Beyond Hunger

by Ashley Logan

  “You don’t need to apologize for being sexy as fuck, Vi. It’s not like I didn’t instigate feeling you up, and I sure as fun didn’t hate it. That’s the problem actually,” he says, scratching his eyebrow and sitting on the corner of my bed. “I don’t want to push you, and I don’t want my... eagerness to cause problems.”

  “It’s not a problem. I appreciate it. And I even know how it feels,” I admit, wishing I could jump him right now to get rid of the need inside me.

  Closing my eyes, I shake my head and cling to the one thought in my head that is clear. “We need to get through this weird dinner to be sure how we all feel. Then we’ll know where we all stand and can make those kinds of decisions after that. Right?”

  “Right. So... Ready to go?”

  Taking a deep breath, I release it slow. “Okay. Ready.”

  “Is that what you’re wearing?” he jokes, ducking as I throw my pillow at him.

  “If you’d prefer, I could slip into something a little more revealing so I can tease you across the table while that Rick guy ogles my goodies. Just let me know.”

  His smile vanishes. “Maybe you should wear a coat as well. Or repellent. Can we bring Bruno?”

  Snorting at him, I turn to the mirror and frown.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks, standing and joining me in front of the mirror. I like how we look together. Shaking my head, I lower my eyes to the hole in my jeans.

  “Nothing. I just look like I’m not making an effort to impress and I think that might be a bit insulting to our hosts.”

  Lifting my chin with his finger, he looks into my eyes. “Don’t worry about it. You look great and this is just a regular dinner at a regular house with regular people. Regular clothes are fine. You are just as impressive in hole-y jeans as you are in a sundress, or sweaty dance clothes.”

  “You’re a pretty smooth talker when you want to be, Power Serge.”

  “You make me want to be,” he says, brushing his lips lightly against mine. “I want to make you feel good. You deserve good things.”

  Having him say such things when he’s so close makes me light-headed. Leaning my head to his solid chest I wrap my arms around his waist. “Thank you. I want good things for you too.”

  Damn, he smells amazing.

  “I think we should go. I need to see this bizarre triangle in action before it turns into a square, because I am really close to taking advantage of you whether you like it or not and I know it’s so freakin’ wrong to even think that way.” I force myself back before I rip off every button keeping him clothed and start grinding against him to scratch what I’m itching for.

  Nodding, he backs away too. “Are you afraid these feelings are due to a lack of... activity?” he asks, breathing hard.

  His feelings or mine? Am I scared I’m driven purely by lust? I’m more scared I’ll sleep with him and he’ll lose interest afterward, while I’m feeling more. But I’ll probably still be convinced it was worth it, because I’ll be sexually sated from this endless need I’m harboring. A need for him. But what’s he feeling? Like his attraction is purely lustful? Does he feel guilty? Or is he as scared as I am that there’s this undeniable chemistry between us? Is he worried about what Gina will think? Am I?

  “I’m afraid of a lot of things,” I say honestly.

  “Like how the hell we’re going to get through dinner when all I’ll be thinking about is you taking advantage of me? I won’t be able to look you in the eye without everyone knowing my thoughts.” He curses twice and puts his hand to his head. “I’ll have to hide my dick under the table all night. Quick medical question; how many hours can an erection linger before it becomes dangerous?”

  Laughing, I push him out the door. “Why don’t you just take care of it now so you don’t have to worry about it,” I say, parking him at the bathroom door, before returning to my room to find my shoes.

  “It won’t help,” he says, back waiting in my doorway. Looking up from my laces, I find his cheeks a bashful shade of red. “I already did that before coming to get you. I feel like a thirteen year old kid over here.” Rubbing his face with his big hands, he shakes his head. “That was too much information. Sorry.”

  Biting my lip to keep from laughing, I finish tying my laces and grab my bag. “I did too. And you’re right, it didn’t help at all.” Ducking under his arm, I scurry down the hall toward the stairs.

  “Very helpful, Violet. Thanks,” he says as he joins me on the street and points me in the direction of his car.

  “A PRIUS?” I ASK AS Serge opens my door for me.

  “Surprised I’m concerned about the environment?”

  Shaking, my head, I take a seat. “Not really, you’re a pretty caring guy. I just pictured you in more of a James Bond-ish type of car, I guess.”

  Giving me a strange look, he closes the door and rounds the car. Once inside he sits a while before turning to me. “Clark Kent and James Bond? That’s how you see me?”

  Wondering if he can see me blushing under the streetlights, I look out the window and shrug. “Do you think James Bond cares about the environment?” I ask, changing the subject. “He’s trying to save the world from evil too, right? So maybe. Where are we heading?”

  Serge starts the engine still looking at me. “Orchard Park.”

  I look at him, seriously considering strangulation. “Orchard Park! And you let me wear jeans with holes?” Releasing a few sharp words, I reach for the door handle, but a strong hand reaches over to hold it shut.

  “Violet, you’ve met them. They’re just people.”

  “You said regular people, not affluent people. I need a whole other set of coping mechanisms for that, Serge.” Closing my eyes, I try to slow my breathing. “Do you want me to lie?”

  “Why would I want you to lie?” he asks, leaning back into his own space and putting the car in gear. “I’m going to start driving now. Are you going to try and jump out of a moving vehicle?”

  I shake my head, gripping the sides of my seat instead of the door. “I mean do you want me to lie about stripping? It’s not something many people understand.”

  “I don’t want you to lie. You don’t have to share if you’re not comfortable, but I wouldn’t ask you to hide it. It seems like something you’re quite proud of and strengthened by.”

  I study his face as the streetlights intermittently light it up. “Thank you for understanding. It’s not something we’ve really talked about. I didn’t know if it was because you didn’t want to think about it, or if you didn’t care.”

  “I would say I both care and am not completely comfortable with it, but that I understand it’s important to you. I know about your work at the Rec, and I think of your stripping as a more personal extension of that. An exploration of inner conflict, if you will.”

  I look out the window to hide my grin. “You’re a very understanding guy, Serge. Do you know how special you are?”

  I turn back to see him shaking his head in a dismissive way, as if my words are empty. Avoiding me by watching the road, he adjusts his hands on the steering wheel.

  “I mean it. Most people judge strippers to be sub-human. We’re assumed to be unintelligent, hopeless and slutty at best estimate. A lot of people think we’re hookers. Most people would never consider completely baring their imperfections to themselves, let alone others.”

  “You have imperfections?” Serge asks in a joking tone.

  “Many.”

  Glancing at me quickly, his eyebrows draw down and his eyes return to the road and stay there. “Not from where I’m sitting.”

  He can talk.

  Every word he says is fucking perfect. “Shut up, Serge.”

  “Okay.”

  As he pulls into the driveway of a very well-to-do home with a park-like garden, I feel myself tense up.

  “Kinda wishing I’d made a run for it now, Serge.”

  “It’ll be fine. They’re hard-working people that have done well. This is not some sort of ‘old money’
and high class judgment scenario.”

  Coming around the car, he opens my door and offers his hand. “I’ll be there the whole time, and I’m the product of abandonment, violence and blue collars.”

  “And love. That was the most important, and you left it out. You turned out good because of the love.”

  “I’m glad you think I turned out good. I know you’re only like twelve, but you’ll turn out good one day too, now get your butt out of the car, or I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you. What kind of impression did you want to make again?”

  Scowling at him, I get out of the car.

  “You know it’s really gross that you keep calling me twelve and you totally want to do me.”

  Taking my hand, he pulls me toward the door. “You’re right, that is totally gross. You’ve just successfully sorted out my raging boner issue, so thanks. Is the mastermind Violet that knows what-the-fuck game we’re about to play, in there somewhere? Because I really need her.”

  Pushing the doorbell, he looks down at me and his eyes soften. “I think you look beautiful in your hole-y jeans and not twelve at all. You’re smart, and interesting, and caring, and honest, and I feel good around you. I know you don’t really care, but I just wanted you to know that.”

  I care.

  My eyes close as his lips press to my forehead and a calm washes over me.

  The door opens, and Gina stands there with a dazzling smile, enhanced by her deep red lipstick. Serge’s attention leaves me.

  “Gina? Hi. You look amazing,” he says, taking in the same view as me.

  Gina is wearing stiletto heels; in her own home; on a casual Sunday evening dinner with ‘friends’.

  Her dress is classy and tasteful, but on the cusp of slutty with its low cut front and figure hugging embrace. Her perfectly highlighted, blond hair is swept into an effortless looking up-do that I know for a fact would have taken a long time to achieve. She’s pulled out all the stops - but why?

  A sinking feeling begins to build in the pit of my stomach.

  “Amazing what a little time off work can do, huh?” she says as she twirls.

  She actually fucking twirls.

  I literally have to feel my face to make sure my jaw hasn’t fallen right off.

  “I might have to try it,” Serge says, turning back to me. My eyes widen, darting toward Gina and back to him. Shaking his head, he squeezes my hand as Gina steps aside to welcome us in.

  I can’t move.

  Serge takes a step, but stops when he meets my resistance. “We’ll be there in a sec, G. Can you give us a moment please?”

  Gina’s eyes run over me and she smirks. Smirks!

  Giving a nod, she walks away, leaving the door open.

  “What the fuck Serge? I can’t go in there like this!”

  “Why not? Do your clothes prevent you from eating?”

  “No, they prevent me from leveling the playing field. Jeez this is messed up. I’m not exactly sure about what’s going on here, but I’m pretty sure I don’t like it.”

  Serge squints at me. “Leveling the field? What are you talking about?”

  “Are you blind?”

  “Are you?” He gestures up and down my body. “A sack, Vi. You could pull off this dinner in a sack.” Tugging me closer he nuzzles my hair, his breath tickling my ear before his gravelly whisper turns that innocent tickle into something far more sinful.

  “Did you know I can’t stop looking at that hole in your jeans?” he says, not waiting for an answer. “It’s not because I think they’re old and you can’t afford new ones. It’s because I want to make that hole bigger. I want to rip it open and slip my hand inside.” His hands slide up my body to hold my face as his eyes meet mine. “I don’t know why G has gone to all the trouble she has, but this isn’t a competition. What’s the prize?”

  Is he clueless? He’s the prize.

  Frowning, I begin to wonder if he might have a point though. Gina’s married. She’s been married the whole time, and Serge said he’d never shared her bed, so she’s not about to just turn around and cheat on her husband now, right?

  I wonder what Rick thinks of his wife’s get-up. Maybe she’s paying him back for pushing her into the dinner she clearly had only invented to prove Serge a liar. She might just win herself a fight with her husband.

  I hope I don’t have to watch it.

  Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly. “Do you think that maybe you could refrain from saying things like slipping your hands inside my jeans?” I ask, standing taller and tucking loose hairs behind my ear. “It’s distracting.”

  “You’re distracting,” he says, pulling me inside.

  The house is gorgeous, arranged as if a designer has had free reign. Serge leads me through the house as if he’s been there a thousand times. Maybe he has. The thought irks me and my hold on his hand tightens. He looks at me and smiles encouragingly. Giving my hand a squeeze back, he pulls me through to a grand dining room.

  Rick greets us as he finishes laying out what I can only assume is their wedding china. I am way too under-dressed for whatever is going on here.

  “Wow,” Serge says as he takes in the spread. “This is a little more than we were expecting,” he adds as he shakes Rick’s hand. “I thought maybe G was just going to whip up one of her famous pasta dishes or something.”

  “Ah, well it’s been so long since we’ve had another couple over, we thought we’d make an effort. Can I take your sweatshirt, Vi? Gina’s got the heat on already, even though it still feels like summer out there.”

  “Um, sure,” I say shrugging out of my hoodie. It’s not like a t-shirt is any worse. Kissing me hello on the cheek, he disappears with my inappropriate outer layer.

  Putting my hands in my pockets, I frown at Serge, who is actually starting to look uncomfortable himself. Shrugging, he looks around as if confused.

  “Honestly, the other times I’ve come for a meal, we just eat on regular plates and shit,” he whispers, acting normal again as Gina sweeps back into the room wearing an apron and carrying a bowl of salad.

  “Can we help at all?” I ask, wanting anything to do just to occupy my time.

  “No, no. You two make yourselves comfortable. What can I get you to drink, Violet? I have a gorgeous Latour that will go beautifully with the Beef on tonight’s menu.”

  I sigh internally.

  “I’m sure my outfit suggests I’d enjoy the slightly less expensive Lafite, but if I’m honest, I’d prefer a beer or water. Thank you Gina. You look lovely, by the way.”

  Gina smiles. “A girl who knows her wine, but prefers a brew? Serge, I’m going to need to hear the story of how you two met when I get back. Can I get the usual for you?” she asks him, batting her lashes.

  “Please,” he says, with a nod before his gaze returns to me. Moving to the table, he pulls out a chair for me. “Did you learn about wine from your tutors?” he asks with a tight jaw.

  “Did you learn your gentlemanly manners from your Pops?”

  “Yes. He taught me that women appreciate the effort. You’re intentionally avoiding?”

  “Yes,” I say quietly.

  “Okay.” Sitting next to me, he runs a hand through his hair. “Well the story of how we met should be an icebreaker,” he says with a careful smile.

  “Don’t start it without me,” Rick says, whizzing by on his way to the kitchen.

  Staring at Serge’s mortified face, I realize he doesn’t want to share the details. Remembering he’d been at the hospital because of Gina, I give him a slight nod, just as Rick returns with Gina, the drinks and an antipasto platter.

  “So come on then,” Gina says, giving Serge a playful shove. Clearing my throat, I take the lead.

  “It was quite unintended, actually. At least I didn’t have the intent Serge thought I did,” I add, smiling at the thought. “I’d left a suitcase unattended and Serge had assumed I was a terrorist,” I explain, laughing as I watch him blush. “I actually thought he was a
freakin’ weirdo when he started chasing me down the street, so I ran. Even punched him in the face before he tackled me to the ground.” I raise my beer to him and he clinks it with his. “After I showed him the suitcase was full of textbooks I was donating, he took me for a beer to apologize. I didn’t think I’d see him again after that,” I continue, enjoying their shocked expressions, “But the very next day, we ran into each other again and got talking. Turns out we actually have quite a few things in common - even though he’s practically ancient,” I add, laughing as he shakes his head and takes a sip of his beer.

  “That’s quite a story,” Rick says, raising his glass of red. “But please don’t make too many more age jokes. Serge is actually younger than Gina and I.”

  Snorting, I raise my glass to Rick. “Deal. It’s just an ongoing joke between us, not meant to offend.” Smiling at Serge, I give him a wink.

  “So textbooks?” Gina pipes up. “You’re studying, Violet?”

  “Not at the moment, no. I’m just clarifying my path.”

  “Violet’s been studying Medicine, but has many other options, which she assures me is a difficult situation to be in. She is also a very talented dancer.”

  Gina and Rick look as if they don’t know what question to ask next. When I look to Serge to give him a menacing look to shut him up, I’m met with smoldering eyes. Watching him, I take a slow sip of my beer. Mirroring me just as slowly, his mouth curls up a little on one side.

  “Medicine? My, well, I guess that is a big commitment,” Rick says, popping an olive in his mouth. “Probably best to be sure before investing yourself in that. Were you interested in a specific area of Medicine?” he inquires politely.

  Pulling my eyes away from the invisible hold Serge has me under, I blink at Rick. “Oh. Um, I liked several aspects actually, from women’s health through to psychiatry, but the more I thought about specializing, the more unhappy I got. I’m looking to help people on a broader spectrum, which led me to take a much bigger interest in prevention. And the more I think about that, the less I think I need medicine at all. I’m actually already helping in the development of an educational health program for application in schools to teach kids how to avoid certain problems before they can arise.”