by Alexa Land
“You’re adorable,” he told me, grinning happily. He too was dressed in a full winter ensemble, but on him, it looked rugged and outdoorsy. I just looked like a fifth grader in Minnesota going out for recess.
Kieran took my gloved hand in his and led me out of the cabin, a blanket draped over his arm. It had stopped snowing, the night sky clear, but it was stunningly cold and very dark. He led me up a little path through the pine trees, climbing the hillside behind the cabin, the snow crunching under our feet. “Can you actually see where you’re going? Because I can’t see a thing,” I said.
“More or less. But I don’t really need to see, because I know this path like the back of my hand.” He stumbled on something then, and quickly righted himself. “Except for that branch. That’s not usually there.” He chuckled and continued to lead the way.
Finally we emerged into a little clearing. “Well, that’s certainly a nice picnic table,” I deadpanned. “Can we go back to bed now?”
“You’re going to like this, I promise.” Kieran brushed the snow off the tabletop, then wrapped the blanket around himself and sat on the table. He held his arms out to me and I sat between his legs, leaning back against him. He encircled me in a warm, comfortable embrace, wrapping the blanket snugly around both of us.
The sky was a riot of constellations. “Are we here to see the stars?” I asked.
“Kind of,” he said, his voice hushed. “Give it a minute.”
A little streak of white darted across the sky just then, and I sat up and spun around to look at Kieran. “I just saw a shooting star!”
He smiled at me. “Keep watching.”
Not two minutes later, I saw another one and gasped, clapping my hands together like a five-year-old. “That’s kind of miraculous,” I exclaimed. “How could I see two shooting stars in one night?”
“You’re watching the Quadrantids,” Kieran said. “There’ll be more.”
“What is that?”
“A meteor shower that happens every January.”
I drew in my breath as two more faint streaks raced each other across the night sky. “It’s amazing,” I said softly, settling back into his arms. “Thank you for showing me this.”
He cuddled me securely, a smile in his voice as he said, “I hoped you’d like it. I’ve always kind of been an astronomy geek. Not everyone appreciates something like this, though.”
“How could anyone not appreciate this? It’s magical,” I said softly. An especially bright streak of light slashed across the inky blackness, burning up brilliantly, and I accidentally let out a little cheer before realizing there were probably neighbors within earshot. Kieran smiled at that and kissed my shoulder.
We watched the sky for maybe an hour, before the cold drove us back inside. Kieran stoked the fire, then joined me under the blankets. His cheeks were rosy from the cold, his blue eyes alight with happiness. He was absolutely radiant. I smiled at him as I gathered him in my arms and said, “Thank you again for showing me that. I’ll never forget it.”
“I’m so glad you enjoyed it.”
I caressed his hair, and after a while I said, “There’s a lot more to you than meets the eye, Kieran. You’re really different than I expected, based on my first impression of you.”
“Oh God, my first impression. You mean the one where I was drunk off my ass and dressed like a crazy person?”
I laughed and said, “Yeah, that one. What was up with that sweater, anyway?”
“My cousin Erin gave it to me last Christmas as a gag gift, and I kept threatening to wear it in public. She was at the party, and mortified to see me actually dressed in that thing.” He chuckled delightedly. And then he added, “Little did I know that the most beautiful boy I’d ever seen would be waiting for me under a clump of mistletoe. Had I known that, I would have dressed better.”
“It was kind of cute.”
He smiled at me. “It was kind of insane. Also, for the record, I don’t make a habit of public drunkenness. But then again, maybe it was good I was drunk. Otherwise, I would never in a million years have gotten up the courage to follow you back there and kiss you.”
“Follow me? I thought you were looking for your cousin.”
“That was just my drunken attempt at drawing you into conversation.”
I grinned at that. “Smooth.”
He grinned too. “Thanks. The mistletoe was just dumb luck, though.”
“So, anything else I should know about that night? Seems our meeting was far less coincidental than I was led to believe.”
“Well, as long as I’m confessing things, I’ll also admit that you were the reason I was so drunk. I’d spotted you across the bar earlier in the evening, and kept telling myself, just one more beer, and then I’ll go up and introduce myself. I kept stalling over the course of eight or nine beers. I’d never approached a guy before and was so nervous, especially because I’d set my sights so high. It would have made sense to start with someone easier, not the most beautiful boy in that bar. You completely intimidated me.”
“Oh come on! Did you see who I was sitting with? That was the most beautiful boy at the party, not me.”
“Your companion didn’t interest me in the slightest. All I saw was you.” His smile was soft and dreamy.
“I don’t know how you manage to make even the most blatant line sound so sincere,” I teased.
He settled against my chest, “Oh, it isn’t a line. I have no game whatsoever. If I tried to use a line on you, it would be something like, are those space pants? Because they make your butt look out of this world. Which, in addition to being horrifying, isn’t even original.”
I chuckled at that. “Well, I guess a guy that looks like you do wouldn’t need lines anyway. You’d just have to flex a huge bicep, and panties would drop all around the room.”
He looked up at me with a big smile. “You’re completely making fun of me.”
“No I’m not. I will admit that I judged you by the bod when I first saw you. I’ve never known what to make of people that hang out at the gym forty hours a week, or whatever.”
He rolled his eyes, but he did it good-naturedly. “Just FYI, the ‘gym’ in this case is a set of free weights and a machine in the empty bedroom next to mine. I spend a lot of time confined to the top floor of my house, because my roommate is…difficult. About the only thing to do up there is work out. It’s also the main way I burn off stress.” He grinned broadly and added, “You hated everything about me when we met. It’s a miracle you didn’t kick me in the nads when I went in for that kiss.”
“On the contrary. I thought you were stunningly handsome. Still do,” I admitted. “Also, you know your way around a pair of lips. So once that kiss was deployed, I was firmly on Team Drunk Guy.”
“Awesome. I kept thinking of you as Dream Boy after that night, and you were thinking of me as Drunk Guy. Which is my own fault, I suppose.” He was still smiling.
“No,” I said, shaking my head in mock seriousness. “I didn’t think of you as Drunk Guy. I thought of you as Rudolph.”
He laughed delightedly at that. “I should have had the sense to jettison that sweater before I went after you. But I wasn’t entirely rational by that point.”
“Well, eighteen beers have a tendency to do that to a person.”
“Not eighteen! Eight! Maybe nine. Ten, tops.”
“Ten!” I exclaimed.
“Kind of explains the whole super flattering passing out portion of the evening.”
Chapter Six
Time passed far too quickly. Kieran and I must have broken some kind of record for the number of times two people could have sex in a forty-eight hour time period. He was completely insatiable, but then, so was I. There was so much more to the weekend besides just great sex, though. We had such an easy rapport, and I thoroughly enjoyed his company. He was sweet and charming and considerate, and I’d gotten really attached to him, despite myself.
We were both quiet on the long drive back to San F
rancisco. He kept reaching over and taking my hand, holding it until he needed to shift gears, then picking it up again. When we were almost home, he blurted nervously, “Would you go out with me?” Then he added, “I know this was just supposed to be a weekend fling, and neither of us is looking for a relationship right now. But I really want to see you again.”
“I don’t date, Kieran.”
“Ever?”
“It’s just not something I do,” I said quietly.
“Why not?”
“It’s complicated.” God, was it complicated.
I really wanted to give him a different answer – I wanted Kieran so damn much that it scared me. And I felt terrible about turning him down. But how could we date? Given my job, my life, my personal issues, it just seemed so impossible.
“Ok. Fair enough,” he said, trying to keep his tone light. After a couple minutes, he ventured, “So, in that case, would you maybe be willing to try some kind of friends with benefits arrangement? We’re so good together that I don’t want it to end, and maybe that’s a no-pressure solution.”
I wanted so much more than just sex with Kieran. But it was all I could really offer him, so I agreed to his proposition. At least this was something, a way to keep him in my life. He recited his number, which I typed into my phone, and then I sent him a quick text so he’d have my number as well. When he pulled up in front of my apartment, he turned to me with a hopeful expression and said, “How about one more for the road?” I didn’t have to ask what he meant.
We rushed upstairs and started kissing urgently, tearing each other’s clothes off the moment the front door closed behind us. I ended up bending him over the back of the couch and taking him hard and fast. He pulled off his t-shirt and threw it over the sofa, so when he came he hit that and not the upholstery. I had to grin at how considerate that was.
Afterwards, he got dressed as I carried the soiled condom to the bathroom trash and washed up a bit. When I came back into the living room, he was dressed only in his jeans and sneakers, the soiled t-shirt wrapped up in a little bundle in his hand. He was standing by the back wall of the living room, staring at the series of paintings I’d hung there, and said, “These are astonishing. Who’s the artist?”
“Me,” I admitted self-consciously.
Kieran turned to me, eyes wide with amazement. Then his face erupted into a huge smile. “I know you said you were an art student, but this is so far above and beyond. You’re incredibly talented.”
I murmured, “Those are all kind of rough, I’m still learning.”
“They look perfect to me.”
“They’re not.”
He watched me for a moment, then leaned in and kissed my cheek. “Well, I’d better get going. Thank you for an amazing weekend, Christopher.”
“Thank you too, for everything.”
“Let’s get together sometime this week. You say the word, and I’ll be here with bells on. And nothing else.” He smiled at me, and headed for the door. I wanted to stop him, ask him to stay the night. But instead, I just wrapped my arms around myself and watched him go.
The next day was Monday, which meant the end of my two week winter break. When I opened the front door to leave for school, a thick nine-by-twelve envelope that had been leaning against the door dropped into my apartment. I picked it up and tore it open, then slid out the thick sheaf of papers. On the top of the first page, in small, tidy printing, was written:
This isn’t me trying to fix you. It’s me caring about you. –K.
Kieran must have been up half the night doing research. The packet contained information on every clinic and specialist in the bay area addressing eating disorders and phobias, which he’d printed from the internet.
Briefly, I glanced through the packet. I’d actually already done all this research, I knew about these supposed experts. And the reason I hadn’t gone to see any of them was that I was afraid. I was scared to death that if someone tried to tinker with my problems and got it wrong, then I’d start to reject the one and only thing I could eat. If my issues got worse instead of better, if I stopped being able to eat anything at all, I’d end up institutionalized and hooked to an IV, because that would become the only way I could survive. That idea was nothing short of terrifying.
I thought it was sweet that Kieran cared enough to do this for me, though. I put the packet on an end table in the living room and went to school. It was the first day of the new quarter, and I was excited. For three hours today, I would get to immerse myself in nothing but art. I never felt more upbeat and optimistic than when I was in school.
Unfortunately, it was also my first day back on the job, so after class I went into the restroom and hid in one of the stalls as I changed out of my baggy t-shirt and jeans. I took a little drawstring pouch from my backpack, and dumped a few pieces of silver jewelry into my palm. I positioned a C-shaped piece of metal with a little silver ball at the top inside my navel and pushed it through my skin. It emerged about a quarter inch below my belly button, where I twisted a little silver ball onto the end of it. My nipples were also pierced. I tugged on one to get it hard, then slid a little silver ring through it before doing the same with my other nipple.
There were several more places that I was pierced, some far more intimate than this. But today’s particular client only liked these three pieces of jewelry. I personally hated my piercings. I’d only gotten them because in this line of work, it paid (literally) to add a bit of spice, to occasionally present myself as more than just a generic little blue-eyed blonde. The majority of my client base found my piercings exotic, a turn-on. As soon as I was able to retire from prostitution, the body jewelry was going in the trash.
I was already wearing skimpy little bright blue briefs under my clothes, and I pulled on a pair of skin-tight low-rise black jeans and a tight, cropped t-shirt. A lot of escort agencies let their boys wear whatever they wanted when they went to meet their clients, but the one I worked for thought whores should dress like whores. I pulled a huge sweatshirt over my work clothes so I could leave campus without completely embarrassing myself, but still felt self-conscious.
I hopped on a bus and headed across town to meet my client. He was one of my regulars, fucking me once a week like clockwork, always on his lunch break. Like so many of the men that used the escort service, he was a wealthy middle-aged guy that went home to his wife and kids at the end of each day. In other words, he was a total douchebag. This one worked at a law firm in the financial district, and kept a little efficiency apartment close to his office solely for this purpose. I arrived before he did and let myself in with my key, then shucked my sweatshirt and shoes and socks. I double-checked the nightstand for lube and condoms before getting on my knees near the door and waiting for him.
The client’s name was Jerry. Or at least, that’s what he told me. He expected me to be submissive, and always had me wait just like this for him. He booked me for two hours at a time and often kept me waiting for well over an hour, just because he liked the thought of me uncomfortable and on my knees. He always had me wait dressed too, because he enjoyed making me strip myself while he watched.
I knew as soon as he let himself into the apartment that this was going to be a rough session. Even without looking at him, I could feel the tension in him, could hear it in the way he slammed the door and threw his keys on the coffee table. I kept my eyes on the carpet like I was supposed to, and watched his polished loafers as they came into view.
He stood there for a long minute, just daring me to look up at him, daring me to ask a question. I knew better. Suddenly, he grabbed my hair and jerked me upward, then backhanded me across the face. He hit me so hard that my vision blurred for just a moment, and I cried out despite myself. He’d never hit me like this, not once in the eight months he’d been fucking me. It threw me off, but only for a moment. I regained my composure and cast my gaze downward, even though he was still pulling my head back.
“Did you enjoy your two weeks off, bitch
?” His voice was low, menacing. I didn’t answer. I wasn’t allowed to speak to him, it was part of his particular brand of control freak. “You know I expect to fuck your worthless little cunt once a week. Did you stop to consider that when you decided you deserved a vacation?” He shook me by my hair and backhanded me again. I was expecting it this time. I didn’t react at all.
That really annoyed him, and he dragged me by my hair across the room and threw me on the floor next to the bed. “Strip, you fucking whore,” he growled. I took my clothes off without hesitation.
Treating me like shit was a real turn-on for him, and he unzipped the fly of his beige suit and pulled his dick out, stroking himself as I undressed. As soon as I was naked, he grabbed my hair again and pulled me up to his crotch. I steeled myself and opened my mouth. Not surprisingly, he fucked my throat violently. He didn’t have a lot of stamina (thank God) so after just a few minutes of this he threw me on the bed and put on a condom. That was solely for his benefit, of course. He obviously didn’t give a shit what happened to me.
He lubed his shaft quickly (again for his benefit) and mounted me with one hard thrust. Almost over, I told myself as I lay motionless, face-down on the ugly floral bedspread. He never lasts longer than five minutes. Soon it’ll be over, and I can go home. He fucked me hard, grabbing my hair, yanking my head back. It hurt, but it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. It was just my body, I reminded myself. And it had survived so much worse than this.
He came in record time, probably because he was so turned on by abusing me. He pulled the condom off and threw it on the bed next to me, then zipped up and left without a word. God I fucking hated that jerk.
I reached under the nightstand, mad at myself because my hands were trembling, and found the pair of long-handled salad tongs I’d hidden there months ago. I used them to pick up the soiled condom and throw it in the toilet (that was a regular habit of his). Then I glanced at my face in the mirror. Well, at least it didn’t look like I was going to have a bruise from where he’d backhanded me. I put the tongs back in their hiding place and got dressed in my school clothes, still angry about the fact that I was shaking. This man didn’t matter. What he did to me didn’t matter. I shouldn’t be upset over a couple slaps, I was tougher than that.