by Aya DeAniege
“You said you’d drive me to work,” she said as the car pulled to a stop. “I am not a prostitute. You don’t have the right to my body just because you do something nice for me.”
“I was just doing something nice,” I protested.
“Then why did you kiss me?” she shouted.
Because there was a fly in my car and there was never an insect in my car. Telling a woman that I had kissed her to prevent a demonic possession certainly wasn’t going to make things better.
“Because I also wanted to kiss you. If I wanted to have sex with you, I’d wine and dine you. Dinner at a fancy restaurant and then a drive back to my place, me driving, no driver to possibly witness. Then I’d take you to my bed and have my way with you.”
“Oh yeah?” she snapped.
“Yeah,” I growled back. “That’s what I’d do.”
“Fine, prove it,” she snapped, getting out of the vehicle and slamming the door before she marched off.
I sputtered in my seat, uncertain what I had just done and what was going on. Looking up at my driver, I watched the man shake his head, then raise the divider between the front and the back.
My drivers were well paid, but they weren’t paid enough to deal with my emotional baggage.
When I pulled out my phone to call Ralph, because at least he’d answer me even if he laughed for several minutes, I found a text from Grace.
“Off at ten, pick me up then.”
Which made me stiffen. On the one hand, that was what I wanted. On the other hand, the woman had just lost her mind in my car because I kissed her. What was she going to do if I tried to do anything else?
Then I thought about it.
Being an understanding sort of person, I took into consideration Grace’s past. How she had yelled at me and then seemed to try to make it better by yelling more.
Maybe there’s a reason why she’s single.
So instead of agreeing, I sent back, “You just yelled at me.”
“I’m sorry, Lilly says I’m bad with people.”
At least she apologized, but I was feeling embarrassed and annoyed. I wanted her to also feel embarrassed.
And maybe a little annoyed.
“I don’t know. I think I need something more than an apology.”
“What, like a little ass?”
“If I wanted ass, I would have grabbed it while you were in the car.”
Ralph said that I had to learn how to use text based languages, which involved shortening words but screw it. I was going to make certain there was as little misunderstanding as possible.
A moment later a picture arrived on my phone. I frowned and opened it, waiting a moment for it to download from the network.
Grace was, apparently, wearing a pink and black lace bra to work. I swallowed hard and stared at the swell of flesh over the bra. All I saw was skin and bra. I couldn’t tell where she had ducked into, to take the picture that made me bite my lip. I wanted to know where she was. I wanted to go and find her, but I’d have to make do with the picture.
“Well, that’s a… start.”
“Only a start?”
I smiled at the text, wondering just how far I could push it before she cut me off. I didn’t want to seem like I was taking advantage of her.
So, what did I do?
Text Gabe. He was experienced with weaving images and words into fantasies, and he had to make up for his misstep the night before.
“I’d like to try something,” Sam texted me as I walked into the restaurant.
“Shift starting.”
Not supposed to be late.
I’m not certain why I yelled at him. Then I felt bad about it. Then the picture, of course, because I’m an idiot and yet not at the same time. Men liked boobs, thank goodness. I was also still wearing the lace bra that I had worn the night before.
Thank goodness, I kept a change of clothing at Lilly’s. I had slept until an hour before the coffee date and hadn’t had time to do much besides shower and get dressed. There hadn’t even been time to eat.
On the way through the kitchen I stopped and ordered my meal for the day.
It was the first time I had eaten that day, but I had been distracted and had only just then realized that I was even hungry.
That sounded like a real reason, right?
My phone went off several times. The cook frowned at me, then looked at my pocket and back up at me. His eyebrows raised and gave a little wiggle.
The cook’s name was Toby. He had been working there for two months, having replaced the coke addicted cook who had lost his mind and attacked Toby during his interview as a line cook.
Since then, he had greeted me every day, making comments on the weather and the like. He was friendly without being pushy.
“Did the nun find a priest?” he asked.
Suddenly there was information that I hadn’t had before. Something that my coworkers had decided and hadn’t included me in on.
About me?
Working was a lot like high school. I still didn’t care what others thought, and they were still in their little cliques and acting like the world would end because they slept with someone. Some people just didn’t grow up, but I found the fastest way to end the conversation was to confront it without prejudice.
“The nun?” I asked.
“You’re the nun,” he said. “Because you never have sex or talk about it.”
“I got that, but why would I need a priest?” I asked.
“To kneel and pray at your altar,” he said with a grin.
I made a disgusted noise, which only made him laugh and turn back to the stove. As he turned, I glared at him, then swung my gaze across the kitchen to the other people working. They met my eyes, then turned away quickly and busied themselves with their tasks.
While they did that, I pulled out my phone.
“Your picture put the thought into my head. I can’t help this thought, but you can say no.”
And there was a picture message. I frowned as it downloaded and then looked up at Toby, who was arching an eyebrow as he looked between the phone and me several times.
“What?” I asked as my phone vibrated to tell me that the picture was downloaded.
It was titled, “tit for tat, right?”
And was a picture of Sam’s chest. The tie he had been wearing had been untied and set to either side. His long fingers were holding back his shirt and there, over his heart and just above his nipple was the symbol for Mars, with the Roman numeral for two laid into the circle of the Mars symbol.
Or, perhaps it wasn’t the Roman numeral, considering the symbol for Mars. Maybe it had something to do with astrology and was actually the symbol for Gemini.
Yes, across his chest was a bit of hair. Nothing overly thick, but it was about what I expected at his proud announcement that he had it.
I giggled, a hand over my mouth as I stared at the tattoo on his chest.
“What?” Toby asked.
“That’s not what tit for tat means,” I said, laughing so hard that tears came to my eyes.
“Tell him that, not me,” Toby said. “Unless you want to show me why he’s sending you a tat picture.”
“That’s not what tit for tat means!” I sent back to Sam.
“He sent you a picture of his tat, did you know that he had a tat?” Toby asked in an almost casual fashion.
“No, he never mentioned it before,” I said. “It’s on his, uh, it’s over his heart.”
Toby nodded a little. “Sounds like someone wants to sext.”
“What the hell is sexting?” I asked.
“Sex, over text,” Toby said.
I didn’t know how to sext. There was one person who could get me that information and be honest with me about it, but I felt awkward about it, after our conversation the night before.
Have to call Lilly.
I had to suck it up. Nothing really changed since she had come out as asexual. I just felt like it had, like asking for sexual advice would be cro
ssing a line. But it was like any advice. She might not know, but her girls had had a lot of sex, she’d probably just ask them, then pass on the good bits to me.
“Nun found a priest?” the floor manager asked as he stopped right at my shoulder, looking at my phone. When I slipped it away, the man huffed out an annoyed breath. “Won’t last. No man sticks around for sexless conversations. We buy you dinner. You give us sex, that’s the way it is.”
“I’ll buy my own dinner,” I said to him as my phone went off again.
“Little further south, then?” Sam asked with another picture attachment.
As it loaded, I slipped the phone back into my pocket and glared at the floor manager, who was staring right about where my phone had been a moment before.
Toby cleared his throat loudly, then did it again a moment later when he received no response. The floor manager gave himself a jerk and marched back to the floor, where he belonged.
“Don’t mind him, he’s got this thing for anything with tits and ass,” Toby said with a shrug. “You just duck back here when you need to respond to your priest. We’ll cover for you.”
“Cover for me?” I asked.
“Well, maybe if you get laid, you won’t be uptight all the time,” he said.
He said that instead of calling me a bitch because the last time someone had called me a bitch, I pegged him with the tray I had in my hands. I had a bit of a reputation. The men of my workplaces had learned pretty quickly that I wouldn’t put up with that kind of thing.
If they wanted to talk about sex, that was fine, but don’t be calling a woman a bitch just because she wasn’t putting up with their advances.
It’s been far too long since I had a relationship.
“You’ll also probably need help with that,” Toby said as my phone went off again.
I pulled it out and looked at the picture. Sam’s stomach. Bare skin, a little flushed, possibly from the light he was under. I knew from how slim he had been that he was fit, but I hadn’t pictured the rippling abs or the nearly smooth skin. There was a scar down the right side of his stomach just by his belly button.
“Food,” Toby said, setting a plate in front of me. “Eat before you fall over. What’d he send you, dick pic?”
Just because I didn’t want to explain it, I turned the phone around and showed him. His eyebrows raised nearly to his hairline, and he made a little sound of appreciation.
“Does his face look like his abs?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“Eat, text, work, text, repeat. Or don’t text him, what do I care?”
I grabbed my food and marched to the back of the kitchen, where it was safe to eat without being bothered. I waved a hand at the fly that seemed to appear out of nowhere.
I would have a nice, quiet meal.
But for that fly.
A fly wasn’t all that strange, sometimes they snuck in from outside, but I would have to tell Toby. He would have to set up traps, just in case.
Settling in my seat, I checked my phone for the message that had come after the picture had arrived.
“Thinking of you makes me hot.”
I choked on that first bite of food.
When I looked up to see if anyone had witnessed that, I found Toby was giving me an, ‘I told you so,’ look before he turned away and started barking orders at the others.
“I’ve never done this before,” I texted back.
“Neither have I, that makes two of us.”
“Rules: I am working.”
“So… no to the dick pic?”
“You send the dick pic.”
I managed several bites of food before Sam’s response came back. “He’s a little shy at the moment, not used to being in front of the camera.”
“Not now!”
“Oh, good, because that’s a little fast for me.”
I rolled my eyes and shook my head. As I did, Toby cleared his throat loudly. I glared over at him, and he raised his eyebrows at me, then motioned toward me with his wooden spoon.
“You’re doing it wrong,” he said in an accusing tone.
“Setting up ground rules,” I said.
“Ground rules?” Toby asked. “You want a safe word too?”
“Isn’t this supposed to be private?” I demanded. “Other people aren’t supposed to know that you’re sexting.”
“Oh, everyone knows when someone is sexting, no one is doing that quietly. Tell him he can have three pictures, that’s it, because you’re working a full shift, you get three breaks.”
“I don’t get three breaks,” I said.
“He doesn’t know that.”
Grumbling, I texted that to Sam. There was a moment of silence, then: “Well, too bad you’ve already got two pictures, then.”
“Not fair,” I said.
“You made the rule, and you’re the one with all the power.”
“Then take off your pants.”
“Still in the car. Can we wait five minutes? Just so I don’t get arrested for public indecency?”
“Fine,” I said, then sent the emoji that looked annoyed.
The one with the flat mouth and half round eyes looking away.
I finished my meal, put my dish in the washing tray, then headed on the floor. The floor manager gave me my area, and I went off to work, waiting tables. Every time I went to the window to order, they acted like they couldn’t hear me, made me walk into the kitchen.
So, I checked my messages while in there.
“Pants off, now what?” Sam asked.
“Touch yourself.”
“What about touching you?”
“Make it up to me at dinner. Touching myself and then the food doesn’t really mix.”
Sam’s response? A sad emoji. I was certain he understood my problem. He wouldn’t hold it against me. The sad face was just his being cute about it.
“Can we pretend you’re touching yourself?”
I bit my bottom lip, staring at the screen for a moment, then sent back. “Okay, but you get to deal with the aftermath.”
“Please tell me the aftermath is mauling me.”
At that, I had to go back to the floor. As I slipped the debit machine back to the front counter, the floor manager leaned over and looked at my receipts.
“You drunk, Grace?”
“Excuse me?” I demanded, straightening as I turned on him. “Did you just accuse me of being drunk? On the job? We’ve worked together for months. Have I ever been drunk? Have you ever seen me do more than eat and drink a glass of water? How dare you.”
“Really? Because you’re suddenly smiling at customers, and frankly creeping me out.”
“I don’t need to be here. I can go home. I have three other jobs,” I snapped at him. “Either get off my back or suffer through. Either way, I don’t like your attitude.”
“I’m the floor manager. You’re the waitress. I’m the one who doesn’t put up with your attitude.”
“Would you two shut up,” another waitress said with a shake of her head. “She’s not going to sleep with you, quit harassing the girl. I just sat another table in your section Grace, go.”
Off I went to take their orders. When I went to the bar with the order, I was told that I was needed in the kitchen. Trying not to sigh, I went into the kitchen and glared at Toby, who grinned at me and looked down at my pocket expectantly.
“You’re a pervert,” I said.
“Gotta get my kicks somewhere.”
Sam’s texts had come at about five-minute intervals. I simply received a chunk of them.
“My hand travels down my stomach, moving over my hot skin and across my stomach. I’m aching for the touch of you, for your eyes on me, for your lips quirking upward.”
“Who the hell writes like that?” Toby asked. “Is he a poet, or a horn dog?”
“You want your smut in a special way, write it yourself,” I snapped back.
“Fair enough,” he said. “Ask him why he stopped.”
/> “He’s touching himself,” I said.
“Have I ever hit on you?”
The demand was made in such a way that it took a moment for it to sink in. Toby wasn’t trying to get in on my sex life, he wanted to know more about Sam, see more pictures and hear what Sam was saying.
Because he was gay.
My mouth fell open as Toby grinned at me. Then he motioned with his chin to my phone. Because he had had helpful information before, I raised my phone and sent off the text.
“Because I want my hands on you.”
“Tell me what you want to do to me.”
I looked up at Toby after I sent the text. “Are you sure about that?”
“I get laid a great deal more than you, of course. I’m sure.”
Slipping the phone away, I turned on my heel and marched out of the kitchen as Toby protested behind me. The kitchen door swinging shut cut off most of his exclamation as I walked back to the bar, picked up my drinks and headed to the table. Then I headed back to work again.
My next spare moment was almost an hour later, walking into the kitchen. But that was the way things were sometimes.
“My hand moves from my stomach to your shoulder and trails down your arm. I kiss your right shoulder, then your neck as my hands settle on your hips. Our bodies are flush together, my bare chest against your work shirt.
“Are you sure I can’t talk you out of that shirt?
“My fingers brush over your chin as I kiss your cheek. Capturing your lips, I hug you tight against me.
“Please, don’t mind that. I’m hard with a need for you. My whole body aches to touch you more. To thrust my tongue into your mouth and listen to you moan.”
“Well?” Toby demanded.
“Uh, nothing much,” I managed to get out.
“That red is not from nothing,” Toby grumbled, turning back to his stove.
“Hate your job,” Sam texted. “You’re busy.”
“Sorry, swamped,” I texted back.
“Don’t waste free time apologizing. Do it by getting on your knees.”
Right, sexting wasn’t sexting if I he just texted me about what he was doing to me. That was just creepy man behaviour.
“I’m on my knees. I reach for your pants,” I sent that text, then hesitated and considered what I wanted to say. I began writing up another text.
