Dirty Nights

by A. M. Hargrove

  “I know. You told me once. They were never allowed to kiss you or to have intercourse with you.”

  “When did I tell you that?”

  “I don’t remember,” he hedges.

  “No. I never told you. No one knows that. Except J.D. and the clients. No one knows my lists of rules. How did you find that out?”

  “I just did. Now don’t ask.”

  We’ve been walking this entire time, but I stop and cross my arms. How the hell did he figure that out? I’m not letting this drop.

  “Ryder!” He’s ahead of me and turns around to look. When he sees that I’ve stopped, he takes three long steps and stands in front of me.

  “Yeah.”

  It’s not a question … more like a demand. This has to be handled now.

  “I demand an answer.”

  He runs his lower lip between his teeth and damn if he doesn’t look hot … hotter than sin.

  “See, here’s the thing, Sky.” He’s never once called me Sky. “I don’t do well with demands. Or orders. Yeah, we don’t get along too well.”

  Then damn if he doesn’t turn around and start walking again. His tight jeans hug his ass and his shirt clings to the sinews of his back. My core tightens and I squeeze my legs together. He stops, turns and says, “You coming?”

  I want to say, just about. I scurry to catch up.

  His arm extends and he throws it around my shoulders. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

  “Not much to tell. Now let’s go home because I suddenly have this urge that needs to be tended to.”

  Yeah, you’re not the only one.

  Tilting my head up, I find his eyes are on me. It should be against the law for someone to look this delicious.

  My appointment with Dr. Martinelli is the most batshit nutty thing I’ve ever done. She listens to the saga of my life and sits there trying her best not to laugh. Of course, my ridiculous yet accurate descriptions are so bizarre, she has trouble believing me initially.

  When I get to the point where I describe my sessions with George the howler, that does her in. “Oh, God. I’m sorry, Skylina. But this is …” her hand cups her mouth in a poor attempt to quiet the loud noises erupting from it.

  “It’s okay, Dr. Martinelli. I tried to warn you, didn’t I?”

  “You did. But honest to God, nobody could make this up! This ought to be a movie!”

  “And you didn’t even hear about Lester. Lester liked to wear beehive wigs and dress up like a woman. Once I went there and he was all decked out in granny panties and a polka dotted bikini top. He had me chase him around the room yelling, ‘Surf’s up!’ The worst part of all was Lester was the hairiest dude you’ve ever seen! My eyes!”

  “How did you not laugh?”

  “I did laugh! I’d cover it up with a coughing fit. It was awful.”

  “Skylina, in all seriousness, your sense of humor has carried you miles and miles.”

  “Yeah, well, it didn’t help much in dealing with the ol’ parental units.”

  Dr. Martinelli is quiet for a few moments. Then she asks me, “Tell me about your childhood.”

  And here it goes. Holding nothing back, I give it my all. The worst part is the guilt I feel about my mom.

  “Your mom was an adult, way before you were even born, Skylina. She made the decisions that ultimately destroyed her career, her marriage and unfortunately you got in the way of it all. I’m sorry you had to go through all that, but you can’t be guilty over a decision that you didn’t make.”

  “But I refused to help her in the end.”

  “Honestly, the only thing that you should have done differently was refuse to help her sooner. Other than that, you didn’t do anything wrong. You were trying to be a good daughter. Let me ask you something. And it’s a yes or no answer. Is being responsible for your own actions important?”

  “Well, yes?”

  “Another question. Are you responsible for your own actions or is someone else?”

  “I am.”

  “Think about what you just said. And apply that to your mother.”

  “Point made.”

  “The next thing is saying all of this is so easy. But shedding the guilt isn’t. There are ways to do that. But I want to ask you something else. Do you think your mother was happy?”

  “How could she be?”

  “I don’t think she could be. It’s going to be very difficult to forget the way she was and the things she did. And normally I would say to remember the good times, but there don’t seem to be any. Drugs ruled her life for so long that happiness couldn’t have been a part of it. Have you thought about moving into a different place?”

  I tell her of my plans and that I’ve found somewhere else to live.

  “That’s an excellent step toward progress. Again, I’m not saying this will all go away in a week, but you’re certainly on the right track. Now I need to ask you another question. What about your father?”

  “What about him?”

  “Have you communicated with him at all?”

  “No. When he moved me back in with my mom, that was it. No calls, letters, nothing. It was like he disappeared. His wife hated me. She lied about me to him. Made up things. So I don’t have anything to say to him.”

  “Okay. We’ll leave it at that. For now. But this is something I want to discuss more later.”

  “There’s nothing to say. He didn’t want me in his life. End of story.”

  “True, but you must feel some resentment towards him.”

  “Resentment? It’s more like hate. For making me go back with my mom. And for not believing me when his wife made up all of those lies about me. I was a little kid and I was so lost in life. And he dumped me. No, he threw me away. Like I was nothing more than a piece of trash. Little did he know,” I scoff. “Then he walked out of my life without so much as a good-bye, adios, or see ya. I don’t really want to talk about him anymore.” Bringing all of this up burns like acid in my gut. It’s a terrible thing to know that neither of your parents gives a shiz about you.

  “Here.” Dr. Martinelli hands me a box of tissues and I look at her like — what the hell are those for? I didn’t even realize I was crying until the tears plunk on my hands. Big fat drops and I stare at them in fascination, wondering where the heck they came from.

  “It’s okay to cry over it.”

  “I’m not crying over it. I’m … heck I don’t know what I’m doing. Why’d you have to bring that assface up?”

  “Part of the healing process.”

  “Doesn’t feel much like healing to me.” This tiny room has gotten smaller all of a sudden. The walls are closing in on me and I need some air. My hand is on the knob, attempting to open the door, when her voice stops me.

  “Take a slow, deep breath. Running won’t help, Skylina. Those memories, those feelings will always be there. Yeah, you can try to bury them. But they’re still there, lurking below the surface. You’ll have to confront them sometime. Why not now? Why not learn how to cope with them?”

  The truth of it is I don’t want to confront them. My dad plunged that knife in and destroyed my feelings for him when he never came back for me. He knew what my mom was doing. He knew she was messed up on drugs and doing all sorts of bad things. Yet still, he left me with her, knowing he was putting me in danger. That’s how little he cared for me. Not to mention all the terrible things his wife did to me and he never once intervened or put a stop to it.

  “I don’t want to confront them. Basically, I think of him as dead. Dr. Martinelli, are you close to your parents?”

  “We’re not here to discuss me, Skylina.”

  “Well, if your parents never did something like this to you, it’s not possible for you to understand.”

  “Okay, let’s look at it another way. If you don’t confront this, it’ll always be there screwing with your head. Now I don’t know about you, but if I were you, I wouldn’t want that. I would want to be free of that.”

 
“Then how am I supposed to confront it?”

  “There are several ways. You can call him. Or write him.”

  Holy ever loving hell. There is no way I would call him. Ever.

  “Uh uh.” My head moves back and forth so fast I’m giving myself whiplash. “No way.”

  “Skylina, please sit down. You don’t have to call him. That was only a suggestion. What I was also going to suggest was to write him a letter and spill your guts. But,” she holds up her hand as I get ready to speak, “but you don’t send it. Write down exactly how you felt when he walked out of your life. How it made you feel when he sided with his wife and never gave you the chance to tell your side of the story. How you’ve felt over the years. Write every last word on paper, even if it’s twenty pages long. Then stick it in an envelope and put it away. You don’t ever have to do anything with it, but it can be cleansing. It can rid you of all these things you’ve shoved so deep inside of you, thinking they’re tightly locked away. But they’re not. They’re always there. Ready to bust out and hurt you. If you tackle them head on, there’s less chance they can harm you. Does that make sense?”

  My brain digests what she’s said. “Dr. Martinelli, my dad wounded me and those scars won’t ever go away.”

  “Maybe not. But if you confront them, you can deal with them. Look at you right now. You almost hyperventilated a few minutes ago. If you learn to deal with him, he will eventually become another unpleasant thought. Will what he did always hurt? Hell yes! What he did was wrong. Terribly wrong. But you can choose to let it destroy you or choose to go forward and be strong.

  “Skylina, if you continue with our sessions, your homework is to begin writing this letter, even if it’s one paragraph. I think your father is the root of your issues, not your mother. Yes, you feel guilty but you’re smart enough to know that you tried to help your mother and she wasn’t going to get cleaned up for anyone, not even you. It’s your feelings regarding your father you need to work on.”

  As painful as it will be, I know she’s right, damn it.

  “Oh, and another thing. You can be pissed off at me as much as you want. I don’t care. Just start writing the damn letter. How about next Tuesday, same time, for your next session?”

  “Yeah.” Not even bothering to say good-bye, I practically run out of there. This session was so disturbing to me, every muscle, every tendon in my body is in knots. There’s only one thing that will get rid of them and it’s dancing.

  My running shoes tear up the sidewalk between the good doctor’s office and my apartment, where I grab my bag with my dancing gear. I’m back out the door, running to the subway.

  An hour later, I’m into my routine, dancing to hip hop and moving to the music like my life depends on it. I throw myself into it, not bothering to stop until I'm drenched in sweat and my muscles are weakened from exertion. Walking over to my music, I shut it off and drop to the floor. Only then I notice the smallish figure standing by the wall, and it’s only because she starts clapping.

  “If you danced like that during an audition, there’s no way in hell you wouldn’t get the part.”

  My head whips around and Marianna stands there, with a huge grin on her face.

  “Yeah, well, my mind was a little occupied.”

  “My darling Skylina, you were brilliant. Admittedly, hip hop is not my area of expertise, but I recognize raw talent when I see it. And dear, you have it. But that’s not why I stopped by. I’m having a small party the Saturday after next and I’d love for you to come. It would be a nice opportunity for you to network. And I know things have been difficult for you lately. Please say you’ll be there.”

  She makes it impossible for me to refuse. “Of course I’ll be there, Marianna. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  Marianna smiles and claps her hands. “Wonderful dear. I’ll see you Saturday after next then. At four. And keep up that dancing.”

  “Oh, Marianna, what should I wear?”

  “Casual, dear, but not jeans.”

  “Okay, see you next week.”

  Honestly, I dread it, but I would never say no to her. Not after everything she’s done for me.

  Rising to my feet, I pack up my things and head on home. After I shower, I’ll start that letter I dread writing so much. It’ll probably begin—Dear Dad. Ferk you. No, scratch that. Dear Dad. Fuck you.

  THREE

  Ryder

  Two days have passed without a word from Skylina. I’ve left her several text messages and now I’m beginning to worry. It’s time to pay her a visit. When I knock on her door, I can hear her moving about but she doesn’t answer.

  “Skylina, I know you’re in there. Please let me in.”

  She finally opens the door and she looks like she hasn’t slept in days.

  “What happened?”

  She waves me in and begins. Her visit with Dr. Martinelli culminated in writing a letter to her dad and she’s been working on it, between trying to find a job.

  “This letter is killing me. I really hate that man. And if I don’t find a job soon, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

  “Okay, one thing at a time. The letter. Did she tell you to write the whole thing at once?”

  “No. Just a paragraph or two.”

  Leave it to Skylina. Trying to take on too much.

  “Then my friend, you know the one who helped me get that audition, invited me to a party at her house and I don’t really want to go, but I couldn’t say no. She’s been so kind to me. It’s the week after next and I’m already worried about it.”

  “How ‘bout we do this one step at a time. First, the letter. Write a couple of paragraphs at a time, like Martinelli suggested. You’re taking on too much at once. As for the party. Go. It’s not for another two weeks so calm down about it. Besides, if your friend got you one audition, she may know others that can help you. You never know. Someone may be at that party that can help you connect with the right people.”

  “I didn’t think of that.”

  “If you like your friend and think so highly of her, then her friends should be pretty cool too.”

  “True.”

  “Now for the job part, I have a friend that’s been looking for an admin. Do you have any skills like that?”

  “No. That’s why I can’t find anything. The only thing I qualify for are waitress type jobs. And I’m trying to get my GED but the paperwork to begin the process is taking so long.”

  She is in a big bind here.

  “Let me check with Case. Maybe he can train you. You know how to use a computer, right?”

  “Only the basics. My computer is ancient. It’s pretty hopeless.”

  “Calm down. One thing I learned in rehab is you have to take it one step at a time and sometimes even down to a minute at a time. It can be an ass buster, but that’s how it works babe.”

  “Thanks. For this. It makes me think I’m overloading myself.”

  “I think you’re dead on. Wanna get out of here for a little bit? I’m starved.”

  She laughs. “You’re always starved.”

  “I’m a growing boy.” Her eyes move to my crotch and widen.

  “I’ll say.”

  “Skylina. Don’t look at me like that.”

  Without saying a word, she unbuckles my belt, then undoes the button on my jeans and unzips them. My stiff cocks springs out with a little help from her hand, and her luscious wet mouth wraps around it and begins to fuck it. She always does this thing with her tongue around my piercing that undoes me, flicking it and swirling around the little knobs. Damn, she knows exactly what I need and how I like it. She cups my balls and squeezes them and my rigidity mounts. My hands fist her hair and I pump into her throat, hard, and she takes all of me without protest. Her eyes look up at me and that’s when I can’t hold back any longer. The tension builds and I feel myself spurting into her throat. That swallowing motion against my dick is the grand finale to this orgasm and I groan out her name.

  When I glance down
at her, her lips are pink and puffy from their effort. There is a line of drool mixed with my cum dripping from the corner of her mouth. I grab her, lifting her to her feet. Her tongue peeks out to lick the wetness off and I intercept it, licking it for her. Then our tongues tangle and our kiss intensifies. My hand slips down the waist of her yoga pants and she’s drenched.

  “Sucking me dry did this to you?”

  “Yeah,” she breathes.

  “Guess I’m gonna have to lick and suck you dry in return.”

  Dropping to my knees and taking her pants with me as I go, I bury my face into her bare, wet pussy. My tongue delves into her folds and licks her slit, from back to front. Then I zero in on her clit, until she moans. My hands spread her lips as my fingers tunnel into her, stroking her until I find her g-spot. My mouth and tongue continue to work over her clit as I fuck her with my hand. She grabs my hair and tugs me closer to her pussy, moaning my name loudly. One hand slides to my shoulder and her fingers sink into my muscles, squeezing hard. Her thighs clench and I start to suck her clit, because I know she’s about to hit her orgasm. A part of me wants to play with her a little longer, prolonging her pleasure and drag this thing out a bit, but she needs this release now. So my fingers and mouth work in unison, sucking, licking and massaging until she screams my name and I feel her inner muscles contracting against me.

  Her breath comes out in puffs as I stand and pull her into my arms. We collapse together onto her couch and I hold her in my arms, until her breathing normalizes. Before she can utter a word, my mouth takes hers in a slow sensual kiss. I taste every part of her, teasing her lips with my tongue and sucking her tongue, exactly like I just sucked her clit.

  “Your mouth tastes as sweet as your pussy.”

  “And yours tastes like my pussy.”

  “Hmm, I hope you like it because I sure do.”

  “I like it, but I like your cum better.”

  I have to laugh at that.

  “Ryder, I thought you were starving.”

  “I was. For you.”

  Her smoky gray eyes soften, then water, and a tear slips past. I catch it on my thumb and lick it off.