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My Irina Ch. 01

By: ohio



[Author's Note: This is a story in 3 chapters; it unfolds at a rather leisurely pace, so if you get impatient with it please read something else. Several of the ideas here are adapted from Just Plain Bob's wonderful story "The Cruel Joke," though this story as a whole is quite different from JPB's.]

*

It was at a frat party that it all started; or, rather, that the second, longer chapter started.

It was February 2000, my senior year at Denison University, and I was hurt and angry. Sheila McGraw and I had been dating since sophomore year; we were in love, and the previous November I'd asked her to marry me. She'd squealed with joy and jumped into my arms, right there in the restaurant, as all the couples around us smiled and applauded.

Sounds great, right? She was the girl of my dreams and we'd be spending the rest of our lives together. Except that on the first Saturday in February, I'd borrowed her roommate's key to sneak into her dorm room and leave a present for her. It was a little box, marked "Do Not Open Until Valentine's Day." I wanted her to have the pleasure of anticipation, of having to wait a few days to see her surprise.

Great plan. But the surprise was on me. I opened the door to find Sheila being energetically fucked by Brian Haverson, her lab partner in her Chem class. She had told me she'd be off shopping somewhere, but I guess her plans had changed.

She looked at me, stunned and horrified, over Brian's shoulder as he continued to pump his pimply ass up and down on top of her. After a moment she shrieked and he rolled off her in shock, his hard cock bouncing in the air. Quite a lovely sight, I must say.

"Sorry," I said. "Didn't mean to interrupt your shopping." I waved the little box at her. "This was an early Valentine's Day present for you, but I think I've changed my mind." I turned and left, ignoring Sheila calling after me.

That was about two weeks earlier. I'd been alternating between crying alone in my room and being so angry I could kill someone--with Sheila at the top of the list. She'd called me several dozen times and left tearful, apologetic messages, but I wasn't in the least interested. 

There simply wasn't a thing in the world she could tell me that would make it all right. She wasn't being raped, that was clear when I walked in the room. And no matter what her reasons were, I had no interest in marrying a girl who could cheat on me two months into our engagement.

Now here I was, standing around at a frat party and wondering what the hell I was doing there. I wasn't much of a frat guy, and while I'd been to a few parties freshman year, hoping to pick up a girl who might want to go to bed with me, I hadn't been back since I first met Sheila. I guess I sort of had the same idea that night, without having much hope of success.

I stood around the keg talking idly to a couple of football players I knew--unlike some of their teammates, they were pretty good students and okay guys--and having a beer or three, or maybe four.

I was beginning to think about leaving, not seeing much chance of picking anyone up, when I heard a commotion in the next room. I looked in to see a group of frat guys standing around, laughing and pointing at a girl in a bright green dress. She was absolutely beautiful, at least from the back. The tight dress showed off her legs, her great ass and her curvy figure, and her straight brown hair gleamed as she shook her head. From this angle she was a knockout!

As I moved towards the room I heard one of the guys say, mockingly, "if she'd only put a paper bag over her head we could all do her!" The others laughed uproariously, while the girl turned away from them, putting her hands up to her face. She seemed to be crying.

I couldn't tell everything that was going on, but it was clear enough that these assholes were making fun of her--why, I had no idea. I moved forward to tell them to shut the hell up, being just drunk enough not to realize what a bad idea that might be (there were six of them and one of me).

"What the hell is wrong with you guys?" I shouted, and they looked over at me without interest. Turning, I reached over to gently take the girl's arm.

"Come with me," I said in a quiet voice. "We'll find a bathroom and you can wash your face." Then I got the biggest shock of my life.

She took her hands away from her face and I got my first look at her. She was frightening--monstrously frightening. Her face had jagged scars running across it, the worst of them going from her forehead diagonally down across her right eye and down her cheek. This made the eye look tilted, and smaller than the other. Worst of all, her nose was unusually short and twisted slightly at the bottom, her nostrils horribly visible.

It was obvious, after a moment's thought, that she must have been in a bad accident. But my reaction was instantaneous and unavoidable--I said, "oh my God!" and stepped back from her, shocked and horrified.

Her expression was a mixture of sadness, hurt feelings, and resignation--I realized right away that she must be all-too-familiar with people's responses when they first saw her. But then she leaned forward, looking more closely at me, and I was stunned to hear her say, "Tommy? Tommy Lawrence?"

I gaped at her. Obviously she knew me, but I had no idea who she was--and I sure knew I had never seen THAT face before.

"It's Irina Adams, from Greenfield!" She was looking at me hopefully--and at the same time cringing a little, as though I would hit her, or run away screaming. She was obviously aware of the effect her face had on people.

"Irina?" I looked more closely, wondering if this could possibly true. I'd last seen Irina when we were both 14 years old, and it was virtually impossible to see my childhood friend behind that terrible, destroyed face.

Then she flung herself on me, hugging me tightly, crying, saying, "it IS you!" as she sobbed on my shoulder. I held her while she trembled and cried in my arms, and when she'd calmed down a little we went and found the kitchen, where I got her a couple of wet paper towels to wash off her face. Then I got us some beers and we headed outside and sat together on the porch of the frat house. I could see that she'd purposely led me to a dark corner, where I wouldn't be able to see her very well.

Irina and I had grown up together in Greenfield, Indiana, as neighbors and best friends. We did everything together: ride bikes, splash around in the stream behind her house, camp out in my back yard in the summer, argue about which TV shows were the best--everything.

As we grew older we did school projects together, gossiped about the kids in junior high, and talked about all the things we'd do when we grew up. We knew without even having to talk about it that we'd always be best friends. And then the summer after 8th grade it ended, suddenly, when her dad took a job in Arizona and her family moved away. We exchanged a couple of letters, and then, inevitably, lost track of one another. I occasionally asked my parents if they had heard from Mr. and Mrs. Adams, but they never had any news.

Now, sitting on a loveseat together on that dark porch, we talked and talked, catching one another up on the last eight years of our lives. Mine was a brief story: finished high school in Greenfield, had a girlfriend or two, came to Denison, majored in electrical engineering, fell in love with Sheila, caught her cheating on me. In four months I'd be graduating and moving to Madison, Wisconsin, where I'd landed a job in a software design company.

Irina's story was longer, and more tragic by far. She'd liked Tucson okay, though she had been lonely at first. Then when she was 15 she and her parents had been in a terrible wreck on the highway, heading for a brief visit to Las Vegas. Irina's kid brother Sam and both her parents had been killed; Irina had been badly injured.

She'd lain in a hospital for weeks while the doctors tried to put her back together. Finally, when she was healthy enough to be moved (except for her ruined face), she was taken in by her aunt and uncle near Sacramento. She did a lengthy rehab, in a hospital and then at their home, before she could go back to school.

"They were great, the doctors. Patient and kind with me. And they were able to fix everything except this--" she gestured to her face.

"Did they, uh, think about plastic surgery?" I felt awkward and embarrassed asking, but I couldn't help myself.

She laughed. "This is after plastic surgery, Tommy! This was the best they could do, if you can believe it. Irina the monster, Irina the girl who scares children and grown-ups alike!" She shook her head.

"But at least I'm alive. I have a life--well, some kind of life. I lost a couple of years of school, so I'm only a sophomore. I wanted to study nursing, but--" she laughed again, "let's just say they suggested that I do something else. Don't want to frighten the patients!"

I squeezed her hand and said nothing. I couldn't begin to imagine what Irina had been through, and what her life was like now. I went and got us two more beers, and we talked on into the night.

"What was going on back in there?" I asked, jerking my thumb in the direction of the frat party. "I came into the room because I heard some assholes making fun of a girl."

"Nothing I'm not used to," she said. "A guy in one of my classes asked me to come to the party with him. We've known each other for a couple of semesters, so he's gotten used to my face and doesn't cringe from it any more. I was stupid enough to think that he might actually like me!

"Anyway, when we got here it was clear he brought me along as the joke of the party--somebody to impress his friends with, you know, win the 'Ugly Girl' Competition or something. Maybe his plan was to get me really drunk and try to fuck me later--I don't have such a bad figure, you know, if you get past the face."

Poor Irina! "You do, actually--have a beautiful figure, Irina. And you look fantastic in that dress."

"Thank you, Tom." She stroked my cheek with one hand. "You were always a kind person, even when we were kids."

I got us some more beer. I couldn't understand why I hadn't run into Irina in the past two years on the Denison campus. But as we talked I realized how much she kept to herself and how little she went out in public--who could blame her, judging from my reaction? She told me about doing her grocery shopping late at night, about wearing a baseball cap low and pulling her hair around her face so her scars were less visible.

And I remembered that I'd vaguely heard some campus gossip about a frightfully ugly girl, though I'd never paid much attention to it. How could I have known it was Irina they were talking about?

Finally--it must have been nearly 3 am--Irina said she was tired, and I volunteered to walk her back to her apartment. "I don't live in the dorms--they couldn't find a roommate who'd live with me!" she said. I stood up, suddenly feeling the effects of the beer, and when I helped Irina stand she wobbled a bit as well. Holding on to one another for support, we stumbled down off the porch and walked away.

"Will you come in for a minute, Tom? Let me show you the place?" Irina asked me as we arrived at her apartment. I was tired and quite drunk but I agreed, and she showed me the tidy little place, with its eat-in kitchen, a little living room Irina had turned into a study, and a single bedroom in the back.

She went into the bedroom to change and in no time I fell fast asleep on her couch. I woke a few minutes later, disoriented, in total darkness. Irina was holding my hand and pulling me up, quietly saying, "Tom, come with me."

She led me by the hand and suddenly we were at her bed, where she gently pushed me down, settling me comfortably on my back, and took off my shoes.

"Irina, what--" I began, confused. She'd turned off every light in the apartment and I could barely see where she was.

"Shh," she said, and moved away from me. I could hear the swishing sound of her robe, and a moment later she was snuggling up against me; I realized she was naked.

"Irina?"

She put her finger to my lips. "Please, Tom, make love to me. I've never--done it, and I know you'll be gentle."

"But Irina, I--are you sure this is what you want?"

She took my hand and led it to one of her breasts. I couldn't help clasping it, caressing it, feeling its delicious firmness.

"Tom, I don't exactly get a lot of offers! Please don't say no. I've turned off all the lights so you won't have to--you know, look at me. And you said yourself that my body's not too bad."

I was uneasy, and drunk, and a little confused; but I couldn't see a good reason to refuse her. Irina had been my best friend; and she was hurting; and she did indeed have a fabulous body, part of which was currently filling one of my hands.

I turned towards her and we began to caress one another, slowly and lovingly. The total blackness made it especially pleasurable somehow, as I could concentrate on the sensations of touch and smell and sound, the quiet purrs and moans she made.

We started to kiss--it was a little creepy at first, remembering that horrible face, but her lips felt great--and we really got into it, swapping tongues just the way I had with Sheila and my other previous girlfriends. Irina helped me off with the rest of my clothes.

Once we were naked we lay side by side, my hard cock pressed up against her, while we touched and stroked each other. She adored me licking and sucking her breasts, and she arched her back to get them deeper into my mouth. As I suckled on them I stroked her pussy lips, feeling her heat and wetness; then she suddenly rolled onto her back and said, "now, Tom--come inside me!"

I said, "condom?" 

"Uh-uh," she said, shaking her head and pulling me on top of her. Within a moment I'd aimed my cock into her and slid inside, encountering no resistance, only the delicious sensation of her tight pussy clasping around me.

"Ohhh," she sighed, sending shivers down my spine. When I was all the way inside her I waited, enjoying how it felt.

"Okay?" I asked, and she nodded against me shoulder, pulling on my hips to get me going.

Irina may have been inexperienced but I wasn't, and I took my time, really wanting to make it good for her. I gave her long, smooth, slow strokes for a while, enjoying the way she moved with me, her hips rising against me, her legs around my thighs, then coming up to circle my waist.

As her breathing quickened I got more excited; I sped up and fucked her harder, faster, and she started to groan rhythmically and then I lost it, and plunged into her at full speed, and she dug her nails into my back as I shot my cum up inside her, feeling her shuddering beneath me. A hot fuck, a great orgasm; and then I relaxed, exhausted, feeling her tired body beneath me. 

I gently rolled off her, holding her tight against me. She reached down to pull the covers up over us, and within minutes we were both asleep. I think I remember her quietly saying, "thank you, Tom," into my ear.

****************

When I woke up the sun was streaming in through the window, lighting up part of the bed. The clock said 11:38 and I was alone.

I pulled on my pants and tottered into the kitchen, looking for Irina and thinking about aspirin. Lots of aspirin, and black coffee. There was a note.

"Dear Tom--

I've gone out to the library. I didn't want us to have an embarrassing scene today--you apologizing for taking advantage of me, me trying to reassure you it was just what I wanted.

It was, you know. And it was lovely, and you were nice to me, and I appreciate it so much!

But I wanted to be sure you know that there are no strings, no expectations. Just a friend doing something nice for another friend.

If you feel like getting together let me know--but if not, that's really okay too. I'll understand.

Best, Irina"

I headed back to my dorm room for the aspirin, grabbing some coffee in the cafeteria on the way. It seemed too weird to stay by myself in Irina's place, and I frankly had no idea how I felt about what we'd done.

Mostly I felt sad--sad for Irina, locked in a world of people who were afraid of her and shunned her. A perfectly normal, bright and kind person, stuck with a face that guaranteed her a life of loneliness.

I called her a couple of days later and we talked, a little awkwardly, for about half an hour. I wanted to make sure she was okay about what we'd done, and she assured me she was. If she had made the slightest suggestion about having sex again I would have been glad to--I had really enjoyed our drunken romp--but she never mentioned it.

We promised one another we'd talk again, maybe go out for a movie or something, and then we got off the phone.

And the weeks passed and I never got around to calling her again. It wasn't guilt, exactly--maybe confusion.

Because she was someone I knew so well--and yet didn't know at all. And I wasn't sure I knew how to be her friend, or even if she wanted me to be her friend. And in the end, I guess I was a bit cowardly. I didn't want to think about how it would be, walking around with her in public, having to endure the stares and the comments right along with her.

Besides, it was my last semester and I had a million things to do before graduation, right? Or so I told myself.

****************

On the 11th of May, about ten days before graduation, I got home to find a message from Irina, asking me to come over that evening if I could. I instantly felt guilty about not having ever taken her to the movies, so I headed over there right after dinner.

She greeted me seriously and I did everything I could not to flinch at her appearance. What must it be like to look at that face in the mirror every morning, I wondered? And know that it's you, and that you'll always look like that?

"Hi, Tom, thanks for coming. Would you like some peach pie? It just came out of the oven--baking is sort of a hobby of mine."

I was going to say no, but it actually smelled fantastic, so I said yes and she brought us two pieces, along with glasses of milk. The pie was incredible, and I told her so.

She thanked me, smiling a little; but then turned serious again and said, "Tom, I'm sorry but I've got to tell you something. I owe you a big apology, actually. I'm pregnant."

I looked at her, goggle-eyed, probably reacting the way untold millions of unlucky guys have reacted over the centuries. "You're--I mean, and--and it's mine?"

She nodded, looking apologetic. "You're the only one I've ever had sex with. The first and only. I'm so sorry."

"But--but we, I thought ... I asked you about a condom, and you said ..."

"I know. We were drunk, and I didn't have any--and to be honest, Tom, I didn't give a damn. I wanted to lose my virginity and I wasn't willing to wait. I was pretty sure it was a safe time of the month, but obviously I was wrong.

"It wasn't fair to you, I know that."

We sat for a few minutes. She looked a little fearful, but I wasn't angry with her. I don't know why not, but I felt--I don't know, quiet inside, and sympathetic. I reached out for her hand.

"What do you want to do? If you're thinking about an abortion, of course I will pay for it."

She shook her head. "I just can't. It's not--I'm not pro-life, Tom, or anything like that. I think women who need to should be able to end their pregnancies. I just know that I can't. I can feel this ... this life, growing inside me, and I just can't end it."

"What about adoption?"

She tried to smile, but I saw tears in her eyes. "Of course I've been thinking about that. But I just ... I can't give my baby away. It'll probably be the only one I ever have, and I--

"I just can't stand the thought of giving it up and then never having a child of my own." She cried a little, looking down at the table.


My Irina Ch. 01



"Okay then." We sat some more, and thought. I kept hearing my father's voice in my head. He'd been dead for nearly three years, and I missed him every day. "The way you can tell a real man is the way he acts when the going gets tough."

"Irina," I said, "we need to get married."

"What?" she replied, shocked. "I could never do that to you, Tom. Saddle you with ... well, with me. And a baby. You're just starting your life."

"You are too, Irina. And raising a baby alone isn't anything you should be doing right now--you're only halfway through school, with not much money."

We talked--argued, sometimes--for hours. By midnight we were both exhausted, and I said I'd come back the next day for lunch and we'd talk some more.

Irina couldn't believe I was serious, couldn't believe I'd do something so hopelessly old-fashioned as marry her just because I'd gotten her pregnant. But I thought about my dad and the values I was raised with, and I knew it was right.

It took three days, but I talked her into it. We set a date for a quickie wedding the day after graduation, so my mother would still be in town and could attend. I called her and explained the whole story.

She was horrified, of course, worrying about my future and the financial burden. But she remembered Irina, what a nice person she was, and what a solid family she'd come from. She was very moved to hear about their terrible tragedy.

Thank God I had a good job lined up--I'd be able to support my sudden new family. Irina and I had agreed she'd transfer to the University of Wisconsin; she'd move with me at the beginning of June to the apartment I'd rented up in Madison.

I spoke quietly to my mom--and to my friend Adam, who would stand up for me as my best man in front of the Justice of the Peace--about Irina's face. Nothing could fully prepare them, but at least they were able to conceal their reaction somewhat. My mother, bless her heart, still managed to kiss and hug Irina, and tell her how happy she was that we would be together. I was really proud of her.

Irina's aunt and uncle couldn't afford to fly in for the wedding, but they wrote us a beautiful note and sent a check that would really help us with our moving costs.

We decided not to have a honeymoon, choosing instead to save every penny for our future life in Wisconsin, so we celebrated our marriage with a quiet restaurant dinner with Adam and my mom. Then Irina and I headed back to the apartment, shared some champagne--just half a glass for the expectant mom--and went to bed.

Not to sleep, though. Even a wedding as shotgun as this one deserved a sexy first night. Irina insisted again on complete darkness; and even though I'd grown pretty accustomed to looking at her face, I realized she felt more comfortable that way.

It was awkward at first, a lot more so than our first time. Of course, then we'd both been really drunk, while now we were no more than tipsy. And back in February it had just been a fuck--a first fuck, for her--while now it was the beginning of our marriage. Despite my conviction I had done the right thing--the only fair and decent thing for our child--I certainly had doubts about what the hell I'd gotten myself into.

But it quickly became evident that night that Irina really liked sex--liked it every bit as much as I did. She had this incredible body, and there wasn't a part of it that she didn't like having touched. Knowing that I would have years and years to play with those breasts, to stroke and lick her thighs and her pussy, to caress her beautiful tight ass, was a huge turn-on.

And when, after some increasingly exciting foreplay, she sat up, bent over and took my cock in her mouth for the first time, I nearly cried out with pleasure and excitement. She sucked me eagerly, and it was marvelous. When I could stand it no longer I pulled away from her mouth, kissed her, and maneuvered her so I could ride her from behind.

That first fuck of our married life was hot! It didn't last very long, because I was just too aroused, but it was intense and physical and very very satisfying. Knowing that Irina liked it too made it even better; she groaned and wiggled beneath me, and I could feel her pussy clutch around my cock as she orgasmed.

We lay together, breathing hard, and I said, "thanks, Mrs. Lawrence--that was fantastic."

She giggled. "You're welcome, Mr. Lawrence." And then after a minute she started to weep, and I held her gently against me.

"What is it, Irina?"

She looked up at me, barely visible in the darkness, tears on the cheeks of that dreadful, hellish face. "This isn't what you wanted, Tom--a life with me. With this ... this fright-mask of a face.

"And you don't love me. You deserve to be with a woman you love, a woman you've chosen to spend your life with. I'm just--"

I stopped her, and said, "sometimes life just surprises you, that's all. You and I grew up together. You were my best friend, Irina--do you know I've never had another friend as close as you were?

"This was meant to be, us getting back together again. Maybe it's not quite the typical romantic storybook version, but here we are. You are a lovely, terrific, very courageous lady. And I'm going to try to be the kind of husband you deserve."

I bent down to kiss her, smiling as she cried even harder for a few more minutes. And after that, we made love again--God it was sweet, making love with her! And then we slept.

****************

Irina was right, of course--at least at first. We didn't marry because she was the girl of my dreams, because I adored her and couldn't be without her. We married because she was pregnant with my child. And then--well, let's be honest--there was the matter of her horrendous appearance.

But a couple of interesting things happened, not quite at the same rate. First, you'd be surprised how quickly I got used to how Irina looked. This wasn't through any special effort on my part--I just got accustomed to it, and her poor scarred face with one weird eye and only part of a nose ceased to repulse me. 

I'd had a high-school friend who had lost his voice-box after some kind of surgery for throat cancer, and the same thing had happened then: at first the whispery way he spoke was really creepy; then it was unusual but not so bad; and finally people stopped noticing it at all, it was just the way Julian spoke, and no one even thought twice about it.

So while I knew that Irina's face frightened other people, it became a non-issue for me. I could look at her while we talked, even gaze at her, without being bothered.

The other thing that happened, a bit more slowly, is that I fell in love with her. Irina had been a central part of my childhood--my best friend, the person I did everything with and told every secret to. We had built up a lot of trust over those years, even if it had come to a sudden end when she moved away at age 14.

Now, watching her make her way through a world that feared and shunned her, seeing her courage and determination on a daily basis, living with her constant kindness and generosity to me, her sweetness and optimistic nature--I really did begin to love her. I began to know that she was the woman for me and I wanted to spend my life with her.

I was not aware of these feelings, naturally, because I assumed that's what I'd be doing anyway. We were having a baby and we'd stay together to raise it; maybe have more, I guess, though we never talked about it.

So all through that summer--packing up and moving to Madison, setting up our new household, me starting my job, Irina beginning classes at Wisconsin--we lived as man and wife, and imperceptibly grew closer, our relationship and our trust in one another deepening.

Our sex life changed too, though not at a steady rate. Irina was always willing to accommodate me when I wanted her--which was pretty much every night at first. But it sometimes seemed as though she was doing it because she owed me, or just because that's what a good wife did for her husband.

I don't mean she was a boring lay--not at all. She always seemed to enjoy it, and some of the time she got energetic and eager, breathing hard, moaning, pulling at me as she approached orgasm. Naturally those times were the most fun.

But after about a month or two, Irina began to take the lead in bed some of the time. She'd come home with a Cosmo and ask me, giggling, whether we could try some of the crazy stuff she read about: a new position guaranteed to produce cosmic orgasms, or taking turns with lengthy massages.

I loved this, most of all because having a partner who desires you is the greatest turn-on there is. And I'm sure a part of our happy sex life was the trust we had--perhaps even greater than that of most newlywed couples--the trust that came from having spent years together as best friends.

One Saturday morning I brought two cups of coffee back to bed and we played for a while, kissing and stroking each other, getting ourselves worked-up. Then I rolled her up on her hands and knees, stood behind her at the edge of the bed, and entered her doggy-style.

We both liked this; actually I think one reason Irina liked it is that she was still self-conscious about her face, even though it didn't bother me any longer, and felt more relaxed when I couldn't see her. Also, of course, by August she was six months pregnant, and this was a comfortable position for her, with her swelling belly resting on a pillow or two.

Usually when we fucked doggy-style she would hold pretty still, letting me thrust into her, holding her by the hips. This time, though, I went slowly and I kept stopping, making her do more of the work by sliding herself backwards onto my cock. I started to tease her, backing away from the bed a little at a time so she needed to reach her ass back for me. It turned her on a lot, I could tell, so I kept doing it.

Her breathing quickened, and she said, "Tommy! Stop teasing me!" But I kept at it, sliding into her but then retreating, so that she pushed her beautiful ass back at me, further and further. Her body started to quiver and she started moaning rhythmically, reaching back for me, and then I lost it and pushed forward into her hard, and she cried out as she came, and I thrust a dozen more times and came myself, jerking frantically, crying out as I did.

We lay side by side, breathing hard, smiling at one another. She kissed me, her expression soft and loving, and said, "you tease! What a bad boy you are!" And then she slid her tongue right down my chest, through my pubic hair and over my cock, and she began sucking and licking all of our juices off it, the first time she'd ever done that.

She kept after me while I lay back in utter bliss, sometimes groaning gently to encourage her. I assumed when she got me hard she'd want to fuck again, so I moved to withdraw from her mouth; but she smiled up at me and said, "no, baby, I want to do this," and she went back to her delicious blowjob.

After about fifteen utterly pleasurable minutes she brought me off in her mouth, swallowed my cum (another first), and then sighed happily and snuggled in by my side, as we both dozed off for a little while.

I felt completely relaxed and blissfully happy; and as I lay there I realized that part of my happiness, beyond the pleasure of our lovemaking, was that she'd called me "baby" for the first time. We were always kind to one another, but the intimacy of endearments and pet names hadn't started to occur yet, and it seemed like a kind of milestone. A nice one.

****************

My job in Madison started only two weeks after our move, so I was a lot busier that summer than Irina. Her main jobs at first were to take care of her health and set up our apartment. She was delighted to do the at-home parts of that, but the shopping--all the choosing of furniture and rugs and drapes, all the wandering in and out of stores--made her very uneasy.

And I understood why. The couple of times I'd gone into a store with her back at Denison, I'd seen the shocked stares and the sudden silences from the people around us, customers and salespeople alike. And my heart ached for Irina, who had to bear that kind of response every day of her life.

So I made it a point to accompany her as much as possible when we needed to shop in Madison. We always went together to the furniture stores, and the runs to the supermarket were done either by me or by the two of us together. It seemed to give her strength to push the cart down the aisles with me right next to her--it made it easier to bear the stares and the whispered comments.

I wondered if she was feeling, "so what if my face is a wreck? As you can see, I've got myself a man." And then, if she went on to remember that she had a man only because I had gotten her pregnant.

The other thing I tried to do was "run interference" for her, in a way, by preparing people before they met her. The day before Irina's appointment with her new OB-Gyn in Madison, for instance, I stopped by the office and talked briefly to the nurses. I had brought a picture of Irina, and I explained to them that my wife, their new patient, had been disfigured in an accident. Showing them the picture--which shocked and frightened them, as her face always did--I said I just wanted them to be prepared a little, so that they could receive her with kindness.

Nancy, the main nurse, understood exactly what I had in mind--she even borrowed the photo for a minute to take to it show the OB, so that he'd be ready for Irina the following day as well.

And when Irina and I arrived for her appointment, my visit had clearly made a difference; the staff was kind and cordial to her, and much better able to look at her without visible discomfort.

I had the same success in early July when I made a "pre-visit" to a telephone call center where Irina had applied for a job. We'd agreed that with the baby expected in October there was no point in her starting school that fall, so she'd look for a job to bring in some money until the baby was born. And a call center was perfect: she could do her job without ever being visible to customers.

I spoke to the supervisor who'd be interviewing Irina, showed her the photo and explained the situation; and the next evening Irina came back to the apartment happy and excited: she'd gotten the job!

Even better, her job wasn't much out of the way for me to take her each day on the way to my office, so we could manage with our single car, an aging Toyota, and she didn't have to face riding the public bus to work.

My own work was going well, and I had every reason to believe my supervisors liked me and thought highly of me. So like every other person who is about to encounter a sudden tragedy, I went through life happy and oblivious of what was to come.

I specifically remember an evening when I smiled to myself, feeling as though everything was right in my world. It was the Thursday after Labor Day--I'd gone out after dinner to pick up a half-gallon of mint chocolate chip ice cream for Irina, who was having one of those cravings.

When I came back into the apartment, Irina was lying on the floor having some kind of seizure, twitching convulsively, her eyes rolled back in her head. I could see a puddle beneath her where she had urinated.

In a panic, I called 911 for an ambulance, then cradled her in my arms, trying to keep her head from banging on the floor as she writhed. In ten minutes we were in an ambulance on the way to the hospital; Irina was no longer convulsing, she was comatose; I was terrified.

There's no sense dragging out the story: we lost the baby, and I almost lost Irina. It was a particularly bad case of eclampsia, which has to do with high blood pressure in pregnancy. Usually there are warning signs, but this time there weren't any.

Irina's seizure was so severe they were afraid she'd die right in the emergency room. The usual procedure is to stabilize the mother, then deliver the baby right away by Caesarian; but in this case it took so long to stabilize Irina that the baby never had a chance. It was a little boy, dead by the time they got him out of her body.

****************

The doctors and nurses and the grief counselor at the hospital were wonderful. They encouraged us to name our poor little boy--we called him Walter Ivan Lawrence, after my father and her mother's father--and to have a funeral service for him. We were able to donate some of his organs to sick newborns who needed them, which was a tiny source of consolation. And the people at Irina's job and mine were supportive, gentle, and patient.

None of that prevented it from being horrible. I was stunned and depressed; Irina was far worse. Way back when she'd first told me about the pregnancy she said she knew this would be her only child. What she meant, then, is that no one would ever marry her or father another child with her.

But it turned out, tragically, that she was right for an entirely different reason. The desperate, rushed attempt to save our baby had left her unable to bear any more children.

For weeks the two of us staggered through life. Irina's aunt flew in and stayed in a local hotel for a couple of weeks to care for Irina, feeding her, giving her a shoulder to cry on. After ten days I went back to work but my heart wasn't in it--I felt like a zombie.

Everyone said that we needed time, that only time would allow us to recover, to begin to move past the grief. And of course, everyone was right--but it felt like it was taking forever. Irina needed about four weeks at home, after five days in the hospital, before she was strong enough to go back to work again. That was a kind of turning point; at least after that each of us had a routine, some path to trudge along each day that kept us from thinking too much.

Amazingly enough, we took care of each other. I was quietly warned by the grief counselor that this sort of loss sometimes drove a couple apart; she told me some of the warning signs, like if one of us got withdrawn and moody and didn't come out of it.

But Irina and I got through it. We kept communicating, and somehow we never let our own grief keep us from being sensitive to the other person's sadness. She was so generous to me, always looking out for my feelings, and I tried to do the same.

Everything made us cry, for a while. The first time we went to the movies after Walter's death, something in the plot of the movie got us both started, and we sobbed quietly together there in the theater, holding one another's hand. Getting a wedding announcement in the mail from a cousin brought us both to tears--probably because we each silently thought about his prospects for a house full of children.

The first time we made love again wasn't until nearly two months later--neither of us had had the slightest interest in sex for a while. And we didn't even finish! Part way through the foreplay, holding one another naked in bed, Irina just looked at me and started to sob, and before long I was crying right along with her, smiling and laughing together as we cried, realizing how ridiculous the whole situation was.

But two nights later we did better--we managed very routine but pleasurable sex--and after that things started to return to normal, inside and outside the bedroom.

In November Irina asked if we could plan a getaway for a few days, so we decided to spend Thanksgiving with my mother in Greenfield, then have a long weekend at a little (inexpensive!) resort on Lake Michigan before we headed back to work.

It was relaxing and romantic. We walked along the shore, letting the cold wind tear through us, then headed back inside to make love, which we must have done half a dozen times over the three days.

But I knew something was up--Irina was affectionate but distracted. There was something on her mind, and on the Sunday morning she finally got around to talking to me about it.




My Irina Ch. 01



We'd made love early in the morning, gone downstairs for brunch, and then headed back to our room. To my surprise Irina wanted to make love again: she settled me on the bed and gave me a slow, loving blowjob that lasted a long time, then pulled me on top of her. We fucked in the missionary position--which surprised me, because Irina rarely felt comfortable that way. 

But as we did it, lovingly, her eyes watched me intently, as if she were trying to memorize my face. And she smiled as I came, watching my face scrunch up with pleasure.

Afterwards, as we lay sleepily together and I dimly remembered the unpleasant fact that we needed to pack up and drive back to Madison, she sat up and said, quietly, "Tom, we need to talk."

I could tell this was important, so I gestured to her to continue. Her face was tight, contained--not frightened or angry, but very serious.

"When you asked me to marry you," she said, "it was to give our baby a family--a father and a mother. We both knew it wasn't for love, or that we'd chosen one another to be life partners.

"And you've been a wonderful husband to me--so kind, so supportive and understanding, so great during the pregnancy! But we lost our baby, and we're never going to have another, so--"

I may have been a bit slow but I suddenly realized where she was going; and I was thunderstruck. Was I the world's biggest moron?

"Wait, Irina, I--" But she shushed me with a sad smile and went on.

"The reason you married me is gone, Tom. I want you to be free to have the life you want, with the woman you love, when you meet her. It's time for us to talk about a divorce."

There was a long silence. I knew what I wanted--it was crystal-clear to me, in fact, but I wasn't sure how to go about saying it.

Carefully I asked, "is a divorce what YOU want, Irina, or is it something you feel you need to offer me?"

She looked away. "It's hard for me to know what I really want, Tom. I've had years to get used to the idea that no man would ever fall in love with me or want to marry me. I guess I still have the fantasy, but I know it's not going to happen.

"You've been my husband and my friend--and I'm so very glad we found one another again! But I know your idea of happiness isn't spending the rest of your life with someone who looks like this." She gestured at her face.

"Irina," I said slowly, making sure she was looking right at me. "I would never have dreamed we'd be in this position. Yes, I married you because you were carrying my child, not because I loved you.

"But the fact that you'd been my best friend made it an easy decision. I already knew what a great person you are, how good a friend you would always be, and what a great mother you would make.

"And you've left a couple of things out of the equation. First: scars or no scars, you are about the sexiest bombshell of a woman I have ever seen, let alone had the joy of making love with." She gave me a crooked half-smile, almost against her will, and I went on.

"And second--" I waited a moment, "I happen to love you."

She smiled again, this time almost dismissively, sympathetically. "You are a nice man, Tommy. And I know you care for me--we've been through a lot together.

"I know you love the sex too--so do I!

"But you don't love me, not the way a man wants to love the woman he spends his life with."

I sat back against the pillows, feeling stymied. There we were at the crux of the problem. I knew I loved Irina. I DID want to spend the rest of my life with her. But she didn't believe me, and I wondered if I could ever convince her.

We talked for another hour, without either of us making any progress with the other. She had in mind to stay in Madison--she liked her job okay, and she'd gotten used to the city. There was no family back in Greenfield any longer, and she didn't want to be in Sacramento where her aunt and uncle were.

But she wanted us to get a divorce, and she hoped I would move on with my life and find someone else. I couldn't make her see that I'd fallen in love with her, face or no face, and that I wanted to wake up next to her every morning.

We drove back to Madison, went back to work, got on with our lives. Nearly every day Irina brought up the divorce--calmly, never with any anger or resentment--and every day I tried and failed to persuade her that I wanted to be with her.

She printed up some pages from an Internet site about how easy it was to get an uncontested divorce in Wisconsin when there were no children--just a few months and a few hundred dollars, she said, and I could be free to start my new life.

"Maybe you won't get married right away. Maybe you'll enjoy being a hip single guy with a good job--maybe you'll spend a few years balling every cute young thing you meet!"

I laughed, and said, "but what good will that be to me, if I don't get to keep balling the one girl I really want to ball?"

Smiling, she replied, "you'll still have me around to ball for a few more months. That should be plenty!" And try as I might, nothing I said or did would change her mind.

Several days later I approached it a different way. I interrupted another monologue about no-hassle divorce to say, "But Irina, do you love me?"

She stopped, obviously taken aback. "It doesn't matter," she said.

"Of course it matters! It's about the only thing that DOES matter, since I love you.

"I want to know if you love me--if you would actually be happy to stay with me or whether you want to be single again to find some other man to love."

"Tommy," she said, "I'm hardly going to do that, unless they start having dances for people with bags over their heads!"

"You haven't answered my question. Do you love me?"

A long silence, while she gazed steadily out the window. Finally she said, "yes, Tom, I do. But it doesn't make a damn bit of difference."

****************

Weeks went by, and I didn't know how to break the impasse. How do you convince the woman you love that you love her? I did everything I knew how to do. I was an affectionate, kind, supportive husband, I sent her flowers to surprise her, I made love to her constantly (not exactly a sacrifice for me), and in every way tried to show her how I felt.

And Irina remained an affectionate partner and good friend; and steadfastly refused to believe me.

At the end of January 2001 I made a reservation at the best French restaurant in Madison, making sure to request a private table where we'd be largely invisible to the other patrons. And I wangled a salary advance out of my supervisor and promptly took it to a jewelry store. Swallowing hard, I spent an unconscionable amount on a diamond engagement ring eight times the size of the tiny one I'd bought Irina the summer before.

Then we got dressed up and went out to dinner; and we had some champagne and some good wine and some great food and a wonderful time. And as we sat over coffee, I leaned across the table and took both her hands.

"Listen, Irina," I said. "You did your research and found out how quickly we could get an uncontested divorce.

"Well, I did a little research too--and it turns out that a contested divorce takes a lot longer. I can hold onto you for months--years, even, unless you're willing to spend a ton of money neither of us can afford.

"So," I continued, smiling at her, "won't you just give up the whole idea? Let's save ourselves the time AND the money."

I moved around the table and kneeled down in front of her, enjoying the shocked look on her face. I pulled out the small box and opened it in front of her, so she could see the beautiful ring.

"Irina, would you do me the honor of staying my wife?"

There was a long, long silence. Irina gazed at the ring, then at my smiling, expectant face. I wasn't worried--I knew that no matter what she said, I wasn't going to give up.

Finally, something stirred in her eyes. She started to cry, and she said, "oh, Tommy!" and pulled me into her arms.

And as I held her and she cried on my shoulder she whispered, "yes--yes, I'll stay with you, Tommy!"

And then, when she'd wiped her eyes, we had the fun of taking off her old engagement ring and replacing it with the new one, and admiring it together, and even showing it off to the waiter when he came back with the check.

On the drive home we didn't say a word, but Irina held my hand tightly the entire way. When we got into the apartment she pushed me up against the door, kissed me hard, and said, "go use the bathroom quick, and then wait for me in bed."

That night Irina just about destroyed me. Not that we hadn't had passionate nights before, but she was unstoppable. After her turn in the bathroom she came out naked, for once leaving a bedside lamp on so I could see her body, and she ravished me.

She was aggressive and energetic and she wanted me over and over. We spent nearly two hours at it, fucking three times, and each time she pulled on me and bucked her hips at me and groaned and moaned and pushed her tongue halfway down my throat. It was like she'd just discovered sex for the first time and was scared there'd never be any more ever again after that night.

After the first time she almost ran to the bathroom to clean herself up; and then she came back and sat on my chest, smiling, and slid herself up to put her pussy over my mouth. She whispered, "do me, baby, please!"

I loved eating Irina out but she frequently wasn't that interested; so it was a huge turn-on for her to take the lead, and I went after her pussy and clit until she was humping and grinding herself on me so I could hardly breathe. As soon as she came and relaxed a little, I rolled her over and screwed her hard, while she groaned and squealed and pulled on my ass with both hands.

That was number two. The third time, after she woke up my tired cock with her lips, I was so beat that I just lay back and let her ride me, enjoying the sight of those gorgeous breasts bouncing and swaying in front of my eyes.

The next morning when I woke she was spooned behind me, gently kissing my ear and rubbing my cock, and we spent nearly an hour doing it again before I begged for mercy--and for breakfast!

In a way that Friday night was our real wedding night--the time when we first gave ourselves completely to one another, with love, knowing that we meant it. The true first night of our marriage.

It's a cliché to say that "everything changed" after that, but in a way it did. Or to be more accurate, everything that was good between us just got better. Irina became more and more comfortable with the idea that I actually loved her--I wasn't with her out of pity, or duty, or even inertia. I loved and desired her (which was certainly true) and loved having her around me.

So the friendship between us, which had always been strong, got stronger. And the energy in the romantic side of our relationship just kept increasing. We treated one another like lovers, in and out of bed.

All the romantic things that people do in the early stages of a love-affair--romantic walks, long intense make-out sessions, deep heartfelt talks about hopes and dreams for the future--we started do them now, nearly a year after we got married. The trust we had in each other grew deeper; and I have to say, the sex was fantastic.

Knowing how much I truly desired her opened Irina up to being much more confident in her own attractiveness. I've told you what a beautiful body she had, but she had always been too self-conscious of her face to appreciate her own sexiness. Now--at least alone with me--she would flaunt it and revel in it, tease me with lingerie or low-cut tops, be demanding sexually when she felt like it, whisper dirty things in my ears, and in every way enjoy how great our sexual connection could be.

I felt like the luckiest man on earth--and things just continued to get better. For a while.



My Irina Ch. 02



Irina sat sobbing, her face buried in her hands. Sitting across the room I just stared at her, too stunned to feel the anger and grief I knew would be coming.

I was vaguely aware of tears on my cheeks, as I gazed past her out the window to the beautiful sight of the sun sliding down into the Pacific. It was a spectacular sunset that couldn't have meant any less to me at that moment.

She lifted her head and I saw her face again--that gorgeous, perfect face, the face of the woman I had known since we were children, and had loved so deeply for the past eight years. She was saying, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," in a choked voice, so that I could hardly hear her.

And all of a sudden I couldn't stand to be there--I literally couldn't bear it. I got to my feet and headed for the door, hearing her cry out behind me, "no, Tommy! Please don't go!"

The Porsche was still right in front of the house and I sped down the driveway to the canyon road, then tore down the road at a dangerous speed. I didn't know where I was heading--and then I remembered the cliff. Our favorite spot in Malibu, in all of California.

I was there in less than fifteen minutes. I parked the car and walked up the dirt path through the low brush until I reached the spot. I was on the edge of the American continent, maybe 250 feet up, looking out over a cliff that hung over the Pacific ocean. 

Irina and I had joked, in one of our happy and loving moments, that this would be the perfect spot to commit suicide, with a picturesque jump to our deaths on the rocky shore below. We could laugh about it then, I thought--when we were both so contented that the very idea of suicide was an absurd joke. Now it didn't seem so funny.

I knew I wouldn't jump, though--I couldn't do that to the twins. If for no other reason than Earl and Lily, I knew that sooner or later I would get into the car, drive back up the hill, and face the nightmare that my life had just become.

I must have sat there for two hours or more, looking out at the Pacific as the sunset turned to dusk, then to darkness. How did I get here? How had Irina and I arrived at this point--this moment of such pain and despair?

****************

Nothing ever happens for just one reason--that's something I know. There are always a lot of factors that come together to lead to an important event, whether it's something wonderful or disastrous.

For nearly seven years Irina and I lived happily together in Madison. My work went well, and later on spectacularly well, as I'll tell you about in a minute. But even before then I was quickly making enough money for us to afford a small house south of the Arboretum, in a nice part of the city.

About a year after we lost our baby Irina started school again, majoring in accounting. It was difficult for her socially at first because of her face, just as it had been at Denison. But at least this time she had a husband to come home to. Academically she did brilliantly and finished in two years, graduating magna cum laude in May 2003.

She was looking at job offers from three good firms in Madison when one of life's big surprises fell into our lap. Irina had joined the congregation of the small Russian Orthodox Church in Madison, and had made a number of friends there. Her interest was not so much religious as cultural--before her mother's death Russian art and the Russian language had been part of her life, and she wanted to maintain a connection to it. I joined her occasionally, but for the most part she went to church on her own.

About a week after her graduation, Irina came home from Sunday morning services with a very strange look in her eye. She was somehow giddy and yet serious at the same time. She made us a beautiful lunch, then took my hand and led me into the bedroom for some lazy, mid-afternoon lovemaking.

And when we were done, lying relaxed in one another's arms, she finally let me know what was going on.

"Tommy, is it all right if we talk about something serious?"

"Of course," I said.

It turned out that the seventeen year-old daughter of Irina's friends the Lementovs, from the church, was pregnant with twins. Tatiana was a smart girl who had taken a couple of college courses at the University and been seduced by her (married) history professor. Terrified of what her parents would do, she hadn't told them about the pregnancy until the fourth month--and now it was far too late to consider an abortion.

"They're planning for her to give the children up for adoption, and--well, Tommy, do you think we could possibly consider taking them?"

Irina looked up at me, hopeful and worried. We had talked a little about adoption, in those grief-filled days after Walter's death, and agreed that it was something we might think about "sometime in the future". But now, nearly three years later, I realized we'd never returned to the subject.

How did I feel about it? I felt excited, judging by how fast my heart was beating. I loved Irina and our life together--but the prospect of children and a real family seemed marvelous to me.

"I don't ... really know," I said to Irina, keeping my face serious. "I've heard that an awful lot of mothers pretty much abandon their husbands once there are children in the house. You might move me into the guest room, or even stop cooking for me. I don't think I'm willing to take the risk."

She was on the verge of an angry reply when she saw my face broaden into a wide smile, and she laughed instead. "You stinker! For a moment I thought you were..."

Then she stopped, and looked into my eyes. "You would ... really do this, Tommy?"

"I would love to have children with you, sweetheart. And the idea that they'd be part Russian makes it even more wonderful. They'll probably be smart, too, even if their father was a son-of-a-bitch.

"I think we should do it. How much--"

But the rest of my question was smothered as Irina leapt upon me, filling my mouth with kisses and squeals of joy. We made love again, passionately, without another word being said.

Earl Lementov Lawrence and Lily Tatiana Lawrence were born on August 22, and became part of our family that very day. Giving up the children was hard for Tatiana, but she had gotten to know Irina and me and knew that we would be loving parents to them. She also knew that she could visit them whenever she wanted. And for the first year or so, Tatiana did come to see them at least once a month. After that, she went off to Duke University and we didn't hear from her much.

Irina had decided to put off taking an accounting job for at least a year--she was dying to be a full-time mother and nothing else. Everyone who's ever had a baby or two can imagine the chaos and confusion of our household for the first few months, as well as the joy in our hearts. Our babies were beautiful and smart, and we were fascinated by them. As they grew we were also amazed by the bond they seemed to have between them, as many pairs of twins do. We were perpetually sleep-deprived, and supremely happy.

****************

In my software design job in Madison, I was paired with a guy named Rick Torgerson, a recent graduate of Wisconsin who was a year older. It quickly turned out that we made a fantastic team. He was brilliantly imaginative but not always practical, and my down-to-earth approach helped provide pragmatic solutions to the creative ideas he dreamed up. Within a few months we were the stars of our department.

Even more than that, we liked each other and liked working together. I had introduced Rick and his girlfriend Lisa to Irina--after quietly explaining to them about her face--and the four of us got together frequently on the weekends for dinner or to go to the movies.

On one Saturday afternoon in June 2004,when the twins were about ten months old, the women were playing with the babies and Rick and I were idly talking shop--about some search algorithms our firm was working on, and how they might compare to what Google was up to.

Suddenly we looked at each other, as though lightning had struck us both at the same time. "It's a flaw, isn't it?" Rick said, and I nodded.

"Yup, I was thinking the same thing. The way they combine their searches isn't as efficient as it should be--as the rest of the structure is. I'll bet we could do better."

We sat at my dining room table and spent more than an hour sketching and scribbling and talking excitedly, dinner completely forgotten, while the long-suffering Lisa and Irina laughed at us and ate with the twins in the kitchen.

Rick and I got together the next day for several more hours, and by the end of the afternoon we thought we had something that might really be promising. We had a long discussion about whether to take this to our supervisor at work or keep it private and work on it only on our own, nights and weekends.

I argued that at least the birth of the idea came from work we'd done on company time, and that we needed to work out a deal with them. After some discussion, he agreed.

At the end of that week we sat down with Roger Handler, our project supervisor, to hash out an agreement. We gave him the bare bones of our idea and suggested that we'd share 20% of whatever profits resulted from our work, but that we would file for the patents and control the rest. 

It took five more meetings, including two with lawyers for us and the company, but we got the deal worked-out. We agreed to let the company have 25% and to have first call on buying or licensing the software (rather than selling it to a larger company, which was the other likely possibility). They also agreed that Rick and I could use 50% of our work time on the project, but the rest of our hours had to go to our other responsibilities.

After 8 months we had our first patent in process; and after 21 months our improved search algorithm, by then protected by four different patents, was auctioned off. Not surprisingly, Google bought it--they didn't want any upstart company with a faster search engine competing with them.

I will never forget the day when I first knew that the deal, or something like it, was going to happen. It was 3-4 months before the actual sale, but Rick and I could see that what we'd created was going to make us a pile of money. I came home with flowers, a bottle of champagne and some strawberries, and said, "let's get the twins to bed--we need to do some celebrating tonight."

We ate a quick dinner, bathed and played with the twins, and had them in bed by 8:30. Then I pulled Irina into the shower and we washed and played with each other, just to get our motors running.

Then I brought the champagne and strawberries to bed. Proposing the first toast I said, "here's to my fantastic wife Irina, who is about to be a frightfully rich woman."

We'd been talking regularly about my work, of course, and Irina knew it was going well--but this was the first time I was absolutely sure that we were going to make a lot of money.

"How rich?" she teased. "Rich enough that I should stay with you? Rich enough that you're worth sharing this sexy body with?"

"I hope so," I said. "How does, say, $15 million sound--would you sleep with me for that?"

She just looked at me, her mouth wide open. "Oh my God, Tom--REALLY?" I smiled and nodded.

After a moment she poured the entire glass of champagne down her throat. Then, her eyes sparkling, she said, "okay. For $15 million I'll fuck you."

I laughed and grabbed her, and we fucked like two teenagers. As we did it we took turns whispering, "we're rich!" or "$15 million!" to one another, and giggling.

When we were done, lying together in bed, Irina stroking and kissing my chest, she said, "this is really going to happen? $15 million?"

"It could be a lot more, but yeah. Probably within two more months or so."

She nodded, looking serious. "Well, I haven't seen any money yet, but--

"I think I need to give my $15 million husband a million-dollar blowjob. After that, he can fuck me until he's had his $14 million worth."

We laughed again, and hugged, and made love for another two hours.

When the deal was finally concluded in March 2006 it was incredibly complicated, but it included an upfront payment of $120 million, plus yearly royalties based on the number of searches performed each year on Google's site. After the shares for the company and the various lawyers were deducted, Rick and I each received the staggering sum of $34 million. In addition, our royalties were likely to be $10-12 million a year each for the life of our algorithm--which would be until someone came up with a better one. That could be in one year or in five. 

Either way, we were unbelievably rich. In March 2006, at the age of 28, Irina and I had more money than we could have ever dreamed of. Needless to say, my life and hers were about to change, in ways we couldn't begin to imagine.

A week after the deal was signed Rick and I hired a stretch limo and took our wives--Rick and Lisa were now married and the parents of a one year-old boy named Jake--to the fanciest restaurant in Madison. We drank too much, had a great meal, and repeatedly toasted one another and our good fortune. As Irina and I tipsily found our way to bed that night, we agreed that having good friends to share our joy with was one of the nicest parts of being happy.

****************

There were a million decisions to make, but really just two big ones: Where did we want to live and raise our children? And, did I want to keep working? It certainly wasn't a financial necessity any more.

We'd been talking about these things for weeks, ever since it became clear that we were about to be very rich, and it had taken a while to work out what we wanted. You'd be surprised how hard it is to decide what you want, when you have the money for absolutely anything! Buy a yacht and cruise around the world? Build houses in France, Italy, South Africa? Buy a penthouse apartment in New York? No problem!

In the end, though, we decided to move to California. Neither of us liked the Wisconsin weather, and we were both excited by the idea of living near the ocean. California was also an ideal place for me in terms of a future in the software business. That related to our second decision, or rather mine: I was going to take a year or so off, but after that I would probably go back to work. I liked what I did, and I couldn't see spending the rest of my life at home, however much I loved my wife and children.

I wanted Irina to go with me to California to look at houses. But at first she resisted, uncomfortable with all the new people she'd have to meet (and who would see her face). Now that we had money, though, it was easy to work something out.

By that time Elaine, our nanny, had been working for us for nearly a year. She was crazy about the children, so we were comfortable leaving them for a few days. I chartered a private plane to take Irina and me to California, and then around the state whenever we wanted. And, most important of all, I found an excellent real estate broker in LA named Angela Simon. She agreed to devote a week just to showing us around.

Once Irina was convinced she wouldn't have to see crowds of new people she came along on the trip, and we had a fantastic time. Angela showed us palatial houses from San Diego nearly to the Oregon border. Everything we looked at had a view of the Pacific, and the ones we liked best had both luxury and privacy.

In the end we settled on a large, airy four-bedroom house, very modern, on a private road in one of the canyons in Malibu, just north of Los Angeles. We were not far from where Johnny Carson had lived--not a bad neighborhood! There was a two-bedroom guesthouse in the back yard for a nanny to live in, and an excellent private school for the twins no more than ten minutes away.

Since money was no object we bought the house right away, even though we weren't ready to move yet. And I sat down with Irina to discuss another project--something I'd been thinking about for a long time.

****************

As I've said, I'd grown perfectly at ease with Irina's poor monstrous face, with its scars, its slanted eye and its horribly misshapen nose. But I also knew how much pain her appearance caused her, and how much it affected the way she led her life.

At the end of 2005, when it was becoming apparent that in a few months we'd be worth a great deal of money, I began quietly doing research on plastic surgeons. I got the name of the best guy in Madison and went to see him, bringing a few photographs of Irina. He thought he could help her, but said that there were a few high-tech people in Europe who were doing the most advanced work in the world--that's where he'd go, he said, if money were no object.

I pursued the leads he gave me, as well as a few others, and in the end had the names of three top people: two in London and one in Geneva. I wrote to them all, sending photographs and requesting their advice, and the answer I liked best by far came from Dr. Ingrid Mühlhausen in Geneva. 

I did some more digging on Dr. Mühlhausen--everyone seemed to agree that she was about the world's best. So one day in April 2006, when Irina and I had had a few weeks to start getting used to the idea of how rich we were, I took her for a walk out to one of our favorite places, a quiet spot with a view of Lake Wingra.

"Baby, I want to ask you a question--I hope it won't sound silly."

She looked at me with interest, and I said, "if there were a way to--to do some more work on your face, to make it more--"

"Normal-looking?" she snapped at me. "To make me less of a freak, you mean?"

She got up and walked quickly away; surprised, I let her go. I knew this was a sensitive subject, but I still thought we'd be able to talk about it.

After about twenty minutes I watched her approach the bench I was sitting on, looking serious but calm.

"I'm sorry, Tom," she said, "for over-reacting like that."

"It's all right, honey. I know that you live with the pain of it every day. The last thing I'd ever want to do is hurt you more."

She smiled, and kissed my cheek. "I know that, and I'm sorry. Why were you asking me about it?"

Carefully, I said, "well, I really wanted to know whether you'd want to do something about it--if you could. I mean, if there turned out to be improvements in plastic surgery or something...."

I stopped, and watched her. "Have you been looking into this, Tom?"

I nodded; and she sat down abruptly on my lap, threw her arms around my neck, and started to cry noisily on my shoulder. I held her for several minutes until she grew calmer, and she sat up and looked at me. I took a tissue and gently wiped the tears from her cheeks.

"You are more than I deserve, you know that?"

I smiled and shook my head. "Sorry, Irina, you've got that one totally wrong. On my very best days I figure I'm just barely good enough to be what you deserve."

We kissed then, for a long time, and held one another.

Then she said, "okay--spill. What have you been up to?"

I told her about my research, my conversation with the doctor in Madison, and everything I'd learned about Ingrid Mühlhausen. "I hope you don't think I was presumptuous, Irina.

"And I hope you know that I love you--I adore you--just the way you are. If the idea of doing something about this angers you or upsets you, I'll--"

"No, honey," she said very quietly. "I think I might want to do it. Just give me a little time, okay?

"I've gotten so used to thinking that I will always have this face--I'm just going to need some time to get used the possibility that...that I might not have to look this way."

We stood up and strolled for a while, holding hands, not saying anything more.

****************

Ten days later we flew to Geneva for a consultation with Ingrid Mühlhausen, whom we found we liked a lot. She did a thorough examination of Irina and took numerous photographs and measurements, a process that lasted several hours. The next day we met in her office to talk.




My Irina Ch. 02



"I can do a lot for you," she said. "There is one scar across your cheek that I think will always be slightly visible, at least up close--say, from less than a foot away.

"But I can restore your eye to its normal appearance and rebuild your nose. And the other scars will not be a problem.

"That's the good news. The bad news is, this will be a long and complex process. Three operations at least, and possibly four, with some skin grafting from your thigh. There will be a lot of pain, although we can control that with medication. And it would take at least seven months. It would be fastest if you could move to Geneva--but if that's not possible you could travel back and forth. But under those conditions the work might take up to a year.

"Oh, and finally, I will want you to provide all the pictures you can find of Irina before her accident--these will guide me in the reconstruction. Do you have any questions?"

We stayed in Geneva two more days, meeting with Dr. Mühlhausen and talking to one another. In the end we decided to move to Geneva. The kids were still in nursery school, and there was a fantastic international school there. Our nanny Elaine was unmarried and enthusiastic about the chance to live in Europe for several months--she had already expressed interest in moving to California when we went.

So in August 2006 the Lawrence family, plus Elaine, moved into a large apartment in the nice part of Geneva, overlooking the lake, and Irina started her treatment.

The operations went well but the suffering poor Irina went through was painful for both of us. She was remarkably brave, doing no more than quietly asking for more pain medication from time to time. There were times when the children had to be kept away, for fear of infection, and she missed them terribly. And her appearance during the initial stages of the work was sometimes just as alarming as it had been before she began.

But by early March of 2007, when Dr. Mühlhausen pronounced herself satisfied and told us we could return to the US, she had done something miraculous.

Irina didn't just look "normal," whatever that means--she was absolutely stunning. She already had a great figure, and now her face was that of a European supermodel. She was Irina, recognizably the pretty girl I'd known back in Indiana, but she was now a total, jaw-dropping knockout.

I was delighted, and so very happy for my wife. But Irina herself was stunned. She couldn't avoid gazing at herself in the mirror for long periods of time, turning this way and that, unable to believe the transformation.

And when we strolled together through Geneva she was utterly bewildered by the attention she received. So used to ducking her head and avoiding the shocked stares, she was nonplussed by the open admiration, the smiles, the bows and whistles from gentlemen, and the envious glances from the well-dressed women on the avenues of the city.

We would come back to the apartment and she'd be almost shell-shocked by the reactions she had received.

"I can't believe it, Tom!" she said over and over. "After so many years..."

I insisted that we stay another two weeks in Geneva and go out every day, either for a walk or to a restaurant or the theater, so that Irina could start to get used to the effect her beauty had on people. And we talked several times about her being ready for the responses from our friends and acquaintances back in Wisconsin.

The first people we got together with back home were Rick and Lisa Torgerson. When they came into our house and saw Irina their jaws dropped open. There was a stunned silence, and then Lisa ran to embrace Irina. "Oh my God, you're so beautiful!" she cried out, and Rick was quick to echo her admiration.

My eyes filled with tears to see their unselfish pleasure at Irina's transformation, and her joy at their reaction. It was a very special moment for all of us.

****************

In June 2007 we said our goodbyes to all our Madison friends and made the move to our new place in Malibu. Rick and Lisa, who were now also rich enough to live anywhere they wanted, had decided to stay in Madison. They'd both grown up in Wisconsin and wanted to be near their families. Rick was just getting a new software start-up off the ground and was having fun working with the young hotshots he'd hired. We promised to visit one another often.

I arranged for our realtor, Angela Simon, to meet us at the house when we arrived in Malibu. She was blown away by Irina's beauty, and kept saying that she couldn't wait to start introducing us around. That was exactly what I'd had in mind. Angela was well connected with the ritzy crowd in LA, and I thought she'd be an excellent person for us to have as a contact.

I was not exactly unknown, of course. Ever since the sale of our work to Google Rick and I had become minor celebrities in the tech world. Our faces had appeared in an article in Newsweek and on the covers of several computer-industry magazines, and there was even a short profile of us in the Wall Street Journal. It was called, "The Young Lions--A Threat to Google?" and it made us sound much more like geniuses than we actually were.

But Irina, not surprisingly, had absolutely refused to appear in any photographs--all that attention had come back before her surgeries. Now she was eager to go out and meet people, especially the some of the high-society types Angela knew, but she was also terrified.

"How will I talk to those people?" she asked me again and again. "I don't know anything about movies, or fashion--or computer software," she added, laughing a little.

I pulled her close and said, "you are the sanest, kindest, most well-balanced person I know. Plus you are staggeringly beautiful. You will have these people at your feet inside two minutes--especially the men!"

She giggled, looking delighted, and I added, "just promise me you won't let any of these movie-star types drag you off behind a bush, okay?"

To my surprise Irina turned utterly serious, all in an instant. She looked at me steadily and said, "no, Tom, never. There is just no way I could..."

She paused, still looking into my face. Then she flung her arms around me and pulled me tightly against her. Her mouth near my ear, she murmured, "you and the kids are my life--my everything. I would NEVER risk that!"

Pulling back a little to look into my eyes she said, "you believe me, don't you?"

"Of course, baby," I said, smiling at her. And then, "but you know, we have an hour or so until Elaine comes back with the twins--do you think that's enough time for you to reassure me a little?"

Smiling, never taking her eyes off me, she bent down and pulled off her sneakers, then her jeans and tee-shirt (we'd been sorting through boxes in the living room). When she was naked she pulled me over to the couch, saying, "right here--right here and right now, Tom."

We necked furiously while she helped me get my clothes off, and then she pushed me back on the couch and rode me vigorously, our mouths locked together, tongues pushing back and forth. Her eagerness excited me and I didn't last very long before I exploded inside her.

We lay together, panting a little, and I said, "sorry that was so quick."

She kissed me hard, looking at me with shining eyes. "Don't apologize, Tom. It's so exciting to me that you still want me so much, after all these years."

She hugged me tight, and rested her head on my chest. "I love you so much," she whispered. We dozed off, only to awake with a start when we heard the sound of Elaine's car returning. Jumping up, we grinned at each other as we hurried back into our clothes.

****************

It was our third week in California when Angela had a poolside party at her place to introduce us around. I can't begin to tell you what an impression Irina made!

The crowd was a mixture: movie people, some financial and business types whom Angela had bought or sold houses for, plus a couple of people in the news business. We saw more than a dozen faces we recognized from movies or TV--Benjamin Bratt, Anne Hathaway, Larry David, the guy who plays the District Attorney on "Medium", and a few others. 

Irina was beside herself, equal parts thrilled and intimidated. She stuck very close to me, keeping her hand locked tight on my arm as we circulated, drinks in hand. "I can't believe we're here with these people!" she whispered to me several times.

Angela came up to us, and Irina nearly fell over when she saw the couple right behind her. "Irina, Tom, welcome! I'm so glad you could make it.

"Let me introduce two dear friends of mine. Catherine, Michael, this is Tom and Irina Lawrence. Tom is that software genius you've no doubt read about in the papers. They've just moved into a marvelous house up in the canyon."

Irina's hand clutched my arm convulsively. We were looking into the smiling faces of Michael Douglas and Catherine Zeta-Jones, shaking their hands, hearing them tell us how nice it was to meet us.

We stood chatting amiably for a few minutes. Catherine was far more beautiful in person than in the movies, almost frighteningly so. But I managed to make conversation about where we were living, how we liked LA so far, and so on. And I couldn't help watching Michael's face--he was simply bowled-over by Irina's beauty.

He and Irina seemed to be trading the same sort of chit-chat, but the look on his face was very intent. Even living where he lived, and working in the movie business, and married to the woman he was married to, you could tell he was strongly attracted to Irina.

After a few minutes they wandered off to get a drink, and Irina said, "oh my God, Tom, I can barely stand up--my knees are shaking! Did that really happen?"

As we strolled around I said, "did you notice the way he looked at you?"

"Oh don't be silly, honey--he was just being polite."

"I'm telling you, Irina, he thought you were gorgeous. He was looking at you like there was no other woman here."

She blushed a little and told me I was silly. But as we circulated, the same thing kept happening. We met the news anchor for the KNBC station in LA; a producer for SearchLight Pictures; a stunning woman whom I recognized from a movie she'd been in with Robert Redford some years ago; and two or three of the heavy-hitters in the California banking industry, one of whom I'd just read about in Fortune. 

All of them, or at least all the men, looked at Irina with extraordinary interest. She was asked at least four times if she was a model, or perhaps an actress, and her blushing denials were met with the suggestion that "by all means you should try it--you certainly have the looks for it," which made her blush even more.

One potbellied guy in his fifties, who insisted he was the leading modeling talent manager on the West Coast, absolutely insisted on pressing his business card into Irina's hand.

"I'm telling you, young lady," he said in a gruff voice, "I could make you a lotta, lotta money--you could be a household name inside three months." Then he looked intently into her eyes, as though to persuade her by the force of his gaze, before nodding to me and walking away.

On the way home from the party, after we'd thanked Angela and said goodbye to some of our new acquaintances, Irina was in a daze. She was not used to the kind of attention she was getting, above all from people she'd never even dreamed she would meet.

As I stopped the car in our driveway she put a hand on my arm and said seriously, "Tom, please tell me the truth. Am I really that beautiful?"

I smiled at her. "Baby, you are THAT beautiful. There wasn't a woman at the party lovelier than you--as I'm sure you could tell from the attention you were getting."

I walked towards our door, only to turn around and see Irina just standing by the car, looking pensively out towards the ocean. "I--I just don't know if I'm really ready for this, you know?

"I mean, I spent fifteen years of my life thinking of myself as a monster--hiding my face from everyone but you. And now...

"Now I'm supposed to see myself as a beauty?" She started to cry a little. "How am I supposed to deal with that?"

We went inside and talked together for a long time--about her beauty, about LA, about what we wanted our lives to be now that we had money and freedom. We agreed that we'd take things slow--no need to dive into the social scene, no need to pretend to be anything other than the people we were.

"Honey, we're a couple of Midwestern kids who got real lucky. We're not in the movies, we didn't grow up with the glamorous life. Let's just be ourselves. And after a while we'll find friends out here who like us the way we are."

Irina nodded, her head on my shoulder. We sat a little while longer, enjoying the quiet, until she said, "let's go up and check on the twins."

****************

Our first few months in LA were full of adjustments. We had to learn a new city, figuring out where to shop and where to eat and so on. Lily and Earl began a new nursery school, to which Elaine or Irina or I would take them, depending on the day.

Our big house needed a full-time maid, so we had to get used to having another person around all day. Margarita Jimenez was a warm, perpetually smiling middle-aged woman; we liked her instantly, but we still weren't used to the lack of privacy. At first it greatly inhibited the spontaneity of our love life, but after a month or so we got more comfortable with just disappearing behind the locked door of our bedroom for a "nap" from time to time.

Irina was content to stay at home for the time being--with our newfound wealth she had absolutely no need to go to work, and she decided to wait at least until the twins started elementary school before deciding what she wanted to do.

I poked around in the software business for several months, doing short consulting gigs for a number of companies in California that wanted my input on projects they were developing. Irina and the kids got used to me being out of town once or twice a month, usually flying up to Silicon Valley and returning in a day or two.

At the suggestion of Angela and of Ted Friedman, our LA financial manager, I'd bought a time-share on a small private jet. I knew I didn't want the hassle of owning a plane, but the time-share meant that there would be one available at LAX pretty much whenever I needed one, complete with pilot and crew. We never needed to deal with the security and long lines of flying on a commercial flight.

Irina and I also hired Jayson Davidson to be our full-time driver, in a royal blue Escalade that Irina picked out. Jayson was a mellow guy in his late 40s, who came highly recommended by a number of celebrities he'd worked for over a nearly 20-year period. He was on call when we needed him, whether it was to take me to the airport, to take Irina shopping downtown, or to drive the whole family to Palm Springs for the weekend.

Jayson knew every street and highway in LA, it appeared, and he seemed to know all the celebrities too. He'd entertain us with funny stories about Ed McMahon or George Clooney or Steven Spielberg--and Irina never failed to be impressed that he'd actually met these people.

In January 2008, when we'd been in LA for about six months, Rick Torgerson flew in and stayed with us for a couple of days. It turned out, as he and I sat on the deck talking after dinner, that he had a proposition to make.

"Please let me finish before you say 'Hell no,' okay Tom? TSS is not going as well as I hoped it would, and I think I know the reason why."

Torgerson Software Systems was the name of Rick's start-up, a company he had put together in Madison after we both left our jobs.

"The guys I've hired are smart and eager, but there's nobody I can really work with. They're all terrified of me, for one thing; and none of them have the practical, pragmatic way of seeing through a problem that I always depended on you for. What's more, it's not been as easy raising the capital we need as I thought it would be.

"So, aside from the pleasure of seeing you and Irina and the twins, this is what I'm here for: I want you to join the business and be my co-principal."

He saw the look on my face and said, "whoa, hold on! I didn't say anything about moving back to Wisconsin. What I have in mind is a mostly long-distance collaboration. You know as well as I do how much we could get done via email and teleconferencing. I figure one or two trips a month would be enough, a couple of days each time; and some of those could be me coming out here."

I was reluctant and wary at first, but the more we talked about it the more sense it seemed to make. I'd never had a more satisfying work relationship than with Rick; our strengths and weaknesses fit perfectly together, and we'd successfully completed a number of projects, not just the big one we sold to Google.

Rick stayed another day and a half, talking with me and with Irina, whom I insisted in bringing into the conversation. By the time he left we'd agreed in principle on a new company: TLI (Torgerson Lawrence, Incorporated), which would take over Rick's existing firm. It would be based in Madison but we'd be equal partners, him as the "inside" managing director and me the "outside" director. I'd do some raising of venture capital in California--we were both confident that our combined names would make that easy to do.

And we agreed that I wouldn't have to come to Madison more than three days a month, with allowance made for emergencies or the run-up to an important deadline. All other work would be long-distance collaboration or Rick coming out to California.

We put it all in the hands of the lawyers, and within six weeks I was employed again, to my considerable pleasure. I had been getting a little bored in Malibu, even with the consulting, and working regularly with Rick again was stimulating and rewarding. I converted the lower level of our house into an office, so my daily commute was sixteen steps down the stairs. And I could come up every day for lunch with Irina and the kids, or even for a "nap" with my wife whenever we felt like it.

Our social life continued to astonish us. Irina's and my "debut" at Angela's party had led to a number of further invitations over the first couple of months. We must have been to nearly twenty parties, and met dozens of the most fashionable (and rich) people in LA.

Irina had begged for Angela's help in finding suitable dresses and outfits for all these occasions, and she'd quickly grown pretty comfortable shopping at the ritziest

stores in Beverly Hills. It helped that we were very rich; and it helped even more that she was so gorgeous it hardly mattered what she wore--she looked incredible in everything, with that face and that marvelous figure.

We'd made a number of friends and acquaintances. Among our closest friends, none were A-list celebrities, just people we liked and felt comfortable with. One couple were parents of a boy that Earl and Lily had made friends with at nursery school, and another were a family from Indiana who'd recently moved out to LA and bought a house with Angela's help. Being able to talk with them about the Midwest was sometimes a great way of unwinding and getting a little distance from the chic LA lifestyle.

But we'd also developed some friendships with the most glittering of LA's stars, people whose faces appeared on Glamour and GQ and People. They were TV actors or screenwriters or, in a few cases, genuine movie superstars.

Jamie Breland and Barbie Raynes were the hottest movie stars of the past few years. Jamie was talked about as the next Brad Pitt or Tom Cruise--he'd even taken the Cruise role in the last two "Mission Impossible" movies, and was People magazine's reigning "Sexiest Man Alive". Barbie was almost as famous, having opened big in several Meg Ryan-type romantic comedies. The two of them had been on the cover of People at least three times, and it appeared that the media was trying to make them into the next "Brangelina". Barbie joked that soon they'd be called "Jambie."




My Irina Ch. 02



Jamie was tall and rangy, with wavy brown hair and an impish grin that seemed to make most women want to melt--or just lie down on their backs--while Barbie had black hair and dark eyes and almost impossibly high cheekbones, and a fabulous figure.

We met Jamie and Barbie at a party in November, at the Douglas/Zeta-Jones house, and were astonished when Barbie called a couple of weeks later to invite us to a small dinner party they were having. From there our relationship turned into a real friendship: Irina and I got over our initial sense of awe, and our amazement that two international celebrities would be the least bit interested in us, and began to enjoy their company.

It certainly helped that Barbie was from a farm in southern Ohio, where her real name was Jane Ann Stassky, and Jamie had grown up on a ranch in Texas--neither of them was LA-born and raised, and they were both pretty cynical about the overwhelming media coverage they constantly received. We went out to dinner with them, or sailed on their enormous sailboat (which Jamie had named the "Sweet Barbie"), or helicoptered out to Catalina Island for picnics with the twins. Barbie and Jamie didn't have any children, and they seemed to really enjoy being around Lily and Earl (at least for a few hours at a time).

Irina asked me several times why I thought they liked us. "I mean, they could have literally anybody in the world for friends--Julia Roberts, Arnold Schwarzenegger, probably even the president! What do they see in us?"

"I don't know for sure, honey, but I imagine they like the fact that we don't swoon all over them--we probably seem to them like a couple of reasonably level-headed, down to earth people, not all caught up in the Hollywood scene. And I'll bet they don't get a lot of that, surrounded by all the movie types and the media all the time.

"And then there's your looks." Irina regarded me blankly.

"Oh come on, Irina, haven't you noticed how Jamie looks at you?"

"Tom--he's married to Barbie! Why on earth would he bother looking at me that way?"

I laughed. "You're kidding, right? Okay, here are three reasons.

"One, you are breathtakingly gorgeous. Yes, Barbie's a beautiful movie star and all, but she doesn't have anything on you. The sight of you in that bikini you wore the last time we were out on their boat would have given the Pope a hard-on. And Jamie hardly took his eyes off you for four hours.

"Two--Jamie's a man. It doesn't matter that he has a beautiful woman; all men at least fantasize about other women, especially ones who look like you, and who are so much fun to be around.

"And three--you know he's a pussyhound, right?"

She looked at me, surprised. "Really? Who did you hear that from?"

"From Angela, and then from about six other people. They all say that he fucks around behind Barbie's back--always discreetly, never any long-term thing, but that he's dipped his wick quite a few places it doesn't belong."

"That's awful! Does she know about it?"

I shrugged. "I have no idea. Hard to believe she doesn't know anything, but...I don't know. Maybe they have an understanding, or maybe he just manages to keep the wool pulled over her eyes."

I pulled her close to me. "Not our business, in any case. They're our friends, but it's not something we've ever seen directly. And who knows? Maybe it's all just rumors. But I have to say, Irina--the way Jamie gazes at you, and the way he flirts with you--I believe it. I think there's something to it."

She scoffed at me, but I could see she was thinking about what I'd said. Then she kissed me and said, "well, it's a good thing I'm impervious to his charms, I guess.

"I mean, even if he is the Sexiest Man Alive, and even if there isn't a woman in the world who wouldn't drop her panties for him..."

She saw the look on my face, probably a cross between upset and amused, and she laughed with delight.

"You've got nothing to worry about, Tom." She kissed me on the nose. "He's way too sexy for me--I like my men thoroughly ordinary, nothing special, just like you, honey."

I growled at her. "I'll show you thoroughly ordinary!" I grabbed her and put her over my shoulder, Irina shrieking in surprise, and then I carried her straight down the hall into our bedroom and locked the door.

She was beating on my shoulders with her fists, not very hard, crying out "stop it, you brute!" and laughing.

****************

Jamie and Barbie didn't become our closest friends, but they seemed to enjoy our company and we saw a lot of them. We went to their formal New Year's Eve party, one of the hottest tickets in Hollywood. It was for about 150 people at their amazing modern house overlooking the ocean, and just about everybody there was somebody you've heard of or seen in the movies (except us).

When Irina and I arrived, all dolled-up and a little nervous, Barbie met us at the door with a big smile and a kiss for each of us. As she led us through the house she whispered, "will you both plan to stay over tonight, after the party breaks up? Jamie and I would love it if you'd hang around so the four of us can visit a little."

Stunned and flattered, we said we'd be delighted. It was our habit to have Elaine sleep in the spare bedroom next to the twins whenever we were planning to be out late, so there wouldn't be any problem about our not coming home until the next day. I stepped back outside for a moment and told Jayson he had the rest of the night off--to which he responded with a big grin and a tip of the cap.

The party was amazing. For me and Irina it was like a stroll through the pages of People magazine--we just watched, a bit starstruck, and enjoyed the champagne and the incredible food, chatting from time to time with a few people whom we'd gotten to know.

When the party wound down, around 2 am, and the last of the guests had left, Jamie grinned at us and said, "at last!" and led us to the comfortable patio that overlooked the swimming pool, with the dark Pacific in the distance beneath the stars. What a view!

He disappeared for a minute and returned with four champagne flutes filled to the brim, a final drink for the evening.

"To good friends!" he said, and we all drank, with us returning the toast by thanking them for an extraordinary evening.

Barbie rolled her eyes. "It's work," she said; and when Irina looked confused she added, "this is one of the things Jamie and I have to do from time to time--entertain the big people in the industry, put on a show, let everyone bask in everyone else's attention.

"But it's not what we do for fun."

Jamie added, "we'd much rather be off by ourselves, or with a couple of people we really like, like you guys."

We were touched, and said that we felt the same way. We chatted idly about the party and the people, and after a few minutes I began to feel incredibly mellow--and a little strange.

"I may have had a bit too much champagne," I said, and Jamie glanced at Barbie and grinned.

"Or something," he said. We continued to talk, and as I watched, dreamily, Barbie slid over next to Jamie on the couch and began to slide her hand under his open shirt, rubbing his chest. Before long they were trading open-mouthed kisses, right in front of us, and his arm was around her shoulder with one hand caressing her breast.

I looked over at Irina, expecting her to be embarrassed, and saw to my surprise that she was watching them with total absorption, a look of arousal on her face.

Jamie caught my confused look and smiled. "Ecstasy, man. Just a little X to top off the night."

"What does it do?" I asked. I realized that I should have been worried or concerned, but I wasn't. Just mellow, and sensual-feeling--aware of the light breeze on my face and the feeling of the sofa beneath me.

"Irina," Barbie said softly, "why don't you go sit on Tom's lap?"

Irina floated over to me, settled on my lap, looked at me with sleepy eyes and stuck her tongue right down my throat! I was shocked, but I realized right away that she was extremely turned-on.

We necked for a while, watching as Barbie and Jamie continued to fondle one another. Her hand slid over the bulge in his pants, while his hands caressed her breasts and teased her nipples through her flowing blouse.

Normally Irina would have been crimson with embarrassment, and I probably would have gotten up to leave the room. But the Ecstasy affected both of us, and for ten or fifteen minutes she and I continued to kiss as we watched Jamie and Barbie. Before long her blouse was off and her husband's big hands were caressing her gorgeous breasts, while she moaned or kissed him deeply.

When she started to fish his erect cock out of his pants, however, my dreamy arousal began to be overcome by discomfort. His dick stood up proud and tall while Barbie stroked it; then, licking her lips, she took it into her mouth, and I heard Irina gasp in excitement as she stared at them. After watching them for a minute or so I gently stood up, holding Irina, and said, "I think maybe it's time for us to turn in. Shall we head to the guest bedroom?"

Jamie pulled his lips away from Barbie's nipple; he looked disappointed but said only, "sure, man--but you're welcome to stay here a little longer."

I just shook my head and led Irina from the room. She was looking back, rapt, as Barbie lowered her head again to Jamie's straining dick and took it back in her mouth. I think she might have sat there all night and watched them if I hadn't led her away. 

We were barely behind the closed door of the guest bedroom before Irina grabbed me and pulled my hands onto her ass. She was incredibly aroused, but in a kind of slow-motion way, the result of the Ecstasy and all the champagne.

We pulled off our clothes and devoured one another on the bed. It was very intense but very mellow too, unlike any sex we'd ever had before. I was rock hard, but in no hurry to slide my dick into her. Everything felt good: touching her hair, feeling the cool sheets beneath me, licking her nipples while she gasped and moaned.

We probably played together for nearly an hour before we came together to fuck, side-by-side, slowly, deliciously. Neither of us rushed towards an orgasm; I just slid in and out gently, feeling aroused but relaxed, as we kissed and touched and licked one another. We actually fell asleep that way, eventually--I don't remember if either one of us actually came.

When we awoke, around 11 the next morning, the house was quiet. Irina and I got dressed and decided just to leave, without disturbing our hosts. She wrote them a note of thanks as I called Jayson to pick us up.

All that afternoon we were quiet and thoughtful--I figured Irina was reflecting on the previous night's adventure, as was I. We finally talked about it that night after the kids were in bed.

"I guess it was, I don't know, fun--kind of exciting." Irina's voice sounded doubtful.

"You don't seem like you really believe that," I suggested.

"Well, the ... making love with you was delicious," she said, flashing me her beautiful smile. "So sensual, so relaxed. I never knew that that's what Ecstasy did."

But then she said, "but I don't know about what Jamie did."

"You mean the Ecstasy in our drinks?"

"Yes, that--without asking us or telling us. But also what he and Barbie started to do right in front of us."

I had wondered whether they'd been leading up to some sort of group sex or swinging, but I kept silent. It didn't matter, though, because Irina had been wondering the same thing.

"Do you think they were going to ... I don't know, ask us to swap or something?"

"It crossed my mind," I said. "How would you have felt about that?"

"If it hadn't been for the drug, the very idea would have made me jump up and storm right out of there. But I was feeling so mellow...

"I honestly don't know, Tom. If you hadn't led me off to the bedroom..."

We talked about it for a long while. In the end we agreed we weren't mad at Jamie and Barbie--exactly--but we were quite sure that extramarital sex wasn't anything we wanted to be part of.

****************

We had another adventure with Jamie and Barbie a few months later, on a 60-foot yacht in the Aegean. As you can imagine, it's almost impossible for them to get privacy on vacation without incredibly elaborate planning. They wanted to spend two weeks cruising the Aegean, and Jamie's assistant had done the research and located the boat they wanted.

But to conceal their plans they asked us to rent it under our names. They worked out involved plans to get there, and then they'd have the boat for the two weeks and we'd fly in to join them for the second week. (I was busy with Rick's and my start-up at that moment and couldn't afford more than a week away.)

In the end Jamie and Barbie's press people leaked the story that they were hiking in the Himalayas. They actually flew to New Delhi, then got on a chartered plane that was supposed to take them up to Nepal. After it took off, the pilot got revised instructions to fly to Istanbul--where they separated, donned disguises, and traveled separately to a small city on the east coast of Greece, where the boat picked them up.

What a lot of trouble! Irina and I were delighted not to have to go through such nonsense just to go away on a trip. But it worked--no one knew where "Jambie" really were.

When it was time for Irina and me to meet them we left Athens in a hired speedboat whose driver thought he was taking us to Santorini. Instead, we met up at a pre-arranged location with the yacht's dinghy, transferred to that, and were taken to the yacht.

When we came aboard, on a blindingly bright, sunny April afternoon, Jamie and Barbie were nowhere to be seen. The mate led us to our cabin, showed us all the amenities--it was amazingly luxurious--and told us that lunch would be served on deck in twenty minutes.

"Can you believe this, Tom?" Irina swirled around the cabin, marveling at the beautiful wood, the enormous bed, the mirrors, the decoration. It felt like a five-star hotel. The bathroom even had a sunken tub.

We quickly unpacked, pulled on our swimsuits and headed on deck--where the shock of the vacation greeted us. Irina was ahead of me on the stairway, and before I emerged I heard her gasp, "Jamie! My god!"

I came up behind her to see Jamie Breland stark naked, holding out a glass of champagne to Irina.

"Greetings!" he cried, utterly unabashed. "So glad you've made it. Here, have something to drink."

She was staring at his body, and I couldn't help doing the same. For one thing, he had a deep all-over tan; clearly he'd been naked for several days. And his body was impressive: strong, lean and muscular, with a well-defined six-pack, strong arms and legs, and his fat, impressive cock lolling between his thighs.

Irina turned around to me, her face bright red. "Tom, I'm sorry! I swear, I didn't mean to...."

"It's all right, honey," I said to her. And to Jamie, "buddy, I don't think we're quite ready for this."

"Are you sure, Tom? It feels so comfortable, so free out here like this." We turned towards the bow to see Barbie approaching, equally naked, equally tanned--and just as gorgeous. Her perfect breasts swayed as she moved, and the view of her carefully trimmed pubic hair between those shapely thighs was incredibly sexy.

Irina and I both stared at her for a moment; and then the spell broke and my wife buried her face in my shoulder. Again I said, "Barbie, Jamie--we're just not ready for this--sorry. We'll go back downstairs."

They looked at each other, exchanging some sort of meaningful glance, and Barbie quickly replied, "no, don't, Tom! Sorry! We'll get our suits on, wait just a moment." She moved to a nearby chair, picked up Jamie's trunks and tossed them to him, then quickly slipped into her own tiny bikini.

"There!" she said, when they were both covered up. "How's that?" Their suits were both very small, but at least they were decent. Irina and I smiled a bit wanly, and we joined them at the table near the stern, shaded by a canopy, where a luxurious lunch buffet had been set out.

"We are SO sorry," Jamie said with a smile, looking not the least bit sorry. "We almost never have this amount of privacy, and when we do it's such a pleasure not to have to wear clothes. Didn't mean to catch you by surprise!"

We told them it was fine, no big deal, don't say another word about it--though I could tell that Irina was really shaken. Later in the cabin she said, "I was so...I don't know, freaked out, Tom! I mean, there he is, the World's Sexiest Man, and I'm standing six feet from him, and he's stark naked!"

"And he's got one hell of a body too, don't you think?"

Irina blushed, looking sheepishly at me. "Yes, I guess he does. And Barbie--my God! Like Aphrodite in a Renaissance painting or something!"

"Yes, they are quite a pair. Jamie and Barbie, I mean! Not Barbie's..."

Irina whirled, saw the grin on my face, and threw a towel at me. "Oh, you! You are incorrigible, Tom Lawrence!"

We spent the afternoon napping, tired from a day and half of travel, and joined Jamie and Barbie on deck at sunset for dinner. We feasted on fish caught by the crew from the Aegean, on local produce, and had several glasses of champagne. Actually we began with ouzo, but Irina and I had to confess it tasted like antifreeze to us!

The evening was relaxing and delightful. We talked, laughed, drank until we were a bit tipsy, and watched the sky turn to a deep midnight blue and the millions of stars appear. It was magical.

Barbie said, "listen, we're both sorry about before. It wasn't fair to warn you that we wouldn't be wearing anything."

We both insisted it was no big deal; and she continued. "Are you sure you don't want to try it? There's no one for fifty miles in any direction except the crew, and they're used to it. We're all friends, and it just feels so great to have the sun and the breeze on your body...."

I sat quietly and let Irina reply. She looked thoughtful.

"Actually, Barbie, I sort of expected that you and I might go topless--we are in Europe, after all, and I know most women do that at the beach here." From the corner of my eye I noticed Jamie's face widen into a big grin.

"But I'm just ... I don't know. I just don't feel comfortable without something on."

"That's fine, Irina, really." Barbie was smiling reassuringly. "Bikini bottoms it is. And I'll make sure Mr. Stud over there--" she jerked her thumb at Jamie, "keeps something on as well. Though knowing him I imagine it will be a thong!"

"Just one thing, though," Jamie added. "We're still going to swim naked--Barbie and I, I mean. It just feels too damn good to do it without a suit. I hope you'll feel comfortable joining us, but whatever you like.

"But I promise we'll pull our suits back on when we're on board, okay?"

Irina and I looked at one another and reluctantly agreed.

****************

So Irina and I, at our insistence, avoided a week of complete nudity on a yacht with the world's sexiest couple. But not by much--Barbie's bikini bottoms were not much bigger than a pair of lacy panties, and Jamie did indeed spend the week in a thong that did little more than cover his cock and balls, with a thin string in back that left his ass completely exposed.

Irina's bikini bottoms were a bit more discreet but they still left a great deal of her gorgeous body on view for me and Jamie to enjoy. I was the most conservative, since I hadn't brought any tiny bathing suits, and Barbie enjoyed teasing me about my baggy trunks.

For parts of the week our near-nakedness seemed natural and comfortable, not sexually charged at all. The sun and the breeze DID feel great, especially early or late in the day when it wasn't quite so hot. Irina and I felt free, relaxed, and we had a marvelous time eating, talking, sometimes reading, and taking luxurious afternoon siestas that almost always included a lengthy session of lovemaking. Sex in the afternoon, on a quiet, rocking boat, with the light streaming in through a porthole--what in the world can be better than that?




My Irina Ch. 03



Finally I walked back to the car. Night had fallen. I drove slowly back to the house, back to Irina and my two beautiful children, wondering whether we'd ever be a family again. Whether there was any way forward from this point.

When I got home the lights were out in the twins' rooms; only the master bedroom was illuminated. But as I reached the front steps the downstairs lights came on and Irina flung open the door.

"Tom--thank God!" She rushed down the steps and threw herself at me, holding me tight. I gently disengaged myself, peeling her arms from around me, and stepped back.

"Don't do that, Irina," I said very quietly, and at once she began to cry again, softly, her eyes fixed on me.

I walked back into the house, leaving her behind me crying on the steps, her shoulders heaving. I went straight upstairs, grabbed a few things from the bedroom and headed for the downstairs guest room. I locked the door behind me and listlessly got ready for bed.

I had no real hope of being able to sleep, but I knew I didn't want to be around Irina. She knocked gently on the door, asking for me in a tear-filled voice, but I didn't answer; finally she went away, and to my surprise I quickly fell into a dreamless sleep.

****************

As our second year in California began, Irina and I were happier than ever. She seemed to have grown more comfortable with everything: our wealth, our new home, and above all her own extraordinary beauty. I was so proud to watch the way she interacted with rich bankers or movie stars, as well as the less-famous but still wealthy parents of Lily and Earl's friends from nursery school.

Having Elaine, our near-perfect nanny, living in our guest house meant that Irina and I had all the freedom we wanted to take spontaneous trips to San Francisco or New York or even Paris for the weekend. Imagine--being rich enough to take a weekend trip to Paris!

We didn't behave like that often, of course. TLI, the company Rick Torgerson and I were developing, required a great deal of my time. I was in Madison at least three days a month, and at other times making quick flying visits to venture capitalists to raise money or to software firms in Silicon Valley, looking for the best talent.

The work was going well, and I found it so rewarding to be busily employed again--not to mention that Rick was the perfect partner, as he had been when we first worked together.

I flew back from a two-day trip on a Sunday afternoon in late October, and our driver Jayson picked me up at LAX around 5 pm. Usually chatty, he was surprisingly somber and quiet. He asked all the right questions about how my trip had been and so on, but he didn't have any of his usual gossipy stories to tell.

"Anything going on, Jayson? You seem a bit distracted today."

There was a silence. Then, sounding uncomfortable, he said, "I, uh--Tom, I don't really want to say too much. But Irina, uh, well, she's kind of upset. You'll see when I get you home."

I was instantly concerned. "Upset? What about? Is she sick? Are the twins okay?"

"No, no, everybody's fine--it's nothing like that. Look, I really don't want to get in the middle of anything. We'll be at the house in five minutes, okay?"

And I couldn't get another word out of him, try as I might.

When I ran into the house, I found Elaine supervising Lily and Earl, who were happily playing on the swings in the yard. We had a noisy, boisterous reunion, and it was more than fifteen minutes before I could get away to find Irina. Elaine gave me a serious look, but I had no idea what it meant.

I hurried up to the bedroom to find my wife lying on the bed in her bathrobe. She turned to me, her face full of grief, and I could see she'd been crying.

"Honey, what is it? What's wrong?" I ran to her, taking her in my arms, but she pushed me away.

"No! Don't touch me, Tom! You'll never want to touch me again, when I..."

She burst into loud sobbing, unable to finish her sentence.

I went to the other side of the bed, kneeling and taking her hands as she wept. She tried to pull away but I wouldn't let go.

"Irina. Honey. Talk to me--whatever it is, we can deal with it. As long as you and the twins are all right--"

"But I'm not all right!" she cried, interrupting me. "I'll never be all right again!"

She took a long, slow, shuddering breath.

"Tom--I ... he fucked me. Jamie. Last night--I had sex with Jamie."

****************

After she told me; after I fell back into a chair, stunned; after I ran out of the house and drove to the hill overlooking the Pacific; after I came back, hours later, and went to bed in the guest room; after all of that came the next day. Monday. The day I had to get up and face what was to be.

I awoke at 7:30 and headed straight for a long hot shower in the guest bathroom--with the door locked. When I emerged Irina was standing in the hallway waiting for me.

She looked terrible, as though she'd spent a sleepless night. Hair mussed, eyes puffy, her face ravaged from crying. That beautiful, perfect face.

"Tom?" she said quietly. Tentatively, as though she wasn't she sure she had the right to speak to me.

"We'll talk later," I said. I didn't even want to look at her. "I know we need to talk, but I'm not ready yet."

"But I--"

"I promise I won't do anything crazy, Irina. I won't kill anyone or file for divorce or run away to Argentina. But you need to leave me alone for a while first."

And without waiting for a reply I turned away to get dressed.

After a quiet breakfast by myself, during which I read the paper without really seeing a word, I sat in my office and called Jayson to come over. Time to start finding out what the fuck had happened.

When he came in, looking troubled, I locked the door and had him sit across from my desk. He'd probably never seen me looking so serious either.

"Jayson, Irina told me about it. Just the bare bones. Please fill me in on what you know."

He sighed, and looked down for a minute. "Okay, Tom. Well, you remember that Jamie and Barbie were having a big party the night before last, right?"

"Yes." I knew all about the party, to celebrate Jamie's new action movie that just opened, and both Irina and I were perfectly comfortable with her going without me. Jamie and Barbie were our good friends, after all.

"Well, I took Irina over there Saturday night, and figured I'd be bringing her home too. But about 11:30 Ned Compton, you remember he's Jamie and Barbie's driver, came outside and found me and told me I could take off. He said Barbie had invited Irina to stay over after the party, and she'd call the next day when she needed to be picked up."

This was completely plausible--Irina and I had stayed over at friends' houses before when parties ran late.

"So I went home," Jayson said, "and then Barbie called me a little before noon yesterday and asked me to come pick up Irina."

"Wait--Irina didn't call you herself? Why not?"

"No idea," he said. "So I went and got her, and she looked awful. Not just tired--like, I don't know, sad. Like somebody had died. She had the same party gown on, but she hadn't brushed her hair or done her make-up or, I guess, even washed her face.

"I asked her if she was okay and she just shook her head. 'No,' she said, 'I'm not okay. I don't think I'm ever going to be okay again.' "

Jayson told me she hadn't said anything else, just cried a little on the ride home.

"And what do you think happened?" I looked at him hard. He was silent.

"Listen, Jayson, I like you and I trust you. Please be honest with me--I can handle it."

He smiled unhappily. "If I had to guess, Tom ... Well, let's say that Jamie has quite a reputation with the ladies. If I had to guess I'd say that Irina ... that somehow, Jamie got Irina into bed."

I nodded. "Yeah--that's what she told me. But not that she sent you home--that makes it sound premeditated, doesn't it?"

Jayson didn't answer, and we sat silently for a couple of minutes.

"Okay, Jayson, thanks," I said, standing up. He walked to the door, and as he opened it he said, "listen, Tom, I'm sure sorry."

"Me too," I said, watching him go.

****************

I sat in my office and made some calls, re-scheduling a trip to Northern California that I hadn't planned to make for another ten days. I wanted to get out of the house.

I ran upstairs and packed an overnight bag. Then I wrote a short note to Irina and left it on the kitchen table.

"I'm going to be away for three days. We'll talk when I get back, I promise. But I need a little time right now. Please take good care of the twins, and don't panic.

Tom"

I tried to make myself write "Love, Tom," if only to reassure her, but I just couldn't do it. I did love her--of course I did, she was my whole life--but I couldn't put the word down on paper right then.

****************

The time away didn't help much, except that I was busy, too busy to think about Irina every moment. I got caught up in meetings and interviews and planning sessions--work that I was good at and knew how to concentrate on.

Sometimes I could forget about her and Jamie for as long as fifteen minutes or so--and then the thought would spring into my mind with stunning force. Once I must have winced visibly, right in the middle of a meeting, because the Vice-President for Strategic Planning of Optimal Software interrupted herself to ask if I was all right.

It took a minute before I could focus enough to answer her. I'd been in the middle of a waking nightmare: seeing Jamie's body on top of Irina's, his hard cock plunging into her, her arms clutching his back, their mouths pressed together.

Still, the days were generally almost bearable. The nights, in a luxury suite at the Hilton, not so much. I'd brought a couple of books but I couldn't read them. I watched some of the bad movies available on pay-per-view, and the second night I forced myself to drink enough Scotch be able to sleep. It wasn't worth it, of course--the next day I was not only preoccupied and unhappy, but afflicted with a pounding headache.

The visions were with me pretty much all the time. Irina's beautiful body in Jamie's arms, his dick in her mouth, her writhing beneath him or on top of him, their passionate deep kisses. It was a movie inside my head, one I couldn't turn off. How could I compete with the Sexiest Man on Earth? With those abs, those sculpted muscles, that impressive cock?

Not wanting to talk to Irina or even hear her voice, I texted her once a day just to say I was safe. On Thursday I sent a message that said, "I'll be home tomorrow night for dinner. Let's talk when the twins are in bed."

When I walked into my house on Friday, tired and depressed, Lily and Earl were all over me. Thank goodness they were too young, at 5 ½, to pick up on the unhappiness and tension their parents were feeling, though it was obvious enough to Elaine, who watched me with quiet concern.

I sat at dinner, letting them feed me pieces of their hot dogs and tell me about school and show me the crayon pictures they'd made. And since I'd been away they insisted that I be the one to give them their baths that night. It was a happy, if messy, hour. I loved my children, and the disaster Irina had gotten us into made my moments with them feel even more precious. I wasn't sure how much longer we'd all be living in the same house.

When I came into the bedroom Irina was sitting on the loveseat, watching me with an unhappy face. I ignored her and went into the closet to get dry clothes, tossing the ones the twins had soaked over the tub rail in the bathroom. Then, without eagerness, I went back in and sat down on the bed facing her.

"Okay. I'm back."

"Tom--it's ... none of this is ... what you probably think it is." Silence. I waited.

"I mean I ... I never--oh dammit!" She burst into tears, and came across to me with her arms outstretched.

"Hold me, please!" I let her embrace me, mechanically putting my arms around her, feeling cold and empty. She cried, tears flowing onto my neck and my shirt, while I patted her back, wishing I could be elsewhere. Wishing we didn't have to go through this.

Finally I got impatient. Before she had completely calmed down I stood up and led her back to the loveseat.

"Sit," I said. She did, looking shocked and a little afraid. "Now, Irina--talk to me. Tell me what happened."

Pulling herself together with a visible effort, she looked into my eyes--maybe hoping for reassurance, though I doubt she found any.

"Tom--I will tell you everything. I swear, everything I recall. But you have to know one thing first: I didn't want this. I didn't mean for it to happen, I don't really understand why it did happen."

She looked down. "I have always loved knowing that you would be my first, last, and only lover, for my whole life. And now that's--" she started to cry again, "now that's all ruined!"

"Stop crying!" I barked, startling her. She stared at me, wide-eyed; then wiped her face and sat up straight, as if ready to take her punishment.

"You can cry all you want later," I said, more gently. "I'll probably do my share too. But right now would you please just tell me what happened at the party?"

"Okay. Yes. You're right.

"It was a typical Jamie and Barbie party--fancy, glittering, all the beautiful people in LA. You know. I was a little nervous at first without you--but then I saw Barbie, and she introduced me to a couple of people, and I talked to Tony and Margaret and some other people we know, and ... well, I relaxed and just had a good time.

"Sometime during the evening, not too late I think, Barbie came and pulled me aside. She said her driver Ned had said that Jayson wasn't feeling well and thought he should go home, so she invited me to stay over after the party was finished."

"Wait a minute," I said, "Barbie told you that Jayson needed to leave? That's why you stayed over?"

She nodded, looking at me in puzzlement. "Yes, that's what she said Ned had told her. Why?"

"Never mind--just go on."

"Well, at the end of the party it was just like that other time last year, when you and I both stayed over. Jamie brought out the champagne--not that any of us needed any more, I was already pretty tipsy--and the three of us sat by the pool and laughed and joked about everything. I was feeling pretty mellow, and I teased him about whether he'd put Ecstasy in the champagne again, and he just winked at me.

"And then after a while I felt SO relaxed, and I wondered whether he really had put Ecstasy in--but I was just so comfortable that it didn't seem to matter, and I didn't say anything. And just like the other time, Jamie and Barbie started making out, and I watched for a while.

"She got his shirt off and was running her hands all over his chest, and he'd opened up her blouse and was ... licking her nipples, and she was moaning." Irina was looking away from me now, obviously uncomfortable.

"And you were getting turned-on," I said.

She looked at me sheepishly. "Yes, I was. I mean, their bodies are so beautiful! And Barbie was sighing and licking Jamie's chest, and he was pulling on her nipples, and...

"Anyway, she slid down between his legs and unzipped him and ... you know, started ... sucking him. I realized later that she was making sure I could see everything she did, like it was all a show for me. She pushed his legs apart and kneeled so that I could see what she did with her mouth and her hands."

Irina was struggling to tell the story. "I was aware that I was getting hot--I guess like when I watched them on the boat, you know, on our vacation. And Jamie was looking at me, saying that I should come over and join them, let him kiss me. And I didn't want to do that, I never moved, I was just mesmerized, watching her ... her mouth go up and down on him.

"I think I must have closed my eyes at some point, and started to ... to touch myself, my breasts, just listening to the sounds they were making. He must have given me a LOT of Ecstasy, because I was way more relaxed and out-of-it than last year when we both were there.

"And then I felt a light touch on my knee, gently pushing my legs apart. I wasn't even sure at first that it was there--and I was so relaxed, I couldn't manage to open my eyes, I was just touching my breasts... And then finally I realized it was actually happening, someone's hand was sliding up my thighs, pushing them apart, and it went on for a long long time, minutes probably, until the hand touched my ... my pussy, through my panties, and I realized I was totally wet."

She looked right at me now, pleading, and I waited for her to continue.

"And then while the hand was touching, caressing me, I felt kisses on the side of my neck, and I was aware of a body pressing against me. It had to be Jamie, but I still didn't even want to open my eyes. I was just feeling everything--the lips, the hand between my legs, my own hand...

"And slowly, very slowly I think, he caressed me and stroked me and I got more and more worked-up. Then he stood me up for a moment, just long enough to pull my dress up over my head, and he lay me back down on the couch, and slid my shoes and my panties off.

"Then I did open my eyes, though it felt like a huge effort. Barbie had disappeared, it was just me and Jamie left in the room. And I protested a little, I know I did, I said, 'no, where's Tom?' or something like that. 

"And he smiled and said, 'I'm Tom tonight--just relax and enjoy.' "

I couldn't stop myself. "And you went along with that?!"

"Tom. Please. Don't you think I've been over it a million times? Don't you think I hate what I did, what he made me do? Don't you know I'd give anything--ANYTHING--to undo it?" She was crying, glaring at me, trembling with emotion.

We sat there. I didn't look at her, I didn't look at anything.

Finally, I made her go on. I made her tell me. I was harsh--I said, "okay, let me hear the rest. He fucked you--he mastered you, thrilled you, gave you orgasm after cosmic orgasm, right? Jamie Breland, the World's Sexiest Man, riding you! How could it not be thrilling?"

And she shouted at me to stop, she cried harder--and she told me.

He'd licked and sucked her pussy for a long time, until she cried out repeatedly in orgasm; then he'd climbed on top of her and fucked her, hard, in missionary position. She said it seemed to go on forever, because of the Ecstasy.

"And yes, dammit, yes, it was exciting! It was unbelievably exciting! Not because of Jamie, you jerk--because I was turned-on and full of drugs and I didn't know what I was doing!

"I didn't even know it was Jamie--part of my mind thought it was you!"

When it was finally over, she said, he'd taken her to the guest bedroom and she fell instantly asleep, stark naked, without even the strength to get under the covers.

"Sometime in the middle of the night I realized he was fucking me again. He had me up on my knees, my ass in the air, and he was fucking me from behind. I was still high from the Ecstasy, not really all there, and I just let him do it."

Irina was dry-eyed now--angry and beyond tears.

"I was still a mess--confused and out-of-it. It was dark. I didn't feel any pleasure at all. I didn't have the energy to even turn around and see who was behind me, whether it was you or Jamie. And then he must have come, and I fell asleep again."

When she woke up, it was 11 am and the sun was streaming in the window. Jamie was sitting by her side, wearing only boxer shorts, stroking her thighs.

"He was smiling at me, that prick, saying, 'morning Irina--boy, you were something last night! How about a little more loving before breakfast?' And he started to pull his shorts off and climb on the bed with me."

It took Irina a moment, woolly-headed and sleepy as she was, to remember what had happened. Then she started screaming, she said.




My Irina Ch. 03



"I just shrieked at him, as loud as I could, over and over, 'GET OUT!' I must have scared him, because he jumped off the bed and disappeared. I started frantically looking around for my clothes and in a minute Barbie came running in and asked if I was all right.

"I just said I needed to go home, right away, and could she help me? She went and got my dress and underwear and shoes, and she called Jayson to come get me. I sat there in their guest room by myself until he arrived--I wouldn't talk to Jamie or Barbie, wouldn't eat or drink anything. I just wanted to get out of there!

"And when I got home, I went straight into the shower and stood in it for more than an hour. Washing, and crying."

Irina wasn't angry any more. All the defiance had gone out of her; she sat slumped on the loveseat, her head in her hands, looking at the floor.

"Now you know it all," she said, "the whole, sordid, horrible story. Now you can do whatever you want, Tom--divorce me, throw me out of the house, I don't know. I can't believe I did it, but I did it. I cheated on you."

And without another word, without looking at me, she got up and left the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

****************

I spent another night in the guest room, but this time I didn't fall asleep for hours. There were two things I understood clearly, two things I was going to have to come to terms with.

The first was that, if her story was true, Irina had essentially been raped. She hadn't chosen to have sex with Jamie, hadn't taken advantage of my absence to have a fling with a sexy movie star. She'd been seduced and manipulated and above all drugged--and not only by Jamie but by Barbie as well.

And I knew that I had to forgive her. You can't blame the woman you love for being the victim of a rapist, especially when it is a friend she trusted.

But the second thing is that I was beside myself with jealousy and insecurity. Intellectually, I could understand that this happened to Irina against her will. But in my guts I was tormented by the thoughts of my beautiful wife fucking him--writhing in bliss as he licked her pussy, then groaning with pleasure as they fucked, hard and long, on the couch.

I could see that lovely body that had always belonged only to me--and it was in Jamie's arms, it was Jamie's prick making her come, Jamie receiving her passionate kisses. And I didn't know if I could ever tame those visions.

****************

I got up late, after the twins had gone off to school, and had a quiet breakfast by myself; then I called Jayson and asked him to come over.

We sat in my study and I asked for his help, explaining what I wanted him to do. He agreed, and picked up the phone to call his buddy Ned Compton.

"Ned? Hey, what's going on? It's Jayson--got a minute?

"Yeah, a couple of little things. I just wanted to ask you about Saturday night, when you told me I could leave. Did Irina tell you she was staying over?

"Uh-huh. Yeah. So it was Barbie's idea? Yeah, okay. No, no particular reason, I was just curious.

"Listen, here's the main thing. Tom wants to find a way to speak to Barbie quietly--he's planning some kind of surprise for Irina and wants Barbie's advice. What's her schedule like today?

"Yeah, uh-huh. Yeah, I'll bet that would work. Great. So you wouldn't mind swinging by here about 12:15? Fantastic--I'll tell him. Thanks, man. Later."

Jayson hung up and turned to me, smiling.

"Ned said Barbie told him to send me home the other night--he never saw Irina at all. Also, Barbie's going in to the studio this afternoon for a script meeting; he offered to pick you up on his way to get her, so the two of you can talk in the car on the way into the studio. If you like, I'll come pick you up when you're done."

"Excellent, Jayson, thanks," I said.

****************

When Barbie bent down to get into the car she was surprised to see me. Surprised and a bit wary. "Tom? Oh, uh, hi--nice to see you! This is a surprise."

I gave her the kiss on the cheek that was our usual greeting. "Hello, Barbie--you look lovely as always. Yeah, I hoped I could talk with you for a few minutes while Ned is driving you in to the studio."

I pressed the button that raised the privacy glass between us and Ned. As soon as it was all the way up I turned to face her, not giving her much of a chance to prepare herself.

"Barbie, I'm not exactly happy that Jamie fucked Irina at your house the other night. I thought you were our friend--how could you let that happen?"

She looked unhappy, and wouldn't meet my gaze.

"I am sorry, Tom--really. If it were up to me, none of this would have happened."

"What the hell does that mean?" I replied--I was quickly growing angry. "Irina said you were a part of it. Maybe you'd better tell me just what happened."

She sighed. "What happened is what happens whenever Jamie takes a fancy to a new piece of ass--oh! I'm sorry, Tom. I love Irina, and I don't think of her that way.

"But when Jamie sees a woman he has the hots for .... Let's just say that what Jamie wants, Jamie gets."

She turned to me. "Remember a year ago after our big party, when we all drank champagne together and he and I started fooling around in front of you? That was supposed to be the beginning of a night of swapping: Jamie with Irina, me with you. Only you didn't want to play along."

I was shocked, not by the memory but by the matter-of-fact way she said it. "You wanted to have sex with me?"

Calmly she said, "not really, Tom. Oh, I like you a lot! But no, I'd be happy being with nobody but Jamie. You getting me was the price I would have had to pay so Jamie got what HE wanted.

"And once it didn't happen--and it didn't happen either on our vacation trip in the Aegean last spring, despite everything Jamie tried--he was more determined than ever."

My head was reeling a little. "So--what you're telling me is that when Jamie wants to have sex with a woman, you help make it happen by making yourself available to her husband or boyfriend?"

She nodded, looking unhappy. "It sounds pretty awful, doesn't it?"

I sat back. "So, Barbie--could you tell me what happened the other night?"

"Pretty much what happened a year ago, when it was the four of us. Jamie put Ecstasy in the champagne--this year I think he may have given Irina an extra-big dose--and then he and I started fooling around in front of her. He played around with my tits, and then I pulled out his cock and started giving him a blow-job, making sure Irina could see everything I was doing. She looked pretty turned-on, and the X made sure she didn't get embarrassed and leave the room.

"Then when Jamie thought she was ready, he sent me out of the room and he went over and fucked Irina, right there on the couch. I think he probably gave her a lot of foreplay first, then banged her for a while. That's what he usually does." She said this last part in a bitter tone.

"Did she try to stop him?" I asked.

"She couldn't have--not with all that Ecstasy in her. Jamie wouldn't have taken No for an answer. I don't mean he would have hit her or anything--but whatever she said wouldn't have stopped him. And she was feeling so mellow that she never could have fought him off."

We sat for a moment, me silently contemplating the treachery of my so-called friends.

"And after that? The next morning?"

"I'm really sorry, Tom," she said. "Usually women are absolutely thrilled to get laid by the great Jamie Breland, the World's Sexiest Man and all that. You know? It's a story they can tell their grandchildren: 'I fucked Jamie Breland! Jamie Breland licked my pussy!' The main problem is getting rid of them.

"But when Irina woke up and found Jamie in the room with her, she went crazy--started screaming at him to get out, to leave her alone. He was totally shocked, the asshole--the very idea that a woman would be upset about having had sex with him! So he went and hid in the bedroom, and I helped her get dressed and called your driver to come pick her up.

"She was a mess, Tom. After her screaming fit, she was practically catatonic--she wouldn't even talk to me."

Finally she looked me in the eye. "I am so very sorry about this."

I bit back the angry words I wanted to throw in her face. "How did Irina end up staying over in the first place?"

"Jamie's idea," she said. "He wanted another crack at fucking her, figuring he had a better chance with you away. So he had me send Ned to tell your driver to go home; and then I told Irina that he had felt sick and needed to leave, and she could stay over. 

"Why wouldn't she believe me? We're friends! So she didn't think twice about it." Again Barbie sounded bitter.

"Why, Barbie? I just don't get it. I can see why Jamie might want to fuck every beautiful woman he comes across, even though he's married to you. But why on earth do you let him? Why are you willing to fuck other men to help him do it? How could you have pimped out Irina the way you did? We thought you were one of our closest friends!"

She sighed, and gave me a pleading look. "Try and understand, Tom. When Jamie and I first got together I was getting bit parts in unimportant movies. Now, married to the biggest star in Hollywood, I'm getting leads in big-budget romantic comedies. My last movie grossed $160 million, and studios are offering me nearly $10 million a picture.

"I know Jamie is the big draw, the one with the talent, the major sex symbol. If we break up my career will be back to nothing in a year.

"Do you think I like my husband screwing every little piece of fluff that catches his eye? Do you imagine I enjoy fucking random guys just to help Jamie get all the strange pussy he wants?" She shook her head.

"So," I said slowly. "It's all about your *career*." I let my sarcastic tone sink in.

"I don't know which one of you is the more pathetic--or the more despicable. You or Jamie--it's a toss-up."

I didn't want to be in the car with her a moment longer. I lowered the privacy window and asked Ned to let me out at the corner. I left the car without looking back; I think I heard Barbie say, "I'm sorry, Tom," as I closed the door.

I walked a block to a Dunkin' Donuts and called from there for Jayson to pick me up.

****************

I found Irina sitting in a chair in the back yard, gazing idly out at the pool.

"Will you come for a drive with me?"

She looked up at me, trying to read my expression. She looked tired and sad, and unsure what to expect.

"Of course, Tom. Let me get some shoes on."

I drove us to our favorite spot in Malibu, overlooking the ocean, and we walked out to the edge and sat together on a rock. I put my arm around her waist and gently pulled her close to me.

"I spoke to Barbie today," I said. "They set you up, you know."

"You checked up on me?" she said angrily. I just looked steadily at her; and after a moment her face softened into a sad expression, and she nodded.

"Yes, of course you did. I'm sorry, Tom. I don't suppose that you're feeling awfully trusting right now."

I said, "what matters is that he raped you, Irina." She looked at me, shocked, and I continued.

"They told Jayson you were staying over and then lied to you about his feeling sick. Then Jamie gave you a big dose of Ecstasy, and the two of them put on a sex show to get you turned-on. When he thought you were hot enough, Barbie disappeared and he came over and fucked you."

In an angry tone I said, "according to Barbie they pull this stunt quite regularly--whenever some woman catches Jamie's eye.

"And she also said that Jamie's wanted to screw you for a long time. The little act they put on for the two of us last year, after their party, was supposed to end in a night of wife-swapping. Jamie also tried everything he could think of to make it happen while we were vacationing with them on the boat."

"And Barbie went along with this? Why?" Irina sounded more confused than outraged.

"Are you ready for this? It's all about her career!" I said. "Married to Jamie, she's a big star--without him, she wouldn't be. So she pimps for him, and even fucks whoever she needs to so he can screw the girl of the moment."

I snorted. "I guess you should be flattered, honey. He's been after you for more than a year--he sure didn't give up easily."

Irina stood up and began to pace. I watched her fists clench and her face grow tight with anger. She came back and stood in front of me, looking down.

"Are you sure about this, Tom? Two people who we really thought were our friends set us up like this? Drugging me and all that--it was all because Jamie wanted to fuck me?"

I nodded. "They may or may not also like us--as friends. But at least some of it was about Jamie getting into your pants."

"Can we kill them?" she said. "Something slow and lingering?"

I laughed, pleased to see some of Irina's spunkiness returning. "Sounds like a good plan to me--of course, there may be a few logistical difficulties."

She paced some more, deep in thought. Finally she stopped and said, hesitantly, "and how are ... where does that leave us?"

"It leaves us with some recovering to do. You need to get over having been raped, by people you trusted. I need to get over the feeling of letting you down, of not being there to protect you."

"Oh, Tom!" she said, throwing her arms around me. "I know we can do that!" She clung to me, kissing my lips and my cheeks, tears in her eyes.

"There's more, though. I also need to get over the pictures in my head. You and Jamie, the man that billions of women fantasize about--him pleasuring you. Him fucking you, making you come over and over..."

"But Tom," she cried, "I was drugged, I didn't even know what I was doing! I was half-convinced it was you!"

"I know that. I know that, Irina--really.

"But it doesn't mean that the pictures go away. And the fear that I can never be the lover for you that he was."

Irina pulled back from me. She stood three feet away, looking up into my face with the most serious, intent expression I'd ever seen.

"Tom Lawrence, you listen to me. THAT ... IS ... RIDICULOUS. Total nonsense. In fact, total bullshit!

"I didn't want to fuck Jamie--I have never wanted to fuck Jamie--and the sex was hot because I was aroused, and full of Ecstasy, and confused. The ONLY man I've ever wanted to make love to is you--since the day we found each other at that frat party!"

I smiled at her. "Can you tell me you've never thought about Jamie's body? After the party last year--after seeing him naked on the boat, after watching him fuck Barbie in the cabin? You've never fantasized about stroking his chest, or his arms around you, or that big fat hard cock?"

She didn't look away from me. "Sure I have, from time to time. Everybody fantasizes, Tom. You've had daydreams about Barbie too, right? Those great tits? Imagined her riding you, bouncing up and down on you?

"So what? We all fantasize--it doesn't mean I WANTED to have sex with Jamie, or anyone else. Any more than I think you wanted to fuck Barbie! How is that any different?"

"How it's different," I said slowly, "is that you DID fuck him. I know you didn't intend to--but it happened. And it's going to take me a while to get over it."

Irina looked at me sadly, and finally nodded. I took her in my arms again and we held each other, silently, looking out at the Pacific Ocean.

****************

Ralph stood to shake my hand, then looked at me curiously as we settled into chairs on either side of his desk. "Well, Tom, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

I smiled at him. Ralph Elliot had been our attorney since Irina and I first moved to California. He initially seemed like a conservative, buttoned-down sort of guy, but I'd gotten to know him enough to see the slightly subversive sense of humor underneath. He took his job seriously but not himself--and certainly not the crazy Hollywood scene.

"First, Ralph, just to confirm--attorney-client privilege covers anything and everything we discuss, right?"

He raised an eyebrow in amusement. "Sure, Tom--planning to rob a bank? Not that you'd need to...

"Seriously--unless I become aware of criminal activity on your part, which I am obliged to report as an officer of the court, then yes, anything we discuss is completely confidential."

"Okay. Let's just say, Ralph, hypothetically, that a friend of mine wanted to have something a little shady done. Not illegal, mind you, but something he wanted taken care of discreetly and at arm's length from himself. Might it be possible for you, as my attorney, to recommend me to someone discreet and competent in, say, surreptitious activities, whom my friend could deal with over the phone, without ever meeting?"

Ralph's smile broadened. "Well, well. Tom Lawrence, the Boy Scout, whatever has happened to you? All right, let's see." He thought for a few minutes, his hands tented together on his chest.

"Yes, I could probably make arrangements for 'your friend' to speak discreetly to someone ... a friend of a friend, I guess you could call him. And the arrangement could proceed with confidentiality on both sides.

"There's the issue of trust, of course. Will the fellow I recommend do what he's hired to do? And will 'your friend' follow through on whatever financial commitments he makes?

"For that reason, I would suggest a step-by-step approach. Your 'friend' should work out a plan with many discrete steps, and with partial payments attached to each one. That way, as steps are taken and payments are made, each side can be increasingly confident of the other."

We talked for a while longer, and Ralph had many valuable suggestions about timing, modes of communication (throwaway cell phones, with calls made at pre-arranged times), and so on. I could tell he was incredibly curious but had the lawyer's gift of restraining himself.

We agreed that he'd contact the person he had in mind and, if he seemed interested in the job, Ralph would call me with a discreet contact number for him.

When I was getting ready to leave he said, "tell your 'friend' to be careful, Tom. I'd hate to see this blow up in your--or should I say 'his'--face. You're a successful businessman with a pretty high profile and a beautiful family."

I inwardly grimaced at this last remark but said nothing, just smiled and thanked him and left the office.

Four days later I made my first contact with Ralph's man. He suggested I call him "Moe" and I'd be "Larry." Without naming names I gave him the broad outlines of what I had in mind, and he decided our target would be "Curly." (I guess the guy watched a lot of old TV.)

As Ralph had suggested I'd broken down the project into nearly two dozen parts and worked out payments for the completion of each one. The total, after Moe and I had negotiated, was nearly $2.3 million, but that included over a million dollars for payoffs and expenses. This was a job I wanted done right.

I'd bought two phones and left the one for Moe taped underneath a bench in a suburban park, per his instructions, along with $10,000 in cash in an envelope. The money was to get things rolling and to demonstrate to Moe that I was serious--which I was. As serious as a heart attack.

As things went forward, further payments were made via electronic transfers through a set of dummy corporations that Ralph had helped me set up on behalf of my 'friend'. Such things were perfectly legal, and it meant that my connection to the whole business was virtually undetectable. (No, not completely--nothing's perfect. But Ralph assured me that there were enough layers to protect me from all but the most zealous investigator, and one with unlimited resources.)

It wasn't until Moe had put several parts of the plan into preparation that I told him who "Curly" actually was. I could almost hear him grin over the phone.




My Irina Ch. 03



And what did I get for my $2.3 million, after more than six months? Well, the screaming headlines in the LA newspapers when the whole thing finally went down will give you the idea:

"MOVIE STAR IN HOMOSEXUAL LOVE-FEST"

"JAMIE 'BOY'LAND? BRELAND IN SEX WITH 18 YEAR-OLD BOY"

"STUDIOS MOVE TO CANCEL BRELAND CONTRACTS"

" 'WORLD'S SEXIEST MAN' IMAGE IN TATTERS"

The stories and accompanying photos were as entertaining as the headlines. A photographer had caught Jamie in a bedroom of a penthouse suite of the Drake Hotel in Chicago, buried up to the balls in the ass of an 18 year-old male model named Hank Werner. The pictures showed Jamie riding Werner doggie-style, his head thrown back, pulling hard on Werner's hips as he apparently ejaculated into the boy's anus.

The scandal made news for weeks--and for the various cable Entertainment channels it was the only story for days on end. Was Jamie Breland gay? Bi-sexual? What about his marriage to Barbie? Would this end his career? His lawyers threatened legal action to reinstate his movie contracts, but would they be successful? Would People magazine revoke his "Sexiest Man" status? And so on.

Jamie, of course, swore that he'd been set up, that he'd gone into a dark bedroom to have sex with an absolutely gorgeous brunette model named Nicole Chesnov whom he'd gotten to know several weeks earlier at a party in LA.

According to Jamie, Nicole had called him several times in the weeks after their first meeting, letting him know that she'd be staying in Chicago during the weekend he and Barbie were there doing a publicity tour for her latest movie. While Barbie was doing an evening of television interviews, Jamie and Nicole met for a drink in a private room at the back of the Drake's bar.

Then, he said, Nicole invited him up to her suite for, as he claimed, "regular, ordinary heterosexual sex." But she told him that she would only do it in pitch darkness, claiming she was more excited that way.

When he got to the room, Jamie insisted that Nicole whispered to him to come in and close the door tight. She then led him by the hand to the bed, "fellated him" until he was aroused, then arranged herself on hands and knees and pulled his penis into her. The room was utterly dark but he had no doubt it was Nicole, in part because of her perfume.

Then, he claimed, the lights suddenly went on and a photographer appeared from nowhere. To Jamie's horror, he said, he found himself having sex not with Nicole but with a young man he'd never seen before.

Jamie swore that he was a lifelong heterosexual, that he'd never had gay sex in his life. He even remembered, somewhere along the way, to apologize half-heartedly to Barbie for having cheated on her--what a classy guy!

Jamie and his publicity people seemed to think they had a chance of convincing the public of his somewhat unlikely version of events. At least they did until the tabloids started combing their photo archives.

The National Enquirer--and then People and Us and the TV networks--showed photo after photo of Jamie with Nicole at the LA party where they met. And in at least a dozen photos, Nicole could clearly be seen introducing Jamie to a slim, feminine-looking young man: Hank Werner.

To make it worse, Nicole Chesnov and Hank Werner energetically refuted Jamie's story, and his lawyer's threats couldn't budge them. Nicole confirmed she'd introduced Jamie to Hank, and said that Jamie was "obviously smitten" with him. She admitted she'd met Jamie in the bar at the Drake, but insisted that Jamie had asked her to set up a tryst for him with Hank.

Werner told the same story, and added that Jamie had been phoning and texting him for weeks. To the apparent mystification of Breland and his "people", cell-phone records were found that confirmed this record of communication, including lewd and detailed messages from Jamie to Hank.

At this point, Jamie Breland was cooked. The studios dropped all three of his pending projects, an outraged and humiliated Barbie filed for divorce as publicly as possible, and he became a larger-than-life joke overnight. Even in a world much more tolerant of homosexuality than in the past, the gap between Jamie's super-macho, studly image and his "actual" gay preferences was too much for his publicity flacks to overcome.

Breland still had his millions, though half of those would soon be Barbie's, but his career had disappeared down the toilet, never to be seen again.

Irina and I had followed every stage of this saga with great interest--Irina wonderingly, me with complete satisfaction. "You don't seem very surprised by any of this, Tom," she said to me at one point, regarding me appraisingly.

I smiled genially. "It's been my experience that bad people quite often get their comeuppance somewhere along the line, Irina. Maybe Jamie's karma just caught up with him."

Her look deepened to a suspicious glare. "But gay sex with a model? That sure doesn't seem like his style. Spill, Tom--you know something!"

Still smiling, I just said, "I guess you never really know what's inside a person, even if you think of him as a friend.

"I will say one thing, though--I sure feel bad for him!" 

That broke us both up, and we laughed together with great pleasure. Try as she might, she couldn't get another word out of me.

****************

Because I'd proceeded carefully, the destruction of Jamie Breland took several months, and much of it was a difficult time for Irina and me. As I had predicted, forgiving her for her part in what had essentially been a rape was the simple part--getting the images of her and Jamie out of my head came much less easily.

The night we talked about what Jamie and Barbie had done to her, I moved back into our bedroom. I didn't feel at all ready but I knew I had to take the step. My sleeping in the guest room would start to raise questions for the twins; and more importantly I knew I needed to reassure Irina.

But I asked her for patience--I simply didn't know how soon I'd be ready to make love to her. It was a painful scene; she cried and cried, saying, "but Tom--it wasn't my fault, it wasn't my fault!"

And I knew that. But the enormous gap between plain, ordinary me and super-hunk Jamie Breland, which had never troubled me before, now loomed as an obstacle I simply couldn't overcome. I had doubts that I could truly satisfy and please Irina--even doubts that I had ever satisfied her, as ridiculous as I knew that was.

I could snuggle with her, to hold her close in my arms as we watched TV or when we went to sleep, and this seemed to help her. But the sorrowful look in her eyes tormented me as the days passed and I showed no interest in making love to her.

After a couple of weeks Irina sometimes tempted me, parading around the bedroom in her sexiest nighties or even naked--once wearing nothing but high heels and a string of pearls. I usually felt a momentary flurry of excitement, followed by a sense of dread and doubt, and I never took her up on the obvious offers.

And a few times when we were close together in bed, Irina stroked my hair or my back, then began to slide a hand down my chest towards my dick. As soon as her intention became obvious I always stopped her, usually saying, "sorry honey, I'm just not ready yet."

She was almost always loving and patient. But once I saw her face harden into a frown, and she said, "Tom, it's been over a month--I'm feeling pretty deprived!"

And without thinking I snapped, "why don't you call Jamie then?"

Her face went pale and I instantly apologized, feeling utterly terrible. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry--please, Irina, forgive me. I should never have said such a terrible thing."

She never cried, that time. She just looked away from me silently, her chin quivering, while I begged her to forgive me.

Early one morning about six weeks after "the incident", I came awake to find Irina kneeling over me, her mouth lovingly caressing my cock. It felt delicious, and I lay back drowsily as she smiled at me with her eyes. I gradually stiffened in her mouth, and I could tell she was preparing to climb up and sink herself down on me--when suddenly the picture of Jamie riding her filled my mind.

Almost instantly my erection softened, and I saw the pain on Irina's face as she realized she was losing me. Without a word she got up and ran into the bathroom, and I could hear her sobbing behind the closed door.

I wanted to get the hell out of there--but I waited, and when she finally emerged I took her in my arms and held her close. "I'm so sorry," I whispered. "It's not your fault."

That night when we were in bed side-by-side, watching some lame sitcom and holding hands, I turned to her. "Listen, honey, I know it's been a terribly long time. How about if you let me touch you?" She had always loved my hands and lips, and I knew I could at least give her some physical pleasure and the release of an orgasm.

"Thanks, Tom, but no." Her voice was firm. "That's not what I want--I can masturbate when I feel the need.

"I want you back--I want my man back. And until you're ready, I'll wait."

She turned her gaze back to the TV and I lay there, feeling worse than ever.

****************

What finally got us back together, oddly enough, was a dream. It was one of those nights where I woke up several times--Earl had a bit of a cold, and even though Elaine was sleeping in the room next to him and I didn't have to get up, I was awakened by his coughing.

Each time I managed to fall back to sleep I slipped into long, strange dreams. The first couple of them don't matter so much--they were about being chased by vaguely menacing, unknown people, about hiding, ducking behind cars and around buildings, with no end or resolution.

But the last one was an intricate and highly erotic dream--about Barbie Raynes. I'd hardly thought about her since our conversation, and when I did it was with loathing. But the dream was an off-the-charts erotic fantasy.

It began with a familiar scene: Irina and I were at Jamie and Barbie's house after a party, with us watching Barbie suck Jamie's dick. It all unfolded just as I remembered, with Irina and me startled and aroused by the show they were putting on.

But then there was a shift--that strange kind of abrupt change that happens all the time in dreams--and Jamie and Irina had disappeared. It was me on the couch with Barbie, and my straining cock in her mouth. 

When she had me really hot, my cock as big and hard and throbbing as it had ever been, she stood in front of me and slowly, teasingly slid the rest of her clothes off. Her silky blouse first, then the pants, and finally, a bit at time, her flimsy little black thong. I could see it was soaking wet.

Without a word being spoken I pulled her to me, my hands on her ass, and plunged my tongue into her wet pussy, as she groaned and grabbed my head. I sucked and licked her forever--in the dream it felt like an hour--reveling in her taste and her wild excitement as she came several times, crying out in pleasure, and finally collapsed on top of me on the couch.

Then I arranged her on her back and climbed between her legs, teasing her by rubbing my cock all around her swollen pussy lips and over her clit, pulling on a nipple with my free hand. Her head was jerking back and forth and she was gasping like a fish out of water.

In the dream I felt in total control, the Master of the situation--like Jamie Breland, I guess. And when I plunged deep into Barbie she came again almost instantly, throwing her arms and legs around me and pulling my mouth down to hers, so that we were practically glued together from head to crotch.

I fucked her and fucked her; she came and came, and I rode her relentlessly until finally I built up with steady hard strokes to a sensational climax. I shot so hard into her I was sure I'd taste it in her mouth.

We collapsed together, utterly spent; and after a few minutes Barbie wiggled out from beneath me, gently pushed me back on the couch, and kneeled between my legs to clean my cock and balls lovingly with her tongue.

And as I lay there, enjoying Barbie's mouth on me, I glanced across the room. There in the doorway stood Jamie Breland. He was naked, but his flaccid penis was small and insignificant-looking. And he gazed at his wife and me with a hesitant, uncertain, even frightened look on his face. When I stared right at him he looked away, unable to meet my eyes.

A coughing fit from Earl must have awakened me then. It was not yet 6:00 am and Irina slept peacefully at my side, while I lay there and tried to reconstruct the dream.

At breakfast Irina noticed I was quiet and thoughtful, and asked what was going on.

"Just a dream," I said, "but I don't really remember much of it. Some running around, people chasing me, stuff like that." I'd already decided I wasn't going to tell Irina--no sense bringing up Jamie and Barbie when I didn't have to.

I was scheduled to leave that afternoon for a three-day trip to Madison to consult with the TLI engineers about our latest project. As it turned out, the time away was good for me. Instead of burying myself in reports and memos, I used the time on the plane to think: about the dream, about Irina and me, about the pain I still felt from her seduction/rape by Jamie.

I'd never thought about the "what if": what if it had been me seduced by Barbie with the help of Ecstasy and a sex show, rather than Irina seduced by Jamie? Never mind that I was not the hottie that my wife was, and it never would have happened--how would I have felt about it?

The dream seemed to give me my answer. I would have fucked the living hell out of Barbie and enjoyed every minute of it. I would have eaten her pussy, savored her mouth on my dick, and screwed her as long and as hard and as well as I could have.

And the next day I would have been horrified--distraught and guilty. Because I adore my wife, and cheating on her even in a situation that was out of my control would have felt like the worst sort of betrayal.

All these months I'd been carrying around the fear that what Jamie had done to Irina was what she really wanted; and that she secretly yearned for more of it, for more of him.

But I'd now had my passionate night with Barbie, if only in a dream, and it left me longing only for my wife. It had been hot sex, but so what? The fact that someone other than my wife could turn me on wasn't news--it's true for virtually every married person, male or female. Throw in some drugs and some exhibitionism and who could resist?

The fact was--and I realized with shame that I'd known this for more than a year--that Irina and I had considered and rejected the idea of swapping with Jamie and Barbie. We knew they were offering--it was certainly clear enough on the boat in the Aegean. And we were a bit tempted, as who wouldn't be by two of the sexiest movie stars in the world?

But we were clear, then and now, about wanting only one another. My dream night with Barbie helped me understand that, even if it had happened to me, I would never want to repeat it. What I would have felt was shame and regret.

So it finally began to sink in that Irina was in the same situation: full of shame at what had happened, guilt for having enjoyed being fucked by Jamie, and desperately eager to show me that it was only me that she wanted. What an idiot I'd been to take so long to see it!

Jayson picked me up on my return to California, and I reached home about 5:30 on Friday. I went straight into the bedroom to drop my bags and wash up, and then found Irina in the kitchen getting ready to start on dinner.

"I have a question for you," I said as she turned around, gave me a big smile and came over for a hug.

With a straight face I said, "I wonder whether you'd be free to go out to dinner tonight with a moron."

Without a smile, just a flicker of amusement in her eyes, she replied, "would this be a moron I'm familiar with, or a strange moron?"

"Just the same old moron, the one you know quite well. What do you think? Elaine could take over and feed the twins."

She looked thoughtful. "Would this moron be taking me to Cachet (her favorite restaurant in LA), so I could wear the beautiful new blue dress he bought me for my birthday--the one that goes so well with the sapphire necklace?"

"Yes indeed," I said, and she responded, "oh well, then, I suppose that would be all right." She turned away, but not before I could see the broad smile on her face.

****************

It's hard to say what the best part of the evening was. One highlight was watching the other patrons at Cachet stare at Irina as we were shown to our table; some of the men literally had their mouths hanging open. She looked glamorous, not slutty, but unbelievably sexy in her royal blue gown that showed off her shoulders.

Or it might have been Irina's unmistakable curiosity about what was going on in my mind--it was clearly something, but I didn't explain and she refrained from asking, I'm sure out of some instinct that it would be more fun that way.

Instead we chatted about friends and about the twins; I told her about how the latest TLI project was coming, and how much fun it continued to be to work with Rick; and we tossed around vacation ideas for the upcoming summer.

I'd given Jayson the night off, so after dinner I drove us up to our favorite scenic spot in Malibu. We sat side by side, her head against my shoulder, enjoying the stars over the Pacific, not saying much, just feeling close to one another.

When we got home we quietly checked on the twins and sent Elaine to bed, then walked arm-in-arm to our bedroom. Closing the door behind us I took Irina and kissed her hard, holding her tight in my arms, savoring the feeling of her body against me.

I spoke quietly in her ear. "Do you fuck morons?"

She chuckled, leaning back to look into my eyes. "Not usually--in fact, almost never.

"But I might be prepared to make an exception in this case, if the moron really wants to."

I kissed her again. "Trust me--this moron REALLY wants to."

We pretended not to be in a hurry, helping each other off with our clothes, hanging my suit and her dress up carefully in the closet, putting shoes and socks and stockings where they belonged--all the while bumping and touching and rubbing up against one another "accidentally". I was so desperate to have her I could hardly breathe, and I sensed that Irina felt the same way.

When she was stark naked she said with a smile, "I think I might just go brush my teeth," and started to stroll towards the bathroom. I lost it. I grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the bed.

"Baby, I'm sorry, but I just can't wait." We tumbled onto the bed together and I was all over her, kissing her face and her neck, sliding my hands over her breasts and between her legs.

"Oh sweetheart, I've missed you," she said, pulling me tight against her. She was very wet and I was achingly hard, and in no more than a minute she was spread beneath me and I was sliding into her, almost crying from the pleasure of it.

It had been nearly four months since we'd last made love.

We coupled fast and hard, locked together tightly, her arms pulling me close, my face buried in her neck. I knew I wasn't going to last long but just as my spasms started I could feel the clench of her orgasm and we finished up together, gasping and jerking and moaning. I could say it was bliss, but that doesn't begin to cover it.

Silence. Calm. We lay together, a little sweaty, arms around one another, totally content. It was probably a half hour before she rose up on an elbow, smiling sweetly, and started to kiss me--my lips, my eyes, all around my face.

Naturally this got us going again: to stroking, caressing, licking, and finally to a long, slow missionary fuck, with plenty of pauses for kisses and smiles--no hurry, just two lovers eager to be close and to please each other. Not a word was spoken.