Shameless

by Maya Rossi

  My hands sweat and I rub them over my jeans, silently cursing Rick’s persistence. “Shouldn’t you be trying also? I can’t be doing the work alone.”

  He turns to arch an eyebrow at me over his shoulder and I can feel a blush coming on. “Sorry,” I mutter.

  He takes a left towards the woman and I catch his hand, rushing him to a corner of the bar where I can leak my wounds in private after my first attempt to talk to a woman in over twelve years goes to shit. Lily didn’t count.

  “She looks ravishing,” Rick says, almost falling over his stool leaning forward to make out the woman’s features in the bar. “Why are we here when our destination is over there?” he complains.

  I throw him a look of disbelief and grab a chair. “The agreement was to talk to a girl, I didn’t hear a thing about you watching.”

  “Whatever,” he says, fiddling with the gold band on his finger.

  It’s a nervous tic, touching the ring and I know to distract him immediately. “Shouldn’t I pick who I want to talk to?” I grump. “Like, I might not like this girl.”

  It worked. Now Rick just looks irritated. He folds his arms and regards me with an faintly annoyed air. “Don’t chicken out, I only noticed her because you did.”

  Privately happy to bring a spot of color to his cheeks, some purpose to his life, I press harder. “I think she’s a someone, a star maybe.”

  “Or she could be a mother,” Rick say, reaching out to finger the pool sticks.

  My eyes narrow but I can barely make out anything in the dim light. With all the money Vetty makes as the only bar in town you’ll think he would do better, like add an air conditioner or something and better lighting. “Why would you say that?”

  “Those hips.”

  But I’m barely listening. A man stops by her side and she barely acknowledges him. The man is fairly good looking, and normal. And she fucking rejects him. How did I let Rick talk me into this? If asked, he would say it was the same way I talked him out of committing suicide months ago.

  A glass of ale appears none too gently in front of me, spraying some over the table. I raise my eyes to meet Rick’s inquisitive stare. I can feel the eyes of the patrons, people I grew up with, neighbors who cross themselves when I walk past. Their stares rake like hot coals across the back of my neck and I run my hand over my neck.

  I spy the girl perched on a bar stool with her legs crossed. With her hair hung over her shoulder and her straight back, she seems even more queenly like before. In that instant I realize why I noticed her the moment she stepped out of the cab. She doesn’t belong here.

  The thought brings me shame. I know why. They all say the same about me, but for different reasons. I don’t belong in their small town. It doesn’t matter that I remain holed up in my farm, never leaving, never disturbing the peace. I remain a distraction. Not that I really do anything except care for my farm and animals.

  Something tells me that keeping my promise to Rick is one thing, flirting with a girl in a bar is another. It will change the course of my life. I can almost feel the invisible wheels turning, scheming to take me where I refuse to go. I don’t do well with change.

  “Rick,” I raise pleading eyes, “I can’t do this.”

  To my surprise, he smiles. Elation wiggle into my heart along with relief at having gotten my own way. Maybe we can go home, I will finish laying down the foundation for the new barn and play a bit with Lex and Clark. I take a discrete look around the bar, unable to stop the shudder of fear, shame and guilt that roils through. It isn’t my fault I want to beg and scream at them when their eyes dart away from mine.

  Yet, there’s relief too. I don’t have to try. I will return home to my four-legged family who doesn’t judge me. And after a few months, I will forget making this ill-advised journey into town. Except when I meet Rick’s eyes, he’s happy, like fucking gleeful.

  He grins widely. “I don’t have to try either. You don’t know how hard it is, I just want to let go.” Rick takes my hand, his fingers squeezing almost convulsively. “My hands are cracked and peeling from holding on, now I can rest.”

  Rick’s earnest, grinning face flutters before my eyes. I see the noose and the rope I stumbled onto just three months ago. Jesus, I can’t believe that fateful day I left my home because I noticed a late delivery was just three months previously. A day I interrupted this amazing man taking his own life.

  In one gulp, I down the ale, ripping my hand from his hold. I can’t help feeling betrayed. I want to shout at Rick. You got help. We’re past this. I never knew it was a negotiation. I thought I did right by him, erasing some of the guilt from the past. But I’m wrong.

  “Gotta go,” I grit out and step around a stupefied Rick.

  It breaks my heart to see the unhappiness and fear in his. Does he really want to let go so badly? It makes me question everything about our friendship. Did he really get help like he said, promised he would?

  A few titters and the sound of chairs scraping across the ground reach my ears. I imagine every single person in the bar who has ever mocked me, turning around in their seats to watch the show. To see me being humiliated. A flush of red boils up from deep inside me to creep up over my chest, neck and face. My feet collides against a bar stool I’m sure isn’t meant to be in the way. Bad lighting aside, Vetty doesn’t joke with his furniture. I stumble and right myself before I end up on my ass.

  The room goes silent. And that isn’t my imagination. No one’s speaking. They are watching me. It doesn’t help when a guy who seems to have been speaking with the girl is met with a cold shoulder from her and a few harsh words from Vetty.

  The man lurches past me, snarling, “Bitch.”

  Our eyes meet. Even though I can’t make out her features, I feel the weight of her stare like an unbearable weight on my shoulders. Before my eyes she morphs into something else. Someone else. Then my mother is there. Her slap lands hard on my cheek, twisting my head to the side.

  “Empty-headed goat,” she snarls.

  I stagger, my vision blurs, the thin air, robbing me of breath. Eric comes from nowhere, my savior as always. He hurls mom back by her skirts. Hands glued to my aching cheek, I’m filled with awe. He’s my superman. Fighting classmates, our parents and half the town on my behalf.

  “Stay away from him,” he shouts.

  The muscled shoulders he got from playing football over the summer ripples like the sprout of new leaves.

  Someone shoulder checks me hard. The only reason I remain standing is the strength of my frame standing firm.

  “Moron,“ a patron to my left mutters, bringing me to the present. I force my feet to take a step forward. I come to an abrupt halt. I can’t do it.

  Chapter four

  He makes my skin crawl.

  Bile, green and undiluted pool in my mouth. It takes more effort than usual to bring a smile to my lips. Making sure to keep the bartender in sight, I breathe, “Hi.”

  “Sugar doll,” the man says, “let me buy you a drink.”

  In the low light in the bar, I can barely make out his features. Sugar doll? Who calls a grown woman sugardoll?

  Even though my fingers itch with the need to grab control, to spin this encounter to my narrative, I force myself to look around. The bar whose name starts with a ‘V’ from what I can make out when the taxi dropped me is the only one in town-- trust me, I checked. With it’s neon light that work for only one letter ‘V’ and the other letters hanging off the top of the building, the bar boasts a run down feel that adds rather than detracts from its charm.

  I can’t say the same for the town. What makes a town even? If it’s population, this ‘town’ won’t cut it. If it’s the people, it sure won’t make the cut.

  “Baby doll,” the man repeats. He moves close, crowding me.

  “You sound like an overgrown baby in desperate need of a spanking,” I return calmly.

  He blinks in incomprehension. Then he frowns. My skin hums with fear. I barely restrain a shudder,
fighting my grimace at the thought of being called ‘doll’ twice. Does this line work on other women? For the sake of every woman out there, I really should deal with this situation, but I can’t speak, fear curl around my tongue, stealing my words.

  He could be another Stanton.

  He leans forward, bathing the air around me in alcoholic fumes. I recoil. Since I’ve mastered the art of hiding in plain sight, the only sign of my discomfort is my fluttering eyelashes and lounging figure. It helps me lean back as far the stool will allow. The bartender catch my eye, pitching a glass of beer in the space between us. I release a breath, forcing the stiffness from my body and give the man a coy look.

  “You know,” the man says, “we can go right back--”

  “White,” the blond and very handsome bartender says in warning, “leave her alone.”

  I try to hold White’s stare, but I can’t. Perfect. This town is robbing me of my mojo just a couple of minutes in. The usual me will have White panting after me like a dog, declaring his undying devotion.

  With a low murmur of complaint, White leaves. I let out a sigh, smiling my thanks at the bartender. Swinging my foot around the legs of my stool, I turn to observe the patrons. There is a sizable crowd of people talking, laughing and shouting. There is also an air of camaraderie, it is the only thing that quells the resentment flaring in my belly. I am yet to forgive mother for the decision that has me seated in this bar. She chose her marriage over me and I can’t forgive her.

  It is only because I’m paying attention I notice the second the air shifts to something darker. Dangerous. White brushes past a man with a force that would have toppled someone of lesser weight, but not this one. He is huge, strapping and tall. Absently, I take a sip of my beer. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever drank, with a hint of cinnamon and pepper and the alcohol combining to give it a unique bite. I take another sip, my eyes involuntarily returning to the big guy. There’s only one man I know as big as this one, possibly bigger. But this one’s still impressive.

  Bringing him under my control will erase some of the humiliation from having my body violated. Yay, score one for Livvy.

  Our eyes meet. Or maybe not. The bar’s too dimly lit to be sure of anything. But I feel the weight of his unwavering stare. He takes one step forward and stops. Someone laughs and another. Then I understand why the energy in the bar paused for this man. They want to see him fail and it involves me somehow.

  Sorry, big guy. It’s a eat or be eaten world and guess who I want to be?

  Unconsciously, I shift, allowing my thighs to fall a few inches apart. I know exactly the effect my action will arouse. I wasn’t voted homecoming queen for nothing. Plus, I have the advantage of a full, curvy figure many black women are blessed with. To my consternation, the man doesn’t rush towards me. He turns to check out someone behind him. After a second or two, he walks over.

  “Luggy,” the bartender greets.

  The man grunts but says nothing else. Up close, he’s even bigger than I imagined. He is dressed in an unremarkable jeans and black button down shirt. Well, the clothes would have been unremarkable on anyone else. As it is, the shirt, stretches across his heavily muscled chest and the jeans struggle to encase his tree-like thighs.

  When I raise my eyes to his face, I find him studying me closely. But it’s not in the way I expect. He studies my body like it’s a puzzle he’s trying to solve. The thought irritates me and I can feel myself begin to unravel. I bite down on my tongue waiting for him to make the first move.

  He doesn’t.

  There’s a vulnerability to his stooped shoulders and the way he just stands there that touch me. It’s obvious why he’s here. Just standing before me leaves him open to more humiliation but he makes no attempt to do anything about it.

  Maybe we don’t have to be on the losing side.

  I reach for his hand. They are heavily callused and just as big as the rest of him. Between us, I don’t know who is more shocked by my action. He stiffens, the shiny globes of his eyes the only thing I can see. But the surprise is there, glistening like something new.

  He stumbles back rather than forward. Any other man will be all over me. Like wisps of smoke, my fears fades into nothingness. On the counter, I turn my hands upward, willing him to take it.

  He does.

  Without a word, we stride out of the bar, leaving gaping mouths and a world of shock behind. Outside, the darkness send a shiver of apprehension through me and his fingers tighten around mine.

  I don’t go far. I take us round to the side of the bar. Still, I can make out just a little of his features. A high forehead, glittering eyes and a mobile mouth. It doesn’t really matter. I want to use him regain some of my control after the debacle with Stanton.

  Lightly, I shove him up against the wall. Keeping my eyes on his, I trail my hands down to his jeans. When he made no move to stop me, I undid the buckle and went down on my knees. Before my knees touch the ground, he stops me with a hand curled around my elbows.

  Has he changed his mind? With nimble fingers, he unbuttons and takes off his shirt. As I watch in growing disbelief, he folds and spreads them on the ground of the bar for me.

  For a second, I stare at his shirt spread out on the ground, unable to sift dream from reality. In the space of three months, I have seen two sides to two different men. While one violated and encroached on my privacy, another willingly destroys a shirt for me.

  “Alright?” he asks in a whisper.

  A couple stumble from the darkness. They don’t even pay us a glance, just stumble out and back into the bar. Quickly, I go down on my knees, pulling his zipper down. Another surprise awaits me when I notice he isn’t even a little hard. But his penis is monster-sized, a heavy weight against the tab of his zipper. In perfect proportion to his huge frame. With a light hand, I trace the shape of his cock, outlined through the thin material of his dark briefs.

  Finally, I get a reaction out of him as he hitches a breath, growing hard beneath my hand. Giving strangers head in questionable bars isn’t something I do. But seeing my pictures spread online for strangers, friends and enemies to gawk at broke something inside me.

  “Hey.” His hand covers mine. “You don’t have to do this.”

  I hear a note of familiarity in his voice and decide to ignore it. I’m not here to be friends. The last man at the last bar isn’t as big as this one. We also didn’t speak, just went out back, he dropped his jeans and guided me down.

  This man is different.

  To get it over with, I lower his briefs gently, and bring his cock out with my other hand. Jesus. He’s huge.

  “Hey.”

  My blood runs hot and wild in my veins. I can feel tingles running all over me, from skin cell to pore and out again. He shifts in place, whether to step away or in reaction to what I’m doing, I don’t know. Leaning forward, I mouth him through the thin material of his briefs. Unaccountably, I feel none of the apprehension that came with giving other men before him the same service.

  My therapists says is my mind’s way of coping with what happened with Stanton. Whatever. It works for me.

  His breath hitches but he makes no move to grab my hair like the others. Instead he clenches his fists at his side, breathing so deeply, it sifts through my hair like a gentle breeze.

  Done teasing him, I release his cock completely. It’s so long, it smacks me in the face with a slutty sound. A wheezing hiss drifts out of the man. I wrap my hands around his cock lightly, savoring the control. The weight is soft and substantial. The longer I hold, the bigger and longer it grows. At the same rate, my control and sense of self increases.

  Experimentally, I squeeze and release. His low moan and grunts are music to my ears. Gently, I draw him forward to my mouth with my hand and he follows. Having him obey my unspoken command broke through my remaining defenses. So, I wrap my lips around the head and suck lightly.

  With a hoarse groan, he stumble another step forward, shoving almost half of his cock into my
mouth before I’m ready. I gag, eyes watering from having my breath cut off.

  “Oh, God.” He drops back against the wall. “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he chants.

  He still makes no effort to reach for me and for a second, I wonder why. Using my spit as a lubricant, I stroke up and down, peering up at his face, curious to know what he looks like. He’s the first man to make me feel safe. I really want to know who he is. But first…

  I rolled my tongue around the head, licking around it like a lollilop, inhaling his musky smell and maleness deep into my lungs. When I open to get another mouthful, my teeth grazes the end of his cock.

  He murmurs, “Shit, shit. Oh, fuck.”

  Next thing I know, he’s coming. The first gush hits my jaw and chin. Then he hops away on one foot, catching the rest in his hand. The small alley is filled with our labored breathing, his pants harsh and loud in the darkness. After sometime, he moves, tucking his spent cock back into his jeans and zipping up. Cautiously, he approaches me.