Avarice

by Hildred Billings

  Now? It was the closest thing to a haven. For the past four weeks, Mercy had been frequenting a club that was as rowdy on Friday nights as it was quiet on a Tuesday morning.

  She knew that clubs like these didn’t see her as their target audience, but she didn’t care. A grown lesbian knew how to move through a world catering to the male gaze. I may gaze upon the same thing they do, but I appreciate it in a completely different way. That went for the half-naked women dancing in cages and the straggling, lonely wife sitting atop a barstool. The first night Mercy came here, she had been on fire from desire. All she did, though, was flirt. In these clubs, women were more receptive to her charm, even if they didn’t want to sleep with her. Many saw it as an honor, or a breath of fresh air compared to the men who hit them up the moment they entered the club. Mercy made fast friends with one of the bouncers, who informed her the hot time for lady-loving was right around eleven, when single women were looking to get off and get home, and swinging brides wanted to put on a show for their husbands. Once upon a time, Mercy would have found that deplorable. She was not a plaything for a married couple. Her sexuality belonged to herself – and, perhaps, the woman she shared it with, but never a man. Never a third woman who would cut in as soon as she felt like it. For Mercy, it was more important to…

  To…

  She couldn’t remember. As usual, she walked into the club and immediately set her sights on the first woman she saw in a short skirt and a low-cut bodice. You could be married to three men, and I wouldn’t give a shit. That’s how depraved I am now.

  Mercy allowed it. She had to, lest she cave into a new round of self-hate. That had been bad enough several weeks ago, when she sobbed into her pillow and refused to get out of bed for anything but self-destruction. Maybe it wasn’t healthy to have casual sex with nameless women, but it was better than the alternative. This was where she was at the moment. Who cared? What did she have to lose? Dignity? That had been burnt the day Marissa kicked her while she was down.

  Mercy dressed like no angel, either. She had changed into a tight, knee-length skirt with nothing but a thong beneath. No slip, and certainly no tights. Her blouse was straight out of her work wardrobe, but it was the only clean thing she had to go with the skirt. Besides, what woman didn’t want to help her unbutton the metal clasps and go right for her bra? That’s what Mercy thought about as she dressed herself for romantic success on a mid-spring Friday night.

  Even without tights or a regular bra, she was far from the flashiest woman in the room. Twenty-somethings with tight dresses danced together in the middle of the floor. Middle-aged partiers bedecked themselves in loose, flowy dresses that were as easy to tear away as they were to dress up for a service at church. The occasional lady in a pantsuit, having stepped right out of a dinner or late meeting, reminded Mercy that she didn’t have to go home to grab a bite to eat and change. Except she had. Because she didn’t want to seduce a woman wearing the same clothes that Bill had seen when he asked her out for the third time that month.

  There were familiar faces. Mercy had been embarrassed when she showed up two weekends in a row, but was relieved to see many of the same people she had encountered the week before. There was the guy who, despite the limp and hefty girth suppressed by his strong belt, surrounded himself with friends who couldn’t wait to hear the next story about “that summer in Prague.” One of the most gorgeous women in the room, a tanned vixen with bottle-blond hair and natural DDs, kept to herself until it was time to strike. Usually a man, but she had once approached Mercy to lay down her price. Mercy had taken her card in case she got that desperate.

  Couples on date night met up with old friends and talked about preschools in between flirting with one another. Mercy gave up on getting in with them – even if to sleep with some married woman – when she realized they never looked beyond their swinging bubble. Out of towners were the easiest to whisper to. That had scored her a kiss on the couch a week before. Holding myself back is impossible right now. She was supposed to embrace her lustful desires while taming the wilder side they offered. Kinda hard to do when they completely consumed her feeble mind. She was still a mortal, and mortals struggled to make sense of overwhelming sin.

  There was one girl, however, who was a lot like Mercy. She may have been a good fifteen years younger – honestly, Mercy didn’t want to know – but she often came alone and didn’t leave until it was late enough to turn her into a pumpkin… or she found a partner to take her mind off her grad-school studies.

  Her name was Flora, and she sauntered up to Mercy now, drink in hand and bright blue dress hugging her minimal curves. The short blond hair was a nice touch. So was the bold makeup and heels that made her as tall as Mercy. A damn feat, and that was saying something.

  “You’re a real regular around here, huh?” Flora’s giggles must have been genuine, although Mercy had thought otherwise the first night they met. There was no way a girl could laugh like that every Friday night and drive herself crazy. Not on purpose! “I like that. We had fun the first time we met, huh? So, do you have a date tonight, hon?”

  No, would Mercy have been there if she had a damn date? Keep your cool. Don’t let her know you’re desperate. Because Mercy was pretty fucking desperate. She wasn’t yet in the naughty part of the club, and she already smelled alcohol and everyone’s breaths and the sweat on their shoulders. How long until she smelled what people got up to in the private rooms and the “watch, but don’t touch” areas in the back? The Mercy not riddled with heavy-handed sin had been impressed with the tasteful décor and easy-escape areas that allowed people hooking up to get away from each other quickly. Embarrassment tended to flare once the drive to have sex eased. Or so Mercy somberly remembered. She didn’t remember shit now.

  All she knew was that she shouldn’t be in such a hurry to tango with Flora. Oh, she was a nice girl. Sweet, compared to Mercy. But she also had those big-doe eyes that looked like they wanted to fall in love, eventually. Mercy didn’t have time for a younger girlfriend who screamed needy from their first interaction. It was one thing to have a casual fling when it felt right at the club, since the poor dear was suffering from so much stress in her studies… but Mercy was there to play the field. She wasn’t looking for love, no matter how good it looked.

  Flora looked mighty good in that tight dress, too. She had been fun to fool around with, too, and they had been no strangers to making out in front of all these nice people three weeks ago. Once they found some privacy? It was no wonder Flora was walking back up to her now. Whether she played out her naughty-doll fantasies to get away from the crushing weight of grad school, or she actually fancied Mercy… well, Mercy was the winner, as long as she kept her emotional distance.

  “I like your dress.” Mercy ordered her drink from the bartender. Only then did she reserve another admiring glance for the woman biting her lip. “Is that a new one? Or did you take it out of your closet just for me?”

  Flora perked up with renewed confidence now that Mercy was paying her compliments. “It’s new! Went shopping last weekend and couldn’t wait to wear this to the club. I hear there’s a big convention in town. Not merely any convention, either…” She leaned in closer. “Some kind of sex toy convention. Can you believe it? My mom used to be in some MLM that sold dildos, but I guess there are legit small businesses that do those home party things. Anyway, word on the grapevine is a bunch of them are coming here to party in a bit. Think we’ll get lucky?”

  “Depends. I’m assuming most of these fine, perverted folk are women?”

  “God willing. This place can be such a sausage fest. I dunno, I’m not in a place in my life right now where I want to chance it with guys. When did you realize you were gay? I’m wondering if I’m gay.”

  Christ. Mercy grabbed her drink and inhaled half of it before answering. “I’ve always known. Never been with a man.”

  “Really?”

  “No. Have you?”

  “Well…” Flora blushed. “I had a
boyfriend in high school and undergrad, but I’m way more into women right now. Only wondering if it might change again. I’m still young, yeah!”

  Stop reminding me. Mercy was still barely south of forty and had no real moral quandary about bedding women whose brains had not yet fully developed. Give me a few more years. I’ll be too exhausted to deal with them if nothing else.

  “Who knows. I mean, why are you holding yourself back?” Watching Flora chase after a guy that night would not only be a decent change of pace, but it would remind Mercy that she wasn’t there to make friends. “I hear that if you play both fields, a whole new world opens up.” It would also mean she wasn’t competing with Flora for any of the single ladies in the club. In a club like that, the unicorns could be few and far between.

  “I don’t wanna get pregnant,” Flora said with a shrug. “Not a good time for that.”

  “Valid,” Mercy muttered, finishing her drink. “I’m going to say hello to some people.” That was Flora’s cue to back away and let Mercy do her thing. God knew her brain was no good for conversation right now. She only wanted one thing, and that was to find a nice woman to rub up against on a couch. Preferably, one she hadn’t met yet. Made disconnecting so much easier.

  Mercy wasn’t a dancer, nor did she want to press her body into a co-ed group that could as easily flare up her anxiety as it might free her lustful side. She preferred the quiet, cozy corners where she could turn on her game face while nursing a drink and playing with the buttons on her shirt. When did I become a big flirt? Right around the time her clit started making all the decisions. This really is torture… Maybe Mercy would like to spend a Friday night watching TV or going to the movies for once. Wasn’t she supposed to be working on herself? Pulling herself up by the fucking bootstraps and magically willing her depression away? I should probably call that therapist… She flopped down on a couch and leaned her head against a cushion. The narrow hallway nearby chauffeured people back and forth from the club front to the darker, crazier areas in the back. Mercy preferred this portion, where the soft light allowed her to see every line on a woman’s face. She also didn’t mind being watched anymore. She didn’t even care about the men casting a second glance in her direction. Occasionally, she had to brush one off, but the club was so well run that she didn’t worry about them getting pushy.

  All she cared about was relaxing. Something that had become increasingly difficult those past few weeks. Seems like I did all the relaxing in the world before I went to the bridge. If “being too depressed to adequately function” counted as relaxing. I spent most of my time on the couch or in bed, so I guess. Oh, Mercy still spent plenty of time on the damned couch. Or in her bed. Only now she was preoccupied with the predominant feeling inside of her.

  Every time she wondered if a visit by a goddess – let alone one who often split herself into multiple personalities – was real, Mercy was reminded of how she felt since that fateful night. When she wasn’t saved by the embracing arms of an angel, she was fucking some red demoness in the guest room. Or a red angel. Mercy still wasn’t sure if Acedia and her avatars counted as guardian angels or sinful entities meant to drag her down to hell.

  She didn’t care. The only thing on her mind right now was sex. All she cared about was getting laid before the end of the night. It still wouldn’t be enough. She had quickly turned into an addict, and the only thing keeping her from making grave mistakes was the hope that Acedia might intervene. Again.

  Sitting idle on a couch in the middle of a club dedicated to the depraved like her, however, wasn’t helping her keep it together. Every time a woman walked by, Mercy imagined what it was like to pull that woman into her lap and plant kisses onto her throat. This is it. This is the sum of my existence right now. Getting horny and thinking about fucking every woman I see. Every time she saw one on the arm of a man? Fuck it. Still wasn’t bothered. He could watch, for all Mercy cared.

  She’d really rather he not, though. So how was a woman to get through these trying times if all she could think about was sex? This existence wasn’t any better than being depressed! She was trading one problem for another. Definitely a demoness. No other explanation.

  “Hey.”

  Mercy knew who it was before she looked up. Yet she feigned a little surprise when Flora leaned against the arm of the couch, her dress pressing so hard against her body that all Mercy could see was that damning cleavage. She really has a nice rack. I mean, should I be surprised? She’s young enough to be my kid sister. Mercy had no siblings. No parents. No cousins close enough in age to be a proper family for her. She had no one beyond everyone at work – and the old friends Marissa had cut her off from during the course of their four-year relationship. Every time Mercy realized she was going to have to make friends all over again – at almost forty, no less – she sighed. She would rather live on Tinder and wander the halls of this place, looking for her next carnal fix.

  “Haven’t found any convention people to make out with yet, huh?” Mercy kept her body turned away from Flora. It was either that or lunge at her. Sometimes, a woman managed to push down her crazed lust in favor of some decorum.

  “It’s a bit more dead than I thought it would be.” Flora leaned back, bringing her damned breasts with her. Mercy rolled her eyes at her own damnable behavior. “Must be the time of year. People are out traveling. Visiting family. Whatever.” Mercy had kept her eyeroll to herself, but Flora put it on full display as she sat down next to Mercy. “Sorry if I seem kinda pushy. I don’t mean to be. Only looking for some companionship, you know?”

  Mercy hated how much her body alit in desire around this grad-school student. I’m old enough to be her teen mom. Mercy never got Flora’s exact age. When they first hooked up three years ago, it had been enough to know she could bag her a younger woman during these trying, hormonal times of healing. Now? The thought of them being friends – or more – confused the shit out of Mercy. She wasn’t looking for love, with or without the sins swarming her body. She certainly didn’t want a young, busy girlfriend who would look to her for financial support when things get tough. All of her spare change must go to her membership here. No wonder she wants to get the most out of her buck here. All the more reason for her to hit up other women. Wasn’t Mercy considered “safe” now? A second tier choice? That’s what she would consider herself. Run-of-the-Mill Mercy. That would’ve been her sorority nickname, had she the courage to rush twenty years ago.

  Still, there was something to all that youth, wasn’t there? Maybe it meant Flora thought Mercy was amazing in bed. Hadn’t Lust told her to give herself more credit in the sack? I mean, I like to think I showed Flora a good time… They had spent a good hour in that private room with little ability to talk about their hopes and dreams. It was mostly a smattering of “Yes!” and “Right there!” Mercy wished she could remember the details of Flora’s body, but the whole night had been an orgasmic haze as she purged more of that sin from her frail, mortal form.

  “Yeah. Companionship.” Mercy’s shoulders hunched around her ear. “Look, you’re cute and… uh, well, you’re sexy, yes… but I’m not looking for anything more than a… a…” Mercy had committed the only cardinal sin to leave her disappointed in herself. She had stared into the depths of Flora’s cleavage, and all she could think about was shoving her face in there. “Anything more than something casual. I don’t want you getting your hopes up around me.”

  Flora was bemused for a split second. Then, with a scoff loud enough to knock her off the couch, she turned her whole body toward Mercy and said, “You think I’m looking for something other than casual? Honey, I’m in grad school. I have no time for dating, let alone a full-time relationship. I’ve got like… one fuck buddy from one of my classes, but I can tell she’s not really into it, so I come here to blow off the steam. If I’m hitting you up again, it’s because I had a lot of fun with you, not because I wanna, like… marry you.”

  “Uh huh.” Mercy sighed. Flora could say that, but Merc
y wouldn’t believe it until she walked out of there without some young thing riding her coattails. All it takes is another wild night for her to get addicted. Why, Mercy was addicted, so why shouldn’t Flora be, too? “You say you don’t wanna be pushy, but you’ve spent the past three minutes trying to get me to make out with you.”

  “Don’t you wanna?” Flora inched closer, one arm on the back of the couch and the other coming for Mercy’s leg. “You can say no. I can take a hint. Although I don’t really like hints.” Her butt wiggled in the air as she crawled forward. Her breath smelled like strawberries. Must have been the drink she quaffed in the other room. “I prefer things to be direct. My whole grad study is about hints and metaphors. I’m tired of it.” Her tits were going to fall out of her dress if she kept this up. Probably what she wanted. I know it’s what I want. Mercy was pathetic. She was there to expand her horizons, if only to keep her partners from getting hurt when she moved on to the next pussy. Sometimes, the pickings were slim – especially in a town like that.

  “Of course I wanna,” Mercy muttered. “You’re basically asking if I’m dead inside.”

  “Well? Are ya?”

  This was a test. Maybe not from Acedia, but some deity looking over Mercy and laughing their ass off. “I am the opposite of dead inside right now.” That was much more than she could have said a month ago. “I’m so alive I might eat you alive.”

  Flora’s eyes instantly lit up. “Tell me more.”

  Why tell her when Mercy could show her?

  3

  Flora’s delectable mouth moaned against Mercy’s as they fell back against the couch, arms wrapping betwixt one another. Fuck me. I knew if I kissed her I’d have to fuck her, and here we go. Mercy suddenly stopped caring. Now that the promise of sex was hers to hold, all she cared about was pulling down Flora’s zipper and tonguing her until she couldn’t groan anymore.