Author Anonymous: A True Story

by E. K. Blair

  “You better get going so you get there with enough time for the girls to rest before the show tonight.”

  “I’ll call you when we get checked in at the hotel.”

  He hops into the driver’s seat, and I wave them goodbye.

  Once out of sight, I close the garage, open my car door, and pop the trunk. Unzipping the road side emergency bag, I retrieve my cell and turn it on. When the screen lights up, there’s a missed text from Alec.

  Alec: Miss you.

  My blood thickens with joy, and I’m immediately dialing him.

  “Have they left?” is the first thing he asks when he answers.

  “Yes.”

  “And you sent the book to your editor?”

  “I did,” I tell him. “It’s off my shoulders.” I used Alec’s trip to Dallas to my advantage, taking that time apart to work long days and pull late nights. By the time he returned, I was farther in the book than I originally thought I would be, and was able to finish it the next week without it interfering with our time together.

  It’s not my best book by any means, the writing is shit, but the words are there and I met my deadline. I was able to keep my contract with Simon & Schuster, but I did have to pay back twenty-five thousand dollars from the advance they gave me.

  When I explained that financial hit to Landon, I told him the strain from our marriage was what caused the writer’s block. He was understanding and took care of the girls while I worked around the clock. But the book is done, and I’m free to be with Alec this weekend.

  “I want to take you somewhere tonight,” he says.

  “And where’s that?”

  “On Saturday nights members can bring a guest.”

  “Members?”

  “I want you to better understand my world,” he says, and I then realize what he’s talking about.

  “Oh, I . . . Alec, I don’t think I can . . . I mean . . .” I stammer in trepidation. I could handle people watching us when we were in New York, but I was in the safety of our room. It was still just me and him.

  “Relax,” he calms before telling me, “You’ll be with me, in my hands.”

  “But, are you wanting to . . .”

  “Only if you want to, but that’s not why I want to take you.”

  “Why then?”

  “Because I want you to get a better understanding of who I am and what I like,” he explains. “I want your eyes wide open to what it means to be with a man like me.”

  His words come as a warning of sorts, but I’ve been with him for months now and feel I understand him pretty well. I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been curious as to what these places are like. It’s one thing to research it on the Internet, but to be there in the flesh is something I have to see.

  “Okay,” I agree. “I’ll go with you.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m a big girl, Alec. I think I can handle it.”

  “That didn’t take as much convincing as I thought,” he says lightly. “Can you do me a favor?”

  “Sure. What is it?”

  “Open your garage.”

  “Why?” I say wearily, and when I rush to the front of the house and peek out the window, I see his silver SUV. “What are you doing here?” I fuss in unease before running to open the garage. I watch in horror as it opens and he drives in.

  I quickly push the button to close the garage the moment he’s completely in.

  “Alec, what the hell are you doing here?” I snap when he gets out.

  He wears a prideful smile as he strides toward me, and I feel like I could swallow my heart because it’s lodged so damn high in my throat.

  “You’re not happy to see me?”

  “I am—It’s just—You can’t—”

  His hands are on me, strong and sure. “Breathe.”

  But how can I when he’s here? In my home? Where I live with my husband and daughters?

  He kisses me with a surge of confidence. My eyes remain open as a bolt of fear shoots up my spine.

  “Alec,” I mumble as I pull back.

  “You told me they were gone.”

  “They are.”

  He stands, self-assured, and says in an even tone, “Invite me in, Victoria.”

  My hands tremble against his when he starts taking steps, backing me into the house he was never supposed be in.

  “If I’m open enough to allow you to see my world, then I want to see yours.”

  I shake my head slowly as sadness builds behind my eyes, and I tighten my hands around his.

  “What is it, baby?” he asks gently, dropping his head down to meet my eyes.

  “I don’t want you to see this world.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s a lie at this point.”

  “You think I don’t already know that?” he says. “You cry every time you leave my bed.”

  He turns his palms against my hands and laces our fingers together before bringing them to his chest. I drop my head against him, and his heart beats steadily into my ear.

  “If this world is a lie, where is your truth?”

  “It’s holding me,” I tell him. “It’s wherever you are.”

  He drops my hands and we wrap our arms around each other.

  “Do you love me?”

  “Please, don’t ask me that,” I beg on an unsettling whisper. I don’t know if I can give him those words while I’m still married to another man. He has my body, but do I let him know that he has my heart? The moment I tell him I love him, he’ll know, and there’s something about giving that to him that terrifies me.

  “I want to hear you say what we both know.”

  I draw back and look at him. “I can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “Do you love me?” I counter.

  His lips lift, sexy and sly, before he grabs my ass abruptly and picks me up. I lock my ankles behind his waist as he carries me over to the couch. Setting me down, he drops on top of me, not allowing for second thoughts when he kisses me with blinding brutality. One drip of him on my tongue, and I’m a goner, drunk beyond capacity.

  “Say it,” he demands between kisses, grabbing on to my yoga pants and panties and ripping them off my legs when I obediently lift my hips.

  “No.”

  I push his patience with my denial, and he scowls at me as he unbuckles his belt, jerks his fly open, and shoves his pants down his thighs.

  “Tell me,” he persists, yanking my hips toward him.

  “No.”

  With his pants around his knees, and our shirts still on, he slams inside of me with primal urgency. I hold on to him as he fucks me wildly on the couch where Landon and I gather with our kids every night to watch cartoons before bedtime. His body slaps against mine as I fist the fabric of his shirt. He’s ferocious, rapidly thrusting into me while we’re surrounded by photos of my once-happy family. Smiling faces and beaming eyes watch Alec and I fuck, further decimating every promise I ever made them.

  Colors streak along tenebrous skies as Alec drives. I stare out the window while nerves gnaw away at me. Lights eventually dim into ink as we leave the city behind.

  I feel like an idiot, wearing a conservative, black, cap-sleeve, silky maxi dress. Only an amateur would wear an ankle length dress to a sex club.

  “What should I wear tonight?” I asked him while I was packing my overnight bag before we left my house earlier.

  “There’s a dress code, so wear whatever makes you comfortable, but make sure it’s something tasteful.”

  Excitement and curiosity abandoned me the moment we left Alec’s loft. Now, all that fills me is the insecurity of walking into the unknown.

  “Everything okay?”

  I look to Alec, shoot him a fleeting smile, and respond, “I’m good,” before turning back to my window.

  The drive to North Shore feels long, but not long enough. My stomach flip-flops when Alec veers off the highway. I know we’re close, and I suppress the urge to tell him to turn the car ar
ound. Alec is relaxed as he drives, dressed in gray tailored slacks and a black button-down. We look like we should be dining at a fine restaurant not going to a swinger’s club.

  When we finally arrive, he pulls into the back lot of a two-story building with no windows, not at all what I was expecting. From the outside, the place looks like any typical dance club.

  Alec parks and kills the engine.

  “Your husband may be clueless to your lies, but I’m not,” he says, taking my hand in his. “I’m going to ask you again: Are you okay?”

  I shake my head no. I’ve never been so nervous in my life.

  “I need to know how you feel.”

  As we sit under the moon and stars, I confess, “I’m scared.”

  “Of what?”

  “The unknown.”

  He takes his other hand and sweeps his thumb along my cheekbone. It’s a tender touch meant to soothe, but I’m so wound up.

  “Like I said before, you’re with me. Nothing will happen unless you say so, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  He lifts my chin and kisses me softly before stepping out of the car and walking around to open my door. He holds my hand as we walk to the building’s entrance.

  “Don’t let go of me.”

  He firms his grip. “Never.”

  We step inside, my knees wobbly, and I’m immediately relieved when I’m greeted by an upscale bar and lounge. Men and women, dressed similar to us, sip cocktails and mingle about the way I would expect from any other trendy lounge in the city. Seating areas are scattered about the large room, and after Alec checks us in, he leads me across the room, his hand never leaving mine.

  A man greets Alec, clearly acquaintances, while his wife or girlfriend eyes Alec, sparking a flame of jealousy in me.

  Has she fucked him before?

  I swallow down the burn of spite and divert my eyes away from her, but then Alec introduces me, and I’m forced to shake hands with her. The exchange doesn’t last long, and when we take a seat, Alec orders me a glass of wine. I look around the room, judging every single woman here when I realize there’s a good possibility they’ve had Alec inside of them.

  The emotional woman in me wants to lash out and make accusations, but I have no right. I’ve known this about him from day one. He’s never hidden this side of himself from me. Maybe I should take comfort in the fact that I’m not a one-night hook-up. That Alec adores me, takes the time to comfort me, and has given me six months without ever making me feel like he isn’t invested in me.

  The wine comes, and I have to restrain myself from guzzling it.

  “This is nothing what I expected.”

  “And what’s that? Leather and whips?”

  I laugh. “Maybe.”

  “I’m not into bondage or domination, Victoria. You know that.”

  We sit, enjoy our drinks, and Alec does his best to distract me with small talk, making me laugh and calming me.

  As time passes, couples and singles find their way down the four hallways branching off the main room. Alec catches my eye, pulling my attention away from the lone woman leaving the room for one of the corridors.

  “Are you ready?” he whispers, his breath ghosting along my ear.

  I draw bravery from the alcohol and give him a slight nod.

  Hand in hand, we walk down the long stretch. He opens a door that leads to several rooms that hang off a web of hallways. His pace strolls along slowly, and when we pass the first room, I turn my head to see a man fucking a woman up against the wall while another woman is squatted down behind him, her face buried between his ass cheeks.

  Oh, my God.

  Alec peers at me with a smirk on his face as doubt begins to chill my blood. The sounds of moaning and slapping flesh fill my head. My palm sweats against Alec’s, and when he guides me into a large room, I stall in my step.

  A handful of people are fucking on beds, couches, and even on the floor while others watch. Some are masturbating in corners, and some are only inches away from those having sex. But this isn’t the sexy image I’ve held in my head. I could easily romanticize this if I were writing it in a book, but this is reality. Stone. Cold. Reality.

  My gut churns at the sight before me. It’s perverse and sickening. I turn to a young couple, the man fucking the woman like a dog—rough and filthy. An older man, hairy with a protruding beer belly, stands in front of them as he yanks on his flaccid dick, stretching the skin with every tug. He steps closer and reaches his other hand out under the woman’s jiggling breasts. He hardens when she grabs his hand and places it over her tit. He immediately blows his load on the floor next to the hand she’s using to prop herself up.

  Alec releases a throaty moan, and when I look at him, his face is marked in arousal.

  This is disgusting.

  I can’t do this.

  Feeling dirty and gross from what I just witnessed, I pull my hand from his and bolt out of the room.

  “Victoria!”

  I rush through the dark halls and dimly lit lounge filled with perverts dressed in gossamer.

  “Victoria, stop!”

  I throw my hands against the doors, forcing them to slam open as I run out into the frigid night. My heart bruises my ribs, and I panic.

  What the fuck are you doing, Tori?

  Alec flies out the doors after me, and I burst into tears, crying loudly.

  “What the fuck, Alec?”

  I’m hysterical when he grabs me and bands his arms around me.

  “No,” I fight, jerking my body to break his hold. “Don’t touch me!”

  “Calm down!” he shouts, his voice pure gravel, but I won’t—I can’t.

  I wail, thoroughly freaked to have seen those grotesque acts right in front of my face. I want to run far away from this place and pretend this night never happened.

  “Let go of me!” I continue to thrash in his arms, and he finally relents, releasing me from his hold. Once free, I hunch over, tears falling freely while I try to catch my breath.

  “Talk to me,” he commands. “What happened in there?”

  I stumble back on my feet, needing more space between us, and suddenly, I feel like I don’t know Alec at all.

  I look at the man I thought I knew and shake my head in disbelief.

  “I need you to talk to me,” he presses.

  “I can’t do this.”

  “Tell me what scared you.”

  “You,” I tell him before my voice turns sour. “Is that what you like? Watching those disgusting people?”

  “Watch your mouth!” he reprimands harshly.

  I take another step back, my chest heaving. “That was sick. I feel like throwing up.”

  “That’s me, Victoria.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  “That’s what I like.”

  “No,” I deny as I belly-over and cry.

  His hands wrap around my arms and pull me up. He’s a kaleidoscope of fractured beauty through my tears.

  With his eyes boring into mine, he softens his voice. “This is me.”

  “This isn’t you. I don’t want this to be you.”

  “This is me, Victoria.”

  “Why?” I sob. “Why do you need this?”

  I fall against his chest and he holds me firmly as I feel my heart breaking. I can’t be one of those people. I thought I knew his needs, I thought I knew what they looked like, but I was wrong. I could never be that woman he fucks while some gross fat-ass watches and tugs his limp dick.

  He kisses the top of my head before resting his cheek on me. His voice is pained, saying, “Baby, please, tell me I didn’t mislead you.”

  He didn’t. I misled myself.

  He cradles my face in his hands and tilts my head back, looking down at me with such tenderness. “Why is this hurting you so badly?”

  “Because,” I whimper, “I’m in deeper than what I ever expected. I’ve completely fallen for you, but I can’t be what you want. I can’t be this.”

  “Be y
ou,” he stresses. “Find out who you are and stop trying to be what others want you to be.”

  “But I want you.”

  “You have me. I’m not running from you; I’m right here.”

  “But I can’t give you this. I can’t give you what you need.”

  “You’re scared,” he says as he watches more tears freefall down my face. “I didn’t expect to bring you here without some sort of reaction. This is new to you. It’s going to take time.”

  “What if I never get there?”

  “Then we will deal with it. I won’t rush you. I’ll push you, but I won’t rush you. I’m not going to force this on you.”

  “I wish I could give this to you. I want to, I do . . . I just—”

  “You’re enough. What you give me is enough. I know you’re trying,” he affirms before pulling me back into his consoling arms.

  I hold him, pressing my fingers into his back, needy for him to take care of me. And in this moment—desperate and scared—I hand him my heart.

  “You were right,” I tell him as his heart lulls the tears away.

  “About what?”

  “I’ve fallen in love with you.”

  “Sometimes I sit alone under the stars and think about the galaxies inside my heart and truly wonder if anyone will ever want to make sense of all that I am.”

  ~ Christopher Poindexter

  Winter melts into spring, bringing the city back to life. Magnolias bloom pink blossoms all along the streets of Alec’s neighborhood. He picks rogue petals out of my hair on the windy days.

  In April, I run the Boston Half Marathon while Landon and the girls cheer me on. Later that afternoon, I meet Alec in the Public Garden while my family thinks I’m at the spa getting a massage. It’s one of our many stolen moments. We sit under a cherry tree, amongst the budding tulips, while he fingers me beneath the jacket draped over my lap.

  I’m head-over-heels attached to Alec, but when spring burns into summer, I’m utterly absorbed in him. I love yous are anemic because we are beyond love—we’re fanatically dependent on each other for survival.

  It’s been nearly a year since Alec and I started texting, and not once has predictability crept in. This man lives by no rules and has swept me away, birthing inside of me a constant pang of wanderlust. I dream about the day I can freely hold his hand while he leads me through life. To get to that point, I have to battle my way through fear and pride, a war I’m much too weak for—so I continue to dream.