Rumours

by Alison Tyler

  ‘But you’re the one who’s leaving him, and he loves you, Charlie.’

  I knew she was telling the truth, but it didn’t matter. ‘I can’t,’ I told her. ‘I just can’t.’

  Although the trip from LA to Northern California would take only eight hours, I didn’t plan on driving the entire way in one day. I wanted to arrive in Raysville feeling bright and energetic, not crushed and rumpled after a day in the car. So I made a reservation to stay at an upscale inn an hour from the outskirts of town. I’d drive the rest of the way into Raysville in the morning.

  As I cruised Highway 101, I felt as jittery as I had at college orientation. On that very first day, I’d met Mia, my freshman dormmate, and Joelle, our other best friend, who’d lived right next door. The three of us had been inseparable throughout the four years of school, and, even though Joelle returned to Manhattan soon after graduation, our trio still connected as much as possible. Now, I wondered who I might meet in Raysville, and if those people could possibly play as large a role in my life. Would I find someone to talk with, like Mia?

  Or someone to fuck, like Johnny?

  He remained on my mind as I pulled into the hotel parking lot, but I was still surprised to see a familiar mint-condition Mustang parked in the far corner of the lot. I know the car the way I know my own name. It’s a show-stopper – a 1965 muscle machine with a dark-red glittery coat and burnished chrome that gleams in the light. I parked one spot over and, when I got out, I checked the plate to make sure I wasn’t imagining things. A Johnny mirage of some sort. An ex-boyfriend hallucination.

  Without a doubt, this was Johnny’s ride.

  Apparently, Johnny had got the meaning of my email more quickly than I’d expected, and he’d driven up north to meet me, and easily arrived first with his monster of an engine. Johnny’s rockabilly band plays a lot of gigs on the car-show circuit and, with his young Elvis-style good looks and his own passion for vintage hot rods, he fits right in. But Johnny didn’t fit into my plans here. Was he waiting to talk me out of a trip I’d already committed to? And how had he even known where to find me?

  That was easy: Mia.

  But why had she told him where I’d be staying?

  Easier still: because she wanted me to come back home.

  I thought of calling her, of confronting her with the situation, but Mia wasn’t the one I needed to talk to. Johnny was. I headed to the lobby, and, when I told the front clerk my name, he said, ‘Your room’s already paid for, and here’s the extra key.’

  Extra key. A combination of emotions battled within me as I rode the elevator to my room. I was half-angry, half-exhilarated. Yet ‘What the fuck is he doing here?’ ultimately lost out to ‘How many different ways will he fuck me?’

  I stood outside the whitewashed door, momentarily unsure of whether to barge in or knock politely. That took exactly two seconds to decide. This was my room, after all. Even if he’d paid for it, I had the key in my hand, so I used it.

  Johnny sat waiting for me on a large chocolate-brown leather chair in the corner of the room. He had on black jeans, a crimson T-shirt and his favourite pair of engineer boots. His glossy dark hair was pushed out of his face, and his cheeks and chin sported the first attractive hint of a five o’clock shadow.

  He held a glass of whiskey in one hand – good whiskey, I could smell it from where I stood – and his old black leather belt was off and coiled on the edge of the bed. The sight of the belt made me hesitate, my small violet overnight case still off the ground, my words of greeting faltering on my lips. I pushed my tortoiseshell sunglasses up on top of my hair, to have something to do.

  ‘That’s how you leave?’ His grey eyes burned into me. ‘With an email?’

  ‘Come on, Johnny.’ My voice was pleading. ‘That’s not fair. We said goodbye at your place.’

  ‘We had sex at my place. I don’t remember either of us saying goodbye.’

  ‘Then you have a bad fucking memory,’ I retorted flippantly. I was pressing my luck and I knew it, but I walked the rest of the way into the room with more confidence than I really owned, closed the door behind me and set the canvas case down on the silky beige carpet. I tried not to look at Johnny’s coiled leather belt waiting for me on the mattress, but that was like trying not to think of pink elephants. Every time my eyes glanced in the direction of the bed, I caught sight of the thing, menacingly coiled like a poisonous snake preparing to strike.

  ‘You don’t get to leave like that,’ he said.

  ‘Get to –’ I repeated.

  ‘I know you won’t be gone forever, but you think you will. You think Raysville is going to be your end-all be-all. And, thinking that, you actually snuck out of town without a phone call, without a cup of coffee, without a kiss.’

  Now I sat down on the gold-brocade comforter, perching myself on the furthest edge of the mattress from his belt. He was toying with his cut-crystal glass as he spoke, yet I could tell he wasn’t drunk at all. He was simply using the tumbler as a prop, the way I was using my sunglasses, now pulling them free from my thick red hair before placing them carefully on the oval-shaped nightstand. My heart did a flip-flop in my chest as I looked back at him.

  ‘You know where a kiss would have gone,’ I said softly.

  ‘No, I don’t. Why don’t you tell me?’

  ‘Johnny –’

  ‘Or better yet, Charlie, why don’t you show me?’

  I should go, I told myself. I could easily drive the rest of the way to Raysville and leave Johnny on his own in this classy hotel. I should have done that when I saw his car in the lot, bypassing the inn and making the trip all in one day. He could have sat there all night, waiting for me, whiskey in hand, the level in the bottle getting gradually lower. But I didn’t leave. With Johnny, I rarely end up doing the things I should. Why was that? What hold did he have over me?

  ‘Come on over here, Red.’

  I swallowed hard, then stood and made my way to the deep leather chair in the corner. I sat down on the arm, then bent to kiss Johnny on the lips. A kiss. That’s all he was asking for. There was nothing wrong with giving him a kiss.

  He set his drink on the polished wooden table at his side, and his hands immediately came around my body, pulling me into his lap so that I was no longer above him. He leaned down to kiss me, and all of my disappointment about our past history slipped away. His lips on mine were magical in that way. They had the power to make everything else disappear. I lost myself as his fingers twisted in my lustrous red hair and his full lips pressed to mine.

  When I squirmed my hips in his lap I could feel how hard he was, and I sighed, already wanting him to take me. I knew what I needed. I needed him to bend me over the bed and pound into me from behind. But, based on the fact that his belt was already waiting on the mattress, I understood things wouldn’t go quite as I hoped. Or maybe that was a lie. Maybe what I hoped for was precisely what was going to happen. Because Johnny knows me well. He delves inside my most intricate desires and my most decadent fantasies. Sometimes he comprehends them even better than I do, spinning my sexy mental stories out to the proper endings that I haven’t had the foresight to see.

  ‘You just left, Charlie,’ he said, his voice even but his tone sad.

  I lowered my head again.

  ‘Didn’t you want to say goodbye to me?’

  Oh, Jesus. ‘Yes, but –’

  ‘Didn’t it feel wrong to leave without even a phone call? With only that silly piece of Photoshit email?’

  ‘Of course, Johnny, but –’

  ‘What do you think we should do about that?’

  ‘About –’

  ‘What should we do, Charlie?’ Each word was evenly spaced apart for extra effect. I heard those words reverberate in my head – what should we do – and I grasped that he wasn’t actually angry with me; he was only doing his part to find a proper way for us both to say goodbye. Yet he was putting the play in my court. I could say nothing if I wanted to, give him a final kiss on th
e lips and then head out the door. I’d be in Raysville before it got too late to book a room at one of the charming little B&Bs that crowd the area. Or I could do what I did, which was lay my head on his sturdy chest so I could hear his heart beating and whisper, ‘I don’t know, Johnny. I don’t know.’

  ‘Don’t lie to me, girl. You’ve been eyeing it since you walked into the room.’

  He was right, and I flushed.

  ‘You know exactly what you deserve, Charlie, but I want to hear you say it.’ His cock throbbed in his crisp black jeans as he spoke, letting me feel exactly how aroused he was. Suddenly, I wondered how many hours he’d been waiting for me, and how turned on he’d got while picturing this exact scenario. Had he taken a shower when he arrived, working his hand up and down his shaft while envisioning what he’d do to me when I got here? Had he stopped on the road midway, the daydream of what we’d do together too much for him to handle without a quick and potent release by the side of the road? I knew him inside and out, but he knew me as well. He knew for a fact that I wouldn’t walk away, wouldn’t leave without playing a final round. Still, I said nothing, waiting for him to take charge.

  ‘Get up, Charlie. Get on over to that bed and take down your slacks.’

  I stayed still, frozen solid.

  ‘I won’t tell you again, Red.’

  The tone of his voice let me know that he meant it and that, if I pushed him, I’d lose. Yet I actually thought about facing up to the challenge. What would happen if I didn’t immediately obey him? I could answer that myself: he’d lift me in his arms, carry me to the mattress and bend me over the bed himself. I’d rarely taken him to the edge, and I found I didn’t have the courage to do so now. My heart racing, I slowly stood and made my way to the bed. Every action I made seemed to be heavy and graceless, as if I were moving through shoulder-deep water. Clear and cold, chilling me.

  In my eyes, the belt appeared to have grown, its power radiating outwards in steady streams. Why had I given an inanimate object so much authority over me? I fumbled with the zipper of my black pants, then slowly let them fall to the floor. Johnny was at my side in a flash, pushing me on to the firm mattress, then using his bare hand to caress my ass through my lacy powder-blue panties. He touched me so softly that I found myself whimpering and, when his fingers probed down between my thighs, he instantly discovered for himself the wetness that awaited him.

  ‘You were in the wrong, Charlie,’ he said, ‘and you know it.’

  ‘Yes,’ I sighed. Even Mia had told me I was a skunk for sneaking out of town. But Mia wasn’t going to take down my slacks and spank my bare ass for being a wimp. All she’d do was point out that I wasn’t owning up to an adult relationship. Johnny, on the other hand, had a whole range of ways of dealing with me.

  ‘What happens to girls who misbehave?’

  I knew the answer that he was looking for, but I remained silent.

  ‘Say it, Charlie.’

  ‘Bad girls get punished,’ I finally whispered, my voice barely audible. I’ve said those words often before, in scenes similar to this one, but I’ve never got accustomed to them. They haven’t lost their power to make me feel like the naughty girl Johnny says I am. But what about Johnny? Who punishes him?

  ‘This is what you wanted, isn’t it? You knew I wouldn’t let you slip away like that, under cover of darkness, without at least a kiss goodbye.’

  But this isn’t a kiss! I wanted to scream. This isn’t a kiss at all. Except in a twisted way it was. It was Johnny’s sort of kiss, and our favourite way to play.

  His hand stroked my ass again, and I closed my eyes, but Johnny would have none of that. ‘Watch,’ he hissed. ‘You look in that mirror, Charlie, and you watch.’

  At his command, I opened my eyes and pushed myself up on my arms, bracing my body. Then I gazed directly forwards into the heart-shaped mirror suspended over the curved brass headboard, knowing that I’d see myself, ready. See myself, undone, as Johnny sees me. But it was a magic mirror. I didn’t see Johnny in his sleek black jeans and blood-red Sex Pistols T-shirt, his metal wallet chain dangling between front and back pockets. And I didn’t see myself in my thin little silvery shirt and blue panties, my cheeks flushed, my eyes alight. Instead, I caught visions of the two of us in the past, engaging in similar situations to this one. I saw us on vacation in Hawaii the year before, with Johnny throwing me over his lap and spanking my bikini-clad bottom on a deserted beach, spanking me and then fucking me out in the white sand to the melody of the lapping tropical waves. Next, I saw him bending me over the polished turquoise hood of a vintage hot rod at a car show, lifting my 50s-style navy-blue polka-dot skirt and lowering my ruffled red panties before giving me a quick, serious thrashing with his strong, open hand. Finally, I saw him spanking me at one of his concerts, backstage, where nobody could see us but several of his bandmates could easily hear, that thought turning me on almost as much as the punishment itself.

  He brought me instantly back into the present as his hand came up, and then down, quickly, to connect with my panty-covered rear. I locked my arms even tighter, and I held myself as still as possible, absorbing the blow. Johnny gave me five stinging spanks exactly like the first before lowering my panties to rest inside my slacks. He’s spanked me completely nude, and totally dressed, but his favourite way to punish me is like this, with me half-revealed, half-naked. Johnny understands how best to play the game. The way he’d positioned his belt where I couldn’t miss it was just one example of his finesse when it comes to letting a girl know that she’s in for something serious.

  I found that I was waiting for him to lift the belt. Through my dread, I yearned to see him shake out the coils, then double up the worn leather and pull it tight to make the wicked thing snap in the air. Of course, Johnny knew how much I wanted to feel the old leather on my skin, and that’s why he made me wait. He let his bare hand redden my blushing behind until I was moaning under the heat of the blows. Each one felt harder than the previous, escalating in intensity. Only after he’d turned my skin a dark-cherry pink did he finally reach for his belt. I watched over my shoulder as he lifted the frightening implement, and the insides of my stomach tightened like a fist. The belt looked even more menacing in his hand, but it also looked right there, as if that old strip of leather belonged in his grip. Johnny always is sexiest when he’s in control.

  He was kind at first as he let me feel the belt against my bare ass. He touched me softly, stroking the leather against my heated ass in a gentle motion. I sighed and lowered my head, groaning, my back muscles taut, my body electrified. Then, as I’d predicted, I heard the leather snap, and right after that I felt the first real sting.

  ‘Oh, God –’ I tossed my head back, my long hair flaming over my shoulders, and I caught an accidental glimpse of myself in the mirror. I looked like some prized beast, all aglow, my dark-green eyes on fire, my lips parted with a silent hunger, lush and engaging.

  ‘That’s right, girl, you take it,’ Johnny said.

  I would. I would take anything he had to give me. Just like always. I was connected to him, fiercely attached, because in this world we were one. Being spanked over his lap, or cuffed to his bed, or thrashed like this with his belt, all bring out some other part in me. Some usually tamed creature who finally gets her voice. Johnny knows how to reach deep inside to find that part of me and set that part free.

  I accepted each blow, nearly silent, nearly still. And, when Johnny was finished, he pushed me forwards on the bed, ripped open his own jeans and fucked me. He was unbelievably hard after a scene like that, and I was so wet that I could feel the satiny juices pooling between my nether lips and coating my inner thighs. The reassuring sensation of him entering me was the most erotic thing of all. My body tightened on him, drawing him in, and he exhaled hard and grabbed a great handful of my red mane, twisting my head back for a real kiss. A passionate kiss. He pulled my hair tightly, and I cried out, so hungry for him.

  As he worked his body on mine, he
stared down into my eyes. I felt as if I were forced to submit my very will to his piercing gaze. His grey eyes looked opaque, reflecting my own desires, a mirror into a secret world.

  This is how we spent our last hours together. Not in sweetness. Not in some clichéd embrace drenched in moonlight and romance, but locked together in a blazing battle of wills. With me taking everything he had to give, and him giving far more than he ever meant.

  Johnny didn’t stay the entire night. I hadn’t truly thought that he would, but I tried to make him remain with me anyway. ‘Sleep here,’ I insisted, patting the mattress at my side. ‘You don’t have a gig tomorrow. You can go back in the morning.’

  ‘No –’

  ‘It’s nearly seven hours, Johnny. You won’t get home until dawn.’ I could see him in the car, smoking cigarette after cigarette, radio blaring to erase the sounds and the images of what we’d just shared.

  He shook his head. ‘I need to get back.’

  That wasn’t the truth, and we both knew it. The truth was that, if he stayed, we’d undoubtedly have sex again in the morning, probably in the shower up against the cold glass walls. He’d soap me all over, his fingers sliding along the slick curves of my body, dipping between my legs to find me wet and ready for him. After lathering me up with the thick soapy bubbles, he’d fuck me under the hot spray of the shower raining down on us both. And maybe after an experience like that I’d drive back to LA with him, following his Mustang in my tiny car. For a few weeks we’d be inseparable, back together as if we’d never been apart. We’d go out for coffees in the morning, meet up together after work, recreate the pleasure we’d had when we first met. The simpleness of being together. But then things would disintegrate again, as they always did – he’d play the flirt with some trampy girl at a concert; I’d turn cold and stony inside, hating myself for wanting to be with him in spite of everything else – and I’d be left feeling that I’d made a terrible mistake.