Sing sos-7

by C. D. Reiss

  You take a bottle of olive oil and smack it against the edge of the counter, breaking the neck. I’m startled, but you push my head down hard. The glass is everywhere. Oil splashes on the floor.

  You run your hand down my back as you fuck me. The broken bottle is in your other hand. Slowly, you pour it on my back. You rub it all over me, then pour more, until a river of it falls into the crack of my ass, and you feel it on your cock. You pull it out, then slide it in again. Hard. Once. Twice. Olive oil coats us. You slap my butt again and again. I cry out in pleasure, your name on my lips.

  Then without breaking your rhythm, you jam your cock in my ass.

  I scream.

  You’re halfway in and you feel two things at once. You are incredibly aroused. Aroused enough to lose control. One second more. But there’s also the worry that in losing control you’ll hurt me.

  You ask me how I am.

  I say through my teeth, ‘Is that all you got, Drazen?’

  My face is red. My fingers are clutching the edge of the butcher block. You put the bottle down and take my jaw in your hand, turning it until I’m facing you, and you bend until you’re so close you can smell green tea on my breath.

  Then you push the rest of the way into me, the skin of your dick sliding against the olive oil, stretching me without friction as a barrier.

  I grunt. You know it hurts, you see it in my eyes. But you don’t stop. You whisper words of encouragement, pulling out, then slamming into me. We’re mouth to mouth as I whimper and you fuck my ass. Sliding in and out with the olive oil. Balls deep. I’m tight. You’re getting squeezed. I’m getting ripped apart.

  But my whimpering is turning into gasps and moans. I’m looking at you now with something besides agony. You go faster, pounding. Pushing deeper with every stroke.

  You pull me up, until we’re both standing. You slide your hand across my breasts and down my stomach. There’s oil everywhere. Your fingers go between my legs. They find my clit right away. Soaking. It’s hard to the touch. When you circle it, you slow your thrusts. You slip it over, reaching for my hole. Then drag four fingers over my clit. You do this over and over, until I beg.

  ‘Let me come. Please.’

  You want me to come while you’re in my ass. You want me to want it after it hurts me. That’s the victory, to have us both love my pain.

  I’m whispering ‘please’ repeatedly, like a chant. Your fingers move in the same circles. You have me at the edge. You own me. ‘Please, please, please, please.’

  You say, ‘Come.”

  I thrust my hips into you, burying you in me. There’s a moment of nothing, then you feel my orgasm on your dick, pulsing around you. Gripping you. Milking your cock until the fullness in you is too much to bear, and you have to let it go. You slam into me and come. You lose control, forgetting your hand is gripping my cunt. You bite my shoulder, and I scream for the second time. You lose yourself. You forget everything.

  CHAPTER 8.

  JONATHAN

  I feel her.

  We speak. I want to possess her, but I can’t find the strength to move my arms. I smell her canned peaches scent and hear the warm caramel of her voice. I answer her in short sentences, because I feel like I gulped a handful of driveway and forgot how to swallow.

  She taps my arm as she describes what I’m going to do to her. I think, even in my state, I get hard, because it’s an epic fuck from her sweet mouth. I don’t even know if she notices it, but with that tapping finger, she’s keeping a rhythm as she tells the story, and I strain to listen as unconsciousness tries to invade again. I hear her words, but what I feel when she talks about me hurting her, is the connection created when her pain turns to pleasure, and she is under me, a piece of the world I control completely, for a moment in time.

  “You’re good at this,” I said. “I’m taking mental notes.”

  “When did the doctor say you could enslave me again?”

  “As soon as I was up to it.”

  “I predict, day after tomorrow.”

  “You’re selling me short.”

  “I’ll be at your service tomorrow, if you want. But you’re in here for five days, and you need to be alone tonight.”

  I grumbled deep in my throat. She was right, of course. The drugs hadn’t even worn off. I had no idea how I was going to feel about sex once the pain kicked in, all I knew was, I wanted to be inside her.

  “Go sleep in your bed tonight, then.”

  “If I’m up at 3am, I’ll think of you.” She stood straight and got her bag. “Actually, if I’m awake any time, I’ll think of you.”

  She leaned down to kiss me, and I touched her lips.

  CHAPTER 9.

  MONICA

  On my way out, a song hit me. I ran into the cafeteria to write it down. I texted Lil and asked her to meet me out front in fifteen minutes and got myself tea.

  I’d been in that fucking hospital forever. What looked sparkling clean in every corner the first day, looked dingy, dirty, and worthless on day four. I could spot the black scratches on the pink cafeteria tabletops instantly and the little dust bombs sticking to the legs of the chairs. I hated the tea. It was too hot, the Styrofoam on my tongue made the liquid acerbic, and Jonathan was sick. I hated the greasy eggs and potatoes. Hated the stink of vinegar that seemed to be on everything. I hated being kicked out of Jonathan’s room because there were too many people in it.

  But on the day of the surgery, the cafeteria sparkled again. The Christmas lights were the most cheerful shades, the tinsel and garland festive and joyous, and the fake tree in the corner, with toys for sick kids under it, made my heart swell with pride for human generosity.

  My god, what do you get a man like Jonathan for Christmas?

  I got into the chair I always sat in and took out my little notebook and clicky pencil. Everything about this had sucked, but I was writing. A lot. I didn’t even know if half of them were songs, or opera, or part of something so much bigger, but I couldn’t stop the verses or the tapping of my foot as I laid them down. In the days I’d been at the hospital, waiting for the hours I could see Jonathan, my tea usually went cold before I gulped it down.

  I moved the Notice of Public Auction to the front of my notebook, so it wouldn’t be in my way, and began writing. Another Styrofoam cup appeared at my side when I was still neck deep in a song about an imaginary ass-fuck that was disguised as a poem about something else entirely. I looked up at a man, six foot four, sixties in a movie-star kind of way. He smiled at me.

  “We meet again.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  He held out his hand, and I knew that even though I didn’t know him, I did.

  “My daughter told me my son’s girlfriend was often down here. I thought it might be you.”

  J. Declan. Shit. Jonathan wouldn’t like me here. And just when I was getting used to that hateful table.

  I shook his hand briefly, then stood. “Yeah. I was just going.”

  He sat down. “Looks like you were in the middle of something. Can you just ignore me? There are no other seats.”

  I looked around. Every other table was full. I was a single person taking up a four-seater. In the middle of writing, I hadn’t even noticed.

  “I’ll make room for the rest of the family.”

  He laughed to himself. A silent chuckle. No more than a breath.

  “What?”

  “If my boy is the sun, I’m Pluto. Smallest. Farthest. Still in orbit, however. Have you seen him?”

  “Yes.”

  “How does he seem?”

  “The same.”

  “And his mood?”

  “Hard to tell through the wisecracks.”

  He nodded, looking into the cafeteria. Kids screamed. Mothers yelled. A mop slapped against the edge of a yellow bucket. To our right, a man wept while a much younger woman comforted him. I glanced at Declan. He looked far away, and I felt sorry for him.

  “You should talk to him,” I said as I stood up. I hadn’t
seen the outside world in too many hours, and Lil would be outside in a red zone in four minutes.

  “I should.” He said in such a way as to imply that he would if it were an option. I wanted to say more, but I remembered what Jonathan had told me, and what Margie had said about his shitty hobbies, so I excused myself and went home to try and manage my life.

  CHAPTER 10.

  MONICA

  It was night by the time the Bentley made its way slowly down my hill. I’d called Debbie from the back to let her know Jonathan was okay, and told her if any shifts opened up I’d fill in. Then left a message with Darren, who had offered me the moon and stars, the food in his kitchen, the gas in his car and the surface area of his shoulder, should I need it. But unless I asked for something specific, or called during an unpredictable sliver of time, he was unavailable. I had no idea what he was doing, but when I did catch him long enough to ask after him, his “fines” and “greats” seemed sincere. So I left him alone.

  “What time you going in tomorrow, Miss?” asked Lil as she opened the back door for me.

  “I’m hoping for an afternoon shift,” I said. “Can I call you?”

  “I expect you to.” She stepped aside as I got out. “I mean it. I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but it’s my job to drive. I don’t want to hear about you taking the bus again.”

  She slammed the door.

  “I’m a poor girl. It’s not a big deal to take the bus.”

  “To me it is. No more.” She wagged her finger once and walked around to her side. When she opened her door, she waved, dismissing me.

  I fingered the extra bus token in my pocket and went through my gate and ascended my porch steps. There was no notice on the door this time, which reminded me that I hadn’t heard from Mom. I checked my phone. Nope. Nothing.

  “Hey, Monica.” It was Dr. Thorensen calling over the fence.

  “Hi.”

  “You all right?” He blooped his car. The lights flashed.

  “Sure.”

  “Because you’re standing on your porch staring at your phone. Is your boyfriend all right? Did the surgery go okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  He didn’t move, just looked at me for a second under my shitty porch light, which would be auctioned off with the rest of my house. Except my stuff. The bank couldn’t auction what was mine. I’d take the light bulbs, the furniture, the fixtures and anything that could be unscrewed, unbolted or pulled off.

  “Dad’s tangerine tree.” I said it out loud. I didn’t mean to do that.

  “Excuse me?” Dr. Thorensen asked. He hadn’t gone away.

  “Nothing. Just thinking out loud.” I snapped my keys out of their little pocket.

  “Have you eaten?”

  I didn’t expect an actual question, so I answered honestly. “No.”

  “I have some pad thai from last night. It reheats like a solid brick and I don’t want to suffer alone.”

  I wanted to slip in during the dead after hours and fall asleep next to Jonathan again, but if there was one night I should let him rest, that was probably it. A twisting disappointment pinched my chest when I realized I wouldn’t go see him, and I’d have to sleep alone in my stupid shit bed.

  But though I could be lonely, and depressed and worried, and though I could be broke and uncharacteristically irresponsible, I didn’t have to be hungry.

  “How are you reheating it?” I asked.

  “I put the cardboard box in the microwave. It ain’t open heart surgery.”

  “You have to heat it covered with a little water.” I put my keys back in my bag, glad to be of use to someone. “A glass container is best. Let me show you.”

  CHAPTER 11.

  MONICA

  “Magic” was too mild a word for City of Dis as Dr. Brad Thorensen played it. Extreme might be better. Intense. Powerful.

  The idea was, you are in hell. Not just a block character of pixels. Not some person you made up from die rolls and categories, but...you.

  Meaning, you create a character based on yourself. Plenty of people created characters whole cloth, but the point of the thing was to create your own personal self and send it through hell. You struggle to exit each circle, but you know the next one will be worse, that the stakes will be higher, and your missions harder. This being the case, when you stop, you have found your sin. Your flaw. You have discovered the thing about yourself that will send you to into the inferno.

  It started with a fifteen minute questionnaire. That’s how long it took. Except it should have been a two hour questionnaire. It should have required thought and rumination, deeply personal questions had to be answered so quickly there wasn’t a second to think twice.

  Dr. Thorensen taught me how to use the controllers, then went to reheat the pad thai as I instructed.

  Then it started. The basics, gender, age, education, family structure, came slowly. Then it started. Multiple choice. Choose the closest answer. Rapid fire.

  —do you cook your own dinner how long does it take you to eat it how long do you chat with friends after dinner do you have a mirror in your room do you wear makeup every day is your nose big are you fat do you have enough money how much does a pound of feathers weigh where was your car made price of the most expensive bag you ever bought if you found a wallet what would you do someone hits your car on the freeway what do you do how often do you shop do you reconcile your checkbook does your thumb hurt right now how many cups of coffee or tea do you drink a day how many moving violations have you gotten what color is the red hat when was your last felony arrest did your parents spank you are you worthless what is your political affiliation do you believe in legal abortion are you on birth control how many sexual partners have you had this month how much is too much are you hungry right now do you own a firearm are people are generally bad or generally good what time do you eat dinner what time do you go to bed do you dream—

  ::—PLEASE BE PATIENT WHILE WE CREATE YOUR AVATAR—::

  “It’ll take a few minutes,” Dr. Thorensen said.

  “I need a nap after that.”

  “You walked in here looking like you needed a nap.”

  He put down two plates of moist, hot delicious pad thai that had been reheated to perfection. I felt a mentally overwhelming need to eat it. I sat at the kitchen bar and placed the napkin over my knee. When was the last time I’d eaten a hot meal? Days ago? I was taking these noodles slow. I was going to make love to each one like it was the first time.

  “I’ll try not to be offended,” I said. He offered chopsticks and a fork. I could use chopsticks fine, but my hands had started shaking, so I took the fork.

  “In my line of work, I see a lot of people who don’t take care of themselves when a loved one is sick.”

  He said it in a doctor voice, as if it was a professional opinion, and thus something that could not cause offense. I wondered what it would be like to date a doctor and deal with that voice all the time. Did he use it when he wanted to tell a woman she needed to pay attention to his feelings, or she shouldn’t rehearse on Tuesday nights? Was he a professional when complaining about the in-laws?

  “Yeah, well,” I said, spooling a single noodle onto my fork, “he’s going to be out soon, and then I’m going to be fat and happy.”

  “I peeked in on his surgery. Everything seemed to be going fine. He’s young. You guys are going to be tooling around in your new Jaguar in no time.”

  I think I turned a little red. “I just want to get back to work. One, they feed us. Nothing like a free lunch.”

  “He doesn’t take care of you?”

  I must have burned black, smoking holes in his face, because he pursed his lips shut and looked down at his plate as if he’d just stepped in my personal daisy patch.

  “I will allow you to take that back,” I said. “A show of gratitude for the thai.”

  He laughed, and it didn’t sound professional. Thank god. “I’m sorry. I take it back. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

 
“Got that right, doctor.”

  “Brad.”

  “Fine.”

  A singsong bell rang from the stereo speakers. Naturally, an audio monolith had been connected to the system to make City of Dis a three dimensional aural experience.

  “Your avatar’s ready,” Brad said. “I’m dying of curiosity.”

  I swallowed the last noodle and bean sprout, and went to find out who the game thought I was.

  CHAPTER 12.

  MONICA

  I pulled a last-minute brunch shift, which was such a relief I think I giggled all the way through it. I’d played City of Dis with Brad until midnight, so I was tired, which made my punchier. The game was all-encompassing. He’d started me on the eighth circle, where he was, and we could cycle around to see if I’d get caught in the trap of my own invisible sins. We solved puzzles, interacted with hellions, eaten virtual food and imbibed radioactive-colored drinks that made the screens blurry and shaky. The game was alternately frightening, sweet, intense, dramatic and funny. I actually forgot about Jonathan for seconds at a time.

  The call from Debbie in the morning was like the clouds opening up to heavenly light. I texted Margie that I wouldn’t be in to see Jonathan until after my shift. She responded right away.

  —He looks better. Already demanding your presence. I told him to hold his horses.—

  —Do NOT tell him I need the money you’ll give him another heart attack—

  At break time, I rummaged through my bag for my phone and found my mother had called me back. Funny how I’d decided to forget all about that. Not funny ha-ha funny, but funny you-are-a-pussy funny. I had ten minutes left of break, which meant there was a time limit to how long this pain could last.

  I stood in front of my locker and dialed my mother’s number. Eight minutes of break left.

  “Hello?” Amazing how her voice could sound so familiar and so strange at the same time.

  “Hi, Mom. It’s me. I’ve been calling.”