Blood Trouble

by Connie Suttle

  "What's a fuck buddy?" I had to say the words slowly to keep my tongue from tripping over them.

  "Like friends or exes with benefits. You know, when you have a good friend or an ex who really knows how to fuck, you keep that part of the relationship open. If you need a good fuck with no strings, you call them up. Next day, you're back to being friends or exes. They need a fuck, they call you up. It's a pretty reliable system, as long as you establish the ground rules going in. No serious entanglements. Sex only. No kissing or intimate embraces. And if anybody finds another partner for a permanent relationship, it ends. That's how it works."

  "Are you serious? You've done this before?" I was shocked by the casual way he'd described it.

  "Not for a couple of years—too busy working, getting the bar funding together and going to business school in my spare time." He shrugged and dropped the thin, red straws into his empty drink. The ends he'd chewed were almost worn through.

  "Uh-huh." I nodded, not understanding in the least.

  "Bree, you don't have any experience with sex. Not any good experience, anyway. I need a fuck. I think you do, too. A really good fuck. I've been told I'm good at fucking. Why don't we solve both problems at once? We can be fuck buddies when it's needed, and still be friends the rest of the time."

  "But—what?" I only thought I was shocked before. I was well and truly shocked, now.

  "Come on, baby. It's just fucking." He tapped the straws into his empty drink, rattling ice cubes. "I'm wound up after the earthquake and expensive cracks in the bar's foundation. You're wound up because helping me out wasn't in your plans. Sex is a great way to calm things down. I give you a climax or two and we'll both relax."

  "But," my mouth was working like that of a landed fish. No coherent sentences passed my lips, I know that much. Was he right? Was it just sex—or, as he put it, fucking? Could you do such an intimate thing with another person and not be (or get) involved?

  "Come on." Hank tossed money on the table and lifted his jacket from the seat beside him. When I failed to stand up, he gently grasped my arm and practically lifted me from my seat. He explained the rules as he herded me outside and into a foggy, San Francisco night.

  "No kissing, that implies intimacy," he shrugged into his jacket and grabbed my arm again. Perhaps he was worried I'd run away. I thought about it, but my legs were too rubbery to comply with my addled brain. "No expecting flowers or dinner or anything that implies a relationship. This is sex only, and mutually provided. One partner is within his or her rights to point out that they've gotten multiple calls from the other party without making any of their own. Compensation may be made to the party owed, in the form of their choosing."

  "This is too complicated," I muttered.

  "Then you should make sure that you ask as often as I do," he said simply. "Bree, it's not brain surgery."

  "I think I need a lobotomy, then," I mumbled. The alcohol was wearing thin and I really hadn't agreed to this.

  "Here." He steered me into an alcove and pulled a key from his pocket. "I like Bogey's because it's close to home," he said. I smelled the bourbon from his drink as he spoke. It wasn't unpleasant, it just was.

  His third-story apartment was clean, if a bit Spartan. Consisting of a kitchen, sitting room and bedroom, I saw that the sitting room doubled as Hank's office. A desk took up a corner next to a bay window, and papers and file folders lay in stacks upon it. I briefly imagined that he'd sat at that desk, frantically working figures, trying to find a way to finance the bar and then fix cracks in the foundation on his own. Then I'd made my offer, he'd accepted, and now he was making another offer.

  Was sex really that good? It must have something to recommend it or people wouldn't be doing it all the time.

  "What if it hurts?" I turned to ask. He'd gone to the kitchen, and I heard ice cubes hitting the bottom of a glass. "I don't do pain, if I can avoid it."

  "Bree, if there's pain, then we need to get you to a doctor. Our parts are supposed to fit together. Pain can be added into the mix, for those who want it. Straight sex shouldn't hurt." He walked the short distance from the kitchen to the sitting room, sipping his bourbon.

  "Well, keep it pain-free, then." I turned to stare out his window. He didn't have much of a view—only the building across the street. More bay windows—the kind San Francisco was famous for, stared back. I shivered. I was about to have sex for the first time and it had turned into a business arrangement.

  "Baby, we'll get undressed, and then I'll tell you what to do," he said.

  "Is it always this clinical?" I rubbed my arms as goose bumps dotted my flesh.

  "Usually the participants already know each other in the biblical sense," he replied, emptying his drink and setting the glass on the corner of a tiny, scarred coffee table. I stared at the nicks and scores in the wood, recalling similar marks on my skin in the past. I shivered again. "Fucking is fucking, and the participants usually can't get to it fast enough. I'll take it slow and explain everything. If you like what you get, we'll go on from here. If you don't, we'll let it go like it never happened. Deal?"

  "I don't know," I moaned, rubbing my forehead. Of all the possible endings for the day, this was one I'd never imagined.

  "Baby, look at me." Hank took my wrists in his hands, forcing me to focus on his face. "You've never had sex, let alone good sex. Let me do this, so you'll at least have the benefit of somebody who knows what he's doing."

  "It won't hurt?"

  "If it does, we'll go to the ER. I'm a paramedic, remember?" he let go of my left wrist and tapped his chest. "I can do basic first-aid." He offered a crooked grin.

  "We undress together?"

  "I can undress first and then stroke my cock while you undress," he said.

  "You know, I never thought I'd hear those words come out of your mouth," I muttered.

  "Don't be shocked, Bree. When sex is in the offing, I've been known to say much, much worse. Now, will you undress with me, or wait for me to watch?"

  "I'll undress." My hands shook as they lifted the hem of my tee. Holding my breath, I pulled it over my head. The bra I'd slipped into after a quick cleanup earlier was pale pink with only a touch of lace across the top. It was serviceable and built to keep my breasts covered. That's it. One of Hank's eyebrows lifted as he studied my exposed flesh.

  "God, Bree," he whispered, "please take your bra off next."

  "We aim to please," I muttered, my voice cracking as I reached behind me to undo the hooks.

  "I'll take that," he pulled the bra down my arms. "Bree, that's just, that's—damn." He shook his head. I flushed.

  "Are you undressing?" I croaked. My bra dangled from his fingers as he stared at my chest. Embarrassingly enough, the cold air made my nipples harden. Hank drew in a breath. I unsnapped my jeans. As if he'd awakened from a deep sleep, he dropped my bra on the floor, jerked his T-shirt from the waistband of his jeans and pulled it over his head in one fluid move.

  I unzipped my jeans and moved to slide them down my legs. Hank was watching again. I'd already seen his upper torso. Yes, he had abs that most men could only dream of. He'd worked often enough in the bar without his shirt, so I was used to that. He didn't take his eyes off me as he unbuckled his belt.

  Feeling embarrassed, I slipped off my athletic shoes and stepped out of my jeans. Hank's jeans dropped to the floor, wallet and keys still in his pockets. He hadn't taken his eyes off me. Stepping on the left toe of my white athletic sock with my right foot, I slipped out of it, then did the same with the right sock.

  Had he planned this? Hank's underwear was black and tiny, barely covering a sizable bulge. I'd never seen a real erection. I found myself wishing this one wasn't as close as it was. He appeared shaven too—there was no visible pubic hair on his skin. At least my panties covered what I had. They were French-cut and a darker pink to match the bra.

  "Underwear, baby," Hank jerked his chin toward the only piece of clothing I had left. "Turn around," he ordered. "Take them of
f slow, and bend down to slip them off your feet."

  Silently I turned to do as he asked. With my vampire hearing, I didn't fail to hear the indrawn breath. "Now, turn around. Watch me." I turned and watched him do the same—he turned his back and bent down to remove the scrap of underwear he wore. I got the full, up-close and personal view of a very tight ass. Then he turned.

  "Holy shit." I backed away.

  "None of that, now," Hank grabbed my hand and pulled me toward his bedroom. I thought about misting away and destroying the only friendship I'd ever really had.

  "This is important to you?" I wobbled out as he pulled me to a stop inside his small bedroom.

  "Baby, I need a fuck in the worst way. Don't distract me or you won't get my best. Okay?"

  I blinked at him. What the hell was he talking about?

  "Come on. Climb on the bed about halfway down and kneel there. I'll be right back." He walked toward one of two closets inside his bedroom. I went to kneel on the bed, halfway down, like he said. I watched as he pulled a large, wedge-like vinyl pillow from the closet, then stopped by his bedside table to pull a small bottle and a condom from the drawer.

  I didn't tell him the condom wasn't needed. Let him keep thinking I was human. If he ever learned the truth about me, he'd likely be scared witless.

  "Here." The vinyl pillow was shoved in front of me. I turned to stare at him. "Lean over it. I want your little ass in the air," he directed.

  "What?"

  "Bree, this is my fuck. I'll make sure you enjoy it, too. Lean over the pillow. You can pull one of the regular pillows down to lay your head on. Come on, baby."

  Praying that he really did know what he was doing, I leaned over the pillow and then pulled one of his pillows from the top of the bed toward me. I'd barely laid it beneath my cheek when his hand touched my thigh. I jerked.

  "Bree, I'm not gonna hurt you." His hand moved to cup my left cheek. "Hug your pillow, baby." I shifted the pillow beneath my head as his fingers moved between my legs. Except for the asshole doctor, nobody had touched me there.

  "Gonna touch you, baby. Ever pleasure yourself?" When he pinched that part of me, I almost came off the bed. Hank hauled me back. "Guess not," he rumbled. "Come on, I'll be touching that part. A lot. Just relax."

  "Easy for you to say," I hissed. He was squeezing the sensitive spot again, and my insides tightened. He took his hand away.

  "This is lube, just to make things slide a little better." The hand was back, rubbing a slick substance over my sensitive spot. His fingers began a steady rhythm. My body tightened again. "Feel that, don't you?" he said. The rhythm increased. I whimpered. This was something I'd never felt before. A need I'd never experienced. Was this what everybody felt? This desire for something more? A thumb slipped inside me. I jerked forward, attempting to shy away from the intrusion. Hank wasn't having any of it.

  "Oh, baby, you're gonna come for me. So hard," he whispered. His fingers were moving faster, my body wound tighter and my breaths were loud gasps. In my addled state, I knew something was about to happen, I just didn't know what that was. Was he waiting for some sort of response from my body, or was he gauging the sounds of my breaths or the flush of my skin? I didn't know, but suddenly his fingers stilled. I bit back a cry of frustration.

  "Calm before the storm, baby Bree," he said softly. "Condom going on, now." The foil packet tore. "You're wet, now, but we'll still use more lube. Just in case." I heard the sound of liquid rubbed between his palms, and then rubbed elsewhere.

  "Here we go," he positioned himself. I felt pressure and I moaned. His hands gripped my waist as he pushed inside. I briefly wondered how he managed to fit what he had inside me. It didn't hurt, and I experienced a fleeting moment of gratitude for that. And then he moved. Pulled himself out and then shoved in again. Yes, I understood the dynamics of sex, but that doesn't prepare you for the reality. My body tightened again when he touched me with his fingers once more.

  "Feel that, baby?" I felt it, all right. In a place I'd never felt anything like it before. I felt flushed. Hot. "Ready, baby?" he swatted my buttocks and slammed into me. I screamed as wave after wave of pleasure hit me. By the time it was over—for both of us—I was sprawled helplessly across the vinyl pillow, with no thought in my head and no strength in my body.

  So, that was what sex was all about.

  Chapter 4

  Hank wasn't kidding about the rules. The next morning, he was all business as we screwed panels of plywood to the frame we'd built the night before, to create the locker room he'd insisted on building. The plywood would be covered with sheet rock and painted chocolate-brown later, to match the other walls.

  I was sore from the night before—he'd gotten three fucks, but he'd brought me to climax every time. I now understood things better—sex was pleasurable if you did it right—and it could become addicting, I think.

  I followed Hank's lead and never mentioned the sex we'd had the night before. All three times, he'd bent me over the vinyl pillow. All the movies I'd seen had depicted sex face-to-face. Maybe this was his way of keeping it impersonal. How was I to know? I was inexperienced and I knew it.

  "Want dinner?" he asked the usual question as we closed the metal gate across the bar front at nine that night.

  "I just want to soak in a hot tub of water." I did. My abdominal muscles ached and I was hoping ibuprofen and a tub of really hot water would help.

  "Baby, why didn't you tell me you were hurting?" my arm was grasped in his fingers as I turned toward the stairs leading to my apartment.

  "Because that would violate the agreement. There wasn't anything in the rules about whining." I pulled my arm from his grasp. "I'll see you in the morning." I walked up the stairs to my apartment. He didn't try to stop me.

  * * *

  It was early and the heavy fog bitterly cold when I clambered down the stairs for my morning run the following day. The ache had subsided somewhat, and I'd missed my run the day before because of it. Maybe running would help. I pulled the collar of my jacket up and zipped it as high as it would go—it would take a few minutes of running to dispel the chill.

  My feet hit the pavement lightly and in a regular rhythm as I made my way down the street. Five miles—that's what I set for myself. I could always mist back if I couldn't go the distance. I increased my pace. I had to force myself to ignore the thought of Hank's hands on my body.

  Yeah, I always thought I'd get kisses and caresses when I had sex the first time. Maybe even love. Just as things usually happened for me, those things weren't in the cards. Could I have said no to him? Absolutely not. I was putty in his hands and he probably knew it. It didn't keep me from feeling embarrassed by my wantonness, though.

  By the time I made it back from my run, Hank had arrived and set about unloading cans of wood varnish; he was ready to sand and varnish the antique wood bar. Without saying anything, I lifted a can of varnish in each hand and carried them inside as soon as Hank shoved the metal grill back and unlocked the door.

  "Want to do some sanding today?" he offered a wry smile. I didn't return it.

  "Sure. Let me clean up and I'll be right down." I walked toward the door.

  "Eat breakfast, first," he called after me. I gave a noncommittal wave as I left the bar.

  * * *

  "I got shot in Afghanistan," he said conversationally two hours later. I hadn't said anything when I returned, settling for grabbing a hand sander and going to work on the massive bar instead.

  "You don't say," I kept my head down and my eyes on my work. "I can't imagine why anyone would go to all the trouble of shooting you," I added.

  "That's what this scar is," he pointed to a pale indentation beneath his right arm. He was working shirtless, again.

  "Is that your opening line for all the women who walk into this place? Here's my scar?" I asked, raising my head to look at him.

  "And I was afraid my friend Bree was gone," he grinned.

  "Your friend Bree was sore and grumpy. En
d of statement," I grumped, going back to my sanding. "Did you want me to swoon because you didn't jump out of the way when they shot at you?"

  "Maybe I expect women to ooh and ahh because I have a Purple Heart and a Silver Star."

  "Women will be positively dripping off you," I nodded. "Maybe you should tattoo that stuff on your chest. That way you'll only attract the ones who can read. It could be a big time saver," I waved my sander at him.

  He laughed. "Bree, where were you when I was getting my ass shot at? Letters from you would have helped a lot."

  "Probably a few light-years away," I replied. He'd never know I wasn't joking. "And that scar isn't on your ass, dude."

  "Too bad. I could show 'em that right off." He grinned.

  "You'd have to fight off all the men the women came in with, because the women can't resist your ass, with or without scars."

  "So, you think wearing a thong while tending bar will bring in the women?" He snickered at the look on my face.

  "They'll be on you like June bugs on a screen door," I nodded and went back to sanding.

  "Is that what they say in Texas?"

  "If they have June bugs stuck on their screen door," I agreed.

  * * *

  Hank stretched as we stopped for the night. "Clean up and dinner?" he asked. "Or clean up, fuck, clean up and dinner, or clean up, dinner and then fuck?"

  "You've had three fucks already," I pointed out.

  "Nah, that only counts as one. The requests count, not the number of fucks after each request."

  "Now see, you didn't mention that in the rules," I shook a finger at him.

  "I was half drunk and it slipped my mind. I'm telling you now. This is my second request."

  "What happens if your fuck buddy turns you down?" I asked. "For future reference, of course." Yes the thought of another climax made my body tighten in a way it wouldn't have only two days before. I wasn't about to tell him that, though.

  "The fuck buddy needs a legitimate excuse," he replied and shoved me through the door. "Do you have a legitimate excuse?"

  "No idea," I mumbled.