Emma Gets Cable

Celibacy might be fine for some people, but I never could get the hang of it.

I had just split up with my girlfriend Paula, who I'd been with for almost three years. She'd left me. I had never been dumped before in my life. I had always been the dumper. It stung me more than I would have believed possible, so bad that I dropped out of art school and fled Chicago. I had inherited some money when my Mother died, enough to live on for quite some time. I found a house in a community as remote as it could be from the city and still be called a suburb. I bought the house with cash and moved in, fully prepared to live for at least a few years as a hermetic monk, with all the abstinence which that implies.

The problem with that was, of course, my own horniness. Paula and I had split our sex toy collection up when I moved out (that was a bitter negotiation, let me tell you) and if it wasn't for the miracles of vibrating plastic, I doubt I would have survived. Still, plastic can't compare with real human contact. To that end, I found myself doing things I had sworn I would never do. Like trolling for cyber-sex in lesbian chat rooms. I felt pathetic with one hand on the mouse and the other in my panties, and there was always the dread that the so-called "tattooed biker dyke" on the other end of the modem was actually a man.

I could have easily gone into any bar in town and picked up a guy for a one-nighter, just to blow off steam. I was not at all into men, though. There have been periods in my life when I've considered myself straight, others when I've gone totally gay, and times when I've wanted it all. In the months after breaking up with Paula, I just wanted a woman.

I knew a couple places back in the city where I might have found a chick willing to take me back to her place for few anonymous hours. Out here in the sticks, though, forget about it. So I consoled myself the best I could with internet porn. Most of that is shit, by the way. 99% of the girl-on-girl porno out there is obviously made by men, for men. Air-brushed, silicone-injected bimbos playing the fake-dyke game did nothing for me.

After a few months of boredom, depression, masturbation and doing my best to cultivate an alcohol dependency, I broke down and did something else I swore I never would. I got cable. I'd always despised television and held in contempt zombies who did nothing but watch it for twelve hours a day. When I moved out here, I had dreamed of spending my days reading, painting and writing. But I was too restless to read and I felt like all my creativity had been burned out. I needed something to fill the excruciating hours of my life, and mind-numbing television fit the bill nicely.

The cable company said they'd send somebody over on Wednesday. To the extent that I expected anything, I expected the cable installer to be a middle-aged guy with a beer belly who would expose several inches of butt crack when he bent over.

I waited all Wednesday morning, made an irritated call to the company around noon, and waited three more hours after that. My whole day was wasted waiting for the stupid cable installer. Not that I really had anything else I could have been out doing, but still. They didn't know that. I could have had all sorts of important pressing business to attend to, which I put on hold to wait for their guy to come over and flash his butt crack.

I was well prepared to give the guy the full brunt of my bitchiness, which was formidable, but I was struck silent when I opened the door.

The cable person was a woman, in her late twenties or early thirties. Not very tall, but solidly built. Pretty face and a close-cropped sand-colored man's haircut. No jewelry or make-up. Glasses with clunky man frames. Heavy tool belt clutched in an un-manicured fist. In the air was just a hint of Very Sexy for Men.

My heart and my gay-dar both went PING.

"Hi, my name is Nic," she said, pointing to the name stitched on her uniform shirt, which actually read "Nicole." It was difficult to tell with the shapeless work shirt, but I thought I detected nice-sized breasts, which must have been strapped down tightly. There was a sense of great pressure bursting to be set free.

"Hi, come in," I said, a little breathlessly. She stepped into the house. Any doubts I might have had concerning her orientation disappeared when I saw her glance down at my chest for a few seconds longer than was truly polite.

I looked down. I was wearing the same ratty old tank top I had slept in (it seemed like I hardly ever had any reason to get dressed in the morning) and of course didn't have a bra on. My tell-tale nipples were at full attention, and I felt them get even stiffer under her gaze.

Nic came into the house and set to work, quickly and efficiently. I watched her, my mouth watering. I usually went for the more girly-looking femme types, but now I wondered very seriously what a manly woman might do for me. Or to me. The very fact that her cable-person uniform was so deliberately un-sexy made my imagination work harder trying to see what she might look like underneath it. I sat cross-legged on the couch, for once in my life too intimidated to speak. You better believe that I was sending her all kinds of telepathic signals.

At one point, bending down to hook the cables behind my television, her shirt rode up and her pants rode down. I don't know why plumbers, electricians and cable people couldn't afford belts, but for once I didn't mind. Between the waist-band of her Fruit of the Loom men's-style tighty whities and the Ouroboros tattoo at the base of her spine were two glorious inches of tantalizing ass-cleavage. My jaw dropped open as I imagined where I'd like to put my tongue.

Right. There.

"All right," she said, standing up. "You're hooked up."

She turned on the TV and flipped through the channels to make sure everything looked all right. Then she gave me a brief tutorial on the digital cable box. I sincerely hoped I would never have to use the parental block control or program my favorite channels, because I didn't hear one word she said.

On her way out the door, she gave me her card. Nicole Ellis, Installer/ Technician.

"That's my cell number. If you have any problems in the next few days, give me a call," she said. Then she winked at me. Actually winked. Stealing one last glance at my tits, she was gone.

As I immersed myself in the addictive wonders of cable television that night, I thought of nothing except how I could make Nicole Ellis, Installer/ Technician mine. The plan was complete by the time I went to bed, and I worked out the fine points as I vibrated myself to sleep.

The next morning I took a very long hot shower, getting everything as clean as possible. I shaved my legs and my armpits (I'd let niceties like that slide and had wild forests of hair growing on my body.) I wondered if Nic was hairy. That look had never appealed to me on a woman before, but now I found the possibility intriguing. The more manly she was, the better.

I considered shaving my pussy too, but thought that might be going too far. Instead, I trimmed and sculpted it into a cute little strip. I even put some conditioner on the hair down there, so it would be nicely soft and fragrant. It definitely looked good enough to eat.

Still naked and dripping wet, I went out to the living room and dialed the number on her card. After three rings, a woman's voice answered.

"Nic?" I said.

"No, this is Debra," the voice said. There was a slight edge of suspicion.

"Yeah, my name's Emma, uh, Nic installed my cable yesterday, and it's all fuzzy."

"Hang on."

I heard some rustling and whispering through the line.

"Who is this?" came Nic's raspy, just woken-up voice.

I tersely gave my name and address, gave every indication that I was nothing more or less than an irate customer.

"I'll be over in an hour," Nic said, obviously put out.

Good. Plenty of time. I dressed with a carefully calculated sluttiness. A tight, low-cut, slinky party dress with nothing underneath. Then I loosened every cable connection Nic had painstakingly tightened the day before. I put on a DVD of "Bound" and played with myself lazily as I watched, just to get my pump primed and my scent in the air.

By the time Nic finally arrived, the good parts were over and the movie was well into the far less interesting gangster rip-off plotline. When I answered the door, she gave me a very frank look-over and smiled at me.

"So your cable's out," she said. Her voice told me exactly how likely she really thought this was.

"Yeah," I said, running my hands through my hair as casually as I could. "You must have hooked something up wrong."

"I kinda doubt it," she said, her eyes resting lazily on my half-covered breasts.

She walked past me into the living room. Grabbing my remote control, she turned off the DVD without comment and flipped through the blurry channels.

"Uh-huh," she nodded at me, rolling her eyes. Then she leaned behind my TV and hand-tightened the connections. Oprah Winfrey appeared on my set with crystal clarity. "I can't imagine how those connections could have come loose by themselves, but that should solve your problem, ma'am. No need to call me if it goes out again. Just screw them back in."

"I'm not sure," I said, playing the "dumb blonde" card for the first time in my life. "Can you show me how to . . . screw them?"

She made a scoffing noise like a tire with a slow leak. "Come here."

I got on my knees beside the television, close enough to smell the sour but intriguing smells of cigarettes and coffee on her breath. She took my hand in hers, calloused and rough, and led it to the cable plug on the wall. She squeezed with her strong fingers and forced me to turn the end of the cable.

"Think you can handle that?" she asked, letting go of my hand and standing up.

"I think so," I said. "But can you show me how to work the parental controls again? I don't want to accidentally watch any dirty movies."

"All right, lady," Nic said. "Let's drop the act, huh?"

"Act?" I replied, blinking stupidly.

"Oh, come on. The mysteriously loosening coax cables. The baby-doll dress. I've got a serious girlfriend, you know. I promised her I wouldn't do this anymore."

"What do you mean, 'anymore?'"

"You think you're the first little girly-girl to pull this exact stunt with me?" She pointed down at the DVD box lying open on my coffee table. "Usually it's the bored bisexual housewives with the Gina Gershon fantasy, though."

"You don't look like Gina Gershon," I teased.

"Yeah, well you're not exactly Jennifer Tilly, either." She smiled then, her expression softening for the first time. "Actually, you look more like Naomi Watts."

"Really?" I said, actually blushing.

"You ever see that movie, 'Mulholland Drive?' Didn't make a damn bit of sense, but the sex was hot."

Nic reached out and touched my chin with one work-strong hand. I gave her a pouting look. She leaned in, her lips brushing mine for one teasing second before she pulled away.

"What the fuck am I doing?" she said. "I promised Debra."

"She's not here, though." I reached over and deftly undid the top button of her work-shirt. My fingers slid inside, stroking her just below her throat. She closed her eyes and seemed to melt.

"All right," Nic said, grabbing my hand. "I'm going to ask you a question. If I get the right answer, I'll stay."

"OK."

"Are you wearing panties?"

I smiled the devil's smile and shook my head.

"Fuck," she said. "You got me."

I pulled her close. Nic kissed me like a man, rough and insistent. She squeezed my breast and slid her knee between my legs. I felt the rough fabric of her work pants grow damp as it soaked in my moisture. We kissed for what felt like a long time. I was dizzy with lust when she finally stopped.

"Listen," Nic said. "There are a couple rules."

"Rules?" I laughed.

"I'm serious. If you want this to happen, you have to follow the rules."

"What are they?"

"Rule one, I'm in charge. The only reason for me to fuck around is because there are things I like that Debra refuses to do for me. So if you really want this, you have to promise to do whatever I say."

I tried to imagine what she might not be getting at home, my mind reeling with the possibilities. I nodded weakly. "I promise."

She chuckled. "Good girl. Second rule, this is a one-time deal. I want you to tear up my business card and never call me again, not even if your cable goes out for real."

"OK," I agreed, though I had never had a lover who didn't want to come back for seconds once they'd had a taste of me.

Nic nodded. "That's it. Let's fuck."

I took her hand and led her to my bedroom. Once inside, I turned and kissed her again, unbuttoning her work shirt the rest of the way. She let it slide off her arms. Under the shirt was a white tank-top, and under that was a tight black sports bra. I peeled off each layer while she stood there passively. Her breasts were heavy and ripe, the nipples little more than nubs. I sucked them until they were hard and pebbly.

She smelled of sweat and cigarettes; of coffee and men's cologne. I loved her rough manly scent.

Getting on my knees, I undid her heavy tool belt. It crashed to the floor. Then I unbuttoned and unzipped her pants, sliding them down to her ankles so she could kick them away. She stood before me wearing only her white cotton men's underwear. I pulled the fly open, revealing a black nest of thick hair. I snaked my tongue inside and found her clit. It was huge and swollen, the fattest one I'd ever sucked. Like a little cock.

She moaned and leaned back, pressing herself into my mouth. Her hands grabbed the back of my head, forcing me into a rhythm of her choosing. Her pussy was musky and strong and she just kept getting wetter and wetter, her clit swelling to alarming proportions as I sucked it.

Nic finally grew frustrated with me sucking her through her underwear, and she peeled them off. She sat naked on the bed and spread her legs wide. Her fat cunt yawned at me.

"Keep going," she ordered me. "You're a pretty decent cuntsucker."

If a man had talked to me like that, I would have kicked him in the nuts and sent him packing. As shameful as it is to admit, though, from her I liked it. I licked my lips and knelt at the foot of my bed, burying my face in her hairy snatch. I kissed her hard clit and stuck my tongue as far up her pussy as it would go. Nic grunted and grabbed my head again, mashing my face into her so deep I could hardly breathe.

She came hard a few minutes later, with a wailing moan and a spurt of slimy juice. I swallowed every drop.

"Off with the dress, honey," she commanded before she had even caught her breath.

I peeled it off and stood there naked in front of her. She looked me over, licking her lips and nodding her approval.

"You got a cute little bod, Emma," she said. "Debra's really packed on the

pounds in the past couple years. Her tits are still nice, but her ass is so big I can hardly . . ." She shook her head, putting her girlfriend out of mind by force of will. "Get on the bed. Hands and knees."

Part of me instinctually rebelled at her domineering tone, but another part of me relished it. I was so used to taking the lead in bed, with both women and men, that being bossed around actually made for a refreshing change. I climbed onto the bed, in the position she'd requested.

She crawled around behind me, planting firm kisses on my ass. "Are you clean?" she asked.

"Taste me and find out."

She chuckled a little. To my surprise, I felt her lips not on my pussy, but my asshole. She gave me a slow fluttering lick.

"Nice and clean," she mumbled between my ass cheeks. Then she dove in for real.

I've been rimmed before, of course, but never had my ass been eaten with such voracious gusto. She slid her tongue right up in there and started plunging it in and out. She stuck two fingers into my pussy and started flicking my clit with her thumb. The variety of sensations she was treating me to back there added up to a very nice overall feeling. I started moving with her, pressing my ass back to meet her sucking mouth. Inside me, her fingers found that magic spot and I starting purring like a kitten.

She carried on like that for a few minutes, and then lifted her mouth from my well-sucked asshole.

"You got any lube?" she asked.

"I honestly don't think that's necessary." My pussy was so wet I could feel it dripping down my thighs. There was more than enough juicy juice to slick up my ass if anal finger play was what she had in mind.

"Trust me," she said. "You're gonna want it."

"Nightstand drawer," I said.

Nic rooted around in my drawer, and came out with a tube of the good, silicone-based stuff. She took all the rings off her fingers and re-assumed her position behind me. Starting going down on my asshole again. She lubed up her fingers and thrust three of them into my cunt.

"Oh," I said, my pussy stretching to accommodate her.

A fourth slick finger, the pinky, joined the others inside me. Her thumb twiddled my clit. Her tongue was deep in my ass, wriggling like a snake.

The thumb entered my vagina too. She wore my cunt like a glove. It was only then that I realized what she had in mind. I had a moment of panic, wondering if I was ready for this. I was so full, stretched beyond the limit, but I opened up even more as I felt her fingers curl up inside me.

She was making a fist.

I made a sobbing hiccuppy sound that had never before issued from my throat.

Never before. I'd thought I'd done it all, but never this. Never been fisted. God, it was riveting. She was buried to the wrist. The pressure was unbelievable. She turned her fist inside me, flexed it a little. Every tiny motion she made sent vibrations coursing through my entire body. She pushed it in no more than a millimeter and I thought I was going to die.

Her mouth went crazy on my asshole and that's what sent me over the edge. I had the strangest orgasm, a twirling head-trip of endorphin release which lasted for more than a minute, until I felt like I couldn't bear it any longer.

"Stop," I begged her, literally crying. Tears were falling. "Oh, God please stop."

She pulled her fist from inside my body with sound like pulling a tree root from a muddy hole in the ground. Something popped and I came again. Nic shoved two fingers into my ass, just to feel the crazy clenching spasms of my twitching anus. The aftershocks finally subsided a few minutes later. I collapsed onto the bed, reeling in astonishment.

I thought of a line from an old Prince song: "I can't tell you what she did to me, but my body will never be the same." For the first time in my life, I knew what that meant.

Nic wiped her hand on my sheets and left the bedroom without saying a word. I heard her doing something out in the living room. The thought struck me that she could easily rob my blind and I would have been utterly helpless to stop her. She left a few minutes later. After about an hour, I was finally able to stand, though my legs were still shaking.

I found out that she had worked some kind of cable lady magic on my digital box, endowing me with access to every channel in the world. HBO, Cinemax, Showtime, the works. Even the porn channels. It felt like she was paying me, turning me into a whore for premium cable.

Over the next few days, I played the encounter in my mind over and over. I'd never been so completely fucked, by a man or a woman. I loved it. I loved her. She'd told me to throw away her business card, but I couldn't bring myself to. I thought of Nic at home with her fat bitch of a girlfriend Debra, and found myself reduced to fits of teeth-gnashing jealousy. It was so unlike me. If I wanted something, I was the sort of person who just reached out and grabbed it.