"Oh-kay, there are multiple reasons why you would not be my sole mate." I faltered slightly as I tried to organize my thoughts. "One, you have a proven history of being unfaithful. Two, you are deceitful. Three, you have control issues. Four, you seem to have some mysterious sexual ailment that you refuse to discuss. I folded my arms and looked at him, waiting for his response.

"Well, first off, I have more life experience than you, and have seen what infidelity and deceit can do to a relationship. I therefore have more awareness of the gravity of unfaithful actions and would not be susceptible to temptation. A younger, or less sexually experienced man, would not have the bearing or grasp of the consequences and would be more likely to succumb to temptation outside the marriage."

I snorted in response to that load of crap.

"In response to your earlier statement that I am deceitful, that is absolutely incorrect. I have never mislead you or lied to you. I have been nothing but honest to you, regardless if it caused your opinion of me to be diminished." He paused, waiting for an argument from me, but I shrugged. He got me there. He was a pig, but he was an honest, or rather unapologetic pig.

"We are compatible. We get along well, enjoy each other's company, and desire a similar lifestyle. I believe in living life to the fullest, and as my partner you wouldn't have to worry about me burying myself in work."

"I don't think anyone in this building is worried about that happening."

"I believe that sex is crucial to a relationship, and have never met a more gorgeous, sexual women."

I punched him in the arm. "Oh my god, how many women have you said THAT to?"

He turned and looked me dead in the eye. "I'm serious. You have all of the physical traits I look for in a woman. Most women I pick apart in my mind, wishing that this part or that part of them was different. But I don't do that when I’m with you. Even your imperfections I find attractive."

"I don't have any imperfections."

He leaned over, his lips hovering over mine. "No, you don't." He closed his eyes and waited, asking my permission. Despite my better judgment, I leaned forward, closing the gap, and pressed my lips to his.

They were soft, and salty. He opened his mouth and grabbed me with his free hand, sliding me until my body was sandwiched into his. His tongue met mine in perfect harmony, and there was nothing to think about, no moves to make with the kiss. It just happened, perfect and hot, and passion grew with every second that our kiss lasted. I pulled away, gasping, and looked into his eyes. Dark and full of fire, I felt like Alice, falling into the rabbit hole, getting sucked further and further down. I looked away quickly and tried to scoot back, but his strong arm kept me there, kept me still.

"Okay," I said quickly. "We have established that you find me attractive."

He shook his head, and tried to find the track he had been on. "What else… oh, the control issues. I like to be in control. If we were dating, exclusively, I am sure that I will occasionally tell guys to back off of you. I'm not naive enough to think that that is something I can control. It is hard-wired into my body; I am a strong, aggressive person. If that is a deal-breaker for you, than I understand that. But don't take my control habits as jealously. Jealously can be an evil, two-headed snake. I understand that, and stay away from it.” He pulled at the back of his soaked dress shirt, and looked over at me. “Anything I missed?"

"Yeah, that gigantic elephant in the room - your secret sexual need that no normal women can fulfill. What, you need it like eight times a day?"

He laughed softly, and removed his arm from around me, placing his palms together and thinking. Then he turned and faced me head-on.

"Before we go into this, if I didn't have any sexual hang-ups - would you date me? Would you be my girlfriend?"

"I don't know. I don’t really want to answer that question yet."

---

He didn’t respond to that, just thought quietly, mulling something over. Then he turned to me, his eyes burning with intensity.

“I know that I have what many people would consider a f**ked up view of relationships. But for me, it just comes down to being honest with myself, and with my partner, about what turns me on.

"I thrive on competition. I want to know that I am pleasing a woman better than any other man. The idea of my wife only ha**g s*x with me for the rest of my life doesn’t feed that competitive streak. I love to watch. What you did with Montana - at Safirre. Like that, but typically the game goes a lot farther than that. It would turn me on to see you with women and other men, to share you sexually."

I didn’t say anything but all my mind could think was what the fuck.

He refolded his jacket, and then started talking again, his voice deep and measured. “Our than it being what turns me on; I also don't think humans are engineered to be monogamous. It’s against our basic instinct to be tied to one person for the rest of our life. It is a losing concept, that we fight hard to keep because it is what society expects. I believe, for a couple to value their partner and learn their sexual needs, they need to occasionally sample sex with other people.”

I spoke for the first time, my words careful and measured. “So you’d want me to let you go around f**king other people every once in a while?" And he wonders why he can’t find a good wife.

“Not just me, you too. But not alone, it would be something we do together, as a couple.”

“I don’t get it.”

“I'm part of a group that meets occasionally. You and I would attend, and if you were attracted to any of the guys there, you could f**k them. The same with me and women at the party. Or, if you wanted to hook up with me and another women, or with two guys - anything that turns you on is available. But we f**k together, either in the same room or in a threesome scenario."

I put my head in my cold hands and groaned. “Oh my god. I can't believe I had sex with you without a condom.”

“That's your response to this?” He shook his head and pressed his hands together, looking at them and then at me. “Don’t worry about that. Everyone wears condoms at the parties. Safe sex is a non-negotiable.”

“So that's the big thing. You're a swinger.”

He winced, making a face, then nodded. ”Yes, though I’m not crazy about the word. And my girlfriend, or soul mate, or wife, would need to be part of that lifestyle as well. It is the only way I know that I will stay committed.”

“So it's a Non-negotiable?”

“Yes.”

He grabbed my chin, tilting it to him so that he could see in my eyes. I tried to pull away, but he held strong, forcing me to meet his gaze. His eyes looked turbulent, tortured. I wondered what he saw in mine. “Julia, nothing would turn me on more than to watch you fuck. A guy, a girl, it doesn't matter. Just to watch you cut loose and succumb to your deepest fantasies, for me to be a part of making that happen. Whether you know it or not, you are an incredibly sexual person. You drive men crazy and I would love to watch you with a group of them."

My mouth dropped open. All the things I had imagined, whatever it was that I thought he was into, group sex hadn’t been it. My head spun from the assault of concepts on my brain. I shivered.

"I'm wet." The minute it came out, I realized what it sounded like. "From the sprinklers. Wet and cold. I need to get home and shower."

"Come home with me. It's closer, and you can shower there." I was too overwhelmed by everything to argue, so I just nodded, and he stood, offering me his hand and pulling me to my feet.

I drove my own car, planning on leaving Brad's after I had a chance to shower and to talk. Though I wasn’t sure talking would solve anything. I didn't know what to think, what to do, but could tell you right away I wasn't interested in the prospect of orgies. Within five minutes of pulling out of CDB's parking garage, we were driving down Brad's oak-lined street. The other night, in the dark, I couldn't see much, but in the daylight, the impressive homes set back from the road gave quite an impression. Brad had a big, plantation style home with big white columns in front and an ivy-covered privacy fence enclosing the sides. His driveway ran down the side of the house, and I rolled in slowly after him. He had a three-car garage set back on the lot, and as we pulled up one of the doors opened and he drove in. I parked my car to the side and left my keys in it. I'd be lucky if it got stolen in this neighborhood; Brad's homeowner’s insurance would probably replace it with a Mercedes.

Brad emerged from the garage and we walked up the back steps. I glumly carried my shoes in my hands, my wet bare feet leaving tracks on his stone floor. He unlocked the door and held it for me. "Thanks," I mumbled, entering the house, which was freezing cold. Jeez. And I came here to warm up? I rubbed my arms with my hands. "Where's the shower?"

He paused in the wide hall. "You want to use mine or the guest shower?"

"Whichever one's nicer. And no, you won't be joining me in it - in case that makes a difference."

He scoffed playfully. "Julia, give me credit. I am a gentleman!"

"Sure. Where's the shower? I'm about to turn into a popsicle."

"Upstairs. The master is on the left. I'm pretty sure you'll be able to find the shower once you get there." I moved past him, trotting up the wide staircase, leaving wet footprints behind me. When I hit the top of the stairs my feet hit plush carpet and I wiped my wet feet on the carpet just for spite. It was marginally warmer up here and I paused on the landing, my eyes locking on the thermostat mounted on the wall. I stood on my tiptoes and looked at the display. Whoever had installed the thing had put it ridiculously high up. 68 degrees. Good lord. And this level was warmer than the bottom floor? I reached up and pressed the up arrow until it read 74. I then went exploring.

The second floor had a master, second bedroom, office, and media room. The whole floor had the impersonal, perfect feel of interior designer stamped all over it. I stood still, trying to get a feel for the house. It just didn't seem like Brad. I went into the master - a huge room with blackout shades that put the room in darkness. I flipped on some lights and looked around. This room had more of a masculine feel - a heavy California King bed with lots of pillows and a cream duvet. Some incredible landscapes were framed and illuminated with small lights. I wandered over and looked at them closely, marveling at their beauty. "Peter Lik" was signed on the corners of the photos, a name I didn't recognize. But, the real focal point of the room was above the bed. A nude woman, photographed on her side, her eyes looking directly at the camera, her mouth in a sexy pout. She had large br**sts and big nipples, a flat stomach and a small patch of hair between her legs. She radiated confidence and sex. I wandered into the master bath and stared at my drenched appearance in the large framed mirror above the double sinks. My hair hung damp and stringy, my face pale. I had big black splotches under my eyes from my mascara, and any other makeup had washed off. My white cardigan looked dingy and the silk blend dry-clean only Banana Republic sheath dress underneath was wrinkly and stuck to me in weird places. Ugh. Remind me not to look at the vixen back in Brad's room.

I shut the bathroom door; thought for a minute, then locked the handle. I stripped, not even bothering to lie my clothes flat, and opened the shower door. Brad's shower rivaled the Bellagio's - a huge steam shower with two rows of body jets, a rain head, and an adjustable handheld. I figured he'd probably be showering somewhere else in the house, so I resisted turning on every nozzle and instead stuck with just the rain head, turning it on full force and giving it a minute to heat up. While I waited I looked around, my nosy tendencies in full force. The bathroom had marble and granite covering every surface, and was decorated in navy blue and cream. He had a large, jetted tub and a toilet room. I wandered into the toilet room to pee and stopped short. A gun of some sort was sitting on a windowsill in the room. I approached it gingerly, picking it up in my hand and feeling the heft of it. I set it back down, peed quickly, then left the room. Who needs a damn gun in the bathroom? Back in the bathroom I saw about 40 towels, all plush white, rolled into neat coils and stacked in a large shelving unit set into one wall. I pulled two towels out and, seeing a towel warmer installed into the lower half of the unit, opened it up and set both of the towels inside. Turning the dial to 15 minutes, I pressed Start, then got in the shower.

I stayed under the hot spray for 10 minutes, my head pressed against the cool marble, the water massaging my back and head. Finally, I quit wasting time and opened Brad's giant jug of man soap, squirting a big blob on my hand and soaping up my body. I looked through the three lonely bottles in his rack and choose the only option for shampoo - some Italian sounding brand that looked expensive. The man didn't have conditioner, so I settled with clean hair and turned off the shower. I opened the door, grabbed a hot towel out of the warmer, and wrapped my body in it. I turned, headed to the sink, and almost ran into Brad.

His big arms caught mine as I started to scream. Seeing it was him, my screams died down, and I instead reached out, punching him in the stomach, aiming for the solar plexus. I must have missed, because he didn't flinch and instead smiled down at me.

"Seriously?" I asked, moving past his body and making my way to the sink. "Did you NOTICE that the door was locked? Ever heard of privacy?"

"Sorry babe," he said, shrugging out of his dress shirt and unzipping his suit pants. "I should have mentioned that that lock is broken."

"OR, you could have knocked. Novel idea, I know." I started washing my face and avoided looking at him, knowing he was now na**d, standing at the shower door. I heard the door open and close, and I relaxed, rinsing my face and patting it dry. "Who's Lady Godiva in your bedroom?"