by Jamie Knight
“Augustus,” he replied, taking my hand.
“Like the emperor?”
“Something like that.”
He looked at me for a moment, as though trying to see into my soul. Despite a lifetime of warnings of both my parents in my head I let him. Just hoping he would like what he saw.
“You seemed a bit overwhelmed,” he said.
“I was,” I admitted.
“Can give you my notes if you -”
“Yes, please!” I enthused, way too quickly.
Without a word, he got out a little hardcover notepad and a gel pen from the pocket of his dress shirt. With swift, smooth movements, he wrote out his contact information before pulling the page and giving it to me. Making the whole thing look like a magic trick.
Chapter Four - Augustus
The keyboard rattled like a machine-gun. Words flying across the white screen. I was never really taught how to type. It was just one of those things that I picked up. ‘The knack’ as my other brother Mick liked to call it.
Apparently the knack was strong with me because there were times when my mom would ask if I was actually writing anything or just typing gobbledigook to make it sound like I was working. Making matters weirder, I also had the ability to seemingly do two things at once. Talents which made film studies a natural fit for my skillset. Such as trying out my thoughts and notes on a film while I was watching it. Homework generally lasted roughly the same duration of a given film’s runtime.
I was tempted to play some music in the background, particularly for the silent movies but resisted the urge. The music selection being a major factor in a film’s construction, particularly in terms of the New York School, Anger and Richard Kern counted near the top. It was impossible for me to pick between the two.
I loved both of them for very different reasons. If one were to put a gun to my head, I’d have to go with Anger for his superior cinematography and decades of pissing off the fundies. He was breaking taboos and thumbing his nose at church ‘authority’ at a time when he could still go to jail for it.
The kick was so light I was scarcely sure I’d heard it. I figured it was some visitor, rapping at my chamber door. Only this and nothing more.
“Identify yourself,” I called, pausing the video.
“It’s Keira.”
Of course it was. Keira was the only one in the cluster brave enough to talk to me. Much to the chagrin of everyone else. Not least her boyfriend, Matt. An absolute gym rat there on a rugby scholarship. Things could have been even more tense but fortunately this had been nipped in the bud.
It all came to a head a few weeks ago. I could actually feel the music through the wall. My headphones only made so much difference. Matt had bought subwoofers at least partly to vex me. Or at least so I was convinced.
It was the third party that week, and I was beginning to wonder how much longer it would be before someone went to the hospital with alcohol poisoning. Not that I was about to say anything. I’d made that mistake back in high school and had gotten doused in German import beer for my trouble.
“Hey.”
I’d turned in the direction of the salutation and found Keira to be standing quite close to me.
“Gutentag,” I said, no idea why. Making matters worse, I’d thrown up a Devil horns sign.
“Haven’t seen you at a party before.”
“Haven’t been to one either,” I teased.
“What changed your mind.”
“I got hungry.”
At least that was what I’d planned to say. I’d actually only gotten to the ‘I got hun’ before the side of my head bounced off the freezer like a squash ball, sending me collapsing to the floor in front of the open fridge. Most guys would have stayed down. Maybe even played dead, assuming they actually still continued. Though us Graves were made of stranger stuff.
Matt hadn’t even turned all the way away before I sprang to my feet and started bouncing in place like a boxer.
“No shit.”
“Only between your ears,” I said, with just enough mustard.
The hit was hard. I went down again, closing the fridge door on the way. As though the world were on instant reply, I got up again, refusing to stay down, Matt already on his way out of the kitchen.
“Fucking serious?”
“As cancer,” I said, my shirt already stained with my own blood.
With a sigh of mock regret, Matt threw the hardest haymaker I’d ever seen. The sound of crunching bone actually made a couple of the party-goers faint. Matt screamed like a little girl, cradling his destroyed hand. His bloody knuckle print standing out against the white of the freezer door.
Keira ushered him into the bathroom to tend his wounds. It was possible I’d lost the only friend I’d had there but knew Matt would never mess with me again.
“What’s up?” I asked.
It was the first time we’d spoken since the fridge incident and I still wasn’t sure where I stood with her and was treading carefully.
“A few of us are going out for drinks and we’re wondering if you would like to come.”
“Do you really think that’s a good idea?”
“Honestly?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m not sure but I just thought I’d ask anyway.
“Well, I appreciate your honesty. Thanks for thinking of me but I think it’s better if I stay here.”
“Okay.”
I couldn’t help but note the resignation in her voice. It wasn’t the others who wondered if I wanted to come out with them. It was her and not out of pity either. It was real. I’d seen enough of both to know the difference.
Getting back to my desk, I restarted Fingered. Widely considered to be Kern’s best film. Or, at least the one that makes the most sense. Personally I’d always preferred The Manhattan Love Suicides.
She was there. In my head. The girl from class. No matter what I did I couldn’t shake her. Her eyes, her scent, her curves. She smelled like a sweet dessert and looked as though she would be soft and nice. Like marshmallows but also not. I couldn’t shake her look of wonder. Like a kid who’d just seen something amazing.
I never actually found out how old she was. She was probably eighteen like most of the other Frosh but I didn’t know that for sure. She could be a sixteen-year-old genius who’d gotten in on early application. Though it seemed unlikely.
My cock decided she was eighteen before I did, raising the pressure within my already tight pants. Beggar’s couldn’t be choosers, and I was lucky if I ended up with a 36 waist, let alone a 38, which was my actual size.
Deciding to try and do it right, I paused the video I had up on my computer screen and made for the stereo. Putting on a bit of Ghost, I methodically started undressing until I was down to nothing. My cock already was rigid, standing out from me at a right angle, hovering as though by some unseen force.
There were some corners of creation in which the cock was referred to as a ‘horn.’ I could certainly see the basis for comparison. Laying out flat on the bed, I got a handful of lube and wrapped my hand lightly around my thick shaft.
Letting my mind go blank, only the music filling the void in my head, I began to stroke. Working my hand from the base up over the head and then back again. Taking the time to stroke the head in gentle circles before the return trip back down the shaft to the base. It wasn’t long before my big, swollen head was glistening.
I couldn’t see this, my eyes still very much closed but I could feel it. The sudden rise in intensity on the head of my cock. The light touch of the air magnified a thousand times, sending a shudder right through me.
Suddenly Rachel was there, in my fantasies. Dressed in the way she had been in class. My imagination only stretched so far. Besides which, I was hard-pressed to think of anything sexier to put her in.
She had come into my room, quietly closing and locking the door behind her. Watching me for a moment, as I stroked my cock, she moved in. Kneeling beside the bed, she wrapped her small
warm hand around my shaft. Relinquishing my grip to her, I watched as she stroked. Her gentle movements were unsure but lovely just the same.
Taking her lightly by the wrist, I showed her how I liked to be stroked, and she continued in the same rhythm. Right up until I came. Cum blasting up as far as my chest. Without a moment’s hesitation, she licked me clean. Working her way from my chest all the way down to my still stiff cock, enveloped in her lovely hand.
Moving her hand down to my balls, she started running her tongue the length of my cock from base to head, like I’d been doing with my hand. I reached down and stroked her hair encouragingly. She took this as a directive and on the next trip up, dropped her hot, wet, little mouth over the head of my cock, nearly swallowing it.
Hovering for a moment she began to suck. Gently swirling her tongue around the circumference of the head as she did. I moved my hand down to her neck and squeezed gently. Trying to show my appreciation of her efforts. Emboldened, she sucked harder, moving her sweet lips gradually down my throbbing shaft until she was half-swallowing my cock.
Taking a minute to get her bearings, my cock barely fitting in her mouth, she gripped the base again and started to suck. Slow and light at first but then with more gusto. Her enthusiasm and confidence only continued to build until she was eating my cock feverishly, pausing on occasion to swirl her tongue around the head. All of it felt amazing.
With treatment like that, it wasn’t long before the pressure began to build. Rachel seemed to know I was going to cum before I did. Undeterred, she sucked even harder, drawing every last drop of cum out of my cock and into her eager mouth, swallowing it all down with gusto, sucking me clean.
Rachel kissed her way down the length of my cock, drawing one of my balls into her mouth, sucking gently, while stroking my shaft. She was a really fast learner. Switching over to the other ball, she sucked on it, picking up her stroking speed until I was ready to go again, Rachel getting her mouth there just in time to receive the massive load.
The third load coincided with my actual one. The Rachel in my head, sucking me to orgasm just as I stroked myself to the same in real life.
Chapter Five - Rachel
Punctuality. The core of Western European culture. Entire populations of intelligent human beings making themselves slaves to time.
I knew it was ridiculous on a practical level. Thought this still didn’t stop it from being ingrained in my DNA. Like how people know that it will make them fat but pick up a box of donuts every time they go shopping. Some things just go beyond logic.
I sat on the ledge around the fountain, cold, rough, cement scraping the backs of my bare legs. We were set to meet just after lunch. The massive face on the clock tower, banging into position at ten after.
“Morning, sunshine!”
“Hey, Jenna.”
“Why so gloomy, goosey?”
“I’m not.”
“Just focused?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s his name?”
I looked up so fast I actually heard a pop. How did she know that? Was I really so obvious?
“Augustus,” I said.
“Well, there’s a name you don’t hear every day!”
“He’s named after a Roman emperor. At least I think. It’s the name of an emperor anyway.”
“Is he cute?”
I searched my mind for a satisfactory answer. My first impulse was to say yes, even though that wasn’t really true. She probably meant it in the general way of attractive but it really didn’t work. Augustus was a bit too tragic for that.
His face was handsome, his body muscular and strong, all the hallmarks of male attractiveness I had been taught to admire. Though there was something else too. A sort of haunted factor that made him look vulnerable despite his confidence. It make me want to take care of him and not just because of his disability. Or at least I assumed. I’d noticed it right away. The scarring on his right eye, turning it milky white.
I wondered if he could see out of it or if he was partially blind. A lot of people I knew would have worn an eye patch but Augustus refused to hide. Being himself and accepting his limitations made me respect him even more.
It was crazy. I’d seen him exactly once in my entire life and was obsessing over him. Except I wasn’t actually so sure. There was something about him that seemed really familiar even though I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. A sort of subconscious recognition, kind of like Déjà vu only more sinister.
“Shall I take that as a no?” Jenna asked.
I snapped back to reality, remembering that Jenna was there and had asked a question setting off my reverie.
“No, I mean, yes, he’s really attractive, but I wouldn’t call him cute. He’s not a little pug dog.”
“That him?” Jenna asked.
I looked toward her gaze, seeing Augustus coming through the crowd in the quad, standing at least half a head over everyone else.
“Uh-huh,” I intoned, losing the power of construction full words.
“I can see what you mean,” Jenna said, nudging me gently.
“Do you have somewhere else to be?” I asked, gently as I could.
“Message received.”
Grabbing her pack, Jenna continued on her merry way. Leaving the spot vacant for Augustus. A fact he took full advantage of. I caught him staring at my chest as he sat down. Not that I minded at all, and he was very subtle and almost respectful about the whole thing.
His gaze felt less like ogling and more like appreciation of something beautiful. Like an eye-catching work of art. I could feel the blush run from my cheeks down to the tops of my breasts.
“Been waiting long?” he asked.
“No,” I lied.
“Good.”
He opened the top of his patchwork backpack, which looked like it had been sewed together out of scraps of leather like a quilt. The drawstring holding the top closed had a thin length of chain added with a tiny padlock.
Thwarting his security he took out a sheaf of paper, held together with a staple in the top, left-hand corner. The paper was fresh, seeming to glow in the bright sun.
“I did it like bullet points, going scene by scene,” Augustus said as I flipped through the pages.
“Thanks,” I said, unable to think of anything clever to say.
“I didn’t do it for all the movies. Just Scorpio and the next couple Richard Kern. I have a pretty full plate and can only do two or three at a time for Experimental Film. My prof. for practical cinematography is a bit of a loon. Guy is obsessed with Kubrick, like to a stalkerish degree.”
I wanted to say something clever or cool or sexy. Oh Lord, please let me come off as sexy. Not as the nervous, awkward kid that I was. I was getting so sick of that part of myself and really hoped college might help. Like as soon as I set my foot on campus I would magically change. Like stepping through the portal into a fairyland. No dice, kitten.
“I gotta be going,” he said, standing up.
I fought the urge to grab his hand. To pull him back down beside me not wanting him to go yet. The daddy’s girl in me rearing its ugly head. I couldn’t act like a kid, I was supposed to be an adult, darn it. At least in the eyes of the law and society.
I still wasn’t old enough to drink legally but that didn’t matter as much as some people liked to make out. Particularly considering that I wouldn’t even if it was allowed. I’d heard too many stories, most of them about family members on my dad’s side. Mom used to say that it was how he’d ‘caught religion.’ Like it was a cold.
I watched Augustus go, the gentle swing of his shoulders caused by his heavy-booted stride, even and long. It might have been something he had practiced. I imagined that a gait like that is something that would have to be learned over time, like a beauty show contestant learning to wave or to walk in cumbersome costumes.
I couldn’t shake the feeling. There was something about Augustus that stuck with me long after he was gone. It was more than the almost spect
ral familiarity which couldn’t possibly be real. If it was I would remember where I’d seen him. Unless it was in a past life, which I didn’t really believe.
Though I did believe in God’s plan. That there is someone for everyone. This is where the idea of ‘soulmates’ originated. It was just possible that Augustus was mine. The very idea made my heart gush and my peach get warm. We would still need to be married before he could take my maidenhead but that didn’t mean we couldn’t have fun in the meantime.
I decided that if I was going to spend the rest of my life with him, I might as well get to know a bit more about him. He wasn’t around to ask, so I decided to do what everyone did when they needed to know something. I would Google it.
Back in my room, trying to find Augustus online, it wasn’t long before I realized I would need more information. Augustus was an odd enough name in itself but I wasn’t going to be getting anywhere fast without a last name. I looked at the notes he had given me, but they only had the class information. Nothing about him. How enigmatic!
I felt my excitement rise as I continued the case. I knew Facebook was getting to be a dusty relic but it was still worth a try. Not least because they put locations on along with the names and photos, helping to narrow things down.
There were only ten guys named Augustus in the state. I started scrolling through the profiles, most of the guys in the photos looking like they were my dad’s age or even older. Finally, between six and nine, I saw him. His face was recognizable as it was unreadable. Augustus Graves.
The words hit like a brick right between my eyes. A deluge of memories nearly blowing me off my chair. Getting up onto shaky legs, I stumbled my way toward the bathroom, hoping I would make it in time.
Putting in a good bit of devotion at the porcelain shrine, I reached up with a shaky hand and flushed. The bathroom tiles cold under my knees. My soft, empty retching turned quickly to sobs. Deep and loud, bursting out of me like the puke had. The scars started to ache. The cross on my forearm and the smaller ones on my ass. Both punishments for ‘consorting with the enemy.’