by Anise Eden
“Good. Feel terrible. Maybe that will motivate you to finish this program and get better so you can come back. I miss you like a limb.”
The telltale “beep” of call-waiting interrupted us. “I’m sorry, can you hold on? It’s another call.”
“No, it’s all right. Go ahead and get it. But call me at some point and let me know how it’s going, okay?”
“Okay, I will. And you’ll fill me in if anything happens with Elana?”
“Deal. Now go. Talk to you later!”
“Bye!” I clicked over. “Hello?”
“I got your message. Hard day at the office?”
The sound of Sid’s voice vibrating into my ear sent a warm flush through my body. “A hard day, yes—which would improve considerably if you came over.”
“Your wish is my command, as always. I just got home from the airport, though, and I have some work to finish up. How about tomorrow night at six? I’ll bring Chinese.”
Relief washed over me. It wouldn’t be immediately, but at least he was coming. “That sounds perfect.” I forced myself into normal conversation mode. “How was your trip?”
“Successful. I’ll bore you with the details tomorrow if you like.”
“I can think of some other things I’d rather do tomorrow.”
His chuckle heated up the phone line. “Oh, so it’s like that, is it?” But then his tone became somber. “Look, we can hang out and talk. I just want to see you. I feel terrible that I had to take off so soon after…last time.”
“Please don’t feel bad.” Following his visit after the funeral, he’d had to go abroad for two months to help his father with their import/export business. “There was nothing else you could have done. As for tomorrow, I appreciate your offer to hang out and talk, but what I really need is a good distraction.”
“Hmm.” There was a pause. “You’re sure?”
“Never been surer.”
“Well, I am good at distracting you.”
“That’s what I’m counting on.”
“Then I will not disappoint you in your hour of need, my dear. Tomorrow at six, okay?”
“Perfect. I’ll see you then.”
“In the flesh,” he murmured before hanging up. He knew I would be thinking about that for the next twenty-four hours.
Click. I fell backward onto the sofa and let everything drift out of my mind, save one thought: Sid was coming over. Everything was going to be all right.
• • •
Sid and I had met at a mutual friend’s party in graduate school. Sid was short for Siddhartha, I learned. Although his parents were Zoroastrians from Iran, they had named him after the Buddha. The name seemed to fit; his build was uncommonly tall and broad, and he had a bit of a belly that he carried sensuously.
It was clear from the start that we weren’t going to fall in love; we just didn’t click in that way. Despite that, though, his body and mine were like two magnets of opposite charges being pulled together. It was a new experience for me, being attracted to someone who didn’t interest me romantically. I had no idea how to handle it.
The truth was that my history of handling physical attraction in general was abysmal. I’d had a few romantic attachments in the past, and a couple of those relationships had even seemed promising. But they had never progressed to the point of physical intimacy. For some reason, whenever things started to get serious—either emotionally, or we moved beyond a chaste kiss or handholding—a panicky feeling would overcome me. I would start to hyperventilate and feel convinced that if I didn’t get away from the person immediately, I would suffocate to death.
While I knew intellectually that my survival was not in jeopardy, the urgent need to escape had always proven too strong. I’d broken off several relationships just as they had begun to blossom. Eventually, my grief over losing those men and my guilt over having hurt them became too much to bear. I gave up dating altogether, much to Simone’s consternation, and comforted myself with the thought that there were far worse things than dying a virgin.
But being with Sid at the party felt safe, comfortable—different. By the end of the night, he’d convinced me to see him again, “to figure out what this thing is between us.” While we never did fall in love, there was definitely a mutual attraction, and intimacy with him was calming, not panic-inducing—maybe because there were no romantic feelings between us. Before I knew it, we had fallen into a semi-regular friends-with-benefits arrangement.
While I was still in school, Sid came over every month or two. Waking up next to him gave me the delicious illusion of companionship, but when he left—always with no promise of when he would return—my true loneliness stood out in stark relief. I pushed that feeling aside with great force, though. I couldn’t seem to manage a normal relationship; if what I had with Sid was as good as it was ever going to get for me, I was determined not to ruin it by being maudlin. Instead, I tried to focus on the positive aspects of our dalliance.
Once I started working as a therapist, however, an element of need began to enter the equation. Over time, I discovered that a night with Sid seemed to take the edge off of the pain I’d accumulated while mind-melding. Before long, whenever the pain grew too heavy, an internal pressure would start building inside of me, and I would feel compelled to see Sid as soon as possible. I became agitated and restless, unable to think of anything else until I finally saw him.
With each passing month, the problem worsened. If my need for Sid went unmet for too long, waves of nausea would start to hit. Then flash fevers would burn through me. Eventually my skin would become so sensitized that even the slightest touch from Sid would sear painfully—but only temporarily. After the first lovemaking event of the night, the sickness disappeared and I was able once again to experience pleasure.
I wasn’t sure why, but I hadn’t felt that compulsion to see Sid since my mother’s death—luckily, since he had been out of town. But something about my interview with the MacGregors had triggered my need. I tried to distract myself by cleaning the house, including gathering my practice suicide notes into an envelope and hiding them in the closet. Fortunately, by the time Sid rang the doorbell the next evening, the flash fevers were only in their early stages, so I was able to act relatively normal. I ran my fingers through my hair one last time and opened the door.
There he stood, smiling out from underneath the hood of a dark green rain poncho. His overnight duffle was slung over his shoulder, and he was carrying a bag of Chinese takeout. He looked me up and down and smiled. “You look delicious.”
I took the food from him and smiled back. “And you look like someone who’s been away for too long.”
Sid left his soaked poncho on the stoop outside, then came in and shook off the remaining moisture like a wet bear. His presence sent surges of anticipation through my body. I put the food in the kitchen and joined him in the living room. “Welcome back.”
He put his arms around my waist and pulled me to him, his pupils blackening. “Am I to understand that you missed me?”
“Well, you were gone for two whole months,” I replied, only half-teasing.
Wrinkles of concern gathered at the corners of his eyes. “You’re sure this is how you want to spend the evening? I brought some cards in case you changed your mind.” He pulled a pack of playing cards out of his pocket and tossed it onto the coffee table.
I tried hard to sound casual as I suggested, “Strip poker?”
Sid’s lips stretched into a grin. “Oh, so that’s how it is, is it?” He put his hands on my hips and pulled me closer. “Well, since we both know how that game would go, why don’t we just skip to the end?”
In spite of the urgent need clawing at me, my good-hostess manners kicked in. “Unless you want to eat first. The food might get cold.”
“Tonight, I think you need an appetizer.” He slid his fingers under the bottom edge of my blouse and rested his hands on my bare waist.
I gasped as the fever inside of me rushed to meet Sid
’s caresses like metal filings rushing to a magnet. Flames licked my skin everywhere he touched me. At the same time, Sid’s hands seemed to act as poultices, drawing the fever out of my body—a process that made me dizzy with a mixture of agony and relief. Fortunately, the arousal he triggered in me overwhelmed the pain—if barely.
As he gently kneaded my waist, my heart pounded in my ears. He guided me over to the couch and laid me down. A scalding heat followed his touch as his hands slid up my sides, then seared through me to meet his lips as his mouth found my bottom rib. The rush of sensation was so excruciating that I cried out.
“Patience, my dear,” he murmured. “I know what you need.”
“I know,” I said, the words half-moan. As desperate as I felt, Sid was right. The more he took his time, the more the sickness seemed to abate and the better I felt afterwards. Not that I’d ever explained that to him, but Sid had his own ways of measuring my levels of satisfaction. I tried to stay calm and keep breathing as he diligently went about his work.
Meanwhile, I kept my physical torments to myself, letting him believe that my gasps and cries were purely due to arousal. While I’d heard that pain and pleasure could be an erotic mixture, some unsettling Internet research had led me to the conclusion that my experience was definitely not normal. If I told Sid what was really happening, I might risk losing him—and that, I couldn’t stand.
Coated in a light sweat, my body began to writhe involuntarily, longing for Sid to give me my final release. Eventually, I reached the cusp of my tolerance. I was on the verge of begging when Sid sat back and unbuckled his belt, looking me over in careful appraisal. Then he leaned forward again, put his hands on my shoulders, and whispered in my ear, “Now let me take care of you.” Tears of gratitude swelled in my eyes. Soon, the torture would be over.
Chapter Four
Ah, sweet oblivion. I lay in the tangle of sheets on the bed next to Sid. His presence next to me was silent and infinite, like an endless desert stretching out under the sun.
Everything from my intense need to the burning heat had disappeared after our initial encounter on the couch. I felt quiet, peaceful, and empty of painful emotions. It was exactly what I’d needed, and Sid had made it happen. Eyes still closed, I leaned over and gave a grateful kiss to the nearest part of him that my lips could reach, which turned out to be his thigh.
Sid placed his hand heavily on my forehead. “Oh no, don’t start that again,” he said in not-entirely-mock exasperation.
I wondered how long he had been awake, sitting there and watching me sleep. “I wasn’t trying to start anything,” I said. “I just wanted—”
“To thank me for being such an amazing lover. I know. You’re welcome.”
“You’re so full of yourself.” I gave his thigh another kiss.
Sid sat with his back against the headboard. I was glad I had invested in a king-sized bed that could easily accommodate my outsized guest. A wingback chair held Sid’s neatly folded clothes, while a richly colored Persian rug he had gifted me covered the floor.
Sid began to stroke my hair. He knew how that made me melt. “You know, Cate, there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”
“Mm-hmm?”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m a little worried about you.”
I usually enjoyed our pillow talk. It had allowed our friendship to deepen over time. But it sounded like Sid wanted to have a serious conversation—something for which I was not in the mood. “Sid, please, I don’t want to talk about my mom, okay?”
“Okay.” He took me by the shoulders and shifted me into a half-seated position against the pillows. “But that’s not all that’s worrying me. I realize this might sound like an unusual concern for a lover to express, but for some time now, I’ve felt as though you need almost more than I can give.” He winked. “Almost.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, trying to sound innocent. I twisted the edge of the sheet around my finger.
“I’m talking about our unspoken agreement—if one of us calls, the other makes themselves available as soon as possible. I’m just starting to worry that one day, you might need me like you did tonight, and I won’t be able to be there for you.” He frowned. “I worried about you while I was away, you know. Were you…okay?”
“Yeah, I was fine. I guess I was too busy grieving to think about anything else.”
“Of course.” Sid kissed the top of my head. “How insensitive of me.”
I felt a stab of shame as it occurred to me that Sid might have been inconveniencing himself to satisfy me. “No, I’m the insensitive one. I know how demanding your job is, and I’ve been calling on you way too much.”
“Don’t be ridiculous; that’s impossible. And I don’t want you to feel bad. Haven’t you been listening? I’m actually worried about you.” He placed his hand on my cheek and tilted my face toward his. “Don’t get me wrong; you know I live for our rendezvous. But it’s not just my availability that I’m concerned about. Take tonight, for example. The first time, you went almost limp in my arms, and—well, I know this sounds strange, but it seemed as though you might be in pain.”
Oh, no—he had figured me out! I rubbed my eyes in an effort to disguise my expression of alarm.
But Sid was determined to get an answer. He leaned in so close that the tips of our noses nearly touched. “Is there something going on with you that you haven’t told me about?”
Like the fact that I was so messed up in the head that I’d been practically homebound for ten weeks? Unable to meet his eyes, I turned away, leaning my face into his shoulder. “Kind of.”
“Do you want to talk about it? We can talk, too, remember?”
I was grateful to him for trying to lighten the moment, and I had no reason not to trust Sid. But I also didn’t want to scare him off by giving him too many sordid details. “Work has been really overwhelming me, I guess. And it’s been much worse since my mother…you know.”
“Yes, I know.” He placed a soft kiss on the top of my head. “So, my dear, what are you doing about this problem?”
I sighed in resignation. “Funny you should ask. My boss is sending me to a three week-long program, starting tomorrow.”
“Really?” Sid sounded impressed. “I’m glad that he appreciates you enough to invest in you. What type of program is it?”
I tried to think of the least alarming way to describe it. “I’m not exactly sure. It’s like a program for people with excess empathy or something, to teach us how to manage it so we don’t get overwhelmed.”
“Hmm. Too much empathy does sound like it could apply to you.”
“I guess,” I muttered. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I know I have to do something.”
“I for one am glad to hear you say that.” He tossed the sheet over me, the nonverbal gesture we had developed to indicate to one another that it was time to go to sleep. “I couldn’t stand it if anything bad were to happen to my favorite concubine. Besides, you’ve told me that you respect your boss. If he thinks this will help, then who knows? Maybe you’ll manage to squeeze something useful out of it—if you go into it with a positive attitude, that is, instead of with the sour look you currently have on your face.”
I smirked. “That might be harder than you think.” I explained about the program’s absurd requirements and rules—including “no sexual activity.”
“Well, that is a bit odd—and a bitter pill to swallow, I’ll admit.” Sid resumed stroking my hair. “On the other hand, we’ve survived longer than three weeks before, and if this program is going to help you, who am I to object? I just thank the heavens we had tonight. Otherwise I might’ve had to kidnap you.”
“You mean rescue me.” Fishing for more sympathy, I added, “I tried to get out of going, but my boss basically trapped me into it.”
“Oh?” Sid asked with a glint in his eye. “And what’s wrong with that?”
I scowled. “Isn’t it obvious?”
&
nbsp; “Not to me.” Suddenly, Sid was on top of me, pinning me to the bed. “Keep in mind, my dear, you are speaking to the one person on earth who knows how much you love being trapped.”
And it turned out that it wasn’t quite time to go to sleep after all.
Chapter Five
I was dragged out of a sound sleep by loud bangs on the front door. I opened my eyes to find Sid dressed, packed, and tying his shoes.
“Shall I get that?” he asked.
Oh no—I had forgotten to set my alarm again. It was Sunday, and Ben hadn’t been bluffing: he had sent someone to pick me up! I glanced at the clock by the side of the bed. Eight forty-five a.m. Right on time.
Fortunately, Sid liked to get an early start to the day, even on weekends. He preferred to leave before I lured him into breakfast and the whole day got “shot to hell,” as he put it. I rolled out of bed and pulled on my fuzzy white bathrobe. “It’s probably someone from that program coming to get me.”
Sid nodded sagely. I skittered down the stairs and stumbled over to the front door. “Who is it?”
A muffled voice said, “I’m Pete. Ben MacGregor sent me to pick up Cate Duncan.”
I opened up to find a man standing on the stoop who could only be described as…a cowboy. A real, honest-to-God cowboy in well-worn boots and a Stetson.
I rubbed my eyes, but when I looked again, he was still standing there—tall and lean, with tanned, leathery skin that told of overexposure to the elements. Apparently, I was going to be chauffeured by Wyatt Earp. At least he’d brought the sun with him. The rain had finally given way to dry, crisp autumn weather.
I heard Sid’s footsteps on the stairs. He joined me at the door as my half-asleep mind tried to formulate an introduction. “I’m Cate,” I finally said. It was way too early, and I had gone to bed way too late.
Pete’s eyelids were hooded, forming triangular slits through which his pale blue eyes examined me. From the movement of Pete’s hat, I saw that he was taking in Sid. They were both over six feet tall. I suddenly felt insignificant.