Full Life Volume One

by V. Marks

  "When she cracked the whip across my back, I gained comfort in the contact. Crack. Tension and release. Crack. The space between experience, where I wasn''t anything. Crack. The certainty that I was known."

  The class listened, totally silent, as the woman untied the man, instructed him to stay still, and rode him. Cassie felt herself, to her horror, getting wet.

  "When she came, she pulled me along with her, and in that moment I was only what she wanted me to be," Joseph read. "After, she got up, and I heard the door close behind her. I took off my blindfold and was overwhelmed by the rush of light. I sat, unable to move. I was free to do whatever I wanted, but in that moment, I didn't want freedom."

  Joseph stopped speaking, put his paper down, and stared quietly at the floor. Cassie had been so immersed that she felt like she had been walked out on too. When the class broke into applause, Cassie knew they were sincere. That they had all felt something.

  As he received comments, she couldn't think of anything to say, and couldn't keep herself from really looking at Joseph for the first time. His shaggy, straight, dark hair fell just about to his jawline, which was as strong as his body was lean. His shirt was dark and had the name of a band she hadn't heard of, and she realized that, somehow, he was managing to pull off matte leather pants of the weird nineties throwback variety.

  She was still turned on when class was dismissed.

  "Cassie, please stay a second," Lamar called as the rest of the students left.

  "I'll wait right outside," Melanie said to her. They were planning on getting drinks together that night.

  Cassie, still turned on, felt uncomfortable being in the room alone with Lamar. She didn't quite know what it was about him. He was hot, but she saw plenty of hot people, and usually she had better control. And never before had she so actively fantasized about riding someone; seeing his large dark hands on her small, light hips, imagining running her hands over his close cropped hair as he sucked on her nipples, feeling his hands grabbing onto her ass. And why, why did her eyes always dart to the faint outline of his cock against his jeans?

  She simply didn't know. But it was already making her feel guilty with regards to Blake, and now, alone, already horny, she stood awkwardly on the opposite side of the room and didn't look Lamar in the eye.

  "Uncomfortable?" Lamar asked.

  "Yes," Cassie said. Her face flushed and, almost just to do something, she started laughing. Lamar laughed along with her and ran his hands over his hair.

  "Look, teaching writing is hard," he said. "My job is to help people explain what we are. And we''re ugly. We have a hundred thoughts a day that we hope no one ever finds out about. We do things that we don't understand and then try to forget about it. We're almost just an audience watching ourselves do things and cringing. Don't go through that door! Don't kiss him!"

  Cassie laughed again.

  "So, I'm sorry if sometimes I get personal," Lamar continued. "But writing is about owning up to the parts of you that you don't like. You can't ignore yourself and be a writer. okay? Your piece last week was phenomenal. I was shocked when you said that you hadn't taken a writing class before. However, although your piece this week had its moments, it was flaccid. It was just about the lighting, and the bare mechanics of the act– where was the intensity, the passion, the risk? And the all millions of reasons we need each other? Writing is about the human experience, and humans fuck."

  Lamar's passion for writing was making him talk louder and faster. Cassie found herself mesmerized by the rise and fall of his voice.

  "I want you to write another sex scene, and read it to the class next week. But this time, really push it. Sex can do so much - it can take people an unimaginable number of places. Even if the scene is two teenagers holding hands, I want them to want each other. I want passion. I want lust. I want fear. I want your characters to yearn, to do, and through that, to learn."

  When he finished his speech, he was almost breathless, and the silence seemed abrupt and stark. He took his glasses off and laughed, embarrassed. Cassie wished he hadn't. Somewhere in that speech, without realizing it, she'd started staring in his eyes, his excitement making her even more turned on.

  "Sorry if that was harsh," Lamar said. "If I didn't believe in you, I wouldn't care. Do you have any questions?"

  She was tempted to ask what Lamar had learned through sex. She opened her mouth, the question ready, but stopped. Was that too personal? Would he be offended?

  "No," she said. "I think I understand." Lamar looked at her and, for a moment, it felt like something should happen. Before things could get even more awkward, Cassie turned and walked into the hall.

  "A little private student teacher conferencing?" Melanie asked, standing up from a chair and falling in step with Cassie.

  "Melanie!" Cassie shouted jokingly.

  "A teacher who's big, and tall, and sounds really good when reading your piece-"

  Cassie sighed.

  "Blake," she said, like she was reminding herself. "I love Blake."

  "I know," said Melanie. "It makes you easy to tease."

  "Let's go get drinks." They started walking towards the parking lot.

  "And, see, you just reward me for it. I'll never learn," Melanie paused and then added, "Perhaps you should try punishing me instead." She laughed. "Man, Joseph's piece was jenky! I couldn't believe he read that! And it was in first person! The person was first! He didn't even try to hide that it was about him."

  "You don't know that," said Cassie.

  "Everyone knew that. Man. Yuck."

  "Why yuck? It's not like he was hurting anyone."

  "You're so sweet - as was your piece, and speaking of first person, I totally know that was you and our Blake-y - but yeah, he wasn't hurting anyone. Just getting off on being hurt."

  Cassie was about to point out that, beneath the sex, there'd been real emotion, but just then they opened the door to the parking lot and were distracted by some incredibly loud psychedelic music coming from a hatchback near the door.

  Ignoring Melanie, Cassie stared at the car as they approached, trying to see inside. What was going on? The windows were fogged up, and, just barely audible above the music, something was squeaking.

  Melanie punched Cassie lightly on the arm. Cassie looked at her, and Melanie held her mouth wide open, like, "Do you believe this?" Cassie looked back at the car and, for the first time, noticed that it was bouncing up and down rather perceptibly. And, despite its efforts, the music was not drowning out the moaning that was coming from inside.

  Cassie started to whisper something to Melanie, but a man, apparently naked and with dark, shaggy hair, reared up in the back seat.

  "Joseph," Melanie said. Joseph reached down, and Rhonda, a woman from their class who must have been in her mid-forties, sat up, also naked.

  Cassie gasped. Melanie laughed so hard she doubled over. Cassie grabbed her arm and, together, they ran to Melanie's car and dove inside, as if they had done something wrong.

  "He just-" Cassie said, still laughing. "And she-"

  Melanie shrugged and said, "She is pretty MILF-y."

  They erupted in giggles. Melanie turned on the car and backed up.

  "Burrito place?" she said.

  "Ugh, no," Cassie said. "I'm getting fat enough." But her mind was only half on the conversation. The rest was thinking about Joseph holding down Rhonda, except in the room she'd imagined from his story instead of his car. She imagined him tying her up, looping the ropes over her wrist and legs, and felt herself getting turned on once again.

  Blake was already home when she got back from drinking with Melanie. They'd had more than intended, and they'd left Melanie's car at the bar, deciding the night was nice enough to walk. She'd hoped the night's chill would take the edge off the liquor still in her system.

  "Blake-y!" she said, imitating Melanie's voice. It hadn't. Oh well. She threw her arms around Blake.

  "Sounds like someone's been with Melanie," Blake said.

>   "You are so right," she said, slurring just a little. "Blake-y," she said again, and giggled. "I was thinking... Melanie and I were talking about how things aren't as fun as they were in college anymore... and we were talking about why... and I think it's because I don't really try new things."

  "You do plenty of new things, Cas. Like, your job is new, and your writing class is new."

  Cassie pouted.

  "Well, the writing class, I like. It was a hoot today. But the job? The job is boring. And everything else is boring. And it's probably gonna stay like that, right? Unless we change it, right?"

  "Cassie, things are good. Like you and me and having our own place together. And you said your work was interesting."

  "But Blake-y, it's not my passion. It was just an experiment. 'Experiment, experiment, experiment.' I want to find my passion. Now."

  "I know, Cas," said Blake, "But you've said yourself, you have time to figure that out. Right now, it makes sense to make money, so you feel a little more secure, right?"

  "I guess so," said Cassie. "But tonight, tonight I want adventure!" Cassie let go of Blake and struck a pose, pointing off towards the horizon.

  "Alright. What's our adventure?" Blake asked, happy he had helped her get out of her drunken existential crisis.

  Cassie got closer to him, stood up on tiptoes, and whispered into his ear, "I want to have sex. And I want you to spank me."

  "What?" said Blake.

  "I WANT YOU TO SPANK ME!" she yelled

  Blake laughed, uncomfortable.

  "Why?"

  "Because it's hot. And new. C'mon, what are you, scared?" she punched him in the shoulder a few times, lightly, as she said, "Huh, huh, huh?"

  "No." He reached around and tapped her lightly on the ass. "Boom. Spanked."

  "You know I want more," she said. She turned around and ground her ass against his crotch. "I want you to spank me like I've been naughty."

  She started taking off her shirt, letting him get an eyeful of her in the black lace bra she knew was his favorite. As she turned and started walking towards their room, she took it off and threw it behind her.

  By the time he got to the bedroom, she was on the bed and pantless, her black lace underwear still on.

  "Well," he said, bemused, "I suppose you have been naughty. You still have your clothes on."

  She got up on her hands and knees and, her butt facing him, wiggled her hips.

  "So round, so soft," she said. "So very spankable."

  "But I don't want to hurt you."

  "Shhh," she said.

  "But-"

  "Shhhh," she said, crawling towards him catlike, her back arched low and her ass arched high.

  Blake, to his surprise, was getting a little annoyed. Spanking was not what they did. They made love. But, more than being annoyed, he wanted to make her happy. Hoping that if he played along she would give up, he hit her on the ass, a little hard, expecting her to lose interest.

  Instead, she moaned.

  He spanked her again, still harder, thinking that certainly this would make her lose interest, if not get a little pouty, or even angry.

  Instead, she moaned louder.

  He spanked her again, this time focusing on the way she moaned. He hadn't heard it before. It went deep. It was a turn on to hear something new. He spanked her again and again, her moans getting still louder, until he noticed that her ass had red hand shaped marks on it.

  He was hurting her. He didn't like that. He pulled back.

  "Why are you stopping?" Cassie panted, still tipsy but with authority in her voice.

  "Your butt's red," Blake said. He was angry. "I don't like that I did that."

  She craned her neck around, trying to look. When she saw how red her ass was, she moaned.

  "Ooo," she said. "Do more."

  He couldn't see anything but horniness in her expression. He wanted to stop, but he also wanted for her to see that this was wrong. Thinking if he pushed it just a little bit farther she would stop, he lay down on the bed next to her and said, "Grab my cock." When she didn't do it fast enough, he grabbed her hand and put it there for her, roughly moving it through the first pull.

  She looked up at him, hornier than he'd seen her for months. A part of him was sad, but mostly he just wanted her. The hand job was good - jerky, in keeping with the first pull he'd done for her, but with an urgency and passion on her part that, if he was being honest, turned him on.

  As he was getting close to coming, she whispered something he couldn't understand. When he didn't respond, she said it again, louder.

  "Slap me, Blake."

  He didn't respond, because he didn't know how to. So she yelled, ordering him, "Slap me now!"

  He slapped her, and as his hand cracked across her face, he came, harder than he had for years. Maybe ever.

  They held each other for a while in silence, Cassie content and warm with booze. She was drifting off when Blake said, "I can't believe I just did that. I'm so, so, sorry."

  "Why are you apologizing?" Cassie asked. "I asked for it. I liked it." She snuggled closer to him, but he backed away.

  "We are never doing that again. It's not right."

  "It's not right? What's right?"

  Blake didn't say anything. Cassie was going to press him further, but through the darkness she saw something glistening on his cheek.

  "Cassie," Blake said finally. "What we have now is good. What we have now is wonderful. Why would you want to change it? And to change it to something like that?"

  Cassie's rush faded. Sleepy but sober, she just felt bad about herself. She didn't know why she was wrong, but she was sure she was.

  "I'm sorry, Blake. It was just a crazy thought."

  They both knew it wasn't just a thought. She had loved it, as had he. But he didn't want to say that, and because he didn't, she couldn't. So instead, he hugged her.

  "Don't worry about it," he said. "You know, trying everything once and all that." She could tell he was trying to look reassured, calm. He hated crying.

  Exhausted, he rolled over and fell asleep. But, despite the booze and her exertions, the weeklong headache was back and pounding away, and she could tell she was going to have a long night of being unable to sleep.

  "I'm going to die?" Cassie asked. The doctor, sitting behind his desk, his face grave, said nothing.

  Cassie liked doctors' offices. There was something reassuring about them. You talked to experts and they told you what was wrong and how to fix it.

  Except that, at this appointment, all the doctor had said was that she had a brain tumor, and that it was inoperable. And then, where he usually should have said something like, "But it's really nothing to worry about,"" or, "Fortunately, there's medication I can prescribe," he''d just stopped talking.

  "But it's just a headache," Cassie said. She looked over the scans of her brain the doctor had laid out like a fortuneteller afraid of his tarot deck. They showed a mass of wispy gray with a large, bright white spot off to the side.

  "Do you want to call a family member or friend to come and be with you?" the doctor asked.

  "I want you to answer the question," Cassie said. Her voice sounded harder than she'd meant it to, surprising her. "Am I going to die?"

  "I can give you statistics, but those will be averages. You're an individual."

  "Why aren't you answering me?"

  "I can get you a counselor," the doctor said.

  "No," Cassie said. A part of her was telling her to be less aggressive, but she ignored it. This felt more important than being nice. "I need you to tell me. Now."

  The doctor sat for a moment. Cassie started to get out of her chair. If he couldn't help her, she would go to someone else.

  "Ten to fourteen months," he said.

  "And then?" Cassie said, not sitting back down.

  The doctor held up his hands, like he didn't know, and started to speak.

  "And there's nothing you can do for me?" she asked, cutting him off.

&n
bsp; "We can get you someone to talk to. We can relieve pain. We can make your final moments comfortable."

  "Nothing." Cassie stared out his window. A pregnant woman had parked and was heaving herself out of her car, shutting the door, waddling to the doors of the hospital. "I just thought I would have more time," Cassie said out loud.

  "I'm sorry," the doctor said. Cassie met his eyes.

  "Fuck you," she said.

  After leaving the doctor's office, she sat in her parked car for a while. She couldn't cry. She should have been able to cry, right? But instead, she just sat. It seemed that her sitting style of choice was completely still, although sometimes shaking. This, she knew, was interesting. She could put this in a story.

  She started to dial Blake's number. Blake was solid. He would leave work and come and drive her home. They would talk. They would figure out what to tell her parents and everyone else.

  But then, with a strange type of clarity, she realized she didn't want to, because of the night before. She'd asked Blake for something, and he'd given it to her because he would give her anything, but then he had regretted it.

  What would he do if she called him? He would take care of her. He'd throw away everything he loved in order to be by her side. He would stay in on weekends, work fewer hours, hang out with her in bed, day after day. He would give and give and give. But, secretly, he wouldn''t want to. He would be miserable. At the end of ten to fourteen months, a part of him might even be relieved when she died. She didn't know if she could ask him to do that. She didn't know if she wanted to.

  If she couldn't call Blake, what was there to do?

  "Email. I am going to read my email," she said to herself. "This is something people do." She took out her phone.

  Spam. A forward from her aunt. And an email from Joseph. That's right, Lamar had asked him to send his piece to everyone. She opened the email. Joseph's phone number was under his signature.