Scott opened one eye, lazily. ‘Let’s do it, babe.’
‘One sec.’ I dashed to my bedroom for the whip and the handcuffs.
We went wild. Scott ripped my g-string off with his teeth and threw my bra across the room. He pushed me face down on the bed and cuffed my wrists behind my back and tied my ankles together with the cord from Mum’s chenille. He said he fucking loved my tatt. I screamed in ecstasy (and a bit of pain) as he lashed at my bare butt with the whip and talked dirty, calling me ‘bitch’ and ‘whore’ and ‘slut’. He flipped me onto my back, my hands squashed beneath me in the cuffs. He straddled my face, forcing his cock into my mouth, ordering me to suck. I worked my tongue up and down it, careful not to snag with my teeth, mustering as much saliva as possible as he thrust back and forth, the friction hot against my lips. He grunted his enjoyment. All I could see were his balls, loose and dangling, as he hovered over me, his weight supported by one hand. I could feel my wetness mounting and I wanted him in me so bad. Drawing back, I said, ‘Fuck me,’ but he said, ‘No,’ and thrust back deep throat. I was choking but he didn’t seem to notice.
‘Is my cock big enough for you, babe?’ he said, rubbing his hands all over my front, fondling my belly-button ring, pushing his fingers up into me. My mouth muscles were getting tired from the blowing, the cuffs were biting into my wrists. He went faster with his fingers, digging right up inside me like he thought I was going to come, even though he should’ve remembered that I’d never fucking ever been able to come off a finger-fuck. I drew back for a breather, but he barked, ‘Don’t fucking stop!’ So I put him back in and went for gold. I could tell, from his groans and the way he stopped finger-fucking me, that he was close to the edge. He roared and hand-fulled my tits, ‘Oh. Fuck.’ His whole body went rigid and his cock stiffened in my mouth. ‘Fuck,’ he screamed, ‘fuck, fuck,’ each ‘fuck’ getting louder until his load hit the back of my throat. I gagged and gulped it down. I had never swallowed before, but Trish had told me that down the hatch was the only way. ‘Before your taste buds know what’s hit ’em,’ she’d said. It left a gluey, grassy, Brussels-sprouty taste that made me want to spew.
‘That was awesome, babe.’ Scott collapsed beside me with a big grin on his face.
Although I was pissed we hadn’t fucked, I figured there’d be heaps more times for that. While he snoozed, I sat up watching him. His cheeks were flushed from all the exertion, his hairless chest shiny with a light coating of sweat. His penis lay to one side, still full and luscious as an exotic fruit. I didn’t want to disturb him because I didn’t want him to leave. I wriggled down to lying position, as best I could with my hands cuffed and my ankles tied together, and rested my head on his chest. It was just past four. ‘November Rain’ by Guns ’n’ Roses was playing on the radio. The Asian chick popped into my head. Those long pale limbs. That superior smile. I was tempted to ask him about her, but part of me didn’t want to know. For now, it was enough just to be with him, inhaling his smell, listening to his booming heartbeat.
Scott jerked upright, tipping me off his chest. ‘Someone’s pulled into the drive.’ Snapping off the radio, he leapt up and peered out the curtains. ‘Shit. It’s your mum.’ He dashed around the room in a panic. ‘Where’re my shorts?
Fuck! The one time in her life she was early. I struggled with no arms to a sitting position. ‘Quick. Get me the key. It’s in a brown paper bag, under my bed.’
‘But babe, she’ll be walking in here any second.’
‘You can’t leave me like this!’ With my ankles tied, I couldn’t walk and, with my hands cuffed behind my back, I couldn’t untie my ankles.
‘There’s no time,’ Scott said, tugging on his shorts.
‘Carry me into the bedroom. You can uncuff me and climb out the window.’
Mum’s footsteps clacked across the porch. A second later, she was jiggling the key in the lock.
‘Nah, I gotta split. Sorry. I’ll call you later, OK?’ He ran out of the room leaving me bound and naked on Mum’s floral spread and I knew I’d never ever forgive him for it.
As the door creaked open and Mum clattered inside, shopping bags rustling about her, I burrowed, like an amputated rodent, under the covers. My voice weak and trembly, I called out, ‘Mum, I’m in here. I’m really sick.’
In a flash, she was at my side, flinging her shopping on the floor, a look of tender concern on her face.
‘Where do you feel sick?’
‘Everywhere,’ I said pathetically, moaning a little and shimmying down further in the bed, covers up to my chin. ‘I was feeling hot and shivery so I came in here for the air-con.’
‘You look flushed,’ she said. ‘Have you got a temperature?’
I rolled my head towards her on the pillow. She pressed her palm against my forehead.
‘You’re on fire.’ She looked worried. ‘Have you had a cold shower?’
‘Yes,’ I lied.
‘What about fluids?’
‘No.’
‘I’ll get you some lemonade.’
‘Thanks,’ I murmured, fluttering my eyelids closed, slackening my lips in pretend-suffering.
As soon as she was gone, I reared up like a vampire out of a coffin and surveyed the entire room, searching desperately for the whip. Maybe Scott had taken it with him. I fell forwards on to my stomach and dived under the sheets in case it had somehow ended up at the bottom of the bed. No luck. At the sound of Mum’s heels, I fell back onto the pillows and resumed my sick-girl act, closing my eyes. Mum stopped halfway across the room. Her knee joints cracked as she bent down to pick something up off the floor. I peeked through slitted lids. She was inspecting the red bra and g-string which Scott had torn off me. She held the offending items at arm’s length, as if some rampant infestation of STD germs might be lurking within the crotch of my knickers.
‘Only prostitutes wear red underwear, Rosemary,’ she said, all prim. She dropped the bra and knickers onto my face. ‘Black’s fine but red is for whores.’ The lace was itchy. I opened my eyes and shook the lingerie off my face.
‘Mum, I’m really sick, OK? Do we have to talk about this now?’
‘So long as you know.’
‘Fine,’ I said, wondering how she could object to red undies, yet root a man she had known less than forty-eight hours.
‘Here, sit up.’ She held a big glass of lemonade with icecubes.
I didn’t move a muscle, fearing a chink of the cuffs would give me away. ‘I’m too weak.’
Mum held the drink to my lips. I sipped like an invalid, relieved to have the vile taste of cum washed away.
‘You do look a bit green around the gills,’ she murmured. I nodded and fluttered my lids closed. ‘That’s right. Have a little rest. I better get ready. Andy will be here soon.’ She kissed me on the forehead and went to have a shower in her en suite.
As soon as I heard the water running, I kicked off the covers with my bound legs and manoeuvred myself out of bed. I hopped across Mum’s room and was heading into the hallway when I heard scratching in the lock, then the front door squeaking open. I froze. A warm breeze wafted in against my whipped butt-cheeks. I turned my head to see Randy stepping across the threshold. Mum’d wasted as little time giving him a set of house keys as she had in screwing him. With a gargled intake of breath, he’d seen me.
‘Oh, my goodness. Rosie. What happened?’ His voice came out squeaky. ‘Are you alright? Who did this to you?’ He stepped towards me, shutting the door quietly behind him.
‘Stay back. I’m fine,’ I hissed. ‘And get your beady eyes off my butt!’
‘I wasn’t looking. Promise.’ He stared rod-straight at the ceiling, his neck going blotchy. He cleared his throat with a loud cough. ‘Here, let me give you a hand.’
‘Fuck off,’ I said, hopping away, my tits bouncing all over the shop.
He held his hands up in surrender. ‘Well, whoever he was, it’s pretty rough of him to take off and leave you like that.’
‘
Rosemary!’ Mum sang out from the bedroom.
‘Fuck it. Untie me,’ I said. ‘Quick. Before Mum comes out. No perving.’
‘What kind of bloke do you think I am?’ He came over and dropped to his knees, his bald patch glowing red as embers. Licking his lips like crazy in concentration, he tugged and pulled at the dressing-gown cord around my ankles.
‘Andy! Is that you?’ Mum called from the bedroom.
I could feel the knot loosening.
‘Yes, Janice!’ Randy replied.
‘I’ll be out in a jiffy.’
‘Take your time!’
The cord fell away and my legs were free but I was still cuffed. Mum’s footsteps sounded across the entry.
‘You’ve got to help me with these,’ I rattled the cuffs at Randy before flying down the hallway to my room. I kicked the door shut and looked around. Despite Scott’s big hurry, the pills and the speed bag were gone. He’d had time to grab his gear but no time to un-fucking-tie me. A few seconds later and Randy knocked.
‘You ready?’
‘Hold on.’ I pressed my front against the wall, my tits crushed flat so that Randy couldn’t perve. ‘OK.’
He came in and wedged the door with a chair. ‘Right, now where’s this key?’ he asked, all businesslike.
‘Under the bed, in a paper bag.’
He fell to his knees and was scuffling around amongst shoe-boxes and last year’s Cosmopolitans when there was a sharp rap on the door.
‘Rosemary! Are you in there?’
‘Fuck, it’s Mum,’ I cursed, but Randy had the key. He grabbed my hands in a rough, blokish way and fumbled with the cuff-lock.
It hit me that the situation was as awkward for Randy as it was for me. ‘Hey, Randy,’ I whispered. ‘Thanks.’
‘All part of the service,’ he joked.
I sang out to Mum, ‘I’m feeling a lot better now. Go on. You’ll be late. Say hi to Randy for me.’
‘No, I’d feel much happier if I checked your temperature again. You were really burning up before.’ She jiggled the doorknob. ‘Rosemary, open the door!’
The key turned. The cuffs fell away. I dived under the sheet. Randy stood frozen in the middle of my room, terror on his face. If Mum had barged in right then it would have looked mighty suspect.
‘Randy, out the window,’ I urged.
He jumped onto my bed, flying over the sill and crashing into the azalea bush with a stifled cry just as the chair tipped sideways with a crash. Mum burst in. Her eyes darted around for incriminating evidence, but there was none.
‘I’m sure I heard a man’s voice in here.’ She opened the wardrobe and peered inside. ‘What’s with the chair?’
‘In case Randy came in,’ I said, lamely.
‘Don’t be silly.’ Mum was all tarted up in a new red suit with big gold buttons and stiletto heels. It was evidently OK to wear prostitute-red on the outside.
‘You look nice,’ I said.
Her face softened. She sat down on the edge of the bed and pressed her palm to my forehead. ‘Your temperature’s gone down.’ She kissed the top of my head. ‘There’s some spag bol in the freezer if you get hungry.’
With a feisty click of her heels, she turned and sashayed out of the room, as through my window I watched Randy slip across the courtyard and back inside the house.
‘I’m in here, Janice!’ He called from the lounge room, like he’d been there all along.
‘Coming, possum!’ shouted Mum, clickety-clacking down the hall towards him.
I sunk back against the pillows, rubbing my bruised wrists. It was hot and scratchy in bed, my mattress warm from an afternoon roasting in the sun. I felt worn out, used and abused. A single mossie buzzed around my head. I squashed it dead against the wall and decided, once and for all, I was better off moving on, no matter how fucking sexy Scott was.
I woke in a sweat. From outside, there came a tapping sound. I snapped on the lamp and peered out. There was someone standing right outside my window calling my name. For a moment I thought it was Scott, come to say he was sorry. I shot up, sliding back the window to let him in.
It was Hollie. She stood white and bedraggled in a long cotton nightie, her face drawn, her dark hair limp and tangled.
‘What’s the matter? What are you doing here?’ I asked, dazed. It was 2.11 on the digital and I’d been dead to the world. I helped her over the sill and she sat down, cross-legged at the foot of the bed. Her forearms were all scratched and her eyes were rabbit-pink from crying. I leant towards her, alarmed by the state she was in.
‘Hollie. What’s happened?’
‘Why didn’t you call me back?’ Her eyes were wide, accusing. Her hands were scrunched in tiny fists, rooted into the mattress.
‘I’m sorry, I’ve been meaning to.’ It was half the truth but now, with Hollie sitting on my bed distraught and agitated, I felt ashamed for neglecting her.
‘You’ve been too busy with him.’ She got up in a huff, crossing the room to the wicker chair, which was buried in a mountain of my dirty clothes. She chucked it all onto the floor and threw herself down. She closed her eyes and sat breathing heavily, her hands folded in her lap.
‘Is it Danny? Is he still missing?’ I implored.
Her eyes flashed open. ‘I can’t find him anywhere,’ she said, agitated. ‘All last week, he kept going off into the bush in that old, smelly coat of his. Every day he was up there. First he comes home with this dead wallaby, which I had to bury in the back garden.’ She paused, studying her hands. ‘And then, two nights ago, he didn’t come home at all. I’ve been searching for him everywhere, up all the tracks, in the cave, but I can’t find him. It’s like he’s just disappeared, and I kept calling you but you obviously don’t care about me or Danny or anyone except that horrid… ’ She grimaced at the mere thought of Scott.
‘I saw him last Sunday morning,’ I broke in. ‘He was parked outside Scott’s house but he made me promise not to tell you.’
She leapt out of the chair. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ she fired. ‘He’s not well. He could be dead or anything.’ She was pacing back and forth, like a little wind-up doll.
‘He’s not dead. Stop getting all worked up. C’mon, let’s get some sleep. It’s your party tomorrow. I bet he’ll turn up in the morning.’
‘And if he doesn’t?’
‘He will,’ I said, ‘I promise.’
Stumbling out of bed, I pulled her in beside me. I billowed the sheet up over us and stroked her forehead. She clung to me and murmured that she loved me. Her heart was racing a million miles per hour but, after a while, she settled down and went to sleep. I lay awake, listening to the geckoes squeaking inside the bricks, and wondering where the hell Danny was right at that moment.
12
The next morning, I woke to the sound of smashing pavers. Hollie was gone. She must have slipped out of the window without waking me. Sitting up in bed, I looked outside to the courtyard and there was Randy, pigeon-chested, in bright red stubbies, wielding a sledge-hammer.
‘What are you doing?’ I yelled above the din but he didn’t hear me, so I chucked on an old T-shirt and I went outside. Mum sauntered across the courtyard, wearing a new lemon-silk dressing gown. She pashed Randy and handed him a mug of tea.
‘What’s going on?’ I said to her. Randy continued his demolition frenzy, shattered bits of paver flying into the air and landing with a splash in the fishpond.
‘Andy’s building me an outdoor power shower.’ She beamed across at him.
‘What the hell for?’ I stood, hands on hips.
‘So he can scrub off all the bacteria germs before coming into the house,’ she said as if it were the most logical thing on earth. ‘It’s my Christmas present.’ She swung her hips around to Randy. ‘Isn’t it, possum?’
Randy stopped and turned around. ‘What’s that?’
‘My Christmas present.’
‘That’s right.’ He grinned back at Mum, wiping the sweat from his bald patch
with a crumpled hankie.
‘Where’re you putting it?’ I fired at Randy, eyeing the chalk boundary which had been marked up in a lopsided square beneath my bedroom window.
He flashed Mum a quick, nervy look. ‘Well, Rosie,’ he started but Mum cut him off.
‘Andy’s checked the pipes and there’s really only one place for it. That is, without having to install a whole new plumbing system.’
‘This way we can run the shower off the existing connection,’ Randy added, ‘and, so long as we don’t use more than one shower at one time, there should be enough water pressure to activate the turbo-jets.’
‘Great. Just fucking great.’ I went inside, grabbed my car keys and pulled on my sneakers. I tore through the house and out the front door. Mum came flapping across the lawn, but I was already reversing down the drive. She tugged at the passenger door. It flung open and she managed to get her arse inside the car while it was still moving.
‘Stop,’ she said. ‘There’s something I want to tell you.’
I braked and gazed out the window, the engine idling, the sun crashing in through the windscreen, waiting for the inevitable lecture. But when I looked over at Mum, she was smiling like a loon.
‘What?’ I said.
She took a deep breath. ‘Randy, I mean, Andy is moving in.’
I clenched the steering wheel. ‘When?’
‘Before Christmas.’
I stared straight ahead as Mum leaned across and hugged me, yelling in my ear, ‘I’m so happy!’ She pecked me on the cheek and leapt out of the car.
I swung backwards out onto the road and burnt rubber down the street, waking as many lazy burbanites as possible.
Lunchtime, I was meeting up with Dad. The thought of it filled me with dread. It only happened once a year at Christmas. We’d go the same coffee shop at the top end of the Queen Street Mall where he’d buy me a cappuccino (but not lunch) and give me a Christmas card with a crisp five-dollar note inside, enough to cover half the cost of parking in town. As I drove into town along the river, I planned my usual list of pleasant conversation starters: ‘So, Dad, how’re things in the life insurance business?’ and ‘Been playing any tennis lately?’ and ‘They reckon it’ll be the hottest Christmas on record.’ Work, sport and the weather; all safe territory outside of which it was best not to stray. But he always had to bring up Mum. And then came the tears – bleary, weeping tears; three-parts booze, one-part tear.
The Dark Part of Me Page 13