Many a "teachable moment" has emerged from the Madoff saga but I think the most important one we can agree on is "if you're going to run a Ponzi scheme, don't fuck one of your lunatic investors because she will go circus freak crazy on your ass." Sheryl Weinstein's anger is understandable, to an extent, but holy invisible D this woman scares the shit out of me. She continued to tell her "story" this weekend, re: what it was like to bang Bernie and while it'd probably be better to just pretend the whole thing never happened, I can't look away. This thing is happening and I'm taking you with me. Strap in as Sheryl straps on.*
Before getting down to going down on Bernie, has anyone wondered what the awkward conversation with her husband, who until recently hadn't known about the affair, was like? Was he totally blind-sided? Completely devastated? Not so much. He pretty much sensed all along she was an adulterous whore.
We sat down after dinner one night. I told him that I had something to share with him. Before he could say anything, I plunged in. "I had an affair 15 years ago."
He didn't appear shocked or angry, but he asked: "With whom?"
This was the hard part. "With Bernie," I said.
"You're kidding!" He almost laughed. "With Bernie? Him? What about Joey?"
Joey was my college boyfriend, whom I'd stayed in touch with over the years. "I thought if you were going to have an affair with anyone it would be him," Ronnie said.
"No, it was Bernie."
Okay, back to Bernie. Sheryl knew he wanted to do her from the start.
When his gaze fell on me, he blinked and looked a bit surprised. At 39, I was younger than my colleagues by more than two decades. He gave me a welcoming smile. It wasn't lewd and lascivious, but slightly seductive and almost happy. I knew instantly that he was attracted to me.
His cardigan said "trust me," his cock-ring screamed "I need assistance lasting longer than 30 seconds."
Turning to look, I saw that he was wearing a cardigan. His casual attire seemed contrived in its subtlety, as if to say, I'm relaxed and in control; trust me! It was one of the only times I would ever see him so casually dressed.
Bernie may or may not have Tourette's but regardless Sheryl is obsessed with convincing us he does.
By the time we'd been seeing each other six months, I'd picked up on a few of his eccentricities. In the middle of a conversation, he'd start blinking uncontrollably. He was constantly clearing his throat. I am convinced he suffers from Tourette's syndrome -- a neurological disorder characterised by repetitive, involuntary movements and vocalisations called tics -- or some other undiagnosed illness such as obsessive-compulsive disorder.
Bernie's constant blinking prompted me to give him the nickname "Winky Dink". He blinked all the time when he was with me, and not so noticeably when others were around.
Sheryl is not a whore! She doesn't fuck people who aren't her husband except in cases when she does!
After we'd ordered our meal, he suddenly leant in towards me as if he was going to share a secret. "How about the two of us going off together somewhere?"
I was totally taken aback. The thought of taking our friendship beyond flirtation frightened me. I looked at him and started laughing. "I don't think so. Adultery is not my thing. It's not what I'm about. I've only been with two men in my life, my husband and my college boyfriend. I don't know what you must be thinking of me, Bernie."
Like this time she fucked Bernie Madoff. Let me tell you about that time. Want to know what Sheryl was wearing? How about Bernie's body? I bet you want that described in detail.
We took adjoining rooms in the Willard hotel. After dinner I slipped into a sexy black negligée with slits down the side. He was in silk boxers. He had a nice build; he wasn't muscular, but he was toned.
I felt sexy and empowered in my slinky nightgown. Sauntering over to Bernie, I perched on top of him. I was straddling his legs as I kissed his lips gently. It turned me on that he was secure enough to let a woman take the lead sexually.
I refuse to stop advancing my theory he had Tourette's.
As I stroked his bare skin, Bernie suddenly flew into a full-body convulsion. He almost catapulted from the bed as though a tremor had ripped through him.
"Bernie, are you okay?" I asked. I was worried that he might be having a heart attack.
His eyes were blinking furiously. "Yes, I'm fine."
As soon as we resumed our lovemaking his body jolted again.
"Bernie, are you sure you're okay?"
"Yes, Sheryl, I'm fine."
Okay, let's talk positions.
We got back to business and took our time. Bernie was very sensual. I think it really turned him on when I got on top. I was turning myself on as well. Our lovemaking was slow and familiar. It seemed perfectly comfortable. There was none of the awkwardness that I had anticipated.
And yeah, in spite of the tiny penis, I had an orgasm, which is shocking but true.
Before Bernie, I'd been with only two men. Still, I knew this man was not well-endowed. All the same, much to my pleasant surprise, I was able to achieve an orgasm.
Seriously, I thought the sex was going to suck. Not so much!
To me, sex with Bernie turned out to be surprisingly exciting. I felt so totally alive! It was a feeling that had been missing in my life for years. My affair with Bernie provided an outlet for the passion that had been dormant for so long.
Key, of course, to achieving my orgasm was properly priming myself.
We settled into a pattern where I arrived first for our "soirées", as he referred to our affair. I'd pour myself a vodka on the rocks from the minibar in the hotel room, and then smoke a joint to relax.
Ruth knows what I'm talking about.
"Oh, you smoke?" he said. "Ruth does, too. She buys her grass from someone at the firm."
Also key to climaxing was me being the dominant one.
Our lovemaking sessions were more dynamic when I took the lead. Bernie did not take the role of aggressor in bed, although in the outside world he was very much the aggressor.
Not sayin Bernie asked me to call him a slut and pull his hair, just sayin.
Occasionally, Bernie expressed a macabre desire to be punished. He preferred "painful" deep-tissue massages to relaxing Swedish ones, and made references to sadomasochistic sex, something we never explored in our relationship.
Basically, I was amazing.
One night, as we lay in bed warm with afterglow, Bernie said in his low, rasping voice: "Sheryl, your sensuality is God-given. It doesn't come naturally to everybody."
He had Tourette's.
I continued to notice behaviour that I found disconcerting. He always blinked with that nervous tic. But when we made love it wasn't just his eyes that twitched. There were times when his entire body shuddered. Once he settled into the lovemaking, it wasn't as severe, and it no longer startled me. Still, it was odd to have someone's whole body hiccup like that while making love.
I swear on my possibly huge vagina, he had Tourette's.
We were in a cab one evening when I raised the issue. I asked if maybe he had Tourette's or some other type of neurological problem. He was indignant. "No, I don't," he insisted. "I probably jumped because you hurt me when you touched me." I knew I hadn't. But I didn't want to argue with him.
In sum, after we ended the affair, he offered to set me up with some happy ending massages. I ultimately said no, but I thought about it.
The downside of stopping our physical affair was that I had so much pent-up passion -- such raw emotion and no outlet for it. One evening while Bernie and I were having dinner at the Park Lane hotel, I talked with him about how frustrated I was.
"How do you deal with that lack of passion? Don't you miss it?"
Pulling a little book from his jacket pocket and smiling, he turned to a page. The first entry that caught my attention was "MIA". It had a phone number beside it. I thought he had found a girl named Mia to be his new "outlet". As it turned out, MIA stood for Miami.
"Every time I go to Miami, I have someone to call. She helps me out with that 'lack of passion'." There were at least 10 or 12 abbreviated city names with numbers beside them. "I also have someone who comes to my home a couple of times a week for a massage. I can arrange for someone for you, too."
*Kidding though it's highly probable she's just saving that story for later this week.