“I think I’ve got some sick days saved up too, let’s play hooky. Why don’t you call your work and come back to bed?” he asked.
“I need to take a shower and change my clothes. And sleep for like seven more hours, or seven days, I’ll decide which when I wake up again, ” I responded, “I just want to sleep in my bed. I’m really sorry. I just feel like a truck hit me and need to do my thing. Put your number in my phone, I’ll get ahold of you later, maybe we can hang out.”
“No, yeah I totally get that. Go, recover,” he said, slightly disappointed. Sorry, bro. Not only do I actually need to replenish my electrolytes, get this make up off my face before I break out, and sleep for ten years, I need to process the events of last night. I don’t want to play house yet.
“Before you go, about last night, we didn’t use any…” he trailed off.
“What? Are you telling me I need to go get tested? Because I literally just had to do that because of shitty ex I was telling you about. If I have to make an appointment and get my blood drawn again, I swear…”
“No, no. Not anything like that. Jesus. I just wanted to make sure you were aware. In case we needed to make a trip to the pharmacy or something,” he said.
“Oh. For like, Plan B? No. That’s absolutely not necessary. I’m up to date on my birth control. But thanks, I guess?” I grimaced.
“Jeeez,” he sighed, “Could this be any more awkward?”
He approached me and pulled my face to his chest, wrapping his arms around me, and kissed my forehead.
“Try to have a good day, I’ll help you find the rest of your clothes,” he offered. I followed him to the living room. I snatched my jeans off the floor and pulled them on. He located my bra, strung across the back of the couch, and handed it to me. I shoved it in my bag.
“Well, I’ll see you later,” I said as I headed towards the door. I didn’t wait for his response. I bolted into my apartment. This was probably the most painfully awkward morning after I had ever experienced. Two out of ten would not recommend.
I fished my phone out of my purse and called my office. I sounded convincingly pathetic as I described my illness. I feel bad lying, they don’t really have anyone to replace me when I call in sick. They just kind of have to wing it, and I come back to a mess. I’ll deal with it Monday. I scroll through my phone to find that Cash had stored his number. I send him a text apologizing for being so bitchy and weird. I’m a giant baby when it comes to hangovers, especially when they’re born from hard liquor. I drag myself to the kitchen and down a sports drink. I scan the sad contents of my fridge, and nothing looks appetizing. I’ll order take out later, after I nap. I peel my clothes off and leave a trail behind me as I sluggishly make my way to the bathroom. I finally catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I kind of pull off the homeless crack head aesthetic. I turn to examine the damage to my rear. I was expecting big, fat, red hand prints, bruising, maybe a welt or two. There was nothing there but a little redness, and it was barely tender. My scalp hurt worse.
I sit in the corner of the shower and let the scalding stream of water beat down on me. This wasn’t as refreshing as I thought it would be. I can’t stop thinking about last night. Hunter and I had played rough a couple of times. He wasn’t very good at it. It usually involved a lot of me telling him what to do to me. “Pull my hair, smack my ass.” What happened last night was completely different. I’ve never been fucked like that. Replaying it in my head makes my groin ache. I finish my shower, brush my teeth, and comb my hair. I slink into an oversized t-shirt and sweatpants. I climb into bed and pull the covers up to my chin, my hair still wet. I close my eyes and visions of Cash with his hands on my body flash behind my eyelids. I slide my hand between my legs; I’m damp from the shower and from my daydream. I touch myself with urgency. I moan as I quickly climax. Embarrassment shoots through me as I wonder if he can hear me through the wall.
Chapter Nine
What time is it? There’s no way it’s three PM. I grab my phone. My notification screen is cluttered with game requests and Facebook crap. And a text back from Cash. I’d almost forgotten that I’d texted him this morning. I wonder if we had legitimate plans to hang out again this evening or if that was just a nicety. He responded to my apology text sweetly, that he understood and could tell that I didn’t feel well, and hoped that I got some rest. I responded.
Hey, I’m awake finally. I feel a lot better. Were you still wanting to hang out later?
Ding.
Ahhh, you’re alive. lol. yeah, I didn’t have any plans. I’d like to see you again. Do you feel up to dinner?
Honestly, I didn’t. I didn’t even really want to put pants on. But I do want to see him. I dreamt about him. I’ve not had much time to think about how I feel about his little kink, aside from how his skill and experience benefits me. All the ways it benefits me. Pangs of need shoot through my pelvis.
This is probably super lame… but not really. Maybe we could stay in and do take out? Again lol. I promise I am not an agoraphobe or anything. I’m actually more of a claustrophobe if anything if you remember
Wait. I’m rambling. Delete delete delete delete. Let’s try this again.
I’m not really feeling up to going out. I’m still nursing this hangover a little. I’ll pay for takeout this time though if that’s not too lame.
That’s a little better. Ellipses pop up on my screen as he types.
Anything to see you again, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. I was a little worried I messed up or something… this morning was a little weird lol. But I’ll stop by when I get home from work and get changed. See you soon.
So he did end up going to work. I thought maybe he was feeling like shit, too. He threw back as many beers as I did Jack and Cokes. But I guess he was just going to stay home because I was staying home. That’s oddly sweet, and makes me grin stupidly. I decide not to get into a conversation about what happened this morning, or the fact that he’s all I’ve been able to think about in my limited waking hours, or that I dreamt of him. Instead I shoot back a simple “can’t wait,” and excitedly hop out of bed.
I really need to do laundry. The units have a washer and dryer hookup and there are laundry facilities in the building, so my excuses for only doing laundry once in the two months I have lived here are pretty limited. I need to rent to own a washer and dryer. I wonder if Cash has a washer? He’s had his face buried in my snatch, surely he wouldn’t mind letting me wash some clothes. Or is that a whole different level of intimacy? I’ll have to ask Regan next time we talk, she’s hip to the current dating atmosphere. I decide I just want to be comfortable, and pull some black leggings out of my drawer. I pair them with a cami and an off the shoulder sweatshirt. I run a flat iron through my hair strategically to tame my bedhead without making it look like I took the time to flat iron my hair. I apply minimal make up, leaving my face bare and forgoing the mascara in case we have a repeat of last night and I fall asleep without washing my face. I need to prove I don’t always wake up looking like a troll.
It’s 5:30 when I hear a knock on my door. Cash and I must miss each other by minutes in the afternoon. I open the door and smile. He’s carrying paper sacks from an amazing burger joint and a giant bottle of wine.
“Hey, come in,” I say, beaming.
“I know you wanted to order take out, but you said you still weren’t feeling great, so I hope this is okay,” he said as he made his way to the seating area.
“Yeah, it’s perfect. But what about ‘I’m miserably hung-over’ makes you think wine is a good idea?” I quipped.
“It’s my tried and true hangover cure. Greasy food and hair of the dog,” he replied.
“Supermarket Riesling isn’t the dog that bit me, I don’t know how well that will work,” I said, smiling.
“Alcohol is alcohol,” he shrugged. True. I grab two glasses and meet him on the couch. Unlike his sprawling leather sectional, my sofa came out of a box, so it forced us to sit with our legs
touching. Not that it was a problem.
“Thanks for bringing me food. That was really sweet.” We sat hunched over the coffee table. I don’t think either of us said anything after that. If he did talk to me, I tuned it out, as I was having a religious experience with this burger. It was delicious. I downed my glass of wine. He was right. The combination of the food and warmth in my belly from the wine made me feel better instantly.
“Seriously, thanks. I feel a million times better,” I said, sincerely.
“You’re welcome. I’m glad I could help. So did I freak you out last night?” he asked.
I choked on a French fry.
“Sorry. No, you didn’t freak me out. I was a little… uh… surprised. But I’m intrigued, to be honest. I want to learn more. Last night was very, um, satisfying. It might be anti-feminist of me, but it was kind of liberating to not be in complete control. To just be fucked with no mercy,” I said, enunciating “fucked,” in a way that I thought was incredibly sultry. It must have come across that way to Cash as well; his eyes grew wider and he shifted in his seat.
“So you like being spanked and fucked hard. Weren’t a big fan of orgasm denial, but not a lot of people really… like it. Like, genuinely enjoy it. Did you do any of your research you said you were going to do? Figure out what kinds of stuff piques your interest?” he asked, eagerly.
“No, not yet. I was in bed all day. But I thought you said you didn’t want to do this stuff with me, now you seem excited at the prospect. Sorry if I’m a little bit confused,” I queried, genuinely puzzled. I mean, I’m all for it if he wants to get freaky. Last night’s preview has me hooked. I’d never been truly dominated before. I’m kind of controlling as a person, and it was such a release to be able to let go.
“I just don’t want to use the playroom. I don’t want to do scenes with you. There’s a difference between incorporating BDSM in the bedroom and what I do in that bedroom in a scene. It’s not me; it’s this character I’ve created. I don’t have a problem exploring different acts with you. I just don’t want us to have a dom/sub relationship with you,” he explained.
“Well then maybe you shouldn’t have fucked me like that on our first date,” I joked, taking a sip of wine.
“Well, there’s a major difference. I don’t spend time with my subs outside of scenes. I don’t want lines to get blurred or anyone to catch feelings. It’s not very romantic, I promise,” he cautioned.
“So you wouldn’t ever want to have both? What kind of future do you see for yourself then? One where you never settle down, or one where you do but keep doing this on the side? Sounds really lonely and unfulfilling,” I challenged.
“No, it’s not some deep rooted need. You’ve been watching too many shitty movies. Think of it more like a hobby. Some guys play video games. I dominate women. It’s something I’m good at and that I enjoy, but if I had to stop doing it, it wouldn’t turn my life upside down. I’m not an unfaithful person, that’s kind of shitty to assume,” he charged.
“I’m sorry. I don’t… I don’t know. I have limited exposure to this kind of shit. I didn’t mean to accuse you of anything, I’m just genuinely curious about how it works. I don’t want to get further involved with you if it’s going to end up being painful for me in one way or another,” I admitted.
“It’s fine. I’m sorry. Ugh. Moral of the story, is yeah, it would be awesome to be able to incorporate elements of that lifestyle in the bedroom in a relationship, no I don’t keep seeing multiple women when I’m in a relationship, and I don’t feel comfortable putting women that I’m interested in into scenes. If we were to continue seeing each other and got to a point where that was no longer acceptable, well, it would no longer be acceptable. Hopefully that clarifies a little. Can we talk about something else? Literally anything else. Man, this weather we’ve been having…”
“Has been mild and seasonally appropriate?” I interrupted, “I get it, it’s probably weird to talk about. You don’t have to explain yourself. Thanks for being as upfront as you have been. It’s refreshing.”
After bouts of awkward silence while searching for something to watch, the conversation finally picked pack up. I learned that he is not a sports fan, thank God, grew up Methodist, and has never had a dog but has always wanted one. I decided to show him some of my paintings. I hadn’t been back in my spare bedroom since the nights I spent with my ear pressed against the wall. I opened the door and blue light spilled out into the hall. The window let in the moon, allowing the soft light to bathe the room. I fumbled for the light switch. Cash grabbed my hand.
“Wait,” he whispered, “you look really beautiful in this light.” He brushed his fingertips across my cheekbone, and dragged them lightly across my lips. He tilted my face up so that our eyes made contact, and leaned down to kiss me softly. He pulled away smiling and flicked the light on. It was harsh in contrast with the light of the moon.
“So, what kinds of things do you paint?” he inquired. At this moment I realized that I didn’t even have any paintings to show him. There were a couple wispy streaks of silvery blue on the canvas from the night I first heard the screams. All of my paintings were still at Regan’s.
“Lots of fucking birds,” I sighed, “I forgot, my paintings haven’t made it here yet. They’re not very good anyway. You’re not missing much.”
“I’m sure they are wonderful,” he comforted. They really, really aren’t. I led us out of the room, shutting the door behind us. Even though I had my answers, that room still made me really uncomfortable.
“Hey, can you do something for me?” he asked.
“Maybe?” I taunted.
“Next time we hang out, let me take you on a real date. Somewhere with dim lighting and overpriced wine,” he pleaded.
“I don’t think I can do that, actually,” I pouted.
“Why not?” he snickered back.
“Because,” I retorted, “I’m the absolute worst at making plans in advance, unless it’s on the weekend. I’ll make the plans and then when the time comes to actually do it, I’ll regret making them. I promise you that if we have plans to go out on a weeknight, I will get home from work and not want to go. And I don’t want to wait a whole week to hang out with you. And tomorrow is probably too soon to want to see me again. I’m better in small doses.”
“I’ll take you out tomorrow night. I’ll take as many doses as I can get. I’m sorry. That was really corny. Instant regret,” he said as his cheeks flushed red. I laughed and kissed him. He let my lips linger a moment, and then pulled back. This was the second time tonight he’d let a kiss be just a kiss instead of turning into more, and it was mildly concerning. I’m trying to catch some dick over here.
“Is everything ok?” I ask. Just being near him makes me wet and achy. I want him to touch me. I want him back inside me.
“Yeah,” he answered, “ I just had a really long day. And your couch is incredibly uncomfortable. Can we go back to my place?”
“Only if we can split the cab fare,” I joked. He rolled his eyes at me and stood up, extending his hand to help me to my feet. We went back to his apartment, and spent the night talking and laughing, intertwining our fingers as we told old stories to new ears. We sipped just enough wine to feel weightless and warm. We made love on the living room floor. It was as tender and delicate as it was powerful and raw. He moved like he knew my body, like he had known it all his life. Like I was an instrument and he a virtuoso. He masterfully tickled my chords, making me sing out in satisfaction. We peaked together, gracefully and unencumbered. We fell asleep there on the rug, intertwined and basking in the afterglow.
Chapter Ten
I woke up alone. At some point during the night, we had woken up cold and stiff and moved into the bedroom. I called out for Cash, and he didn’t answer. Rain beat down on the window outside and it left the room dim and grey. I switched on the lamp. It revealed my clothes folded neatly on a chair near the bed, along with a note from Cash. I jumped up to read it.
Romantic. I wonder where he had to be before nine am on a Saturday. I shrugged it off and got dressed. Maybe it’s better that he wasn’t here for us to have another awkward morning. Or worse. We could have had a wonderful morning, where we stay snuggled in bed for hours, and he makes me breakfast, which we eat in our underwear as we flirt and laugh. We went from flirtatious strangers to incredibly intimate in just a few days, and one of us probably needs to slam on some brakes. Otherwise, I am going to fall fast and hard. I steal a soda from the fridge on my way out.
I spend the morning putting around my apartment and carting laundry back and forth from the laundry room. By the time I was finished it was late afternoon. I hadn’t heard from Cash all day, and wondered what time he planned to go out. I wondered if I should start getting ready. I went ahead and showered, just so I wasn’t in a rush later. When I got out, I saw I had a missed call. It was from Cash. I tried to call him back, and it rang once and went to voicemail. I just got hit with the “fuck you” button. I end the call angrily and a text buzzes through on the screen.
Hey, sorry I’m in the middle of something. Did you really want to go out tonight? I forgot I already had plans. But if you want to go I’ll cancel.
No, I guess I didn’t really want to go. He kind of had to talk me into it in the first place. I’m a little disappointed. It makes me wonder what his plans are, and if they involve another woman. I wonder if he’s in the middle of another woman right now. It would be kind of rude to be texting me, if that were the case.
That’s fine. We can reschedule :)
He doesn’t text back.
I fall back onto my bed. I start to wonder where things were going with Cash. If we’re on the same page, or if I’m just one of many. He sends a lot of mixed signals. Am I reading into it too much? Hunter was kind of a smooth talker, too. I’m kind of used to empty promises. The difference is that I have a choice here. I’m not completely blind to the possibility that we might not end up falling in love and riding off into the sunset. I know that it might be nothing but a whirlwind of late nights with heavy breathing. I could own it. Detach myself and just enjoy the ride. I’ve always thought I deserved better than that, I thought I was above it. Like I deserve some storybook ending. But, now that I think about it, it doesn’t sound so bad to have a lover I don’t have to love.
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