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.