.“ He sighs. “I just want to see your tits right now. That’s all. Has nothing to do with him.”

“Ah. Sure.”

He reaches to the bottom hem of my pullover top, and I don’t stop him. It goes up over my chest, catching the underside of my breasts then sending them bouncing out.

“Ah, yes,” he says. “I remember these.”

“From last night,” I say sarcastically. “So long ago.”

Kevin’s hands go up to my boobs, and he cups them. “Did McKenna do this?”

“You’ve had too many questions. My turn.”

Kevin sighs but nods.

“So, my question is this: it must be hard to tell your girlfriend about your whore. I get that. That’s never easy,” I say with mock pity. “You said you hadn’t told her — though you said not exactly. What, exactly, do you mean by ‘not exactly’?”

Kevin says nothing at first, continuing to roll his hands around my breasts. He has a way of fondling me, squeezing while pressing in slightly., which is pretty damn glorious.

“Seems I may have mentioned family,” he says. “Miranda may somehow have gotten the impression you’re my cousin.”

“Somehow,” I repeat slowly with a smile.

His hands leave my breasts as he reaches again for his coffee mug, He sips, and holds his mug for a moment, looking at me, waiting for more reaction.

Kevin is a man who is decisive in doing whatever he does, and he is rarely apologetic. But here his tone and demeanor carry a tinge of “sorry,” and I suspect he feels he should have been more forthright with her about me.

But in fact I really do understand. It’s hard to explain alternative to vanilla. It’s hard to makes sense of “poly” and “multiple” and “courtesan” for a culture that assumes traditional marriage. Kevin and I are not so complicated really. I am what I am to him, but nothing more. That’s simple and clear to each of us. It’s just hard to explain to the Mirandas of the world.

As if he is reading my mind, he says, “Truth is, it’s hard to explain you.”

“Yeah,” I say with a smile, “I get that a lot.”

Kevin sets his mug down, placing his hands around my hips. But I take his hands and position them again to cup me. “I think this is where you left off,” I say. His hands, still warm from his coffee mug, melt into my breasts.

He stays silent. He has no more words. While he likes my sparkling personality and way with words, they also tire him out. He’s a brilliant man, way smarter than me, but I toss out verbal nuances and associations in flurries, and it takes a lot of energy for him to engage with me at that level. Now he is done playing, done talking, and starting to disengage. He says nothing more, but is now entranced in the kneading of my flesh.

But I have one more question for him: “Is it common,” I ask with a slight grin, “for you to fondle the breasts of your cousins like this?”

He takes a couple beats before my words register, but then he plays one last time. “Only my distant cousins,” he quips.

We both laugh.

For a moment I wonder if there’s any Kevin future that could be shared by Miranda and me both. It seems we all are socially conditioned to be with just one, yet some of us are wired for more than one. For me there is love and there is sex, but there is also something in between.

I raise my hand to Kevin’s cheek. I slide my finger across his scar. He didn’t used to let me touch him there.

I guess it would depend on the Miranda he has — or some Miranda he will have, whoever that will be. How she thinks and feels and experiences relationship. And love. But could there be a future in which there’s a Miranda whom Kevin loves alongside a Shae whom Kevin fucks? Could someone else understand this in-between I’m in with him?

Probably not.

I lean in and kiss him.

Kevin’s arms go around me, and he draws me into him.