The Devil and Danielle Webster by Cynthia Cross Page B

was.”
    “I think I just had an orgasm.  Well, the guy I once
was just had one.”
    “The girl I once was thought that she could enhance the
sensory experience by shrieking a bit,” I said in a considered tone.
    “She just came, Danielle.  You can’t deny that.”
    “I won’t deny that she thought she did.  She was too
dumb to know much beyond that it had felt quite good for a prolonged stretch,
there.  Was that the big O?  Who knows?”
    “Who cares, Danielle?  As long as—oh, shit, I forgot
about this.  Get ready, here comes the big interruption—“
    “What interruption?” I asked, as alarmed as I must have been
the first time it happened.
    Doug’s bedroom door exploded inward and Travis the Wonder
Dog flung himself into the room, landing between us in the middle of Doug’s
double bed, wagging his tail, hindquarters and half his spine in effervescent
joy.
    “Oh, god,” I commented.  “How could I have forgotten
that?  I suppose he’s passed over to the Rainbow Bridge?”
    Young Doug was hustling Travis out of the room, apologizing
to giggling Young Danielle. 
    “Oh, for sure.   Years ago.”   We watched as Young Doug locked the
bedroom door and moved his night table against it.  He then turned to
Young Danielle and said, “Don’t even think about going to sleep.  I’m not
done with you yet.”
    “Cheesy,” I couldn’t resist commenting, but if I was trying
to sound bored and uninterested, it wasn’t working, and I’m sure Doug could
tell.
    My younger self actually whimpered with anticipation. 
This was freaking embarrassing.  I watched Young Doug pull her up on top
of him, watched her ride him slowly while adding a little self-stimulation,
watched her back arch and her head fall back, watched her pant, and felt her insides
lock up for immeasurable seconds before her powerful release spread heat and
pleasure surging through her entire torso.  I watched all this, cracking
one lame joke after another.
    It could have been a night of passion in accordance with the
contract binding me to hell, but ol ’ Diablo wasn’t
thinking.  Typical slimy salesman, he just had to get two souls for the
price of one, and in so doing, ruined it for me.  There was no way I was
going to have a good time now, as a self-conscious fortysomething ,
with Doug as a witness not only my past reaction, but my present one. 
Nope.  I kept up the wisecracks and feigned a blasé attitude.
    “I thought you were pretty good, once,” I told Doug, as the
encore came to an end.  “I’ve had way better ,
since.”  I’m embarrassed to admit how much vengeful satisfaction I got
from sharing this.
    “Really?   Who?  Ex-hubby?”
    “Oh, come on.  No, not Josh.  
He was too impressed with his own length and girth to be at all concerned with
impressing me.”
    “Well, who, then?”
    “Brian Bunch.”
    Doug cracked up laughing.  “What kind of name is that?”
    “He couldn’t help his name.”
    “When did this happen?” asked Doug, still
sniggering.  
    “Not too long ago.  He was a client of Jill’s.”
    “Brian Bunch!  Did he look like Mr. Bean?  Did he
wear stretchy white underpants?”
    “Maybe.”
    “Ha!”
    “Well, the joke’s on you guys who coast on your looks. 
Looks fade, but true sexual skill does not.”
    “This guy was named Brian Bunch and wore whitey- tighties , and you say he had sexual skill.  Right.”
    “I was surprised, too.  Then I started thinking about it, and it all made sense.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Well, I took pity on him because he looked like the type of
guy who couldn’t get a date very easily.  And he probably couldn’t. 
But the gratitude factor was amazing.  Why didn’t I know that?  I’ve
been the grateful one all too often, myself.”
    “Are you telling me you gave him mercy sex?”
    “Leave it to you, Doug, to put it in such a disgusting
way.  I felt powerful and generous.  I’m sure you know what I mean.”
    “Yeah, I felt