by Ray Hecht
When he came to, his eyes were drenched and his stomach was sticky. He was a little embarrassed, but upon seeing Kai’s smile and look of acceptance had no insecurities.
“That was…. interesting.”
She nuzzled him, kissed his cheek, and handed him a freshly-microwaved hot towel.
Forty-five minutes had past.
“Well?” he said.
“Have a rest. Get up on your own pace.” She stood up and unceremoniously put on a robe. “That is, you can rest for about fifteen minutes but then it’s time to go.”
He heard the sound of a tap, and just stayed in place looking at the ceiling for a while, gazing at its dark wonders. Then, slipping and sliding as he got up, he realized he was a mess and went to the shower.
Droplets swimming down his skin, Ben scrubbed himself thoroughly in the groin and anus area. He dried off with the towel quick as he could, put on his underwear with regret, and each article of clothing one by one before the steamy mirror.
The walk to the living room space was cautious. It felt wrong somehow. Like he broke in, like he didn’t belong in this place at all.
The girl was just on her sofa pecking at her phone. Her eyes glanced up as he entered. She didn’t move.
“Kai,” he said and sat next to her. “That was, um, really special.”
“I know.” She lifted a finger, and replied to some faceless other. “Could you hold on one moment? Business, you know how it goes.”
Ben held on to the moment. He didn’t want to leave. He wanted to stay with this woman. He wanted to tell her everything, from his eternal loneliness to all the terrifying fears of his mother. “Kai,” he began. “I truly needed that. I’ve been really down lately. My girlfriend broke up with me today. Can you believe it? And I’m trying to start a new business, but it always seems to take forever and no progress. I feel scared most of the time, to be honest. My life isn’t turning out the way I expected.”
“I know. It will be okay.” She didn’t look at him.
“Thanks for saying that. You’re so, um, kind.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
Somehow, he found the courage to put his hand on her shoulder. It wasn’t a move he usually would’ve made with a woman he barely knew, but they did seem to have some kind of a connection, what with the orgasm and being naked together and all.
“I’m sorry, dear,” she said, unmoving. “Another client. What was it you were saying?
“Um…”
“You’re a good guy. Billy was it? You’re cute. Love will find a way. Always does.”
“How about that massage lesson you mentioned?”
“What?”
His hand remained, but only barely so. “You said you were, uh, sore or something? And you would like a massage? I mean, I’ll pay for another hour or whatever.”
“Oh that. I don’t have any time this evening. Next time.”
Understanding came and went. He backed away, hand retreating. She stayed put. Breaking her eyes away from the phone, she looked at him deeply. And she nudged her head towards the doorway.
“Goodbye, Kai.”
“Bye yourself! And keep doing those breathing exercises when you ejaculate!”
“Okay.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
He left.
Her phone rang.
“Hello,” she said in the distance.
* * *
He was about halfway home when the shame returned.
A pure, distilled, concentrated dosage of disgust, totally self-directed.
Piles of blood-red ooze seeped out of his scalp, sticking hair together in sweaty, ugly clumps. Horrified with himself, he wiped his brow with his shirt. He made a mental note to throw the shirt away.
The ooze melted down his backside, and solidified by the time it entered the crack of his ass. It lingered there, made it hard to walk. From that vantage point it spread.
Shame. The physical liquidation of shame. Everywhere. All around his belly. The wrinkles of toes. The taste of the inside of his own mouth. Beneath the eyes.
All crimson and ugly and reeking of gruesome discharge. All the skin, all the organs. All ashamed.
As he did every month, Ben Weiss vowed he would never do the deed again. Never ever. The shame wasn’t worth it. No matter the pleasure. No matter the feeling. This couldn’t be worth it.
Forever.
Or, perhaps, not for another month or two.
Depends if he will be still single or not.
He really hoped he wouldn’t be single forever.
Pulling up to his household, Ben was briefly confused by the visage of an attractive woman waiting at his doorway. The shame decapitated as he approached, and he hoped to impress a little bit. Or, at the very least, not completely embarrass himself.
In a smart short dress and with medium-length light brown hair, she leaned on the wall, peaking at the half-open window blinds, spinning around her phone. She looked sad.
He suppressed the shame, but in other ways he felt also felt bad. No doubt the woman was waiting for Jack.
That perfect Jack. The aloof, empty roommate who always got all the girls. The worst thing about Jack was that he pretty much was a nice guy. Not obnoxious, not the popular sort who would bully Ben when young. Those sorts left a righteous hatred and it still burned. No, Jack wasn’t like them and you couldn’t even hate him. A supremely average man who was cool to hang out with, generally kind, and a gamer at that, yet one who always seemed to have a never-ending stream of women. Couldn’t even be mad after a certain point. No sense in being jealous. It was typical. Just more of the world letting him know how pathetic he was.
Emptiness came and evened out the shame and disgust, and Ben felt fine. Or at least, neutral.
“May I help you?” he asked.
“Hi,” she said, happy that someone, anyone, had arrived. She must have been waiting a while. “Doesn’t a Jack Davidson live here?”
Confirmed. “I guess he’s out.”
“Oh. Are you, like, roommates?”
“Yes.” He took out his keys to open the door. “Um, would you like to come in and wait around? No sense standing outside.”
She beamed. “Thank you so much.”
“No problem at all.”
Ben led her in to the domain, a little confused as to why the girl would be waiting out here. What was it Jack said he was up to when he headed out earlier in the day? It seemed hardly worth remembering at the time.
“Please,” he said, turning on the light. “Have a seat.”
“I’m Janelle,” she said, and she took his hand. It felt real, a little bony, a little soft. It wasn’t like Kai’s hand, trying so hard to be gentle and welcoming. Janelle’s hand had no pretentions.
He squeezed it and shook and let go. “Um, I’m Ben. Can I get you anything?”
“Just water.”
Ben scampered to the kitchenette and brought out a mug and filled it with cold water from a refrigerated bottle.
“I can’t believe I was waiting outside,” she said as he returned, sitting on the sofa. “Thanks.” She graciously accepted the mug and sipped. “Mmm, I was getting thirsty. Waited some thirty minutes,” she added with a nervous laugh. “Ha, I guess I was worried. His phone is off. We made plans, but sure you know how Jack is.”
Ben returned an anxious chuckle, and attempted to reassure her. “Maybe. I mean, yeah, there’s no reason to worry. He can take care of himself. He’s always late.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I know,” said Ben. “He’s probably waiting at the coffee shop now. You guys missed each other, what a shame.”
She didn’t answer.
“How long have you lived here?” she asked.
“About a year.”
“It’s a nice place.”
“I like it.”
Awkwardly, she placed her phone to the side and stared absent-mindedly at a blank TV screen. Ben went to his computer terminal, where he was comfortab
le and safe.
“He must go out on dates all the time,” she said quietly.
“Not really,” he said, slightly too loud.
“I’m being silly. It’s not like we’re a couple. We only met once. On Minnderrr, I’m not ashamed to admit!” Another nervous laugh. “It was nice. I had hoped…” She trailed off. “Hey, enough about Jack. Tell me about yourself, Ben.”
He noted that she got his name right the first time. “Not really much to say. Um, I do freelance programming for now. Me and my business partner up north have something big in the works though.”
“Really? That’s awesome.”
“Top secret for now,” he said with a wink.
“If you ever need a beta tester, I’m experienced. I was one of the first Twite’gram users.”
“No way.”
“It’s true. I’m such a geek. Check out my phone, I got a customized OS straight from one of the freshest developers. You should see my PC at home, totally pimped out.”
Ben squinted and looked at her screen. It was true. The OS was vaguely familiar, something he read about in Wireless magazine, but didn’t even know was on the market yet. “I’m impressed.”
“Yeah right.”
“I mean it. Please keep in touch, and I’m going to hold you to that beta tester thing.”
“That would be so cool.”
Ben didn’t want to push his luck, and tried to end the conversation on a high note. With deafly quiet gaps in between lines of conversation, he instinctively turned on the TV. The Cablevein account listed all his favorite shows. “Wanna watch anything?”
“I suppose Ice Realm would be good background,” she said. “I’ve seen them all, of course. I’m reading The Bolts of Bohemethia right now. Only on the third book, I know right, I’m way behind. Such a slow reader.”
“At least you’re trying,” he said.
“Come on. So, first episode of the second season?”
“Yeah, sure.” The remote did the rest.
Thinking about how he never gets to meet girls like her, his emptiness briefly gave way to a dull ache.
“To be honest,” she said over the season one voiceover synopsis – Previously on… “I get lost trying to keep track of all the characters. Who’s that?” she pointed.
“The king of the undersea land of Drogoria.”
“Oh, I remember. Who was that lady?”
“His queen who betrayed him.”
“Yeah, that’s right. With the gruesome death scene. I couldn’t believe it when I watched it.”
The music began, with the maps and sigils, and they watched the familiar opening act. Just as Ben was ready to leave her be and go through his solitary online motions, she blurted out: “Do you have a girlfriend?”
“Me?” His chair twirled around.
“Who else would I be talking to?” She smiled.
“I suppose that’s a long story.”
For the time being, Ben thought he’d said enough and expected her to watch the show and contently wait for the roommate to return. He didn’t expect her to turn sideways on the couch—completely ignoring the television—and look directly at him. Attention wholly focused, sincere in her desire to connect. “I like long stories,” she said.
“Well, um, that is…”
And he proceeded to tell her the long, sad story of his day. Excluding a few parts about conversations with male friends and accompanying trade secrets, he related to her his tale of trying to make it work with Candace and the embarrassing failure that was his general love life. All the times he felt stepped over. The cruelty with which women discarded him his whole damn life, even and especially on that very day. His broken heart, the feeble attempts to distract. How things never work. And how he only wanted to have a cool girlfriend with similar hobbies, someone to introduce to his mom, how that’s all he ever wanted. How it shouldn’t be too much to ask for. How hard it’s always been. How unfair it all is.
He almost got to the part in which is sexual tension and frustration bubbled up to the point of a purchased experience, but discretion gave way and he chose to let the silence dissipate across the room at just that plot point.
The words drifted around the time in which he said he’s both terrified that he will be alone forever and yet will never log on to Arrowchat ever again…
She listened with her eyes, and listened closely. Her eyes were good listeners. They never interrupted. They took it all in, completely and without judgment, just listening.
Finally, she began talking. “I’m so sorry to hear that, Ben. I know you deserve better.”
“Thanks,” he said. “But you don’t really know.”
“Oh, but I do,” she said back. “I know exactly what kind of person you are. You’re a good man. Not perfect; nobody’s perfect. But you will meet someone soon, I’m sure of it. This is exactly how it works. When you least expect it, she’ll walk right past you.”
“Come on.”
“Remember this, dude. She’s just around the corner. When it happens, don’t look too hard. Don’t overthink. Just be in the moment, and it will be cool. Your time is coming, I promise.”
“Thanks, Janelle. You’re, uh, quite nice.”
The pair smiled in the silence.
Somehow, he believed her.
Everything felt alright.
The television played its songs and nothing mattered. There was a pervading scent in the air that said life could be fine after all and it was going to turn out okay in the end.
Then, a key turned and the door opened and the mood shifted to something else entirely.
8
Carla
The lights were dimmed and the Streamtunes were streaming, and Carla had successfully transported herself to another world.
The door padded and double locked, and everything beyond her space ceased to exist. The soft glow of words on a screen took her away. That was enough.
Ethereal tunes and gentle shadows accompanied her soul as fingers slid down her pants and let the skin enjoy the open air.
Skimming the words on the screen at a rapid pace, with one hand on the space bar and another exploring inner thighs, she absorbed tales of another world.
Finally, when fully comfortable, she was ready to close her eyes. Clothing was unnecessary. The body was as free as the mind. Nothing could be freer than the mind.
Eyes shut, she imagined.
The flickering lights of the dark room became candles. The camera zoomed out to reveal a dungeon. Stone walls barred the view. A woman’s hands were bound. Torn-apart rags barely covered her nudity.
Suddenly, a metallic skeleton key clanked against the gate and it opened. A guard, muscled and topless and shimmering with oil, was accompanying a great princess.
“Bring her to me,” the princess commanded.
The prisoner was taken to the top of the tower. Passively, the woman was bathed by handmaidens and pampered with powders and finally made beautiful. She was given an elegant rose-colored dress, although there were no undergarments to be had. When ready to be presented, the princess and her guard came to her.
“You were not harmed,” said the princess, in a voice of authority. It was a statement, not a query.
The prisoner bowed her head, and remained silent.
“One who is of your stature, from such a proud line, must be given more respect. My predecessor was not wise in his handling of this matter. You are no prisoner… Simply a guest in my domain. You will be treated as such.”
The prisoner, now known as guest, said nothing.
“I wish to make amends,” the princess stated. “One from a line as noble as yours, on this day, deserves the very best.”
“Whatever you will have of me,” she finally answered.
The princess waved slowly toward the guard, and he unbuckled his tunics. The boiled leather fell to the floor, leaving him nude. His shaft, thick and pulsing, was rising. The guard was well trained in all manner of craft.
He approached. Her
heart was racing. The princess eyed the situation with rapt glee. When the guard’s strong hands encased the woman guest by the hips, it sent shivers throughout her person. The princess watched with grace and dignity, and sat upon the chamber’s silver throne. Before her, the scene played out.
The shaft grew hard as cold stone, but it was not cold. It was burning hot. She felt it in her hands. Her dress was raised and she was placed before a wolfskin rug in the center of the chamber. Thighs were touched, squeezed, scratched, with fingernails raising higher and higher. Soon she was dripping wet, and the princess eyed carefully as the shaft was ready to—
!
Carla played it all out in her head and it felt as real as anything, and her fingers pressed against her wet clit with all the appropriate pressure as she imagined the man coming. It was the anticipation that pushed her over the edge. Her fingers were enough.
With low moans, she climaxed.
Like a plant, growing steadily, the seed sprouted and turned to a blossoming flower and the green energy grew within her. A peaceful explosion, a Zen sort of violence, a vibration of stillness.
Then, she rolled into a second climax, deeper and subtler than the first.
The earth took her in, and she couldn’t stop smiling.
She took her time to catch her breath and transition to a normal state again. That always took a good long while, but she knew what she needed to do.
Half-naked, she gathered up her clothes and drank from a bottle of water and wiped the moisture off her brow with the side of her panties. She dressed herself in nothing but an old T-shirt and went to the window. The music was still blaring. A clean breeze tickled her through a crack in the wall. She turned on the fan, and the room grew colder still.
Her kit was in the back of the shelf where she always left it. A plastic bag contained the concoction of marijuana buds in tin foil, a set of clippers, and a long-burnt glass pipe decorated with psychedelic swirls of lime and earthen-purple stains.
“Where is my lighter?” she asked herself. The lighter was the one object she couldn’t seem to ever keep track of.
It didn’t take long for her to dig around in her desk to find a suitable set of matches from those rare times she went to bars, and she packed in the bud and took a few hits. It was harder to do with matches than with a lighter. Four hits.