by Amy Cross
“I should find a condom,” he mutters, reaching into his pocket.
“No,” I reply, grabbing him by the waist and pulling him closer, “no condom.”
“But -”
“Just do it,” I continue, reaching down and taking hold of his hardening penis before slipping the head between the lips of my vagina. I'm not very wet, but I don't care: I reach around and grab his buttocks, pulling him deeper inside. It's uncomfortable and not remotely sexy, but I need to get rid of my thoughts. “You know what to do, right?” I ask, looking up at his startled face. “Just go fast and hard.”
“Well, yeah, but -”
“Stop saying 'but' all the time,” I tell him, trying not to sound annoyed. “Just do it. The more you over-think it, the less good it'll be.”
Without saying anything else, he adjusts his position and then starts cautiously thrusting in and out of me. The sensation is mildly uncomfortable, but I'm soon wet enough and after a few seconds he seems to switch gears, suddenly increasing his rhythm. I put my arms around him and pull him closer, until my nipples are rubbing against the fabric of his shirt, and I try to focus on the sensation of him inside me. It's been so long since I was with anyone, but so far even this act of random sex doesn't seem to be enough to clear my mind. Reaching down, I place my hands on his firm, bare buttocks and feel the muscles flexing with each and every thrust. It's almost like holding a machine.
“Harder,” I whisper, as I feel his shirt starting to chafe my nipples. “Come on, do it faster.”
He immediately obeys, pounding into me with all the force of someone who wants to get a short, sharp moment of pleasure. There's nothing sensual about this, nothing erotic or beautiful. It's just two people fucking, and although I feel a slight twinge of pleasure, I'm pretty sure that I'm nowhere near reaching orgasm. Still, that's not the point, not right now. I turn my head and place the left side of my face against his shoulder, trying to let myself get hypnotized by the rhythm, but nothing seem to be able to drive my thoughts away. My nipples are still rubbing against his shirt, but I don't care, I just want something, anything to help me stop thinking. Squeezing my eyes tight shut, I try to focus on purely physical things, but -
And then suddenly he finishes, letting out a series of gasps as he ejaculates deep inside me. He tries to pull out but I hold his ass in place, forcing him to keep his penis inside. I open my eyes and wait as I feel him throbbing slightly, and then finally he lets out a sight and falls still.
“Um...” he starts to say after a moment, sounding distinctly embarrassed. “So, did you...”
I pause. “Yeah,” I tell him finally, even though it's a lie. “Couldn't you tell?”
Mark.
All I can think about is Mark.
Mr. Blue.
Is he alive or dead?
“Yeah,” Scott says, slipping his penis out of me and taking a step back. “I mean, sure I could tell. Totally. I mean, I'm not a complete idiot.”
“It was good,” I reply, forcing a smile as I reach into my bag and pull out some tissues, which I use to wipe myself. Suddenly everything feels so tawdry and hopeless, as if there was never any chance of this working. “Thanks.”
“It's cool. Any time.” He pauses. “I mean, not any time, but... Well, actually, you know, any time would be okay. I'm not against it, I just...” His voice trails off, as if he's completely at a loss for words. “So... Are you, like, on the pill or something?”
“I am.”
“Okay, that's cool. Do you mind if I get one of those tissues?”
Passing him a tissue, I continue to clean myself for a moment before getting to my feet and pulling my underwear back on. I'm still sticky and uncomfortable, but I just want to get out of here.
“So I won't tell anyone about this,” he continues. “If you don't want me to.”
“I'd appreciate that,” I reply, as I rearrange my dress. As soon as I put my bra back on, I feel a rough pain on my right nipple, and I look down to see that it rubbed a little raw against Scott's shirt. Using a thumb to rub the bare patch, I feel another flash of pain, and I realize that the pain actually seems to be helping a little, pushing all other thoughts from my mind. Slipping my bra back on and then pulling the straps of my dress up, I figure that maybe it's pain I need after all, not pleasure.
“Are we...” Scott pauses as he finishes rearranging himself. “So, do you want to do this again some time? Maybe somewhere else? Like -”
“I'm not sure,” I tell him. “It was great, but I'm really not certain that I'll be around.”
Mark.
I've avoided thinking about him for so long, but now he's back in my mind. What the hell is wrong with me? How have I managed to last eighteen months without knowing if he's okay?
“You're going somewhere?” Scott asks.
“I'll let you know,” I reply, suddenly feeling as if I need to get away from him as fast as possible. Stepping closer, I plant a kiss on his cheek before turning and hurrying along the alley.
“Call me!” he shouts.
“Yeah,” I whisper, although there's no way he can hear me. When I reach the end of the alley, I turn left and head past the canal. There are people up ahead, spilling out of a club, but I quickly push past them as I make my way toward my building. I feel dirty and wrong, and let down by the fact that sex with Scott didn't help get rid of my rampaging thoughts at all, but when I reach up and bump my hand against my right breast, I feel a flash of raw, sore pain from the nipple, and my thoughts fade away for a couple of seconds.
It's enough.
“Live sex show!” a voice calls out from a nearby doorway. “Ten euros!”
Stopping, I look at the man. He's short, balding, and he clearly has no enthusiasm for his job at all.
“Live sex show,” he says dourly as soon as we make eye contact. “Ten euros. Ladies welcome, free drink included. Best show you'll see in this part of the city.”
Fishing about in my bag for a moment, I pull out ten euros and stuff the note into the man's hand, before heading through the doorway. I don't know why I'm doing this, except that I feel some strange urge to dull my senses further and for some reason I'm drawn to sex. After all, sex is the only thing that can completely overwhelm me and distract me from the chaos in my life, and I've abstained for long enough.
“It's a bit wild in there,” the man says, as if he's trying to warn me. “You shouldn't have any trouble, but watch yourself, yeah?”
Ignoring him, I slip through the plastic curtains and find myself in a darkened room with various chairs dotted around, filled with slouched, bored-looking men who aren't touching their drinks. On the stage at he front of the room, a naked woman is forcing a startled punter down onto his knees and thrusting her crotch into his face. I stand by the bar for a moment and watch the whole disgusting scene, trying to find some kind of emotional response. Spotting movement nearby, I look over at one of the tables and see that a customer has his hand down the front of his trousers, evidently giving himself a little moment of pleasure.
“Drink?” the barman asks, sounding as disinterested as the doorman. “You get a free one with your ticket.”
Without replying, I continue to watch the show. The woman is really pushing the guy's face into her crotch now, to the extent that I'm worried he might not be able to breathe. She's pretending to enjoy it, of course, but I can tell the whole thing's fake. It's just another game, one of many games that fill the world. I hear a gasp nearby, as the masturbating customer gets his moment of relief, but I don't even bother to look over at him. I'm almost hypnotized by the sight of the woman on the stage as she continues to terrorize the poor guy she's dragged up there. After a moment, I realize there's a foul smell in the room, which I guess comes from a combination of all the bright lights aimed at the stage, and all the sweat and other juices sloshing around. All things considered, this is the least erotic, least sexual thing I've ever witnessed in my life.
And that's when I realize what I have to do.
/>
***
“London,” I tell the woman behind the counter at the airport. “First flight you've got.”
“Right,” she replies, clearly a little startled as she starts typing into her computer. “There's... I can get you on a plane that leaves in two hours. British Airways, but it's a little more expensive than -”
“That's fine,” I say, placing my wallet on the counter and opening it to reveal the stash of notes. “I'll be paying cash. How much?”
Part Two
London
Mark
2008
“Oh God,” Meredith gasps, rolling across the bed and onto her back, “that was... horrible!”
“It was your idea,” I mutter, grabbing a towel and wiping myself clean.
“Yes, but...” She pauses, staring at me with an expression of disgust. “Are you sure you were doing it right?”
“Is it possible to do it wrong?”
“I wouldn't have thought so, but...” She grimaces. “Well, I didn't like it all and we're not doing it again. If you want butt-sex, you'll have to find someone else from now on.” She climbs off the bed, stark naked and blistered from the sun, with skin peeling from her back. “I'll see you in the bar before dinner. I want to be alone for an hour after we shower, just to recover a little anal dignity. I don't know if I can even look you in the eye right now.”
“It was your idea!” I point out again.
“Was it?” she asks, stopping and glancing back at me. “Whatever, I didn't like it, so don't think we'll be doing it again. My bum is off-limits from now on.”
“But it was -”
“See you down in the bar,” she adds, interrupting me.
As she heads to the bathroom, I sit cross-legged on the bed and try to get my breath back. The past few minutes were awkward, uncomfortable and deeply, deeply unsexy. Meredith might be keen to get dirty all the time, but something about her just doesn't seem to work, and I'm starting to think that we're just not compatible. After this short stay, I think it might be time to break things off.
***
A short while later, sitting on a stool in the bar, I stare down at my half-finished drink and try to work out how I can enjoy the next few days. The thought of spending so much time with Meredith is pretty horrific, but at the same time I don't want to make it worse by letting her see that I'm bored, and ditching her would be needlessly dramatic. I guess I just have to act as if I'm enjoying myself and wait for her to ditch me.
“A glass of red wine, please,” says a woman next to me. “Rioja, preferably something from about five or six years ago. Charge it to my room.”
The barman heads over to the storeroom, and after a moment I realize that the woman is staring at me. I focus on my drink for a moment longer, before glancing over and realizing that it's the same woman from the beach earlier. She's a little older than I'd realized, maybe in her forties or even fifties, but she has the kind of effortless elegance that can knock at least a decade off a person's age with just the blink of an eye.
“Nice swim earlier?” she asks, with a faint smile.
I look back down at my drink.
“Oh relax,” she continues, “I'm just teasing you. I noticed you were out in the water for a while, and you went under the surface and stayed there for a few minutes before coming back up. Spiritual crisis? It almost looked like you were testing yourself.”
“It did?” I ask, surprised that she was paying such close attention.
“Maybe I've got the wrong end of the stick,” she adds, with a nonchalant shrug as the barman sets a glass of wine in front of her. The wine is a rich ruby red color, enough to make me cast a lingering glance that she quickly notices. “Another,” she says to the barman. “Bring one for my friend.”
“Oh, no, it's -”
“Are you objecting to the wine,” she continues, “or to the suggestion that you're my friend?”
Smiling, I look down at my whiskey and cola, which suddenly seems much less enticing. A moment later, I hear a glass clinking against the bar, and I see that the barman has already brought my wine. It'd seem churlish to decline now.
“I'll be honest with you,” the woman continues, “I was watching you on the beach earlier. I think you noticed, and perhaps I could have been more subtle, but the truth is... Well, the truth is, I've never seen someone look so miserable in such a wonderful place. The sun was out, the water was warm, we're so far from all the horrors of the world down here in the south of France, and yet you looked as if you'd rather be anywhere else. In fact, you spent so long under the water, I began to worry that you were contemplating drowning yourself. Cheers.” She takes her glass and holds it toward me, and I do the same, letting the glasses touch for a moment. “So what was bringing you down?” she asks. “It couldn't possibly have been that delightful creature whose back you were doing, could it?”
“Her name's Meredith,” I reply, taking a sip of wine. “She's my... She's accompanying me on this trip.”
“Not your girlfriend, then?”
“I'm not sure it's that formal.”
She smiles. “Just casual sex and a little company?”
I can't help but laugh. “Yeah, something like that.”
“How's the conversation?”
“It -”
“That good?”
I feel bad for smiling, but I can't help it.
“So let's see,” she continues. “You're young, you're traveling the world, you're in the company of a beautiful young woman, and somehow it's still not enough for you.” I don't know when, but the smile on her face has faded away at some point since she started that sentence. “You have a sad soul. You're looking for something, but you're not finding it, and you don't know whether you'll ever find it. You're young enough to know the world is waiting for you, and old enough to know that ambition isn't enough. What do you want to be? A writer? Musician? Entrepreneur?”
“I want to be...” I pause, realizing that it's strange to be getting into such an intimate conversation with a complete strange. Glancing over my shoulder, I check to make sure that Meredith isn't around. “I want to be something else,” I say, finally turning back to the woman. “Anything else.”
“Sex and carefree abandon aren't enough for you?”
I shake my head.
“And this Meredith girl -”
“She plays games,” I reply, cutting her off. “I hate people who play games.”
“You do, do you?”
I nod.
“Maybe you just haven't played the right game yet,” she adds, taking a sip of wine.
“Games complicate things,” I tell her.
“Complications can be good.”
“Or infuriating.”
“It's healthy to be infuriated now and then.”
“Are you going to contradict everything I say?” I ask.
She smiles. “Fair point.”
“I don't want to play games,” I tell her again. “I don't know what I do want to do, but games...” I shake my head.
“Don't write such things off just yet,” she adds. “I don't want to take up too much of your time, handsome stranger, but I think I see something in you, something that could be cultivated so that it becomes rather fine. With your permission, I'd like to give you my card.” Reaching into her purse, she pulls out a business card and slides it toward me. “If you make it back to London, you should get in touch. I have connections, I might be able to help you. Of course, you'd need to work out what you want to do first, but maybe I can help with that too. The possibilities are endless, if you look at things the right way.”
“Alice Taylor,” I mutter, picking the card up. “What exactly do you do, Alice Taylor?”
“This and that. I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name.”
“Mark,” I reply. “Mark Douglas.”
“Mark.” Finishing her wine, she climbs off the stool. “I think I know a game that you might like to play.”
I shake my head.
“It
's in London,” she adds.
“I don't like games.”
“I think you'd be good at this one.”
“I told you -”
“And I told you,” she continues, interrupting me, “the problem might simply be that you haven't played the right game yet, or with the right people. You have a chance to be part of something huge, Mark, something that might even change the world. I don't believe you have the strength to turn that down. After all, this might be your last chance to do anything that makes a difference. Or would you rather just go back out into the water and dare yourself to drift away?” As she turns to leave, she brushes a hand against my leg, although I'm not sure whether the move was intentional or not. “Don't be a nobody,” she whispers, leaning closer. “You need a direction. Call me.”
As she walks away, I stare at her business card. After a moment, I turn to call out to her, but she's already gone. Looking around the bar, I realize that there's no sign of her at all, so I look back down at the card and try to imagine, just for a moment, that it might be worth calling this Alice Taylor woman. Finally, telling myself that the whole thing is ridiculous, I slip the card into my pocket and get on with the job of drinking this wine, which – I have to admit – is far better than anything I've tasted before.
Another night with Meredith means another night of getting drunk. Alcohol is the only way to keep from dying of boredom.
Elly
Today
“Mr. Dunn was detained overnight for questioning,” the newspaper front-page reads, “and is expected to be held for another twenty-four hours as police continue their investigation.”
