For 2008 I'm starting a brand new regular feature entitled "Ricky Sprague's Tales of Regret," of which this is the first installment. Each will detail an event in my life which I regret; hence the title. I expect this to be extremely painful for me, but edifying and inspiring for you, as I prove that if I can overcome these regrets, then you can overcome whatever is bothering you, as well. Here is the first entry:
When I first moved out to LA, in 1999, I was staying at the apartment of a friend. She was rich (actually, her father was rich; she had a trust fund) and spent most of her time out of the country, usually in Mexico, where she had a job working as an assistant to a bigshot in city government (I forget the city, it was somewhere in Baja California). This was seasonal, basically she went down there whenever the mood struck her; otherwise she was off to Europe, or Asia, or wherever she felt like, whenever she felt like. She had this apartment here, in Hollywood, that she used maybe one month a year, and she told me to stay there as long as I wanted or needed to.
I stayed there for several months rent-free. I had a hell of a time living irresponsibly, almost decadently. I didn’t bother to get a job, and made a little money writing. It was a sweet deal for me, and I took advantage.
One day, my girlfriend dropped me off at the apartment and drove off, I can’t remember but she had an appointment somewhere, something about her job, it was pretty serious. When I got into the apartment, I was surprised to find Pilar, who paid the rent, laying on the bed, wearing only a very silk shorty robe that barely covered her ass (she was on her stomach).
“Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” I said. I started to leave the room and close the door behind me, but she stopped me.
“No, it’s okay,” she said sleepily. “I’m sorry to just surprise you like this.” She sat up in the bed and her robe fell open enough that I could clearly see her left breast. “I just sort of decided to come home for awhile. I hope I’m not putting you out too much.”
I was going to tell her I could just stay with my girlfriend, but I was distracted by her body. “No, not at all,” I said. “It’s your apartment, after all.”
“Yes, but you’re using it,” she was making no effort to cover herself, and I wasn’t telling her she was flashing me. “I should be more considerate.” She smiled at me.
“You’re being very considerate,” I said. I almost laughed.
She extended her legs before her. “You know the difference between men and women?” She tilted her head and looked at me with a crooked smile. “I mean, besides the obvious.” She spread her legs slightly and pointed to her left knee. “Women have a vein that runs from here,” she then moved her finger up her left thigh, stopped about midway up, “to here.” Her legs were spread enough that I could see she wasn’t wearing any panties. She had the hairiest muff I’ve ever seen. Usually, I like a woman to be clean-shaven, but I was pretty clearly aroused.
“Is that so?” I asked.
She laughed. “No, not really, I just wanted you to see my pussy.”
I climbed onto the bed.
Later, I was in the bathroom, standing at the sink, washing away her menstrual fluid and the condom’s spermicidal lube. I looked out the window and saw my girlfriend’s car pull into the parking lot. A surprise visit! Boy, was she going to be surprised.
It took a lot of talking to get out of that one, and later the three of us engaged in a three-way. The three of us spent the next six months living together in the pursuit of pure, hedonistic pleasure, without guilt or remorse, engaging in orgy after orgy. Boy, do I regret that.