by Kara Hart
Renata huffs. “You’re such a bitch, you know that?”
“So I’ve heard,” I laugh.
“It’s not fair,” she goes on. “I want him too, you know.”
I smile to myself, watching him stare at my body out of the corner of his eyes. The boyfriend experience. The older woman next to him. The smiling and laughing, and telling stories. I think I get it.
I walk over to his table and whisper. “I want to make a trade, Walker.” He looks over at his date for the night. She’s busy talking with her friends, clearly wasted.
“A trade?” he rubs his chin.
“Yes. A trade,” I smile. “You crashed into me earlier. How about we call it even. I want the experience. Whatever it is, I want it. That’s my offer. Anyway, think it over. I’ll be calling you.”
Walker
Why the hell did she have to say she wanted the experience? She’s better than that. She doesn’t need to trade with me. The experience is for women who need it. That woman… she doesn’t need it. She deserves better.
I won’t do it, I decide. I’ll only see her if she really wants to see me. This isn’t a job. This isn’t negotiable. I want her, but not as a fucking commodity.
I’m not going to sit back and wait on her, though. She’s tempting, but that’s about it. I’ve been out with every woman there is. Every type, every body shape, and practically every age all the way down to twenty. I have to ask myself, “Is she really that special?” Well, the answer I get to is “probably not.”
Still, when I wake up, I’m thick and hard. I roll over and laugh at myself. No woman to fuck and I’m the prime cut of this city. I walk to my shower and turn it on, waiting for the water to heat up. I’m horny as fuck. Remembering how she looked at the party turns me on to no end. I should have bent her over in that bathroom. I should have made her understand just what kind of a man I really am.
I should have given her a taste of heaven, handed her her wildest dreams, and made her fucking toes curl.
I spit down against my cock. My body feels strong and young. Even at twenty-eight, I haven’t started aging. I take pride in how I look and feel. Yet, that woman barely even recognizes what kind of a prize I am.
I run my hands down and feel the hot water drip down my body. I imagine picking her up in front of me. I see and feel her legs wrap around my neck as her back is pressed hard against the wall. I can taste her as my tongue slides against every single fold. She tastes sweet in this fantasy of mine, but part of me wonders if it’s more like chocolate, like the way she smells.
I start stroking my cock faster, imagining her now, on her knees, spreading her cheeks apart. I love a woman who knows how to treat a man. I can imagine how kinky she gets, begging me to spank her creamy ass. I wonder how deep she likes it. Can she take every inch of me? Can she take a little choking? Will she press my hands down further?
I want to dive in her tits. I want her nipples to drag across my face, until they land perfectly in my mouth, for me to suck on. I want to worship that body of hers, to fall on my knees while she rides me close, whispering, “Cum inside me.”
I stroke faster and faster, wrapping my hand around my shaft. My head is slick and growing. I’m going to fucking cum. I nearly lose my balance as I shoot my load down the drain. Such a fucking waste. When it’s over, I’m left feeling empty. There’s no one to kiss. There’s no one to drink with or talk to. It’s just my empty fucking house. And me. How boring.
I go about my day, which consists of me getting drunk on the finest champagne. Ultimately, it gives me nothing. I have over a handful of calls, but I don’t answer any of the numbers I know. I’m waiting for one in particular, but she’s not calling today.
I wait until nightfall to realize that I’m shit out of luck. She’s playing the game harder than any woman I’ve met before. Does she not care about my charm? Didn’t she see those women laughing at my jokes, enamored with every story I told?
I get one phone call from an unknown number and I answer it. “Walker?” a deep voice asks into the receiver. It’s a man’s voice and I recognize it immediately. Hawkins.
“Hawk?” I ask. “Is that you?”
“I knew I’d find you sooner or later. You’ve been running from us for years,” he says. I can picture the ugly smile on his face, the scar that runs down the front, and the eerie hunch in his back as he tries to stand on his own two feet.
“It’s not like I’ve been trying to evade you,” I say.
“On the contrary,” he laughs. “You’ve done a real bang up job doing so. Tell me, how many years has it been?”
“Eight years,” I say. “How’d you find me?”
“Are you really that impressed? You know how we run things. You know we run a tight ship over here,” he says. The bastard’s got me. “Don’t worry. I don’t want anything from you. I’m just… catching up.”
“Catching up,” I repeat. I can’t laugh. Hawkins is the guy who got me started in this business. His agency is the reason why I’m over here, but I fled once I got a good return.
“You should have changed your name,” he laughs again. “It’s almost as if you’ve been waiting for me. How much have you been making over there, anyway?”
“Pennies on the dollar,” I lie. “And I did change my name. On the leases anyway.”
“Stop worrying. This is just a friend trying to catch up with another old friend. I’m proud of you, Walker,” he says.
“Thanks,” I mutter. My heart starts pounding. Will I have to leave this place? Will I have to squander everything I’ve fought so hard to achieve?
“I’ll let you go. I know how busy you are,” he says.
“Talk to you soon,” I say, knowing he’s going to be around, sooner or later.
“Perhaps. Or not, you never know with these things, do you?” There’s a sudden pause because I have really nothing to say. I owe him for more money than he’s letting on and he can sense my sudden fear, although I’m not running anytime soon.
“I guess not,” I simply say.
“Goodbye, Walker,” he hangs up the phone.
Erica
When I get home from the party, the house is dark and feels more foreign to me than ever. I tip-toe into the living room, to pour myself a small glass of wine, so I can fall asleep. Tonight, I won’t be sleeping in the same bed as Darrin. This is something I still have to get used to.
When I grab the right wine bottle, I hear him. “You didn’t tell me you’d be going out tonight,” he says. I jump in a panic, nearly dropping the bottle of wine onto the white carpet.
“Darrin!” I exclaim. “What the fuck are you doing?”
He’s sitting in his lazy-boy chair, drinking a glass of something unclear. He smiles and crosses his legs. “Where did you go tonight? Who are you seeing, Erica?” he asks. I can tell he’s been waiting up for a long time. It’s nearly 1A.M.
“None of your business.” I resume my task of pouring myself a glass of wine. I take a small drink, tasting the bitter fruit against the top of my mouth. I never really enjoyed wine, but it has always made me feel better in times of need.
“God dammit. Can’t you tell me anything?” He’s more frustrated than angry. I don’t want to hurt him. I never did. But he’s not listening to me. He can’t seem to comprehend why this is over and done with.
“This isn’t how love is supposed to be, Darrin. You’re not supposed to have sex with other women while your wife is at home, sick with the goddamn flu.”
“That was one time!” he yells, throwing his glass at the wall. It shatters in a dramatic effect, leaving my heart racing. I back up and he sees what he’s done, almost instantly. He sits back down and takes a deep breath. My arms are up, acting as a guard.
“One time,” he repeats. “And it was a mistake. The other times were even more stupid. I… I have a problem, Erica. Can’t you understand that? Don’t you have any empathy?”
“Putting your dick into unknown vaginas is not a problem. It’s not a
n addiction. It’s not a disease, Darrin! It’s a choice you continue to make. If you were doing this every night, I might come with you to a facility. I might even empathize with you,” I say. “But now, I can’t even look you in the eyes. This is over. I’m not seeing anyone, but I’d sure as hell would like to.”
He ignores just about everything I say. The situation I’m in is hopeless, an endless echo chamber. Whatever I say will be heard, stored, and disregarded as false. Only I will understand the words I say. Even my friends tell me to suck it up. “This is a man’s world,” I’m basically told. Men cheat. Get used to it. Well, I’m not accepting that. I’m on the way to finding something better.
“I gave you everything,” he says through his teeth. “Everything! Remember who put in a good word at your ad agency? Remember who put in the down payment to this house? And that dress you’re wearing. Jesus Christ, I was the one who gave you that, last Christmas. I was the one that offered you hope. I was the man of your dreams.”
For a second, I expect tears, but nothing comes. He’s gone from feeling frustrated, to feeling anger. The glass shards sit across the floor. What I can now tell by scent is whiskey has stained the carpet of his house. He’s right, after all. He put in the down payment. Everything is in his name. His car, his house, and my wardrobe. If he could legally own me, he’d probably already have done it. Hell, our prenuptial agreement is looking pretty damn good for him at this point.
He may own everything, but there’s one thing he doesn’t understand. I do not care anymore. None of these things matter as much as my ability to make my own decisions. “I’m sorry, Darrin. It’s not that I don’t love you in a certain way,” I begin. “I just can’t live this lie of a life anymore. I want more. I want better things. Shit, I want to go back to school. Remember when you said it would be a waste? It’s always been a dream of mine to get my masters.”
“Then go back to school. What do I care?” He stands up from his chair, thinking he’s found his leg up on me. I down the glass of wine and set it down on the mini bar. “Let’s fix this, baby. Let’s build a new life. You can get your masters. I believe in you.”
“Yeah?” I ask him. I drop to the floor and lay down near the spilt liquid. “Well, I don’t believe in this. I can’t believe in this.”
I wake up in a haze and I’m still across the floor. The whiskey has dried up and the glass fragments are still in the carpet. I’m starting to realize who I am and what I can be, but there are some things I still find hard to unlearn. I grab a small hand vacuum and suck up the glass. I pick up one large piece and it cuts my finger. A small droplet of blood falls onto the carpet.
“Shit!” I hiss, sucking on the edge of my finger. I almost break down and start to cry, but I’m stronger than that. I simply hold my breath until the pain goes away. It’s just another day. I have to keep telling myself that.
I’m late for work and have at least five missed calls from my boss at the ad agency. “You need to go in,” I tell myself. I look at the keys on the table. No doubt, Darrin has seen the damage to his car, but he hasn’t mentioned anything. In fact, he has already left for work. Either that, or he’s gone over to that bimbo’s house.
I pull out the card from my purse. The Boyfriend Experience. Walker Hambell. I can’t do it. I can’t call him. It wouldn’t be right. There are fantasies and there are realities. Walker is just a fantasy that went too far. He’s a male escort, for Christ’s sake. That’s what they call them, right? A prostitute? He’s clearly bad news, despite his charm and good looks. We kissed. I need to leave it at that. I toss the card into the trashcan and hope to God I never see him again.
Renata calls me several hours later. “Hey, you busy tonight?” she asks me.
“I’m wide open,” I laugh.
“Really? I thought for sure you’d be stuck with work assignments all night. Is everything alright?” she asks.
“I’ll talk to you about it tonight,” I sigh. “Everything is… well, it’s interesting, at least.”
The hours pass and I somehow find myself cleaning the whole damn house. My instincts are shit right now. I should be packing my things, not washing his underwear. But deep down inside, he’s got me trained to satisfy all his needs and he knows it. That’s why he thinks this whole thing will blow over. With time, persistence, and a lot of patience, a man can surely get his way.
But the women in a man’s life hold the key to true power. I know it.
When the sun sets, I meet up at Renata’s house. It’s a small place, connected to a side house, which she rents out for extra cash. I don’t know why, but I used to pity her. I used to think it was so sad that she had to work so hard just to scrape by. Now, it’s obvious how free she really is. She answers to no one but herself.
“What’s wrong, girl?” she asks me. She’s got a bottle of wine sitting on the table, but I refuse to drink anymore, for at least a few nights.
“It’s Darrin. He won’t let up. Last night, when I got home, he got angry,” I say. “He threw a glass at the wall, Ren. It was terrifying.”
“Jesus,” she mutters. “He actually threw something at you?”
“Well, it wasn’t at me, but it was pretty damn close,” I say, reliving the whole experience. I start to shake, so I close my eyes to feel grounded again.
“Bastard,” she whispers to herself. “So it’s really over, huh? Like, you can’t accept this crap, Erica.”
“I thought you said all men do this kind of stuff?” I smile a little. “One night ago you were telling me to take it easy, acting as if everything was fine and dandy.”
“Well, you clearly shouldn’t listen to me. Look at where I am,” she laughs, awkwardly, to herself.
“You’re in a better position than I’m in, Ren. Don’t put yourself down like that,” I say. “Besides, I haven’t gone into work in the past two days. I’m pretty sure that ship is sailing.”
“Wow, this is really serious,” she mutters. “Erica, you can’t just brush everything aside. When you do finally divorce his ass, you need to be prepared.”
I shrug. “I know, I know. I just…” I stop myself from going into panic-mode. “Look, to be honest, I can’t stop thinking about that guy at the party.”
“Oh, jeeze,” she laughs. “The guy with the rock hard body? Um, yes please. Tell me that you called him already.”
“I threw away his number.” I don’t tell her about the card, about what he specializes in.
“You didn’t!” she cries. “Erica, you idiot! I would have called him.”
“You don’t understand,” I laugh. “I can’t call him. I think he’s bad news. Like, he’s a real player.”
“And?” Her eyes go wide and buggy with confusion. “That’s like the perfect combination. Do you know how well he probably fucks? He’s a perfect rebound situation.”
“Ew. Rebound.” I sigh and put my palms to my face with exhaustion. “That’s the last thing I want right now. Besides, I can’t stoop to Darrin’s level, can I?” I peer through my fingers, waiting for her to answer me with some sort of sagely advice.
“Girl, he cheated on you with three different women,” she smiles. “Why are you the one feeling guilty about things? You told him you wanted out. He’s not listening to you. If you ask me, his feelings are not your problem anymore. Plus, how do you know he’s done doing the dirty?”
“That’s just it.” I frown. “I don’t know. For all I know, he could be on his lunch break, getting head from that…” I stop myself. I’m not going to blame her. It’s not her fault. It’s Darrin’s fault. He’s such a bastard.
“Well, I’m pretty ticked off that you threw away the guy’s number, but there are other fish in the sea, I guess,” she says.
“It’ll still be in the trash at home. It’s not technically gone forever,” I say.
“You better grab it before bed,” she warns. “This is your ticket out of there. Once you go out with this guy, you’re never going to want to go home to Darrin again.”
“You’re not a slut. Don’t listen to him. He’s the slut who threw a glass at you. I can’t trust him anymore. Frankly, I never really have,” she says with a steady confidence in her voice.
I blurt out, “I kissed him, you know.” Followed by, “That guy. In the women’s bathroom.”
“Wait,” she smiles. “Back up. You what?”
“I kissed him in the bathroom,” I repeat, feeling my cheeks turn warm. “Well, he kissed me, really. It was… well, it was interesting, to say the least.”
“You loved it, you bitch!” She slaps the couch in a hysterical fit. “Oh my God, I can’t believe you. You totally hid this from me.”
“I didn’t know he was going to do it!” I laugh. “All of a sudden he got all close to me. He put his finger up to my lips and told me to quiet down. That’s when he kissed me.”
“You’re depressing me,” she says. “That’s like the hottest thing I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth. Damn you, E.”
I relive it over and over again in my head. On the drive home, I stare at the darkened road and the white lines that I roll over, endlessly. The radio is powered off, but the wind provides a strange soundtrack to the images in my head.
He’s standing at the edge of my bedroom, in my new house. I wake up and see him there. He’s not smiling. He moves silently toward me. He crawls on the bed, putting his finger to his lips. I can’t speak. I can’t breathe. His hand slides up my nightgown and I feel as he enters me.
When he pulls his hand away, he offers me two wet fingers. “Taste yourself,” he commands me. I open my mouth for him, as if in a trance. He gazes into my eyes, piercing through my soul. His presence is so heavy.
I taste his fingers, the warmth of my wetness moving down my tongue. My lips wrap firmly around his fingers. It tastes sweet, like candy. There is no guilt, even though I know this is all so wrong. He pulls his fingers against my lips and brings his face down against my breasts. He licks around each nipple, lightly, and cups the bottom of my cleavage firmly.
