The Lisa Diaries

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The Lisa Diaries by Lisa Carver  

Look at My Wife

September 28, 2000

[read part one]

Grant and I hovered naked outside my bedroom door, listening. Nothing. I opened the door and there was my husband, wearing a terrified expression, on top of Lilly. Both were on their knees, and they looked just like dogs going at it! With no fur. Skin-dogs! I looked for Paul, Lilly’s husband, in

the walk-in closet; he wasn’t there. I went back out and found him all alone in my office, reading a magazine. I took his hand and led him to the bedroom. So Grant, Paul and I stood there staring at the skin-dogs. This is not a sight meant for human eyes. “Leese, could you get on top of me, please?” Dave asked in a tiny voice, without altering his humping.


“He needs your moral support,” Lilly clarified, her voice muffled in the bedclothes. So I got on top of them and that made me a skin-blanket. I did not particularly want to appear before Grant and Paul in my skin-blanket form, but every time I tried to roll off or do anything, Dave panicked and told me to stay on him. I hoped we weren’t suffocating Lilly. I reached down and felt her ass, and it was soft! It was the softest, nicest skin I ever felt. Then I smelled her hair, and it was like a lilac bush. Who knew such a bold girl could feel so gentle, once you got her in the shadows?


Paul got on the bed with us (Grant was pacing), making commentary like a sportscaster and telling us things about “squirting” that at least some of us did not want to know. I think I was doing something with Dave when I felt stubby fingers slither up my nether regions. “Who’s that?” I cried out in alarm. It was as I feared — old Magic Hands Hooligan. He was doing something peculiar, sort of rearranging things in there. “Don’t make me squirt,” I warned. Then Lilly turned into Shiva, and was jerking off all three men at once and going down on me, while her husband’s fingers remained inside me doing their mysterious task. I’ve grown so used to Dave’s way of doing things, and now there were two new styles going on at once. It’s like reaching into the refrigerator half-asleep expecting orange juice but grabbing the milk by mistake . . . except that this was soda and the juice from the jalapeño bottle too. It was more than I could take and I wanted it to stop. Next thing I knew Lilly’s torso had ingested Grant and Dave was arching under her muscular hand and the husband was left undistracted in his manipulations on me, and the more I tried to wiggle away from him the more intimately his digits became entangled in parts inside I never even knew I had. I was upset in my brain, yet I could feel this rainbow rising up off my heated body, I could almost see it. I was shaking and crying and Dave was staring at my face and — he’s always loved the thought of someone else making me come — he came at the same time in a violent arc over my rainbow. It got in Lilly’s hair and on my elbow and Dave’s stomach and two blankets. Dave and I curled up together at the head of the bed wondering what we’d gotten ourselves into, as Lilly got into a backbend in order to suck Paul’s cock while Grant stood fucking her. Her feet brushed his face and he changed, became more concentrated, and she patted him more insistently with her little feet and he slammed into her really hard and my goodness that’s about all I can do with this paragraph . . . I’m going to go have a snack now.


“Are you all right?” Lilly was asking Dave. She’d read the diaries, so she knew Dave can be filled with regret and disgust after an orgasm. But he was okay. “Are you okay?” Paul said, leaning down to address his wife’s vagina. Lilly did indeed need a cool, moist cloth, and I went to go get her one.


“Lisa called me sick and wrong!” Grant was saying upon my return. “She said liking the feet is sick and wrong.”


“I wrote that in 1996, Grant!” I shot back. “I told you not to read anything! I’m going to sneak into your houses and read your diaries.”


“He got so hard when I brushed his face with my feet,” Lilly said, and I felt hot all over with jealousy. “I like to play,” she said. “I like to tangle somebody’s hair with my toes, I like to pinch somebody’s nose shut with my toes and make them suck my other foot and let them breathe only when they do a good job.”


I didn’t want to do any of those things. I wished I wanted to do those things. I hadn’t even gone all the way with my winner, and here this woman was intricate in his specialty. She’s a foot model by profession! People who know about these kinds of things decreed her feet superior, they chose hers to represent the apex of the foot in their sandal ads. She must have realized I was feeling blue, because she turned all her attention on me, said she’d been watching my body under my clothes all night while we’d danced and she couldn’t wait to get her hands on it, and how great my nipples were and how cool it was how I shake and, incongruously, how well-shaped my nose was. I was mollified, but still wished I knew something about feet.


“Well we’re gonna go fuck now,” Paul informed us. They pulled out the futon downstairs. Grant took the spare room.


“How are you doing, Sweetie?” I said in Dave’s ear.


“Uh!” he said in mine.


I explained that I never had a chance to have sex with my winner, what with Dave sending his messengers downstairs every five minutes asking me to come up, and could I please go in the guest room now? Dave said okay.


In the guest room, I put in a train tape. It sounds like a train and crickets and then this nice lady comes on and says, “You are feeling verrrry sleeeeepy” — and you are, every time she says it. Grant and I snuggled up like twelve-year-olds at a sleepover, with sleepover secrets and promises. We were both on the track team in high school, and we’d both come in last place every race. I told him my second-favorite memory: I had none of the fat reserves long distance runners need, and I once crawled across the finish line. My mother was there and got upset. At home she drew me a hot bath, and then brought me food on a tray in the tub. First came a steaming bowl of chili, then chocolate cake, then carrot cake, then a peanut butter and jelly sandwich — everything that was in the house, course after course. My other favorite memory is quite similar in nature — the two-penises-in-one-Lisa-mouth that happened a few months ago in Connecticut. Even though he’d already read about it, I told Grant the whole story, and by the end he was panting and his hands were where my pants would be, if I were wearing any. “You’re a good storyteller!” he said. “I’d do that with you and David.” He said his family has a little stone cottage in the countryside in England, and we could come stay there.


Here are the ways that was dirty: 1) My husband was in the next room and I had my hand on someone else’s cock talking about his (Dave’s) cock. 2) Before Dave, I never ever talked in bed, and now I was using what he’d taught me to excite someone else. 3) Grant and Dave look and act alike. (Both drink tea and are 5’8″ and lie through their teeth. Grant had me convinced redheads have four extra bones in their body, for example.) I don’t know how that’s dirtier than if they were very different, but it is. 4) Grant’s never been with a man. I was encouraging homosexual behavior. 5) A decent woman would’ve been tuckered out by the last hour’s orgy, not planning future debaucheries.


Before Grant even arrived, I realized I’d grown too fond of him for this to be good for my marriage. I reasoned with myself that it would be just once, and after that he’d probably go back to England anyway and I never could see him again. Now I was thinking of putting one more

“just once” on top of this one. “This is how people come to destruction,” I warned myself.

“Well just let me contemplate the Dave-and-Grant thing then,” I replied. “I promise I won’t really do it. But I have to believe I’m going to really do it, just for the next twenty minutes or so. Okay?”


We couldn’t find a condom. Apparently Dave broke several on Lilly earlier . . . god knows what they were doing. We were distressed. Grant was going back to New York in the morning and back to England the next week — we might never fuck! Then I remembered I’d left a condom in the glove compartment of the car. He put on some clothes and went out to get it. Then there was the three minutes of waiting that there never is with Dave, because we don’t use condoms, so the only things we need for fucking we have with us at all times. I remembered that those three minutes can make things even more exciting. My hands moved under the sheet. What if the glove compartment condom breaks? I was thinking of any kind of barrier that might be laying around . . . a balloon, a silky glove—


He returned, and it didn’t break. When he entered me, I lifted my legs up and I felt like I could put my feet on his face if I wanted, and I did want to. Lilly was right — it did get a lot harder. You might want to skip the next sentence. My toes were in his mouth and everywhere, and while this would have disgusted me earlier in the day or in my life, it made me feel more abandon tonight. Yes, I too can run with the foot fetishists!


I asked him how it started, and he said when he was fourteen he was “mad” about this woman who wouldn’t give him the time of day — all he had was her Nikes. I don’t remember why her Nikes were off her feet and in young Grant’s house. I think she was the maid, or his mother’s friend. I laughed so much at the mental picture of him clutching the sneakers with love, he swore he’d never tell me anything again. Then I asked if he talks about what he wants, and he said no, it just sort of happens. I said I guessed feet fell in his face accidentally all the time, and I laughed so much again that he swore again never to tell me anything.


I said I was going to go sleep with Dave. Grant said he supposed that had to happen sooner or later. Dave put his arm around me in his sleep. I felt like I was coming home, but home looked a little altered, like I’d subletted and someone had rearranged the furniture. I didn’t sleep, and pretty soon it was time to wake the others. Lilly and Paul had a funeral to go to in Maine. They were giving Grant a ride to the bus station. Lilly and Paul woke up jovial and immediately started going over every detail of the night before. Dave came downstairs last and tried to stay out of the conversation. Lilly asked him a specific sex question, and Dave said, “I don’t remember. There was some sort of alien at the bar last night . . . I think I was abducted.”


“And then you woke up with another woman’s crusties mysteriously coating your body,” said Paul, which is I think the crassest thing anyone ever said. We were at the breakfast table.


“Look at my wife. Look at her,” Paul continued. “She fucked three guys last night and barely slept, and she’s beautiful — the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” Which just might be the most romantic thing anyone ever said.

Lisa Carver is the author of the books Dancing Queen, Rollerderby, The Lisa Diaries and Drugs Are Nice. She’s written for Hustler, Index, Icon, Feed, Newsday and Playboy, among others. She lives in New Hampshire.


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