Rico’s eyes close, his breath ceases, and the storyteller lowers her pen.
***
Jessica McHugh is an author of speculative fiction that spans the genre from horror and alternate history to epic fantasy. A member of the Horror Writers Association and a 2013 Pulp Ark nominee, she has devoted herself to novels, short stories, poetry, and playwriting. Jessica has had thirteen books published in five years, including the bestselling Rabbits in the Garden The Sky: The World and the gritty coming-of-age thriller, PINS. More info on her speculations and publications can be found at JessicaMcHughBooks.com.
***
THE LOVERS
A Modern Affair
By Eden Baylee
Strands of jet-black hair brushed her face as she tilted her head from side to side. I guessed her to be no more than thirty, but her bad skin aged her by at least a decade. Even with her face hidden in shadows, the lines around her mouth revealed she smoked. Her intensity frightened me a little as I watched her eyes narrow. I swallowed hard and cleared my throat, fighting the urge to say something.
“I see a man,” she said, finally breaking the silence. Her husky voice reverberated off the walls of the tiny room. She continued to stare intently at my cards. “Is there a man?”
A tiny smile curled my lips. “Yes, there is.”
“Is he a lot younger than you?”
“No.”
“Hmm…” She pressed her fist to her lips. “Perhaps he is less mature?”
I couldn’t help but laugh as she fished for information. My husband was twelve years older than me, the furthest thing from immature. I remained silent to avoid offering any clues.
“I see a man who is either biologically younger than you or sexually less mature.”
I nodded to show support, just because I felt bad she was so far off the mark. “And what does this card mean?” I pointed to The Lovers, the card in the middle of my Tarot spread.
“It can mean many things. The five apples on the tree behind the woman represent the five senses, indicating sensual love is very important to her. The snake suggests the temptations of the world, perhaps a love affair.”
I chuckled but quickly regained my composure. “Are you saying I will have an affair with a young, immature man?”
She shook her head, leaned back in the chair. “Not necessarily.”
I massaged my temples. “Okay, what does it say about the man?”
“The flames behind the man represent the flames of passion, his primary concern.”
I don’t think so.
“Your card is upright,” she continued, “an indicator of harmony, trust, and mutual attractiveness. On a more personal level, it represents your own belief system, staying true to who you are.”
“Staying true? About what?”
She looked me square in the eyes. “Just be aware of the difference between love and infatuation.”
My face tightened. Her words made no sense to me. “Thank you for your time.”
“You’re welcome.” She offered a sympathetic look before sweeping the cards off the table. “One more thing. If you find yourself at a moral crossroads, consider all consequences before acting. The Lovers card is about making choices, and they are not always easy or obvious.”
I walked out of the dimly illuminated apartment following the thirty-minute reading, thankful I had only paid twenty dollars for it. Though I could relate to what the Tarot reader said about my career choices, her implausible thoughts on my love life merely amused me. I filed the experience away until a week later when I recounted the highlights to a friend over drinks.
“You’re the most grounded person I know, Ellen. I didn’t think you believed in stuff like that.”
I shrugged my shoulders. “I did it on a whim.”
“So, you think there’s something to it?”
“To what? To Tarot cards?”
“No, to what she said about the young man and an affair.”
I scoffed. “Of course not. I love Patrick. You know that.”
“Yes, but…” she leaned in and lowered her voice, “it’s been awhile, hasn’t it?”
My cheeks reddened and I took a sip of wine. Marilyn was my best friend, and I had confided in her about my situation. Still, I flinched at the honesty of her words. “Like you said, I’m the most grounded person you know.”
***
The alarm woke me in time to make breakfast for Patrick every morning at 6 a.m. sharp while he showered. I knew I wouldn’t see him again until late that night.
“Don’t eat so fast,” I said, placing a mug of French-pressed coffee on the granite countertop.
“Can’t help it. Staff meeting.” Patrick reached for another almond croissant. “They expect me to arrive first.”
I sighed. “Will you be home for dinner?”
“I doubt it. I’ll call if I’m able to leave early.” He kissed the top of my head and headed for the door. “Have a good day writing, darling.”
“Wait.” I handed him the travel mug. “Don’t forget your coffee.”
“Thanks, love, or should I say, Electra?”
I shrugged my shoulders. “You still like the pen name?”
“I think it’s perfect for you.” He pulled out the key fob from his jacket and started the car remotely. “Now I really must run or I’ll be late.”
Thanks to his prestigious job as Director of Obstetrics & Gynecology, I was able to pursue my dream of writing. But at what cost?
After Patrick left for the day, I sat down at my computer and attempted to rework a pivotal chapter for my debut novel. The book revolved around a May-December romance and for some reason, I struggled with the sex scene. I chose the storyline based on the old adage of “write what you know.” The rest of the story came easily, so it concerned me I could not hammer out a short sex scene.
As I re-read the manuscript, words from the Tarot reader hijacked my thoughts. How could she be so wrong? A young, sexually immature man was the exact opposite of who Patrick was. It annoyed me I was giving it another thought.
Memories of our tenth wedding anniversary in Paris came to mind. The city of love. Though we didn’t make love once during the entire week we were there. It wasn’t that he was not affectionate; he just wasn’t particularly sexual anymore. At fifty-three, his sex drive waned as mine was ramping up.
The ding of an incoming email vibrated in my ears. I plucked out my earbuds and hit the mute button on the laptop. Fuck. I’d forgotten I inserted the headphones to drown out the sound of the summer roadwork down the street.
Since my writing wasn’t going anywhere, I toggled to my email program and opened a message from someone named J.D. Ellsworth. I hit the link and his face appeared on screen. His name sounded familiar, but I’d never seen him before. Clean-shaven, boyish, big blue eyes—nice. His mouth spoke to me. Lips were my thing, something about imagining how they moved when talking, eating food…eating me.
My mind jumped back to the sex scene I was writing before thoughts of the Tarot invaded; I immediately squeezed my eyes to recapture it. Slow drifting human shapes writhed in my mind’s eye. A smile crossed my face as letters formed words. The image merged with potential sentences and I repeated the words in my head so I would not forget them.
Fluid, sensual, union, motion, all great words colliding and trying to fall into place. Only moments away from cohesive structure, the picture blurred. In what seemed like an instant, dark shadows replaced the shapes and faded to black. I remained still for several seconds, desperately hoping the scene would return. It didn’t. The words had evaporated too.
My eyes shot open in frustration. I suddenly remembered how I knew J.D. Ellsworth.
***
J.D. Ellsworth was part of an online writers’ group I belonged to. Helmed by an ambitious young woman who updated regularly, I found the group supportive of new writers, a forum where one could connect to someone who might like us; I mean, really like us.
At the time, J.D.’s profil
e picture was a horse, as pretentiously regal as I thought his abbreviated name and haughty surname sounded. I had a slight complex about my name. Ellen Lee was perfect if I wrote children’s books, but I didn’t write for kids. I wrote for adults only, and I needed something punchy and original. It took me a few days to settle on Electra—just Electra, writer of eloquent erotica. The one name gave it a diva-esque quality, and the tagline explained what I did.
I never saw J.D. post to the group until about a month ago when he appeared saying he’d released a book of poetry and short stories. He included a link to a sample and requested the group give it a read. He even said “please” and added a happy face emoticon. His polite demeanor seemed genuine enough, so I made a mental note to come back to it later if I had time. That was my one and only interaction with J.D. Ellsworth…until today.
I touched the mouse pad to bring my computer out of sleep mode. J.D.’s face brightened the screen. As innocuous as his request was, his timing sent an odd chill through me.
No one so good-looking could possibly be a poet. He must have substituted the horse picture with some male model. Most poets I met looked like Bukowski in his later years. They had no sense of their appearance because they didn’t care about it. Their hair was a greasy mess, and they had bad skin from too much drink and cigarettes. I clicked on J.D.’s website and found more photos. It was him all right, not a model. He looked unbelievably hot in each picture.
I sent J.D. a note, not revealing too much about myself. Some people had funny ideas about writers of erotica; maybe he was one of them. As much as I considered it important to make friends in the writing world, I didn’t care to expose too much of my private life.
I wrote him a brief message, conveyed I had a fan page specific for my author friends. I invited him to visit it and connect there if he was interested. He responded immediately and extended a polite invitation for his page as well. From there, we discussed the merits of self-publishing and found out a bit more about each other as writers, then J.D. injected a tidbit, which surprised me.
I’ve written an erotic short story and I’d love your thoughts on it, the message read.
It was a favor authors asked of one another all the time. Why then, did I find myself hesitant to say yes?
I’d be happy to read it, I finally typed.
He said he looked forward to hearing my comments. Nice, polite, sweet—all words swirling around my brain as I stared at his picture and started burning up. Springtime in Toronto was not yet above freezing, with one more snowfall predicted for later in the week. There was no reason for me to feel so hot.
My fingers strayed between my legs as I sat stretched out on the couch with the laptop on my thighs. When I slid my hand down my panties, the sticky wetness of my excitement did not surprise me. Lifting my ass slightly, I inserted a finger inside, clenched the walls of my pussy, and stroked myself for several seconds. I knew I wouldn’t be able to write another word until I found release.
Reluctantly pulling my hand out of my panties, I caught a whiff of my juices and it only aroused me more. What the hell, I thought to myself. With a few strokes of the keyboard, I found my way back to J.D’s original email. Using the same finger I had just used to play with myself, I accepted his request.
J.D. Ellsworth and I were now officially friends via the social network.
***
Two days later, he popped up on my chat program.
J.D.: good morning, how are you?
Electra: hey, good, yourself?
I was going to message you
J.D.: oh? Is it okay if we chat?
I prefer the immediacy of this over email.
Electra: sure, just wanted to tell you I read your story
J.D.: what did you think?
Electra: in a word—delicious
J.D.: really?
Electra: yes
J.D.: glad you liked it
Electra: I did, it was hot
J.D.: you found it hot?
Electra: very much so
J.D.: hmm…may I ask what turned you on about it?
Electra: I like stories with masturbation, particularly men masturbating
J.D.: oh yeah, I’d forgotten about that part
Electra: you have a unique way of writing
short choppy sentences that move the story along
kinda like the act itself
J.D.: true, good way of putting it
Electra: well written for someone who doesn’t usually write about sex
J.D.: Yeah, I guess it’s a fantasy of mine to be discovered while masturbating
Electra: you’re a bit of an exhibitionist then
J.D.: I guess I am…and you?
Electra: what about me?
J.D.: you write erotica, you have a favorite fantasy?
Electra: I have many, that’s why I write
it’s a release
J.D.: release?
Electra: hmm…I guess we’re back on the topic of masturbation
J.D.: ha, I guess we are
Electra: I think I’d better do some vacuuming, chatting with you is…
J.D.: yes?
Electra: stimulating…to say the least
J.D.: I like the thought of stimulating you.
Pause.
J.D.: are you still there?
Electra: sorry, yes, I’m here, just thinking
J.D.: about?
Electra: vacuuming
J.D.: you mean hoovering?
Electra: ah, yes
J.D.: you enjoy that?
Electra: hate it, but it kills the sex urge
J.D.: Brill! Will you be online later?
Electra: unlikely, going out for lunch soon
J.D.: I forget I’m five hours ahead of you
Electra: true, how’s the weather in London?
J.D.: it rained earlier but warming up, and in Toronto?
Electra: we are finally above zero
it’s been a long winter
J.D.: nice, I hope you enjoy your day then
Electra: and you, have a great evening
I quickly went offline and felt myself hot and wet—yet again. Who was this man, and why did he have this power over me?
Flushed, I shut down my laptop and contemplated vacuuming.
***
Electra: So, what does JD stand for?
J.D.: James Daniel
Electra: James Daniel Ellsworth, that’s a mouthful
J.D.: it’s not the only part of me that’s a mouthful
Electra: ha, you’re terrible!
J.D.: *grin*
how did you come up with Electra?
Electra: my real name is too boring for erotica
J.D.: Ellen is classic
Electra: I suppose
I don’t mind it
thankful I didn’t have a phonetically translated Asian name like some kids I knew
JD.: Like what?
Electra: Hmm…let’s see
there was Gee Sook Fat, Lee Ho Tam, and the worst one of all…
J.D.: yes?
Electra: Hung Too Lo
J.D.: No way!
Electra: Yup, geeky boy I met in fifth grade
poor guy spent his years introducing himself as
“I’m Hung Too Lo, but call me Toby.”
J.D.: Poor bugger, hope he got it legally changed!
Electra: Yeah, me too!
Pause.
J.D.: I like talking to you
Electra: I like talking to you too
***
Our online conversations continued daily over the next two weeks. Harmless flirtation, though I couldn’t say they were entirely innocent. J.D.’s voracious sexual appetite aroused and amused me. More than anything, he infused youth and excitement into my days. The fact that he had no qualms expressing how I turned him on didn’t hurt either.
I limited my time with J.D. to the morning hours, convinced myself our chats were for research purposes only. After all, I had changed my s
tory around because of him. My older man-younger woman story experienced a role reversal. Penning two thousand words daily suddenly became easy and I no longer struggled with the sex scenes.
On occasion though, reality hit when thoughts of the Tarot reading surfaced. Each time, I shook the words out of my head.
Just be aware of the difference between love and infatuation.
I didn’t love J.D.
I loved my husband.
I was a grown woman.
I knew better.
***
J.D.: oh, there you are
Electra: hey. i’m here but just got out of the shower, brb
J.D.: i’ve missed you
Electra: Aw, that’s sweet
J.D.: I’m serious
Electra: I know, I’m dripping
J.D.: Yeah?
Electra: From the shower, silly
J.D.: Are you naked? Oh god, i could really use that today
Electra: you’re incorrigible
J.D.: the thought of your wet skin, licking you, tasting you
Electra: James…let me dry off and come back in an hour, ok?
J.D.: you’re killing me
Electra: James, please…
J.D.: I’ll be waiting
Pause.
Electra: I’m back. Are you there?
J.D.: yes, i’m here and ravenous, just to warn you
Electra: you should be ravenous, part of being so young
J.D.: 26 is not that young
Electra: don’t say that to someone who’s almost 40
J.D.: I want you
I want you, an older woman, dripping on top of me
begging me for my young, thick cock
Electra: Wow…you are ravenous
J.D.: Bloody well right
Electra: you really like that I’m older than you, don’t you?
J.D.: LOVE it
Electra: why?
J.D.: I don’t know why, truthfully
I dream of seeing my cum leak out of you
Electra: oh god
J.D.: I want your pussy so badly
Allegories of the Tarot Page 6