The Lisa Diaries

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The Lisa Diaries by Lisa Carver  

Predator in Disguise

May 27, 1999

“It’s research,” I said beseechingly. “It’s for the threeway article I’m working on. I shouldn’t be writing a guide with only two – women – and – one – man knowledge; I need a two – men – and – one – Lisa experience. Just once, please? You want to help my career, don’t you?”


I’d been campaigning for a male-majority threeway for weeks now. At last I was making headway: Dave had said that morning we could discuss it over dinner. And now here we were, in the Indian restaurant, night falling outside the window.


Dave has beautiful lips — I think they’re what you’d call beestung. As they pressed against the rim of his water glass I pictured them wrapped softly around a cruel, straining male member, and I spilled my own water with excitement.


“Okay, I might like it when it was happening,” he finally admitted, “but afterwards I’d cry. And my clothes would be stained.” I tried to guess if he was just teasing me. I knew it was true he’d feel embarrassed and guilty while doing it, and that just made my imaginings more feverish. The possibility of tears running silently down those tender cheeks about did me in. When you look at Dave, it’s like he’s the good – looking – but – innocent – to – the – ways – of – the – city young cousin twice-removed, and you’re the city slicker. You want to take him under your wing and protect him and, at the same time, to defile him yourself. Dave just has the physical being of someone who would get debauched.


Within two seconds of our first meeting ever, his body whispered to my body: “Don’t rape me, please. Don’t hurt me.” I hadn’t been thinking about raping him — I was just thinking about the music, the other guests, whether there might be some cake left. But as soon as his body said that to mine, all these antennae rose up along the length of my body, antennae I didn’t even know I had. And they told me to try to get him alone, somewhere I could hurt him, just a little. But once I finally got him in the sack, I realized he had really strong arms, and that he in fact had me in the sack.


Dave is a well-disguised predator. He knows exactly what his sweet face and naive speech patterns do to women, and he uses them to get into our good graces. Once in, he sees just how much he can get away with. Knowing now how depraved he truly is hasn’t stopped the effect his looks have on me. I get confused afresh every day, making plots to corrupt and abuse the boy — until nighttime comes and I remember again how it really is. He makes me look good to myself by comparison. My own tendency to devour people, my powers of persuasion, sometimes make me wonder about my humanity. But I can play Dave all I want, and still feel peaceful because, in his own way, he’s always playing me more.


“God you would look so good in a position you couldn’t charm your way out of,” I said. “You have this way with women: you push, and then when you reach their boiling point, you push a little more. You want to see how angry you can get a person, then how quickly and completely you can be forgiven. It’s all a game to you. You get her to feel so bad about having been angry (‘mean to you,’ you call it), that she’ll do anything you ask. But men don’t respond the same, and you haven’t put any time into figuring out how to manipulate that sex. You’d be helpless, no escape tricks. You’d just have to suck that cock till it came.” (I think the waiter heard that last part as he set down our curry dishes, but I was in such a state I didn’t care.)


“Mmm, this is incredible,” said Dave. He savored his bite. “Lisa, I’d love to make you happy, but I cannot put one of those things in my mouth.”


“Oh, come on, I go down on women all the time.”


“It’s different for men. It’s more unacceptable.”


“That makes it cooler! It’s more, um, ultimate.


“Our friends wouldn’t think so. They’re all gonna be reading about this, aren’t they?”


“Our friends will think whatever we tell them to think. If you present something confidently, it always looks attractive.”


“You’re very persuasive. But what about the other part? You’re going to be my wife. How can I let you have sex with another man, right in front of me? How would that look to other people? How would that look to me?”


“We’re getting married to each other, not our friends — we can make up whatever rules we want for it. I’m completely loyal to you and I love you and please won’t you fool around with another guy just once, as a present for me? You don’t have to let him stick it in you — just put your mouth on it.” I slipped my own mouth into what I meant to be a winsome smile. It’s working! I thought. At least he’d stopped arguing. Then he said a word I do not like one bit: “No.” I moved my food around my plate petulantly. Dave said my name and when I finally looked up, he was licking the mango lasse off his straw kind of slow and sweet and you know what that looks like. Then I remembered that when he says yes, it usually means no, and when he says no  . . .well, it doesn’t mean no at all. He licked some more and I felt like everyone in the restaurant knew. My chair opened up and swallowed me. I was just about dead.

Lisa Carver and