Engines of Desire: Tales of Love and Other Horrors

by Livia Llewellyn

  Michael, the guy who rented the apartment, was seated at the counter, shoveling slices of pizza into his mouth. I’d seen him on campus before, and we gave each other a friendly smile. He was an ok guy, not much into studying, but friendlier than our homophobic neighbor downstairs.

  “You’re that girl Brett hooked up with, the redhead,” he said between mouthfuls of pizza. A slice of mushroom hung off his beard, and he flicked it away into a corner.

  “He told you about me?” I wasn’t embarrassed—I’d fucked too many guys to care about who talked about me. But I was curious—his words made me hopeful, and I wasn’t sure I wanted it, after resigning myself to its loss.

  “I didn’t think he remembered. He’s hooked up with a lot of girls here.” I didn’t know if it was true, but I wanted to find out. Michael shrugged and reached for his bottle to wash down the food.

  “He keeps to himself a lot. I don’t know. I think he fucked those girls next door.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know he was seeing them.”

  “No, I don’t think he’s seeing anyone.” Michael stared down at his dirty fingers. “You know, Brett’s not really into the relationship thing. I think he’s leaving after Thanksgiving. Heading back East to visit family.”

  Michael had seen through my transparent questions, but I was grateful that he wasn’t being an asshole about it. Still. I reached for a slice of pizza, and crammed it into my mouth. Anything to keep the scream of frustration from leaving my throat. Richard saw, but said nothing.

  “You were right about the pizza.” I had to keep the small talk going—it was that, or grab a knife and go after those sluts. “Wow. Got anything to get rid of this taste in my mouth?”

  “I got something!” Michael grabbed his dick through his pants, leaving a smear of marinara sauce next to the zipper. Richard turned away, smiling.

  “Hmm. Tempting, but I think my mouth should be a meat-free zone the rest of the evening.” Michael didn’t look unhappy about it—he always liked to tease me, and I think he preferred pizza to redheads. I can’t say I blamed him.

  “Here.” Someone tapped me on the shoulder, and I turned. Brett stood in front of me, holding a well-rolled joint. My heart skipped a beat, but I kept my face bland and calm. “Okanogan Gold,” he said as he offered it to me.

  “I don’t smoke much.”

  Brett glared. Even I felt myself shrink under the flat, ugly light of his eyes, my nipples hardened as they rubbed against the cotton dress. “You don’t smoke,” he said in a low voice. “You don’t swallow.”

  I licked my lips and shifted my legs, then reached out for the joint. “Like I said—not for any man. Maybe for the right man.”

  Something in Brett’s face softened. “Good girl.”

  Behind him, another explosion of disgust erupted from the slut, as she stumbled into the kitchen. She started to wrap her arms around him, but Brett turned and gave her the same stony look: she was dismissed. She froze, then slowly backed out of the kitchen, disappearing in the tangle of people. I felt a little sorry for her. I knew what she’d seen in his face.

  I took the roach from his fingers, carefully placing it to my lips. It was a peace offering, I’d realized, a second chance. I really didn’t like to smoke, but I didn’t have a choice. I took a long drag, held the thick smoke in as I handed it back to Brett. Our fingertips brushed against each other, and a tingle of electricity passed between our dry skin.

  “She’s going to cough, it happens every time.” I shook my head at Richard, my eyes getting wider as I fought the impulse to choke. He began to laugh, and Brett joined him as my body convulsed slightly, tears leaking out of the corners of my eyes. I suddenly caught the reflection of myself in the back window by the kitchen, shaking like a boneless Raggedy Ann doll, and I burst out laughing, gagging as the smoke rolled from my mouth and nostrils. Brett handed me his beer, rubbing my back as I drank.

  “Told you,” I finally choked out.

  “You’ll be fine.” Brett’s fingers moved gently down the ridges of my spine to the base of my back. I leaned back against his palm as it came to rest just above the curve of my ass. He didn’t pull away.

  I lifted my hand, and Brett put the roach back between my fingers. “Now I’m really going to be hungry,” I said as I sucked the smoke in again. Richard smiled and tipped his bottle in salute as he withdrew to the living room. I followed his body as it wound around the dancing couples, the young men passing white sheets of stamps back and forth, groups of girls preening and shrieking as they arched their thin bodies and thrust their breasts high into the air. The music grew louder, the bass deeper, and outside, constellations crowned the black evening sky. Brett leaned over me, pressing his mouth against mine, sucking the smoke out of my lungs. I coughed again, and felt him smile as he moved his face down to my neck, nuzzling the curve just below my ear. I signed and leaned in, running my hands up and down his back as I pressed against him.

  “Here.” Brett broke away, grabbing my hand as he led me through the kitchen to a small bathroom. He pushed me in, closing and locking the door behind us, then immediately turned and leaned against it, pushing down his jeans. I grabbed his balls, rolling the heavy flesh around in my fingers as I nuzzled them with my nose. He smelled like the earth, musky and ancient. I bit gently into the flesh, his thick hair tickling my cheeks as it caught in my teeth, then pulled his cock up, and pressed my lips at its base, running my tongue in small wet circles around and around as it hardened in my hands. He moaned and thrust his pelvis forward as his hands circled my head. I resisted his subtle tuggings at my hair—I’d do this my way. He’d have to wait for it.

  My lips parted as they moved up the shaft of his cock, pushing the silky soft flesh against the hard inner core. As my tongue grew closer to the tip, I moved my other hand, wet from my pussy, and grabbed him, working the juices into his skin as I began pumping him in slow and steady strokes. His hands pressed harder around me, grabbing my hair and roughly trying to direct my mouth over the head of his cock. Again, I resisted, and he loosened his grip. As my hand slide back and forth on the lower half of his cock, I slowly moved my mouth just around the edges of the head, sliding the tongue under the groove of flesh and onto the small wet hole—my tongue was long with a very pointed tip, a lucky gift. I worked the tip into the hole of his cock, fucking him in gentle thrusts. Brett bucked, but I kept my distance. I knew he was watching me, watching my hand running up and down the angry red shaft, watching my tongue as it extended from my red lips, working the wetness out of him, watching my fingers as they ran over his balls, squeezing the soft flesh and damp curls of hair. I knew he was excited, and I knew he was angry.

  My tongue curled back inside, licking my lips in a quick spiral motion, and I stopped stroking him. I now kneeled before his cock, my mouth slightly open, hot breath streaming from parted teeth over his sticky flesh. Brett was motionless this time, waiting. My lips barely touched the tip. I could feel the heat rising in waves from his body. He shivered, and slowed his breath. We didn’t move. Everything else faded: there was only my hand grasping the pillar of my world, my wet lips burning before the dark red shaft of the sun.

  I moved only when he sighed—a quiet and tremulous sound, almost like a sob of pain. My tongue slid over the tip of his head, and my lips followed—first in a soft, lingering kiss, then parting as I slowly slid his cock into my mouth. I stopped at the base of the head, letting my saliva wash over his skin as my tongue wound around and around. I clamped down, suckling at him as my fingers began rippling up and down again, pressing his flesh forward to my mouth and away. Brett sighed again, louder, and I echoed him, letting the vibrations of my moans ripple through his flesh. With each movement of my head, his cock thrust deeper into my mouth—I let him guide the movements now, and his hand stole around my head again, winding his fingers through the hair at the base of my head. Saliva poured out of my mouth, slicking up the shaft as he pounded against me. My fingers squeezed, gripped, and my mouth convulsed, and the
movement spread from my tongue through his cock and all up and down his body. I felt the jets of hot liquid gush against my mouth before he cried out, before his body shivered and back bowed forward as he came.

  But I was quicker than his cum. As I pulled his shivering cock out of my mouth, I pushed the semen out. It dribbled out of my mouth—a bit of it had slid down the back of my throat, but that was always the way of it, and it didn’t count. I kneeled before him, my head raised up and lips open wide, with thick trails of pearl white forming small rivulets down my chin and neck. Brett stared down at me, cock in hand, trembling and breathing hard. I wiped the semen off my face with the back of my hand, and rubbed it across the front of my dress.

  Brett closed his eyes, and ran a hand through his hair. He grabbed his jeans and pulled them up, shoving his cock and balls out of sight. “We’d better get back to the party.” He looked in the mirror, then turned on the water, splashing it up toward his face in a wide spray.

  I rose to my feet, grabbing the edge of the counter for support. My knees were red, and ached from the hard tile floor. I lifted my right foot onto the toilet, raising my dress up past my thighs to my waist.

  “What about me?” My fingers played with the folds of my labia—one longer than the other, red and dripping wet, as if my pussy had a tongue of its own.

  “What?” He flashed me a sweet smile, as if unable to comprehend my need, as if it didn’t exist. I pressed my hands into the soft flesh just above the mound of hair, as if that could stem the ache that was almost crippling me. I wanted him, I wanted his lips on my pussy, his fingers thrusting into my cunt, I wanted to come in his mouth, to grind around his cock like a fish trapped on a hook. And all I could do was stare back at him, the throb of blood in my clit keeping time with each beat of my heart.

  “What about me?” I lifted my fingers, watching the tendrils of thick juice strand between them like spiders webs. I sucked the juice off, my eyes never leaving his face. Brett stepped forward, placed one hand on my knee and running it up to the top of my dress, where he fingered the edge of fabric. I hesitated—had I gone too far?

  “Come on.” He opened the door, and I wiggled my dress back down over my ass as I followed him into the kitchen, my heart pounding with joy.

  “Go upstairs. I’ll be up in a minute.” Brett pointed to the small set of steps leading to loft above. “Go to the right, to the bed in the small alcove. Wait for me.” He kissed me, and our tongues touched lightly. I felt his hand hover briefly over my breast, then he was pushing me toward the stairs with a small pat on my ass. I started up the steps, and turned back to smile at him. He’d already disappeared into the living room. I smiled at no one.

  After a second’s hesitation, I crept back downstairs and grabbed a beer, then headed up to the alcove. I held the bottle tight as I sat down on the small bed, my knuckles hard and white as I nursed the liquid, nursed my smile, nursed the heavy wet ache between my legs and the terrible fire in my heart.

  Below me, the party thundered on, pulling the night past the midnight hour.

  I knew he was going to make me wait a long time.

  I knew he wouldn’t come back.

  I waited all the same.

  Black Days

  The routine became as relentless as the spread of cold weather through the land. Autumn days bloomed in full, with high color and bright skies; but October nights always belonged to winter. I dutifully attended classes, but did no homework. One by one my grades began to slip, but it didn’t bother me. If one thing fell by the wayside, it made it that much easier for everything else to fall as well. Myself included.

  Richard stopped pressing me to see Brett again, and I didn’t bring up his name. We went to concerts and games, we spent early mornings walking through old neighborhoods and studied late nights in the library. The midnight walks up the campus to our apartment were beautiful, with crisp air and star-studded skies. I always walked on his left, so that when I spoke to him, I couldn’t see Michael’s apartment as we entered the courtyard. Sometimes, we stopped and kissed—despite Richard’s preference for boys, he still played with girls, and his lips were irresistible. For those few warm minutes of necking in the light of the walkways, it was a pleasure to forget about Brett, to forget my fury at knowing there was one man in the world who didn’t want me as much as I wanted him.

  But in the pitch-black cold of night, long after Richard had gone to sleep, I crept into the living room, to the large window looking out over the courtyard. I positioned myself on the floor in the far corner, and cautiously raised the curtain, letting it drape over me like a shroud. With the dark of the room behind me, and the night spread thick across the campus, I could see all the way across the courtyard to Michael’s apartment. I could see everything. And I spent night after night watching Brett as he went about his business dealing drugs, and fucking all the girls in Student Village, one by one.

  I couldn’t stop myself. It infuriated me that he wanted nothing to do with me, that he didn’t seem to be affected by me at all. As I predicted, he never came back after sending me to his little sleeping alcove. I spent half the night there, stewing in my thwarted desire and rage. Long after most of the party had dissipated, I’d crept downstairs to find Michael passed out on the couch next to a girl I’d never seen before. Brett wasn’t there. He wasn’t on the balcony, he wasn’t in the courtyard. I’d stormed to my apartment, careful not to let Richard hear me as I let myself in, and walked over to the living room window to close the curtains before I fell into bed. I told myself it was innocent. I didn’t want to look across the courtyard. But I did. And I never went to bed. Brett had appeared shortly before dawn, walking calmly out of the apartment two doors down, gray smoke trailing in his wake. He never glanced over at my apartment as he closed the door behind him. I don’t know if he’d expected to find me in his bed, dutifully waiting. But I could well imagine the look in his eyes as he found his empty bed. Now he knew I didn’t swallow, and he knew I wouldn’t wait.

  I blinked, tearing myself away from the memory of his bed, and the long, humiliating hours by myself. A thin stream of light flashed, then grew wide as Brett appeared in his open doorway. I cringed, resisting the temptation to duck. I didn’t dare move, despite the fact that he couldn’t see me—my apartment was completely dark, and there were no outdoor lights near our windows. I knew—I’d snuck over a dozen times to make sure the curtains couldn’t be seen. Brett closed the door. I waited.

  After a few minutes, a small red glow flared up. He was smoking. He was probably sitting on the chair, staring out at the courtyard. He did that sometimes, after fucking his latest conquest. If his routine held, he’d stay on the balcony through two cigarettes. By the time he started his third, the slut of the hour would appear at the door, usually half naked and stoned out of her mind. There would be words, and gestures—from her, not from Brett. By the time the third cigarette was finished, the girl would be gone. At least I had that to console me. A month since I’d gotten on my knees, but no girl had lasted any longer with him than me.

  The red light flared again as Brett took another drag from his cigarette. It was a lifeline, that small bit of flame, it sustained and nourished my soul and all the festering clumps of love that clung to it. It nourished my insanity and jealousy as well, but I didn’t care. It was a small price to pay.

  “Why don’t you admit you want me?” My breath fogged the glass slightly as I whispered, the words sounding as hollow as I felt. I wound my hands through the folds of my bathrobe, and began fingering the curls of hair between my legs. I imagined the pads of my fingers to be his, the gentle tugging of flesh to be his touch. “Why don’t you need me? I hate you.”

  “If you hate him so much, why do you do this to yourself?”

  My body jerked in fear as Richard’s voice sounded from behind the curtain. “Fuck, you scared the shit out of me,” I said, trying to keep the embarrassed tone out of my voice. “Just leave me alone, ok?”

  “Get away from that w
indow. I need to talk to you.”

  “I said leave me alone.”

  “You know, I could have turned on the light. I still can, if you don’t mind being seen.”

  My hand crept out of my bathrobe, and I carefully moved my body away from the window, trying not to disturb the folds of fabric. “This isn’t any of your fucking business,” I said as I scooted away from the window, then rose to my feet and walked to the kitchen. I turned on the small light over the oven, and looked back. Richard sat on the couch, naked, with his arms around his drawn-up legs. Strands of long black hair fell over his shoulders in silky tangles. With his pale skin and long limbs, he looked less like a human and more like some strange, fey demon child—a look he loved to cultivate for his conquests in the goth circles he ran in.

  “How long were you there?” I sat opposite him, mimicking his guarded position. For once I felt unnerved by him—I felt betrayed. “I can’t believe you were spying on me. You had no right!”

  “I can’t believe you spend every fucking night staring out that window.”

  “I don’t spend every night staring at—out the window.”

  “Yeah. Sometimes you follow him.” I felt my heart shrivel up in my chest. It was true, sometimes I wandered Ellensburg, trailing his movements as he roamed from conquest to conquest. It never occurred to me that Richard had known. “I know—I’ve followed you. You’re stalking him, Tesla. It has to stop.”

  “And you’re stalking me!”

  “No, I’m not—there’s a difference! I’m trying to look out for you!”

  “You’re pathetic—”

  “And you’re psychotic! It’s disgusting. You have to stop this.” He moved suddenly, pounding the couch with his fists. I shrank back, and felt the tears start to form in my eyes. God, I hated myself.

  “You don’t love him,” Richard continued, his voice rising with anger, “you think you love him but you’re just pissed because he fucked you and left you. Well, welcome to the world, little girl. Men fuck women and they leave them, because it doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t have to mean something every goddamn time. But hey: women do the same thing! You’re angry because you can’t control him, but you can’t even control yourself! Just fucking forget him, ok? What do you want, an orgasm to validate your existence? If he gets you off and tells you he loves you, is that ‘permission’ to start taking care of yourself again?”