Creep

by Jennifer Hillier

  His large Adam’s apple bobbed as he spoke. “My name is Kenneth and I’m a sex addict.”

  “Hi, Kenneth,” the room responded in unison.

  “It’s been a tough week. I got caught masturbating again at work. I thought I was doing so well, but I was searching for something on the Internet my boss needed and one of those ads for free porn popped up. I don’t know why they don’t block those! Anyway, that’s all it took. Next thing I know, my hand is down my pants and I’m . . .”

  Ethan listened with great interest as Kenneth the Masturbator relayed his embarrassing story, concluding with the look on his poor supervisor’s face when she walked into Kenneth’s office and caught him spanking the monkey.

  Ethan bit back his laughter. And to think, the fun was just beginning.

  CHAPTER : 13

  The first half of the meeting was over and they were given a fifteen-minute break. Eight people had shared their stories so far, and Sheila hoped this part was finished for the evening. In her three years attending Sex Addicts Anonymous meetings, she’d just about heard it all. Nothing really surprised her anymore, but it could be pretty depressing.

  Kenneth was on the verge of being fired from his third job in two years due to his uncontrollable urges to masturbate in public places. Christina suffered from blackouts during sex and often woke up unable to remember where she was or why she was there. Curt was addicted to online pornography and had spent over $40,000 on membership fees to various websites. His wife and kids had left him after the house was taken by the bank.

  These stories might have been interesting, funny even, if Sheila didn’t have to count herself as part of this group of addicts struggling day in and day out for control.

  Her butt sore from sitting on the hard metal folding chair, she welcomed the opportunity to stand up and stretch. She followed the herd to the back of the room where the coffee and doughnuts were and watched as people began to pair off or stand in small groups. She murmured a few hellos, but she had no desire to bond with anyone here. If anybody asked, she always said her name was Stella.

  She waited patiently for her turn at the free coffee dispenser, which produced mild but not horrible-tasting coffee. A corduroy-clad arm reached out from behind her to drop a $50 bill into the large donation jar. She turned, curious to see who’d donate such a high amount, and a man about her age with smooth caramel skin and tinted glasses met her glance. A newbie. His eyes stayed on her face for only a second before darting away, which happened a lot in SAA. Nobody wanted to be recognized here.

  “Fifty bucks.” Sheila couldn’t resist commenting as she reached the coffee dispenser. “Generous. I think the average contribution tends to run about five dollars. You must be planning to stick around.”

  “Depends on what happens in the second half of the meeting.”

  The man had an accent she couldn’t quite place. “Enjoyed the sharing, did you?”

  He shrugged but his expression was serious. “It was interesting. I can’t get past the size of this group. Back in Ohio we had only seven people. There’s got to be forty here tonight.”

  He didn’t sound as if he was from Ohio.

  “I wonder what that says about the Pacific Northwest,” Sheila said.

  He finally laughed, pushing his glasses farther up on the bridge of his nose. He wasn’t bad looking. “Right.”

  “Affirmations and visualizations are next. Have fun.”

  She glanced at him one last time before she walked away. Something about him seemed vaguely familiar, but that often happened. She taught hundreds of students every year, of all ages, races, and backgrounds. She hoped he hadn’t been one of them.

  At Tony’s Tavern an hour later, Sheila ate her mushroom-and-Swiss burger. Greasy food had become a ritual for her after her weekly SAA meetings. Something about all the sex-addict talk made her crave comfort food, and Tony’s burgers fit the bill. The tavern was only a five-minute drive from the church, and the dim lighting and classic rock booming over the loudspeakers made it the perfect place to pig out unnoticed.

  Taking a big bite of her burger, she observed two women sitting at the bar. One sported a miniskirt and high heels; the other wore a top so low her red lace bra was showing. They were attracting a lot of attention from the workingmen who frequented Tony’s, all of whom they shot down with sarcastic barbs.

  Sheila understood what they were doing all too well. Whatever their stories might be, these women were here for validation. They weren’t necessarily looking to get laid, though someday that might change.

  A tall, well-dressed man took a seat beside them at the bar. Sheila recognized him immediately from the SAA meeting—Fifty Bucks Guy. The two women stopped talking long enough to check him out while he ordered a drink. The blonde with the low-cut top puffed out her chest and gave him an obvious once-over, but he didn’t even glance her way.

  Sheila took another bite of her burger and three slices of greasy mushroom fell into her lap. Swearing under her breath, she picked them out of her napkin, popping them quickly into her mouth. She looked up to see Fifty Bucks Guy watching her from the bar with a sardonic grin. He gave her a small wave.

  Reflexively, she lifted a hand in response. Instantly she regretted it. She watched in dismay as he hopped off his barstool to make his way over to her. Miniskirt and Tight Top watched with disappointment.

  Despite herself, Sheila couldn’t help but feel a tiny thrill at his approach. Validation.

  He was better looking than she remembered. A little paunchy around the middle perhaps, but she liked his hip, stylish look. He walked with a slight limp and she wondered what was up with that. Not that she was interested, of course.

  “I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself earlier,” the man said when he reached her table. He leaned down so she could hear him over the loud din. She caught a whiff of his cologne. Expensive. “I’m James. I was just at the meeting.”

  She wiped her mouth with her napkin. “I remember. Fifty bucks.”

  “I didn’t catch your name.” He held his hand out.

  She shook it, not bothering to hide her reluctance. “Stella.”

  “Nice to officially meet you, Stella. Mind if I join you? There don’t seem to be any empty tables and—” He turned to look at the seat he’d just vacated, now occupied by an older man trying to pick up the two loud women. “It looks like I’ve lost my seat.”

  Sheila looked around the room. He wasn’t lying, every single table was full except hers. Forcing a smile, she acquiesced.

  “Don’t worry, I have no desire to talk about the meeting.” He sat down heavily in the rickety wooden chair. “In fact, we don’t have to talk at all if you don’t want to. I just need to get some food in me and I’ll be on my way.” He signaled the waitress.

  Sheila felt bad. Was she being bitchy? Maybe a little small talk wouldn’t hurt.

  “Where are you from?” She attempted a more natural smile. “I can’t place your accent, but it doesn’t sound like Ohio.”

  Up close, James was handsome. Nice, even features. She wasn’t a fan of facial hair, but the goatee suited him, and something about his presence was very masculine. He sat with his legs apart, leaning away from her. It made her want to move closer. A small scar was under his eye, and she had a sudden urge to take off his glasses and run her finger over it. She forced the thought from her head.

  James grinned and took a long sip of his beer. “You remembered. Damned accent gives me away every time.”

  “Australia?”

  “New Zealand.”

  “A Kiwi. Very cool.” Sheila took a bite of her burger and lost a few more mushrooms. “Damn. This burger is good but so messy.”

  The middle-aged waitress approached, harried, her bright red hair frozen to her head under what looked like three coats of cheap hairspray. “Another Sam Adams? Or something to eat?” She was addressing James, her voice hoarse from either too many years of smoking or too many years of shouting in loud bars. Probably both.
“Make it quick, I’m on break in two minutes.”

  “Hi, Jean,” James said, reading the name off her tag. He gave her a winning smile. “I can be quick, but I thought you gals liked a guy to take his time.”

  Jean’s eyes widened in surprise. Finally, she burst out laughing. “Okay, you got me.”

  James pointed to Sheila’s plate. “I’ll have what she’s having. And another beer.”

  “Mushroom Swiss.” Jean scribbled on her little notepad. “Good call, it’s the tastiest thing in the joint. Except for you, maybe.” She winked at him. Still smiling, she said to Sheila, “Another Diet Coke for you?”

  “Please, with lime,” Sheila replied, amused.

  “Diet Coke with lime?” James said once the waitress had left. “You sure go for the hard stuff.”

  “I don’t drink,” Sheila said, refraining from adding anymore.

  “Ah.” His gaze moved to the large TV screen behind her, one of the many that were bolted to the walls. ESPN was showing football highlights, and Sheila couldn’t help but think that if Morris were in town, he’d be watching the exact same thing.

  James didn’t seem particularly interested in conversation, but the silence felt awkward to Sheila.

  “So, James.” She leaned in toward him, catching another whiff of his cologne. Without meaning to, she inhaled deeply. Damn, he smelled good. It was a little unsettling—she’d always been a sucker for great-smelling men. Morris always wore cologne when they were together. Come to think of it, something about James’s scent reminded her of her fiancé. Assuming there was still a wedding, of course. “How long have you been in SAA?”

  James raised an eyebrow. “Thought we weren’t going to talk shop.”

  Sheila smiled. “You said that, not me.”

  “Fourteen months. What about you?”

  “Longer than that.” She pushed her plate away. “Is it helping you so far?”

  He started to answer but was interrupted by Jean.

  “Thank you. That was quick,” he said, then winked at the older woman as she set down his food and beer. She winked back, a blush seeping into her wrinkles.

  When she left, he said to Sheila, “I think so. Maybe not in the traditional sense. It hasn’t been easy. But I’m better than I was.”

  “Better in what sense?”

  “For starters, I no longer pay for sex.”

  She wasn’t surprised. She figured it was something like that.

  “I had a problem with prostitutes,” he continued, dumping ketchup onto his burger.

  He had long fingers, artist’s fingers, and they reminded her of Ethan’s. She felt a tingle go up her spine, thinking about what fingers like that could do. Stop it.

  “It pretty much ended my marriage,” he said.

  “Not too many wives can handle that.” Sheila’s smile was sympathetic. “Good for you for getting help.”

  “Can I be honest?” James munched on a fry. “I don’t think I would have stopped. Not even after Cheryl—that’s my ex—left me. It was the money that did me in. I was seeing two, three women a week who charged three hundred bucks a pop. I don’t make enough money to afford that indefinitely.”

  Jean came back, paying particular attention to James. Sheila watched with amusement as the waitress batted her well-coated eyelashes, giggling like a schoolgirl. Apparently Sheila wasn’t the only one who found James attractive.

  “Excuse me, Jean, I never got my Diet Coke with lime.” Sheila favored the waitress with her brightest smile.

  Jean pursed her lips, clearly annoyed that Sheila had dared to remind her. “I told the bar. I’ll check on it. And then I’m definitely going on break, so make sure you’s don’t need anything else for a few minutes.” She flashed a smile at James before she stomped away.

  “So what about you?” he asked. “What was your problem?”

  Sheila waved a hand. “Oh, you know, the usual. Poor impulse control, sex with strangers, blackouts.”

  “Pardon? Did you say blackouts? It’s hard to hear in here.” James leaned forward, his dark eyes on hers. “I’ve never heard of that.”

  “They’re hard to explain,” Sheila said, then paused.

  Why was she discussing this? What was it about strangers that made it so easy to talk about personal, painful things? Was it because they had no stake in it and weren’t emotionally invested in anything that happened to you?

  “It’s like I become someone else,” she finally said. “The next day, I can’t remember where I was, who he was, or what we did.” She sipped her soda, mostly ice at this point, and craned her neck to see if Jean was coming with a fresh beverage.

  “Do they still happen?” His intense gaze dropped to her lips for a split second before meeting her eyes again.

  She felt self-conscious. She’d wiped her mouth while eating and was painfully aware of how washed out she looked without her favorite red lipstick. Not that it should matter whether James thought she looked good or not.

  “I don’t engage in those types of activities anymore,” she said.

  “So you’re celibate?”

  Sheila sucked in a breath at the pointed question.

  Instantly his face was troubled. “I’m sorry. Much too personal. Forget I asked.”

  “It’s all right.” She licked her lips, fidgeting with her paper napkin. “Let’s just say it’s complicated.”

  “Isn’t it always?”

  “I’ll be right back.” She stood up and reached for her purse. “Ladies’ room.”

  “Sure. I’ll see if I can find out what happened to your Diet Coke.”

  “I’ll bet if you sweet-talk Jean, it’ll be here by the time I get back,” Sheila said with a wink.

  James laughed. “She does seem to like me, doesn’t she?”

  In the restroom, Sheila washed the grease off her hands and applied a fresh coat of lipstick. The color brightened her face instantly and she felt better. On a whim, she dug into her purse and pulled out a small sample of perfume she’d picked up at the mall a few days before. She dabbed a little on her neck, then stood back, appraising herself in the bathroom’s sallow light.

  What the hell was she doing putting on perfume?

  She knew she could go home with James if she wanted to. Two sex addicts meeting at a bar? It was a no-brainer.

  The question was, did she want to?

  Back at the table a minute later, she saw that her plate was gone and a fresh Diet Coke—with a perfect wedge of lime—was sitting in its place, condensation covering the sides of the glass like sweat.

  “Magic,” James said with a grin.

  “Finally.” She slid into her chair. “Thank you.”

  “You won’t believe what I had to do to get her to bring it.”

  “I don’t think I want to know.” Sheila laughed and took a long sip, feeling his eyes on her once again. She was beginning to like it. Christ. She sipped her soda again to avoid meeting his gaze.

  “So, do you have a sponsor?” he asked, picking up where they’d left off.

  “I have a therapist.”

  “Are you dating anyone?”

  His question came out of left field and she felt her eyes widen. He laughed at her reaction. “I’m not asking for me. It’s the sex-addiction issue. I’m wondering if it’s really possible for any of us to have normal relationships.”

  She relaxed, but she couldn’t ignore the twinge of disappointment that he hadn’t asked for himself. “I’m engaged, actually.”

  The words embarrassed her for some reason. She couldn’t bring herself to add that the wedding was in a little over a week.

  “Is that right?” He looked surprised. “Congratulations.”

  Was it her imagination, or did he also seem disappointed? She couldn’t be sure. She smiled, but it felt forced as thoughts of Morris clouded her mind. “All the plans are made. I just have to get my dress fitted one last time.” She rubbed her temple. Her head was feeling a bit heavy, no doubt from the greasy burger and fries she�
�d just eaten. “It’s not a big wedding, but I want to look good. I probably shouldn’t have eaten here tonight.”

  “I’m sure your fiancé thinks you look beautiful no matter what.” James’s dark eyes bored into hers. “You’re a gorgeous woman. He’s a lucky man.”

  She took another long sip of soda, suddenly feeling as if she needed the caffeine. “I’m the one who’s lucky.”

  She pictured Morris’s face. He was on a plane to Japan now and she wondered if he’d made any decisions. Her heart panged thinking about him.

  A yawn escaped her lips before she could put a hand over her mouth. Aghast, she took another sip of her soda. “Yikes,” she said to James, who was watching her intently. “Guess it’s been a long day.”

  “Don’t apologize.” He favored her with a charming smile. “I’m beat myself. Maybe you should get going before you get too sleepy to drive. How far do you have to go?”

  “I live in Seattle. Capitol Hill.”

  “So, thirty minutes?” James said. “That’s a long drive if you’re tired. I’ll ask our friend Jean for the checks.”

  “Ha. Your friend Jean.”

  He waved and the waitress came over quickly with their bills. Sheila noticed a little happy face was drawn on James’s ticket, and that Jean’s large, gnarled hand rested on his arm a little longer than necessary. If it bothered him, he didn’t show it.

  “I should get going, too.” He put some cash on the table and stood up. “Early day tomorrow.”

  They left the tavern together. The waitress looked disappointed as they passed. So did the two loud women at the bar. Sheila allowed herself a small smile. They all probably thought she was leaving with James.

  It wasn’t a terrible thought.

  The night air was crisp and refreshing, but it didn’t do much to clear Sheila’s sudden brain fog. She yawned again as she approached her white Volvo, staggering a little as she tried to fish out her keys. Despite the brightly lit parking lot, her vision was going blurry.

  “God, I’m so exhausted all of a sudden.” She rooted around in her purse with a hand that felt like rubber. Her eyelids were heavy and she blinked rapidly a few times to try to wake herself up. Where the hell were her car keys? “That burger really did a number on me. I might have to go back inside for some coffee to go.”