by JA Huss
I kiss it over and over and over again. Little fluttery kisses made sloppy from the blow job.
“Turn around,” he says.
I close my eyes. Exhale. And then carefully reposition myself so I’m straddling his hips. He’s sitting up just enough for me to brace my hands on the headboard and not put pressure on his ribs. Bruised or broken—doesn’t matter. He’s hurt and the only thing I care about right now is making him feel good.
His cock is peeking out from between my legs. Long and thick, it stretches up over his lower abdomen, reaching for his navel. I rub my pussy against it, letting my lips fold over him as I slowly move back and forth.
Tyler closes his eyes as he smiles. “Fuck. You’re trying to kill me.”
“No,” I say, leaning my head down to kiss his mouth. He tastes like me. “I’m here to save you.”
I don’t know why I say it, except… I mean it. So I do know why. He said that back when we were still figuring things out. I was his salvation. And I didn’t want to accept the job, but that was then, and this is now, and I want nothing more than to be the angel he thinks I am.
So I lift my hips up, take his cock in my hand like it’s a precious artifact one needs to respect and be gentle with, and place him at the entrance to my pussy.
His eyes are open again, staring at me in a way that makes my heart melt with love as I lower myself, letting him press up inside me until I am full and complete.
The jokes are in the past now. We’re as serious as two people can be. I take my hands off the headboard and place them on his face. His hands find my hips and we stare at each other as we move. Slowly this time. Not rushed or frantic, but carefully. Tenderly. Our bodies joined together—fitting together—like lost puzzle pieces that found their way back into the big picture called happiness.
TYLER
It’s all happened so fast. Except it hasn’t at all. It’s been coming for a lifetime. I didn’t know it. She did. And now here we are. The warm desert nights have turned into chilly desert nights, and surprisingly, I find someone who loves me and who I love back, and together we will keep each other warm.
Ain’t that a kick in the nuts?
“Thank you,” I say.
She makes a face with a furrowed brow and a confused smile and says, “For what? You usually wait until we’re done for that.”
“Yeah, I know,” I tell her, as she keeps moving slowly, agonizingly, erotically back and forth along the length of my cock. “But that’s not what I’m thanking you for.”
She slows her movement, tilts her head, strokes my hair, and asks, “Then what?”
I take her face in my hands now and lock onto her with an earnestness that you can’t fake. “For loving me. For choosing to let go of the anger you had. And for... seeing me. I guess.”
She gets a little teary. That’s one thing about being a wiseass all the time. When you get serious about some shit, people take notice.
“I never stopped thinking about you,” she says. “If I had forgotten you, that’d be one thing. The opposite of love isn’t hate, it’s ambivalence. I’ve never been ambivalent about you. Ever.” She smiles an aching, yearning, sheepishly precious smile, then says, “I fucking hated you.”
I laugh, she laughs, even though the tears are still there, and she starts moving again, kissing me hard. Arching my back stings, so I just rotate my hips in circles while she slides back and forth. We’re a human gyroscope.
We’re trying to be gentle. To be slow. But our need for each other is too great. We’ve been through more in the last two months than most people endure in a lifetime and we’re still here and still able to tell the tale. Not that we will. But it creates an even more brutal urgency to our actions with each other than would normally be there for two people newly in love. Because both of us have been taught the same lesson over, and over, and over again.
Don’t take this life too much for granted. It can be taken away when you’re least expecting it.
We climax at the same time. She moans and whines and yells. I make a sound that can only be described as “caveman-esque,” and then she collapses forward, as is her wont, and I try to pretend that it isn’t crushing me. Because... eh. So what?
“Commander Morgan,” she gasps, her face buried in my shoulder. “Thanks for saving me from eternal celibacy. Because that was way fucking better.”
“Yeah. Celibacy’s some bullshit. Fuck you, celibacy.”
She laughs at that and that rising and falling of her ribs on mine is a bitch, all right. So, when the laughter dies down, I should just let it rest. Let her be. Let us sit in the moment and not tip any apple carts or whatever.
I should, but I’ve met myself, so I’m not surprised when I say, “I have three different jokes that involve the word ‘Uranus.’ You want one or all three?”
And her literal bone-shaking laughter starts again.
I’m in the kitchen grabbing a Perrier (which I didn’t know I loved as much as I do – those bubbles are delightful) when Evan walks in, dressed in a top coat and carrying just about the most beautiful leather duffel bag I’ve ever seen. It’s brown with this unreal patina on it, and looks as soft as...well, really soft fuckin’ leather, I guess. I don’t normally notice shit like that but living here must be rubbing off on me. I don’t mind. I’m into the idea of becoming a little more sophisticated. I’m gonna be turning over all my old leaves in this upcoming new year, so add sophisticated gentle-person to the list.
As I’m thinking this, a mighty belch, spawned by the Perrier, leaves my lips and I adjust my dick inside the boxer shorts that are the only thing I have on, since Maddie’s still naked in bed and I may see if we can go again in a few minutes.
Becoming new-look Tyler Morgan is a process.
“Where you going?” I ask.
“Um, we’re heading to Paris for the New Year.”
“Oh, shit, really? I didn’t know that. When did you plan that?”
“Uh,” he says, pausing like he’s embarrassed or something. “About forty-five minutes ago? Robert just decided that he wants to get out of town.”
That hangs there for a second as he looks at me with those impenetrable black eyes, nodding his head a little bit. I nod too as I take another sip of my water, and then all of a sudden I realize...
“It’s because we’re fucking too loud, isn’t it?”
“Little bit, maybe, yeah.”
He answers before I even get the whole question out.
“Shit, dude, I’m sorry,” I say. “We’re just—”
He puts his hand up to stop me. “Seriously, all good. I’ve got the time off coming to me, I’ve been wanting to go somewhere anyway, he’s always working... It’s cool. You’ve done me a mitzvah.”
I make the sign of the cross at him.
“Catholic, not Jewish, but whatever, the thought is appreciated,” he says. “Also, you guys could use the privacy. You’ve fucking earned it.” He pats me on the arm and rubs my shoulder. “You OK, by the way?”
“Yeah, I’m all good. My ribs still hurt a little more than I’m used to, but I did get punched, beaten repeatedly with a bat, run through fire, and blah, blah, blah, so to be expected. I guess.”
“Uh-huh. Uh-huh,” he says, nodding again. “And how’s this?” He taps me on the temple with his index finger.
I kind of stroke my beard absently while thinking about my answer. There’s a reason you see people make that gesture when they want to imply that they’re thinking. It’s an easy habit to fall into. “Honestly, man?” I say. “Better than it’s been in a long time. I know that probably sounds fucking nuts, ironically, but... I was even thinking about calling Dr. Eldridge to tell her that I’m cured.”
“Yeah. Do that. Shrinks love it when their patients profess their conclusive sanity.”
I roll my eyes at him. Not really because I feel the need to, but because it’s just kind of our bit. I like to play my role as the scolded best friend properly.
“Um,” he says
again.
“Yeeeessss?” I ask.
“There is one other thing. I wasn’t going to say anything, but...”
I’m getting worried all of a sudden. Evan isn’t usually a ‘I wasn’t going to say anything’ kind of a guy.
“What?” I ask. “What is it? What’s up?”
“Um, I was at the station three days ago, on Christmas Eve...”
Jesus. Was Christmas Eve only three days ago? Feels like a fucking eon.
“...and, uh, Jack dropped by.”
“Jack? Who’s Jack? Jack who?” And then I realize Jack who. “Jack my fucking dad, Jack?” He nods. I take a second. My jaw just got really tight. I need to unhinge it. I roll my neck from side to side and it cracks. Violently.
“Jesus. You need a chiropractor?”
“Probably. What did dear old Jack want?”
He shrugs. “Dunno. Came by. Told me that he had seen you. Asked if I knew that you were back in town.”
“And what’d you say?”
“Nothing, man. Come on. I told him that I knew you were here but that’s it.”
“You didn’t tell him about—”
“Dude. Give me some credit. I didn’t tell him anything.”
I nod, slowly. Take another sip of my delicious bubble water. “And so what happened?”
“Nothin’. I stared at him a while until he got uncomfortable, and then he split.”
I breathe in through my nose, filling my lungs with oxygen, then letting it out the same way. I tap out a tiny rhythmic beat on the countertop while I think about nothing in particular, or at least nothing I can identify. “OK. Thanks. Hey! Have a good trip, bro!” I put the bottle down and go to give him a hug. I do a quick check-in to make sure I’m not still rocking a partial. Not because I give a shit if he feels Chuckie or whatever. I’ve known the guy my whole life. If you can’t press your fat hard-on into your gay best friend’s thigh, then what kind of friendship is it really?
No, it’s because that cashmere top coat he’s wearing must cost at least thirty large, and I don’t want to accidentally get post-sex come-drizzle on it. Because I am thoughtful and considerate. New-look Tyler Morgan is a classy motherfucker.
“Love you, man,” I tell him as we hug and pat each other on the back.
“Love you too, bro,” he says.
Pulling back, I add, “And thank you for, you know, everything.”
He smiles and laughs a wee laugh. “Bro isn’t just a term of affection. Any time, anywhere. You know this.”
I smile a tight grin myself. “Ditto, kiddo.” And then... “Oh. Um, does that extend to the Tesla too?” Maddie’s car was lost on Halloween and mine was burned the fuck up on Christmas Eve, so I need something to drive. I suppose I could just go buy another one, but if there’s a perfectly good all-electric vehicle sitting here, I should do the right thing by the environment. New-look Tyler Morgan is a straight-up conservationist.
“Of, course, man,” he says with a weary smile. “Try not to lose it or blow it up.”
“It wouldn’t blow. It would just burn,” I correct him. “There’s no fuel anyway.”
He sighs and nods his head. Then he turns and heads for the front door. Just as he’s got his hand on the doorknob, I call to him, “Hey, Ev?”
“Yep?”
“Have a safe New Year, bro.”
He smiles one last time in the open doorway and says, “You too, Ty. Peace.”
Chapter Two - Maddie
I pull up to Annie’s house—wait. I guess it’s not Annie’s house anymore, is it? It’s my house. Or no. Because I don’t really think I live here. Do I?
I laugh kinda loud as I turn Evan’s Tesla off in the driveway. I mean, of course this is my place. I’ve lived here for almost six months. But now that Annie’s gone and Tyler and I are together…
I get out and go inside. There’s music coming from the back yard and I can see Caroline and Diane sitting under the old palapa wearing sunglasses. Diane is swirling a pink umbrella around inside her fruity pink drink, while Caroline talks and stabs a toothpick into some red grapes on the plate in front of her.
I open the sliding door and exit the house. “Hey,” I say, closing the door behind me. It’s not really cold outside, but it’s not exactly warm either, so it’s curious that they’re out here. But then again, not really. They spend a lot of time outside when they’re not working. I imagine if I had their job, I would too. “What’s going on?” I ask.
“For fuck’s sake!” Caroline says, standing up and rushing over to me. She pulls me into a hug and squeezes me tight. “We’ve been worried sick about you, Maddie.”
Diane is up now too, her sunglasses low down on the bridge of her nose as she looks at me through thick, fake eyelashes. Which suddenly makes me think of Raquel and the other girls at Pete’s. Which makes me remember that Pete’s is gone. That Pete is gone. And I’ll probably never see those girls again.
God. How things have changed. I feel equal parts sad and happy about the change. Because on the one hand, I feel like I’m out of the rut I was in. And on the other… I feel like I gave up a lot to get here.
Caroline holds me out at arm’s length, looking me over like I need a good looking-over. “You’re OK? You were in Monaco?”
Monaco? “Uh, yeah, I’m fine. How’d you know I was in... Monaco?”
Diane huffs some air, which blows her hair up around her eyes, and then points to the table under the palapa and says, “Sit down and have a drink with us.”
I relent. Not because I want to have a drink with them—I really just want to grab some clothes and go back to Evan and Robert’s place and get back into bed with Tyler. I know if I’m gone too long he’ll get antsy and that’s not a good thing. He might decide he’s recovered and start doing something stupid like… I dunno. Take your pick of things Tyler could be doing that he shouldn’t be doing. It’s highly unlikely he’s in bed right now.
“Just one,” I say to Diane. But she’s already walking into the house to blend up something cool and fruity for me.
“How’s Tyler?” Caroline asks. “Diane said he was pretty upset when she saw him. Are you guys OK? Is everything...?”
I open my mouth to answer, then stop, because my answer was going to be about the state of his bruised—not broken—ribs. But I catch myself just in time. “Oh, yeah, he’s fine. We’re fine,” I say instead.
“You don’t seem convinced,” Diane says, returning, plopping down next to Caroline and sliding a strawberry daiquiri towards me. She eyes me. “What’s really going on? We haven’t seen you in I don’t know how long.” She sips her own drink.
“It’s not that we’re prying,” Caroline says. “It’s that, well… We’re lonely.”
Diane huffs out another breath of air, once again blowing her bangs away from her eyes. Her sunglasses are on top of her head now, so I can see her better.
I realize she might’ve been crying.
“Are you guys OK?” I ask, suddenly feeling awful for not asking about them first.
“Perfect,” Diane quips back. “I mean we’re just great. We lost one of our best friends, and now we’re about to lose another one. What could be better than that?”
Best friend? Another one? Does she mean me?
I just stare at them for a few seconds, trying to wrap my head around this new development. They are friends, I decide. They took me in when I had nowhere to go. They accepted me and made me feel welcome. And yeah, some of that was just practicality. They had an empty room, I had rent money. But we’re more than that. Aren’t we?
“I know you’re a loner,” Diane says, wiping her eyes. She’s crying for sure now, but not like sobs or anything. Just tears. “I get it. You’re a survivor. And you don’t need anyone. You built your life around self-reliance. But we’re pack people, ya know? Caroline and me. And now Annie’s gone and you’re… you’re gonna leave us too, aren’t you?”
“No,” I say automatically. But I regret it immediately. Because yes
. I am.
“Are you done stripping?” Caroline asks.
I nod, inhale deeply, then let the breath out slowly. “Yeah, I’m done. I don’t know what I’m gonna do next but… Pete’s, ya know? It was... I can’t explain it, I guess. But it was necessary and now…”
“And now you’re moving on,” Diane finishes. Her tears have been wiped away, her stoic exterior back in place.
I nod. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
“We’re happy for you,” Caroline says. “And for Annie too. I mean, who the hell wants their best friends to be stuck wasting their only lives as whores, right?”
“Caroline,” I start. But I have nothing for that. She’s right. No one chooses to sell their body if they don’t have to. I need to say something kind to my friends. Because that’s what they are. Maybe we’re not your classic girl gang, but we’re in this together.
At least we were. Before Annie left town to find her happily ever after. Before I found my long-lost soulmate and he ended up being a bazillionaire. Which makes my current situation kind of fairytale too, doesn’t it?
If I wasn’t sitting next to two thoroughly distressed women, I’d laugh out loud at that. Because after all the pain, and the fear, and the anger, and the failure—I found something good. And it had nothing to do with anything but luck.
Diane and Caroline didn’t get the good luck. They’re still here, in exactly the same place they were. Stuck. Two college-educated women selling sex to make ends meet.
It’s not fair.
But when has life ever been fair?
There’s several moments of awkward silence. “So,” I say, trying to fill the empty space. “What do you guys have planned for the future?”
“If you move out, then I guess our future involves looking for a second new roommate.” Diane says this without hiding her animosity.
