Folsom

by Tarryn Fisher

  “Right,” I say, frowning. “How many times a day do you have to do this?”

  Folsom shrugs. “Two or three…”

  I balk. “Every single day?”

  “We get days off.”

  “What do you do on your days off?”

  “Not fuck three women.”

  Interesting. I’m doing the math in my head, counting the women he’s been with just this year, when his voice makes me jump.

  “I should go.”

  My face heats. I tear my eyes away from him and stand, stepping into my dress and pulling my hair over my chest. He picks up his shirt, and I admire the way it clings to his shoulders. He reaches into his small leather bag and pulls out new boxers. I don’t like what I feel as he puts himself back together.

  “I’ll take you to the dining room. You must be starving.” I walk toward the door and pick up his boots, admiring them one more time.

  Once his pants are on, he takes the boots from me, and his lips curl up into a faint smile.

  “Hold up your foot,” he says.

  When I do, he takes hold of my heel and aligns it to his boot. He studies it for a moment and nods, letting go.

  “You have pretty feet.”

  “What constitutes pretty feet?” I don’t think I care what constitutes pretty feet, I just want to keep talking to him.

  He returns, bending down in front of me and lifting my foot from the floor. I sit on the edge of the bed and watch as he runs a finger along the inside from toe to heel. I’m too stunned by his touch to find it ticklish. This feels more intimate than what we just did.

  “This arch,” he says. “And the symmetry of your toes…” He touches the tip of my big toe with a fingertip, and then moves his entire hand to my ankle, and wraps his fingers around it. “Tiny ankles.”

  It’s silly, but his praise pleases me. He doesn’t seem to be the complimentary type and I’m not the type who needs to be complimented, but…this has been a day of firsts.

  I grin. “I’ll show you where lunch is being served.”

  As we walk through the narrow hallway, our arms brush against each other. I’m aware of how close we are to one another, how the heat of his skin transfers into mine.

  Sophia and Mother are standing in the living room, attempting to appear casual but failing. Their backs are stiff, eyes are wide, and the curiosity is about to break them both in two. It would be comical if I didn’t suddenly become overwhelmed with dread for having to share his company. He seemed in a hurry to leave my room, but I wish I’d found a way to stall.

  “Done so soon?” Sophia’s tone is mocking, as she puts her hand on Folsom’s chest. I wonder if women just touch him like this all the time. He doesn’t seem bothered by it; rather, he ignores her hand and looks at me.

  My breath catches. His face is stony, as if a wall just went up. I wonder what he’s guarding. Mother swoops between Sophia and Folsom and takes his arm. We walk to the dining room, where all of our best is out on display. She places him at the head of the table and motions for us to sit on either side of him. She signals to Phoebe that we’re ready for the dining service to begin and Phoebe lets the kitchen staff know. When it’s just us in the house, we’re not nearly so formal.

  Once the platters are brought out, my mother takes a seat next to me. I clasp her hand in hopes that she’ll relax. She’s making me anxious.

  Folsom fills his plate with mostly vegetables and fruit, especially the raspberries. At the last second, he takes a large chicken breast. I file it all away, not bothering to take any food. He chooses lemonade, a favorite of mine.

  “How is your schedule while you’re here?” my mother asks. “Do you ever get a day off?”

  Folsom sets down his knife and stops chewing. “I’m expected to attend the Region parties, which as you know are most nights, but I’m not always expected to impregnate someone at them, so…little bit of a break.” He gives a savage grin and picks his knife back up. “I have an occasional Tuesday off. It just depends on how the lottery goes.” He looks at me then, popping another bite of chicken in his mouth. “Do you work full-time?”

  “She never stops working,” Sophia answers for me. “Like a plebeian. You’d think she was born to the lower end.”

  “She’s here today,” he says, his gaze running over my face. “It seems we have the same work ethic, Gwen.”

  Sophia rolls her eyes. I pick up a glass of water and sip it, hoping it will cool me down.

  “I enjoy my work,” I finally say. “I want to be part of the solution. The world has enough people lounging around hoping things get fixed for them.”

  “Are you going to put me out of a job?” His voice sounds almost hopeful.

  “Yes, actually,” I say bluntly. “Not that you can’t keep doing what you’re doing, but it would be really great to not have to depend on the End Men to save us.”

  “It would be great,” he agrees. “Not nearly as much fun as what we just did, though…”

  I laugh then but don’t respond. He waits a moment and seems satisfied with what he sees on my face. He’s still smirking as he tucks back into his food.

  Sophia scoots a little closer to him and runs her hands through his hair.

  “Sophia, let the man eat,” Mother says.

  Sophia glares at our mother and puts her hand in her lap. “I’ll be at all the parties,” she says. Folsom eats a large handful of raspberries and grabs another spoonful. “I’ll see you there,” she adds.

  He lifts his glass and gives her a mini-salute. She doesn’t seem to realize he’s not interested in anything but the food right now. He turns to me.

  “I hope you find the answer,” he says quietly.

  It takes a moment for me to understand and then I know—no one wants to be done with his job more than he does.

  All the preconceived thoughts I’ve had about the End Men and their glamorous life fades. It might be different for the others, but with Folsom, it’s obvious that he’s ready for his obligation to the Regions to be done. The problem is, with a good forty years or so left of virility he’s not anywhere close to being finished.

  I thought women had it rough, the few who can afford it getting one chance at a child, but I can’t imagine being bound to the Regions’ beck and call. It changes everything. I feel awful for him, but the point remains: I want a baby. So I’ve contributed to his bondage.

  It’s too much to think about…too much of a shift in the way I’ve always thought. I feel guilty and yet excited over the thought of what we did today. Mostly excited.

  I stand up, nearly knocking my chair over in the process. “I have to go. Thank you, Folsom.” I hold out my hand and he takes it in his. “I’m so glad it was you.”

  I pull my hand away and he looks stunned.

  “Where are you going?” Mother asks.

  “I have to get to work.”

  “Gwen, really, sit down. The next appointment isn’t for another half hour,” Mother says.

  I leave before anyone can say anything else. I do want to work this afternoon, but more than that, I’ve felt entirely too many emotions today and I don’t want to hear Sophia’s cries of pleasure when it’s her turn.

  When I arrive at the lab, I throw myself into work, catching up on what I missed this morning. No one but my boss knows about my appointment with Folsom, and she has the grace not to ask when she sees me. I can still feel the throb where Folsom was inside of me. He invaded more than my body; I can’t stop thinking about him.

  SEVEN

  FOLSOM

  My job is simple. Intellect is not needed when you’re fucking your way through an entire Region of women. There are days when I long to have a meaningful conversation, to discuss, and dispute, and have my voice mean something to this corroded world we’re inhabiting.

  I shower again before I meet Gwen’s sister, Sophia, in her bedroom. The water runs over me and I’m given a reprieve from the constant looks and touching. There is a stark contrast between the two sisters
. I wonder if they get along or if the tension I felt is real. Where Gwen is quiet and introspective, her sister is talkative and social. The type of woman you kiss just to shut up, not to actually enjoy it. A servant directs me to her room. I knock once and she opens the door wearing only her underwear and a pair of heels so high they look fucking painful.

  “Come in, Folsom.”

  They like to say my name. It makes me feel like a fucking dog. Come in, Folsom. Sit down, Folsom. Eat this, Folsom. She turns on her heel and I’m given a view of the tightness of her body.

  I step past her and I’m immediately hit with the heady smell of lilies. I smile to myself when I see the various flower displays across the room.

  “It stinks in here,” I say.

  Sophia bats her eyes, uncomprehending.

  “The lilies.”

  “Oh! Do you want me to have them removed?” She heads to the door to summon someone when I stop her.

  “No, don’t bother. I won’t be here long.” It’s meant as an insult. I don’t like the games she was playing with Gwen, but when she walks toward me, I can tell it’s gone straight over her head.

  “Well, I certainly hope you’re staying for a little while at least…” She trails a finger across my chest as she heads for the bar. “A drink, Folsom?”

  “No, I’d prefer to get started,” I say.

  I don’t need to be drunk for this one. I drink when I feel too much—good or bad—and only then.

  She looks mildly disappointed. I’m used to this—the women expecting to be entertained socially before we have sex. It’s like a courting ritual I don’t care to play. I’m here for one thing and one thing only. Sophia sets her drink down and begins to touch me. I stand still as she takes off my clothes, first unbuttoning my shirt and running her hands across my chest, then cupping me through my pants to feel if I’m ready. I am. The pill I took at lunch only needed an hour to stiffen me up again. The women are unaware that we take pills. It’s a joke among the End Men that women think we are always hard and capable of fucking once an hour. Even Jackal, who brags that he hardly uses the tiny blue pills, laughs along with us.

  Once Sophia has confirmation that I’m hard, she smiles slyly and leads me over to the bed. A bed covered and draped in silk. She makes a show of stripping off her clothes, running her hands across her bare skin to entice me, and then walking over to suck on my fingertips. I let her suck while I unbutton my pants and try to engage my mind in what we’re about to do. Focus, Folsom, fucking focus.

  “I’ve had female lovers,” she tells me. “I know how to pleasure a woman, but I want you to show me how to pleasure a man…”

  Jackal would be so much better at this than I am. I grimace when she turns her back, sashaying slowly to the side of the bed and beckoning me closer with her finger.

  She is beautiful; her blond hair hangs across her breasts, which are full and perfect, the nipples a deep rose. I’m familiar with the shade of rose because of all the fucking flowers in all the fucking bedrooms. She stands on her tiptoes to reach my neck where she kisses me softly, moaning like it brings her pleasure.

  “Get on the bed. On your hands and knees,” I say, my voice low. She casts a coy look over her shoulder before doing what I say.

  I take her with a singular anger that on any other day I would not have allowed to reach the surface. She seems to enjoy it, crying out in pleasure each time I slam into her, her back arching and her head twisting around to watch me. I can see every inch of her, the erotic folds of her pussy, the way it looks like it’s grabbing onto my dick when I pull out, trying to keep me inside. But, I’m not thinking of her, I’m thinking of Gwen. Gwen, who wrapped her body around me like we were doing more than just fucking. I felt more intimacy in those moments than I have in years. I pull out of Sophia, moving her onto her back. She spreads her legs for me and I settle between them. I don’t have to work my way in like I did with Gwen because she’s already so wet. I move inside of her the same way I did with her sister, telling myself that the things I felt with Gwen were in my head. A moment of weakness brought on by our conversation. I could feel that way with anyone if I tried.

  Sophia moans beneath me, repeating the same phrase over and over: “It feels so good, it feels so good…”

  I let myself go rigid, pressing my lips against her mouth as I come, to shut her up. When I’m done, I remove myself from her lax body and walk to the bathroom without looking back. My job in this house is finished. Thank God for that. It was a strange morning and I feel off-kilter. I had to think of Gwen to come. That has never happened before.

  Their mother is waiting at the bottom of the stairs as I make my way down. She smiles up at me as I’m straightening my collar. It’s always an awkward exchange, seeing the parent when your dick is still wet from her daughter.

  “Thank you, Folsom,” she says when I pause in front of her. The sincerity in her voice throws me and I stand there for a full minute not knowing what to say.

  “Your driver is waiting,” she says, breaking the silence.

  I’m at the door when she calls my name. I pause halfway out the door and see she’s walking toward me.

  She dusts some imaginary lint from the lapels of my coat. It’s so distinctly maternal that a pang of something rips through me. I immediately want a drink. She folds her lips together and shakes her head sadly.

  “Out of the two of them I’m pulling for Gwen,” she says, softly.

  I don’t know why she’s telling me this. I hold her eyes for a minute before nodding once and ducking out the door. The car is waiting just outside, my driver leaning against the front side smoking a cigarette. When she sees me, she tosses it to the ground, shrugging. Smoking is forbidden across the Regions. Anything that shortens the human lifespan or affects fertility is strictly forbidden. She holds the door open and I slide into the backseat, my eyes still on the house.

  “Back to the compound, sir?” she asks.

  “No,” I say. “Take me to a bar. It doesn’t matter where.” She glances at me in the rearview mirror before pulling down the long drive.

  “I have to remind you, sir, that you have your lottery drawing tonight and I’ve been advised that you should show up for the drawing sober…also, we don’t have your security detail with us...”

  “Take me to a goddamn bar and don’t worry about my sobriety,” I snap.

  I see her nod once before I press the button to raise the partition between us. The End Men have very few rules we are expected to abide by, and those we do have are mostly ignored. If we do our job, they are willing to turn a blind eye toward our indiscretions. The more children you father, the more favor you receive, and I’ve fathered a lot of fucking kids.

  When I step out of the car, I’m standing in front of a giant fish tank. My driver stares at me sourly.

  “What’s your name?” I ask.

  “Sera,” she replies curtly.

  “I’m sorry, Sera. For earlier.”

  Her face relaxes at once and I smile at her, relieved that I didn’t burn that bridge. A year is a long time to spend with someone who hates you.

  “What is this place?” I ask, looking up at the glass walls. Large fish swim lazily around the tank, weaving between electric red coral.

  “It’s a bar. You told me to take you to a bar.”

  “Yes, I did,” I say, glancing at her. I can’t tell if she’s being a smart ass, so I head toward the door, hands in my pockets. The door opens before I can reach it and two women spill out, clutching each other and laughing. Their jaws drop when they see me.

  “A little early to be drunk, ladies,” I say, as I walk past them.

  One of them recovers quicker than the other. “Speak for yourself,” she calls after me. They erupt in a fit of laughter, which is abruptly cut off when the door closes behind me.

  Once inside I stop short to catch my bearings. The effect is similar to being underwater and would be peaceful if not for the thumping music pounding through the speakers. The lig
ht moves in blue and silver shadows around me as I walk toward the nearest stool. Overhead, fish of every color move gracefully through the water, fanning their paper-thin fins. The Red Region: the wealthiest have money to spare. I study the bottles of liquor in amazement. I’m surprised Jackal ever left this place. The last Region I was stationed in had one bar that served moonshine in glass jars. The roof was made out of tin, and if it rained there were a dozen spots you had to avoid if you didn’t want to get wet.

  The bartender is jarred when she sees me but quickly hides her surprise, ambling over while still polishing a glass. Her head is shaved, and her face pierced. I like her on sight.

  “Well, well, what an honor,” she says, dryly. “Welcome to our humble establishment.”

  “Bourbon straight,” I say. “A not so humble pour.”

  She nods before moving away to locate a bottle. She comes back with a full rocks glass and I nod at her gratefully. I take out money to pay her, but she waves it off.

  “We’re just so grateful for your jizz, man. Don’t worry about it.” She does a little bow, and I can’t help but laugh. “You made it just in time for happy hour.” She points to the clock and I have to spin around on my barstool to see it.

  “How bad?” I ask her.

  She makes a face. “In about ten minutes at least a hundred women will be all over your dick. Lucky man.”

  She winks at me, and before I can respond she’s moved away and I’m left wondering if she’s exaggerating.

  I find out ten minutes later when women start pouring through the door, stopping short when they see me. I move to the far corner of the bar, out of sight, and the bartender gives me the thumbs up like it was a wise choice. I have one sip left of my drink when someone slides into the stool next to me and picks up my glass, draining the last of my bourbon.

  “Only sad people drink alone.”

  I turn to see Gwen grinning at me. She shakes my empty glass and says, “Buy me another. I lost my virginity today.”

  EIGHT

  GWEN

  “Should you be drinking?” he asks me.