Hate Sex: A Novella

by Sinden West

  “You look like a very pretty little slut tonight,” he tells me like it’s a compliment.

  “Thank you,” I say softly with my eyes downcast, because I know it’s expected.

  We get of the car and walk to an elevator. It’s dingy and seedy and reeks of urine and I’m getting more and more scared. When it opens, it’s into an equally dingy, bare area with grotty linoleum on the floor and awful fluorescent lights. Then we go through another door and it’s like we’re in another world.

  The carpet and walls are dark, and the only thing in the room is a reception desk made of a dark wood like it should be in a lawyer’s office. A beautiful woman is standing there with a wide, painted smile to greet us. She’s dressed in a corset like thing and has feathers in her hair. Stefan passes a card over to her, which she takes and inputs whatever’s on it into the computer.

  “Welcome, Mr Manderley.” Her smile widens. She’s so fake.

  “May I take your coats?” She reaches out long painted nails as Stefan hands her his, then she turns and looks expectantly at me. I don’t want to. I don’t want anyone to see me in the outfit I’m wearing underneath. So I just stand there stupidly as Stefan finishes putting his wallet away and the fake woman’s smile slips slightly to a frown. Stefan notices and turns to me, his mouth in a line. He’s angry and that’s when I take off the coat. The woman doesn’t even blink, and when we make our way through the ornate door, I know why.

  People are in all different types and states of dress and undress. A mature woman is dressed like a school girl and being led around on all fours by a lead attached to her dog collar. The woman leading her is dressed from head to toe in PVC like cat woman, complete with mask and cat ears. There’s a naked man bent over a younger woman’s lap being spanked. The look on his face is pure ecstasy. I look to my left and a woman is giving a blow job, to my right a man is eating out a woman who’s wrapped in bandages similar to a mummy with just her nose, mouth, and between her legs left free. So much is going on that I don’t know where to look. Those voices that love to crowd by head start, almost if they’re trying to block out everything.

  No one even looks twice at me in my rather tame by comparison outfit.

  Stefan deposits me on an overstuffed couch that’s done in a rich crimson fabric and gold brocade. I cringe a little as I sit on it, wondering what bodily fluids have been spilled on it prior and how they clean it.

  “Wait here,” Stefan instructs before he makes his way to the bar. I do what he says and just stare at my hands, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone. He comes back with two glasses filled with dark liquid, bourbon, I suppose. He always drinks bourbon.

  “Here,” he presses one into my hand. “Drink this.” I do what he says, of course. It tastes horrible but I manage not to spit it out. I go to place it on the small table beside the couch but he stops me. “All of it.”

  I choke it down and my stomach heaves. When it’s empty I place the glass down and he puts his beside it.

  “Take off your clothes.”

  And I do it. At least I won’t be the only naked person here.

  He pats his lap. “Come here.” I know what he wants so I straddle his lap, facing him, just the tiniest bit grateful that I’m facing away from everyone. I am so self-conscious but Stefan has a thing for exhibitionism. I take out his penis and start to pump it a little in my hand, but I don’t really need to because he’s hard already, he’s ready for me. On those rare occasions when he comes into my bedroom, when it’s just he and I, his penis hangs flaccid and tiny between his legs. Once, he even cried.

  But here, in front of everyone, he can be the kind of man he wants to be.

  So, in a room filled with other sexual degenerates, I mount him and ride him while he squeezes my breasts painfully and I moan. To anyone else, it probably looks like I’m really into it, especially when he grabs my hair painfully and pulls my head back, which forces me to arch back and make my breasts more prominent. I imagine I look like something out of a porn movie. He comes quicker than normal. That must be because of the other people watching I suppose. After he’s finished and I’m allowed to get off him, I reach for my poor excuse for clothing but he pulls them out of my reach.

  “No, you’ll stay like that.” He fixes himself up and goes back to the bar. I sit there, naked and uncomfortable with his semen running down my thigh and an overwhelming sense of shame. He has another drink for himself when he returns, but thankfully nothing for me. He doesn’t speak to me; his gaze falls on others in the area and their activities. I just stare at my hands, trying to keep my mind off my nakedness, when a voice interrupts my thoughts.

  “May we join you?” It’s a male voice and I look up. He’s in his forties, pudgy, and his face is friendly. He’s dressed in a business suit similar to Stefan’s. The woman beside him is of similar age. She’s carrying excess weight which is all the more apparent by the skin tight dress she’s wearing which makes the cellulite on her thighs and breasts all the more accentuated. She looks garish in that dress, like a prostitute. But her hair is well-cut and shiny like she’s uses only the best products on it, even though it does nothing for her dumpy face. Flashes on her fingers catch my attention. That jewelry’s expensive. I can tell. She’s playing dress up, or down in her case. I wonder about her normal life, I wonder if she’s a lawyer or doctor dressed in conservative suits by day, and this is her chance to break out and play fantasy. I don’t like her, not one bit, and she hasn’t even said a word.

  Stefan notices how uncomfortable I am straight way and murmurs, “Of course.” They sit in the two arm chairs opposite us which match the garish hue of the couch we sit on. The woman has a sickly smile on her face. She reminds me of a snake.

  “I’m Miles and this is my wife, Miranda.” The man makes the introductions. He’s too jovial, too happy. He’s a snake as well.

  “I’m Eric and this is Michelle,” Stefan lies. I see him sizing up the man opposite.

  “We couldn’t help but notice you.” Miranda directs her comment to me. “You’re very beautiful.” My mouth goes dry but I don’t want to displease Stefan.

  “Thank you,” I say demurely, everything in me wants to cover myself but I manage to keep my hands in my lap, tightly entwined together.

  Miranda laughs then, she’s read my discomfort. “Don’t worry, I’m not into girls, though if I was you would be at the top of my list.” I give no reaction. “I’m more into watching, I love to watch my husband with other women.” Her gaze then switches to Stefan while she takes Miles’ hand and gives it a squeeze. Miles is staring at me like he’s going to eat me.

  “I’m afraid that my darling has taken rather a liking to your girl here.” My heart beats so loudly that I’m surprised no one can hear it. Miles sits forward eagerly then, licking his lips and practically salivating.

  “Care to share?” Miles asks. I can’t hear Stefan’s reaction over my thumping heart but they talk for a while and he must say yes, because he’s pulling me up off the couch and the four of us are walking down a dark hallway lined with many doors. Miranda finally opens one and leads the way in. Two lush arm chairs are against one wall, and that’s where Miranda and Stefan, the eager voyeurs, sit and make themselves comfortable. Those are the only comfortable things in the room; the floor is concrete and slopes down slightly in the corner toward a small drain. There are round rings in the walls at varying heights and that’s all that I have time to notice because the door is shut behind me, making me jump in fright.

  Miles comes to me then. He’s already stripped off his clothes to reveal a fat, white body. Disgusting. He’s disgusting. A fat slug, soon to be sticky with semen and a part of me that I don’t want to give. Any of the friendliness and joviality that was there before has gone.

  The voices get louder and all I see is Miranda’s eyes, bright with glee, as she leans forward in her chair for a better view of the horror her husband is about to wreak on me.

  There is no help here.

  I re
gister nothing.

  Just her evil eyes.

  And I feel no pain, just rage. White and hot; it deafens me and blinds me. It cradles me and protects that sliver of brain that decides what can be remembered…

  Suddenly, Stefan is talking, and the others are gone. It’s just he and I again. I’m wet. Did they hose me off?

  I still feel Mile’s presence on my skin, in me, but I remember nothing.

  “Hurry up and get dressed. I’ve got work in the morning.”

  I don’t move. I can’t because I’m still shaking. “Did you hear me?” A hard slap comes and that’s finally what gets me moving. My lip splits and I taste blood. My hands work of their own accord to rub my skin with the towel and redress.

  That night, after my shower, I pull my diary out of its hiding place and write out the horrific details of the night. Now that it’s there, down on paper, it doesn’t have to be in my head anymore. Finally I turn to the last page. I add the names ‘Miranda and Miles’ to the list.

  Chapter Five

  For a minute I think she’s normal. But then I see her eyes, dead in the middle of perfection. She has a coffee in front of her, she loves coffee of course. Any kind of drug.

  “Hey, baby” Her lips curve up in a perfectly painted smile, then the smile drops and I know that she has seen the bruise by my lip which stubbornly refuses to be covered. It’s a good sign that she’s acknowledging it so I open my mouth to say something.

  “Mom—”

  But her smile comes back and the look on her face is dreamy as she starts to reminisce. “Do you remember when we lived back East. How cold it was? I thought we were going to freeze because I couldn’t afford to heat the apartment. We just lived on those cans of tuna. I hate tuna, don’t you? Thank God for Stefan …” She trails off as if lost in her own memories, as if I’m not there anymore.

  Message received, bitch.

  I head back upstairs to my room and try not to cry. How can I both hate her and love her so much?

  I lie on my bed and open that small mirror, the one that reveals the truth. I inspect every line and mark on my face. I look like her, right down to same dead soul.

  But I’m soon distracted by the many texts I get from my friends at school as I’m filled in on every little piece of gossip that I’ve missed. I had to skip today because of my face being puffy and bruised from where he slapped me last night.

  Then a text from Liam comes through and I groan.

  ‘Why aren’t you at school? We had a deal. You better be here or I’m burning this assignment.’

  I scowl at my phone. He’s such a prick. What am I going to do about this? Last night’s experience with Miranda and Miles just reinforces that I need to do everything I can do to escape this. I need that goddamned scholarship.

  ‘I’ll be there at four,’ I text him back.

  I put on more makeup to try and cover up the bruise and swelling. It doesn’t work but then I think: who cares? It’s only Liam. I wear a turtleneck with long sleeves to cover as much of my body as possible and leave my hair down. Miles has left bruises on my arms, hips and neck. By the time I’m ready to leave, my mother has disappeared and the house is cold and silent once more.

  As I pull up outside Liam’s house, I notice the mess of beer bottles and cigarette butts outside like someone’s been having a party. After locking and alarming my car, I go up the path to the shitty house. Each step I take on that broken concrete and those rotting porch steps reminds me that Mom and me could be living somewhere like this if it weren’t for Stefan. I pause before I knock on the door, fist raised. Could she survive without his money? Would she even want to get clean? I blame Stefan, but the truth is that she had so many problems before he even came along and scooped her up in all her vulnerability. I lower my fist and take a step back. What am I doing?

  But then Liam opens the door, greeting me with a sandwich in his hand. “You’re late,” he says with a mouthful of food. I curl my lip up at him in disgust.

  “Don’t talk with your mouth full. It’s disgusting.”

  He swallows and gives me a grin. “Just living up to your expectations. What happened to your face?” When I just roll my eyes at him and don’t reply, he turns and heads down the hall. I hesitate briefly and then follow, shutting out those thoughts. Once the door is closed and his sandwich is finished. He pulls his t-shirt over his head in one swift action. I hate that I can’t help but admire his body. I just stand there looking at him as he drops his jeans and underwear, then he reaches for me and tries to lift my top up but I stop him.

  He frowns in confusion.

  “What are you doing? Take your clothes off. I’m horny as fuck.”

  I’ve been thinking about my dilemma. Firstly, I don’t want all my bruises exposed; secondly, I am way to sore down there to let anyone’s penis near me.

  “Let’s try something else,” I venture. “How about I just give you a blowjob?” I say it so brightly that he automatically looks at me suspiciously.

  “I thought that was against your rules,” he says sarcastically.

  “Do you want it or not?” I ask impatiently.

  He gives me a hard stare. “Fine.” He sits down on the bed.

  I automatically get down on my knees in front of him and go to stroke his dick, but he interrupts.

  “Wait, take your clothes off,” he orders. Dick!

  “I don’t need to take my clothes off to suck your cock.” I say it slowly like I’m talking to a child.

  “I want you to take your clothes off. I don’t like me having my clothes off and you all dressed. It makes me the vulnerable one.”

  I stare up at him in frustration, and he’s staring down at me like he’s serious.

  “I’m down here, on my knees, in front of you. How do you figure that you’re the vulnerable one?” This boy genuinely mystifies me.

  “Haven’t you seen that photo of John Lennon and Yoko Ono? He’s naked and clinging to her, she’s fully dressed. It makes him look like the emotionally needy one.” I frown. I have seen that picture, and he’s completely right, but still, what a dick.

  I take a deep breath and say calmly, “I understand what you mean, and in normal circumstances that may apply. But the issue here is that you don’t have any emotions, you are a horrible, horrible, horrible person. You can’t be emotionally needy if you don’t have emotions. Do you understand now?”

  He rolls his eyes at me.

  “May I suck your cock now?” I ask with sarcastic sweetness.

  He nods and I go to work. I’m good at this, actually, I’m great. I’ve been taught by the best, or should that be the worst? When he comes in an explosive, salty, eruption I swallow it all down without spilling a drop, and then I lick around the head to make sure it’s all clean, just like I’ve been taught. When I’m all finished, I untangle his hand from my hair and look at him. He’s only just opening his eyes now, and has a huge smile on his face. It drops the instant he notices me looking.

  “That was good, but next time we’re having sex. I want you naked in my bed.” He’s back to being that expressionless asshole again. I get to my feet and grab my bag.

  “Where is it?” I ask, all business-like now. Still naked, he lazily walks over to his computer desk and opens a drawer. He pulls out a bundle of crisp white papers and hands them to me. I give them a quick glance and see my name typed neatly on the cover. Without another word, or glance at him, I’m out that door.

  The next day I get text after text from Mags, harassing me to go see a band with her. She’s got fake ids all ready for us but they’re playing at a bar that’s known for its leniency anyway. The swelling on my face has gone down and the bruises have yellowed enough to be covered. I make the snap decision to go, especially as Stefan’s not around this weekend. If he finds out, I’ll just say that my mother said it was okay.

  I get ready at Mags’ house. I borrow some of her most revealing clothes so that I end up showing ample cleavage and thigh to distract any nosy bouncers.
I straighten my hair so it lies perfectly down my back and do my makeup as dark as I normally do for Stefan and his ‘parties.’

  I look older; I look good, except for those awful dead eyes of course.

  We get into her Mom’s wine before we go, so we’re both giggling by the time the cab drops us off. We manage to straighten our faces long enough to get waved through by the bouncers who don’t even bother to look at our ids. The band’s just started and Mags grabs my hands and drags me behind her onto the dance floor. We’re in the thick of it, jumping up and down and singing to any songs that they play that we know.

  It doesn’t take long before we have guys coming onto us. Mags gives me a look that lets me know that she is very happy with the male talent. After a while, she turns her attention to a tall, blonde haired guy and starts dancing against him. His arms wrap around her and they fit perfectly together like that’s how they belong.

  I keep dancing by myself because I’m drunk and having a good time, but I do my best to move away from any guy that gets too close to me and make sure not to give out any signals that I’m up for it. When an arm wraps around my waist from behind, I swing around urgently in a panic.

  But it’s only Liam. A girl has his hand in hers and she’s trying to lead him away, but he holds on to me for a moment and whispers in my ear, “nice outfit.” Then he’s gone, disappearing into the crowd of people. I scowl at his back, but then I replace that with a smile when Lucas comes to stand in front of me.

  “Hey, can I talk to you for a moment?” he yells over the music. His fingers close over mine and it nearly takes my drunken breath away. I nod, and he leads me through the crowd of people and away from the dance floor. We go down a corridor that leads to the bathrooms, but we pass them and go further down and around a corner. The music becomes just a distant thump. The walls are painted black, and past patrons have made scratches in the paintwork. Hearts and initials. Clint and Lou forever. Tara’s a whore. Poor Tara.