Carnal: Pierced and Inked

by Simone Sowood

  Don’t hurt my baby girl.

  Avery doesn’t say anything. She watches as I suck down the rest of the beer she brought me. Was it her idea of a peace offering?

  The only peace offering that would work is an apology for sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong.

  I drop the can on the garage floor and stare into her eyes.

  “Guess we’re done here. I have to get back to work.”

  Without waiting for her to respond, I turn and duck my head back under the hood.

  “Is this a Mustang?”

  Why isn’t she leaving? Is she trying to find another part of my life to stick her nose in?

  I grunt.

  “I’ve never been in one. But I’ve always wanted a ride in an old Mustang,” she says. It’s her smoothest, sexiest, radio dj voice.

  The tool I’m holding falls from my hand and clatters against the metal of the engine and my dick springs to life.

  I grunt again, needing her to leave. Now. Before I give her a ride she’ll never forget.

  “That’s it?” she says. “Seriously? It’s been a pleasure talking to you. Really. We should have beers more often, neighbor.”

  I clear my throat, and sink a little deeper against the car. I need to stop interacting with her.

  Avery

  What a jerk. I slam my front door behind me as I retreat into my house.

  That didn’t go according to plan. The idea was I bring him beer and he turns out to be a really great guy who’s going to be a fabulous neighbor and help me with all sorts of things, like clearing my gutters.

  How did Piper end up being so vivacious with him as her father?

  It must be from being so damn hot. When he ducked out from under the hood of that car, I gulped. I, Avery Sloane, actually felt nervous.

  I never feel intimidated when talking to anyone. Especially not a man.

  But damn, his tight T-shirt didn’t leave any doubts about how muscular he is. And his arms were covered in some of the sexiest tattoos I’ve ever seen. All cars and car-related stuff, for once someone whose tattoos represent who they are instead of who they dream of being. He even smells like his tattoos.

  When he came and took the beer from my hand, I was overcome by his delicious scent. A combination of grease, oil, sweat and him. Somehow it mixed together to send his already raw sex appeal into the stratosphere. The closer he came to me, the more heat I felt burning inside me.

  What a shame.

  Though it’s probably a good thing. At least now I’m not tempted by him.

  After pouring the rest of my beer down the kitchen sink, I head up to my fake bedroom to get some work done.

  I’ve already filmed two videos this morning. Both were part of my Ask Avery Anything series. People either email or message me questions about sex, and I answer.

  Today’s questions were how to deal with bad breath and how far should you go to act out your girlfriend’s fantasies. I can get quite passionate when answering, it’s what my viewers love and expect.

  Now I have to edit the videos I just shot. My cluttered desk is in front of the window, and I sit at it, facing out the window.

  Outside, I can see Knox working on his car. More specifically, I can see his muscular frame moving around the car as he works on it. My fake bedroom is on the second floor, but it’s on the side of his garage and I’m actually physically close to him.

  I fight the urge to open the window and yell at him.

  Focus. I have to forget about having to live beside him for the next however many years and think about work. God, I hope he moves.

  Maybe moving to this town was a mistake. Maybe I should’ve stayed in Cincinnati.

  Depressed, I FaceTime Darla. Her red hair fills the monitor.

  “Hey, babe. What’s up?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Doesn’t look like nothing,” she says, exaggerating a frown.

  “You know, it’s just getting set up in a new town where you don’t know anyone. I just wanted to talk to a friend, is all.”

  The second I say it, I curse myself and brace for her lecture.

  “Tell me you’ve gone out and met people.”

  Ugh.

  “Actually, as a matter of fact I’ve met my next door neighbor.”

  She mock smiles in surprised approval. “Very good. What’s she like?”

  “It’s a he, actually,” I say, wondering why I brought Knox into this.

  “Is he hot?” Darla leans into the webcam in anticipation.

  “Whoa, how do you know he’s not eighty?”

  “That wasn’t the question. You can be eighty and be hot, you know. Now spill.”

  “He’s a single dad, to this really cool thirteen-year-old girl.”

  “So he’s single, excellent. Is he also hot?”

  “You have a one-track mind,” I say, chuckling.

  “Yes, now answer the question.”

  “Let’s just say you won’t be disappointed when you come visit.”

  “Fuck, yeah, baby. Are you sure you don’t want him for yourself?”

  “No thanks, he’s actually a dick.”

  “As long as he knows how to use his, he can be all the dick he wants.”

  “Easy girl,” I say, giggling.

  Movement outside the window catches my eye. Knox is standing, moving around the back of his car. I quickly point my laptop out the window.

  “What’s that?” Darla asks.

  “It’s him. Tell me when you see him,” I say, moving the laptop. I can’t see the laptop screen to know if he’s showing in view or not.

  “Down more. More. Holy fuckballs, babe,” Darla says and whistles.

  “And that’s from far away. You should see him up close.” I pause and add, “And smell him.”

  “Damn. Why does he have to be an ass shat?”

  “That’s what I keep asking myself,” I blurt.

  “You should totally fuck him.”

  I burst out laughing. “As if. He won’t even have a conversation with me. Not that I want to sleep with him anyway, he’s my neighbor and that would be messy. I just want to have a normal, neighborly relationship.”

  “So you won’t mind if I fuck him when I come visit?”

  “Good luck. Actually, probably a good idea. If you sleep with him, maybe you can convince him to be civil to me.”

  “Hey, babe.”

  “Yeah?”

  “His face is just as good, too. He’s standing staring straight at the webcam.”

  “Fucking hell! Why didn’t you say anything?” I shriek as I yank the laptop away from the window as fast as I can.

  What do I do? He’s going to think I’m a weirdo. He’ll be ruder than he already is.

  Oh God, what if he starts asking questions. What if he digs into me and finds out what I do?

  “You okay?” she asks.

  “No, I’m not okay. How am I going to explain that?”

  “It’s no big deal, just tell him your friend is coming to visit and wanted to check out the goods on offer.”

  “You know what, I take it back. You’re not allowed to sleep with him.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because… because.”

  “That isn’t an answer, but I get it. I’m leaving him for you. You’ve clearly got the horn on for him.”

  “I do not.” I say, daring a glance out the window at him. “He’s eye candy, nothing more.”

  I force myself to remember the rest of my time in the garage, and how he wouldn’t even have a normal, civil conversation with me, especially after Piper went inside.

  Jerk.

  “That’s fine, you need some eye candy after Nathan anyway.”

  My heart wrenches again. Like the whole Knox thing isn’t bothering me enough, why did she have to go and say that name?

  “Nathan can fuck himself,” I say, my teeth gritted.

  “Want to hear the latest?”

  “No! Wait, fine, tell me.”

  “His
fiancée is his younger sister’s old college roommate. She came to visit his sister, they met, and ended up engaged,” she says, pointing to her ring finger.

  “Poor girl, doesn’t she have any standards?”

  “I know, right?”

  “I don’t understand why I stayed with him so long. He was so boring – in and out of bed.”

  Why did I waste so much of my life with him? Sure he was charming at first, but he stopped trying pretty damn fast. By that point we were living together, and it was too comfortable, I suppose.

  That’s probably why he got engaged so fast, so when he stops trying she’ll be even more sucked in than I was.

  At least I know he never cheated on me, that would’ve taken effort. He was far happier on the couch, staring at the TV with his hands down his pants.

  Through the computer, I hear her doorbell. “Okay, gotta go. Talk soon.”

  “Love you,” I say.

  “Love you too, babe,” Darla says.

  I sit motionless, wondering what to do next.

  Knox

  Why is she pointing her laptop out the window? Is she filming me? I fight the churning in my gut and don’t go pound on her door. As much as I want to barge into her house to demand answers and make it clear she’s never to video me again, I fight the urge.

  Or whatever it is she’s doing.

  She’s different, I’ll give her that much.

  I work another hour, retesting and re-tweaking every last mechanical element of the ’71 Mustang before I drive it over to Marcus tomorrow. He’ll give the interior and exterior one final polish and shine before handing it over to the buyer.

  He deals with most of the face-to-face client stuff, because he says I’m too rude. Whatever. I let him do it because then it’s one less thing for me to do. Though he always seems to need my ‘help’ when the client is a woman.

  At six, I head inside.

  “Supper!” I call to Piper.

  I take two plates out of the cupboard and spoon on some chili from the simmering pot on the stove. It’s the best dish I make, and Piper’s favorite food.

  After I set the dishes on the small kitchen table, I plop a microwaved bag of rice and a tub of sour cream in the middle of the table. I put a can of coke beside her plate, and a can of beer beside mine.

  “What’s tonight?” Piper says as she bounds into the room. She walks to the fridge with the coke, puts it back, and grabs a glass of water instead.

  “Chili night.”

  “Cool.”

  “Just cool? I thought it was your favorite.”

  “It used to be. But not anymore,” she says and shovels a spoonful of sour cream onto her plate.

  Is this another thirteen-year-old thing?

  “What’s your new favorite?” I ask. I’ll make it for her tomorrow.

  I tear open the bag of rice and shake some onto each of our plates.

  “I don’t know. I can’t decide.”

  “Oh well, you can have more than one food you like best.”

  Piper’s bottom lip sticks out, the way it did when she was little and trying to figure out a problem. With her fork, she mixes her rice, chili and sour cream into an unappetizing mess.

  “Dad.” The seriousness of her voice puts me on alert.

  “What is it, sweetheart?”

  “I don’t have any favorite things.” Her shoulders slump.

  “So? What does that matter?”

  Piper drops her fork and looks at me like I’m the biggest idiot who ever lived. “I can’t decide on any favorite things!”

  “That’s fine. I don’t have favorite things either.”

  “You have a favorite band, it’s the Red Hot Chili Peppers. I don’t even have a favorite band.”

  “But that’s no big deal. You like lots of songs.”

  “It is a big deal, it makes me boring.”

  “You’re not boring. It probably makes you more interesting.”

  “It’s doesn’t. It makes me weird. How am I supposed to answer generic first-date questions? I’m doomed.”

  My heart hammers against my ribs at the thought of her dating. I can barely bring myself to think about it.

  “Boys don’t care about your favorite things,” I say, leaning over my plate and dangling my fork from my fingers.

  “They don’t? What else would we talk about? And don’t say politics.”

  The topic makes my shoulders tense.

  “All sorts of thing. Movies, sports.”

  “And kissing. Is it true they like to talk about s-e-x?”

  My fork falls from my hand, and I clear my throat. My heart and brain nearly explode. I can’t believe she said that to me. Though part of me is glad she’ll talk about anything to me. I guess.

  But the thought of some boy kissing Piper is too much.

  “It depends on the guy. Only the jerks would talk about that, you can do better.”

  “Maybe I should talk to Avery about it,” she says.

  “Why? You can talk to me about it.”

  “I don’t know. Because you’re a man.”

  “Yeah, and I know how men think. It doesn’t matter anyway, you’re still young.” Too young to be hanging around with boys.

  Fuck. I have to make sure she never goes to any classic car rides. Too much shit goes on at them. Shit she’s too good for.

  “I’ll be in high school in a few months,” Piper whines.

  “But for the next few weeks, you’re still in middle school.”

  She grumbles and takes a big mouthful of the chili. We eat in silence for a few minutes. I’m hungry, and it’s enough time to finish my food. I stand and refill my plate from the pot on the stove.

  “Want more?” I ask.

  “No, thanks. We should have Avery over for dinner.”

  “Where did that come from?”

  “She’s soooo amazing. You would love her. Can she come over for dinner? Can she?” Her smile is ear to ear.

  “No.” As if. I’m not inviting her into my home. That would just be asking her to stick her nose in more places. Avery would probably tell me my cooking isn’t good enough for my daughter, or that her bedroom isn’t nice enough.

  “Why not? That’s not fair. She’s funny, I know you’d like her. Why can’t she come over?”

  Why would I like someone who tells me I’m a bad father?

  “Because I said so. Why should she?”

  “Because she’s our neighbor, and she’s great. She’s way more fun than Mrs. Coupland,” Piper says, her eyes wide.

  “Mrs. Coupland never came for supper either.”

  “But, Dad.”

  “No buts,” I say in my firmest voice.

  Defeated, she sinks back into her chair and finishes her dinner.

  We watch two episodes of Law & Order before she goes to bed. Like every night, I flop exhausted on the couch and wonder how I’m going to make it through the teenage years.

  I churn it around in my brain until I get fed up with thinking about it.

  After flicking through all the channels on TV, I give up on finding something to take my mind off things, and decide I’d better check Avery’s YouTube channel to make sure I’m not on it.

  The video she posted today is called Hot and Bothered. It turns out to be her talking about a book. An instruction manual on how to have good sex. Avery talks about how wonderful and amazing the book is.

  “Every single person is guaranteed to learn a new sex tip in this, I promise you,” Avery says in her sultry voice.

  Don’t think so.

  Something comes over me. Before I can stop myself, I’ve registered a YouTube account and type out a response on my iPad.

  Ox Man: I promise you I can teach you more than what’s in that book, guaranteed. Anytime you want a lesson, baby.

  I chuckle out loud as I read it back. What will she make of it?

  Before I know it, I’ve watched five more of her videos, and I’m sitting on my bed with my rock hard cock in my hand. Thi
s is stupid, I know. I shouldn’t be associating the meddler with a reason to get a chubby.

  But right now I can’t help myself.

  I stare at her full lips as they move, her voice sending shivers down my back. Gripping my cock, I imagine running the tip along her lips. How soft they’d be against me, before silencing her sexy voice by ramming my full length over her tongue and down her throat.

  My hand moves faster and faster over my shaft while the memory of her voice puts my body on higher and higher edge. I imagine undoing more of those buttons she had on today, and picture what her tits look like. What shape they take as they hang braless from her body.

  Avery says, “When she’s good and wet, and I mean dripping wet, put your cock in her and…”

  I don’t hear the and. The thought of my cock moving in her dripping wet pussy makes my cock erupt. My body shudders violently, and I flop back onto the bed to let the ecstasy wash over me.

  After a few minutes, I curse myself for what I’ve done. I have to stop watching her videos. I have to stop thinking of her voice when I come. It pisses me off that I didn’t have more restraint.

  Avery

  It’s Friday, and a beautiful day outside. It’s seventy five degrees, the warmest day of the year so far, and I’ve opened every window in the house to air it out. The goal is to totally eliminate the lingering smell of the last owner and make it all mine.

  Because it is all mine. Not one single penny came from anyone else. The thought fills me with pride.

  When I started making my YouTube videos, my friends all laughed at me. Except Darla, of course. They were all laughing at her too, and we spent many a long night consoling each other. Vodka was the biggest help in blocking out their taunting. Especially Nathan’s.

  But who’s laughing now?

  Both of us are now making good money. Best of all, they’re sitting in cubicles all day dreaming of doing something more with their lives and we’re doing what we want to do.

  My plan for this afternoon is to familiarize myself with the next few products I’m going to pimp on video tomorrow. (Yes, I work seven days a week.) I have a schedule for releasing them that I have to meet, so I don’t have any control over the order once I’ve agreed and settled on a date and price with the client.