by Travis Borne
Movie night. George, really, didn’t give a shit about the movies.
After work she’d picked up the old flicks: George’s favorites. The quaint library was stuffed with old media and odds and ends. Its staff even made deliveries. Anything that could be scavenged had been transferred to the archives: videotapes and DVDs, books, records, newspapers, magazines, even clippings of ads; all if it had value. Early on, the first town panel decided to organize this library, reasoning, the stuff could be available to every person, what relatively little they possessed from the outside world could be cataloged and accounted for. Why permit miscellany to be owned, occupying one place while deteriorating, when all citizens should have a turn to appreciate the things? Therefore, much was shared within the wall, and there was a surplus of time to share it.
Neither wore clothes when they didn’t have to, George’s rules. And Jessie just stood there, while from the bed, George marveled at her body. She made sure the videocassette player was eating the old western in a good way. Then it began to play. George had seen the thing a hundred times. It was one of his all-time favorites. From it he’d even concocted many of the rules for their life together, based on his favorite parts: the saloons and whorehouses. Jessie met him at a young age and never really knew much else, so never complained. In a sexy manner she bent over more than needed, legs straight to fix the tracking, while George admired. He commanded that she hold still for a moment, then gave the okay. She stood up and made sure it was playing smoothly, then jumped happily back onto the bed. George waved a finger, then pointed. She saw. The tracking again. She got up and fixed it, bent over, legs straight.
“Uh…well, Baby?” he asked, almost deciding to make her get up and needlessly fix the tracking again.
“Well, what?” Jessie replied, cuddling up to him.
“Get rid of Amy—then you, I mean we, won’t get bald and ugly. Shit, you saw Jim. I mean—fuck. And Nanny? She looks like she aged thirty years in a week—ready to croak.”
“You know we can’t do that, George.” She blew off the idea, laughing at his joke. “We’re just gonna have to go through with it. We’re young—and come on, how much worse can we look?” She stood up and posed for him then spun around, flinging her blond hair. “How much worse can I look? I don’t think I’ll go bald, George—but you might,” she joked, moving gracefully.
The apartment had mirrors, plenty of them, which George had used his conniving and sly bartering skills to acquire. Without taking his eyes off her, he angled his bedside lamp, looking her up and down while she spoke. She was a creature to behold and he lusted for every opportunity to watch her flaunt as she so often did for him. One of his rules: dance often, and he loved how it had become second nature to her. She was his female, and he would do anything to keep her as she was—anything. As far as he was concerned life was perfect.
She played with her smooth, curvaceous body, inches from his eyes. As he leaned closer, she teased him; another chance to catch the likes of his eye. She devoured the attention, too; it called her like a drug. She knew he’d starve her for it once in a while but that just made things build, only to explode more blissfully later on.
Watching her snake from side to side, her petite waist above moderately but perfectly generous hips, her lightly oiled and hairless skin, it was all right there, all for him. She waved her smell, and he drew it in. A day’s worth of being alive and everything that came with it, salty sweat and body odor, all mixed with the sweet pungency of sex; it drove him wild and she paraded in it, never, ever washing until morning. She held her nose—like the genie in one of his favorite shows—and wriggled down, then turned around, her back facing him. Pulling her hair over her shoulder, she revealed the perfect heart that was her tail end and palmed the dirty floor. Inching forward, she brought her breasts lower, then lower, then lower. She kept her body still and held the squat, elevating her rear more and more with each second seemingly being stolen from time—then turned quickly to see his hypnotized eyes. She teased him with her slow and sensual smile, and pulled on her luscious lips with clumsy fingers—her long nails almost scratching the pink. Wriggling back up, casually, she winked and then blew him a kiss. Her long hair teased him painfully as she arched her back and let it feather into place, eclipsing her ass. And she straightened like time meant jack shit, gradually, until her hourglass figure brought the world to its knees. Her electric-blond veil rose like a curtain, revealing all as her grazing, delicate fingers rode the silky waves of her creamy, lightly scratched skin. All the way up, up, until her hands circled her breasts, then she grabbed them both, firm and tight, squeezing hard enough to cause herself pain, then spun, letting her hair slice the air around her pungent magnificence in a time-stopping orbit.
He made up his mind. What George wants—George gets. What George has, George keeps, and no one will ever take it away. No one!
“Don’t stop, Baby,” he said. “I want to remember you like this.” She lowered the volume on the screen and pressed play on a dinosaur cassette player. Island music played and she modified her moves to follow the vibe, feeding his fetish. She jumped and bounced, but made it sexy.
His plan formed quickly, in less than a minute. Phase one: Jessie. He raised a finger and pointed. “Your ass is perfect, the best in town. But, I must say farewell to it. It will sag, perhaps by week’s end.”
Jessie arched her spine and looked down at her bare ass reflecting in the double set of mirrors beside the bed. She bounced it a little and flinched a frown, but quickly resumed her dance. She enjoyed doing it, really, and he was flooding her with the attention she so desperately needed.
“Your breasts,” he continued, “the perfect size, not too large, not too small, with those delicious pink nipples—as young and firm as a woman of say, twenty years. Men freeze in their tracks to watch you pass. But, they will fall, by Friday you’ll tote empty bags of skin with droopy nipples.”
Jessie spun around, continuing to move her hips side to side with the—as if the cassette had sunbathed in June—warped beat. She had excellent rhythm but broke it to take another look. She took a deep breath and lifted her chest, examining her perky breasts, bouncing them, shaking side to side a little, then frowned at the thoughts.
“Your skin—”
“Stop it, George,” Jessie said abruptly, ceasing her erotic dancing. She put her hands on her hips. “I know what you’re trying to do. As much as I hate it, what else can we do? I’m not gonna start working in the restaurant—or cleanup duty. We’ll still look like this when we’re logged in, won’t we?” George lifted a single eyebrow and shrugged. With a long face, she plopped next to him, one leg hanging off the bed, one knee toward him.
“It’s okay, we’ll both look our age,” he said casually. “Only the young women are supposed to have…" He reached forward and gently massaged her breasts; she looked down at his hands. “Yeah, let’s just forget it.” And he knew, he had her right where he wanted her.
Jessie thought about the hit they would take, then the big picture and the reason for lending in the first place; it faded, dissolving into oblivion. She saw George’s eyes, and thought for a second about him with one of the younger girls. And George watched her dwell on it.
He’d inserted the idea, deeper than needed even, with only a few sentences. It wouldn’t have worked without their many years together, all the rules, the routines, the drilling—his special training. And he realized he was a genius.
Jessie looked up at him, then down and along his body. He was ready again. The number one rule awaited, and she reached to touch him. They made love for the fourth time that day.
Once again, George got exactly what he wanted. Watching her on top of him, pumping, sweating, for upwards of an hour, a content, prideful smile formed. He interlocked his fingers behind the back of his head as she kept on. He knew she was exhausted, but, it was the rule. George always gets what he wants.
The screen was static. Jessie awoke and carefully slid out from his arms. He
stayed asleep and she was glad because she wasn’t sure if she could do it again. It was still early in the night, only ten; they usually didn’t go to bed until eleven or so but she was dreadfully sore. She went to the bathroom. She had to pee but hesitated and stood in front of the mirror, then flicked on the light. Just standing there. For a good minute she just stared. At herself, her body, arms straight at her sides. For some reason she did not feel happy. That empty feeling was returning, or more so, the thought of an empty future; she couldn’t imagine life without him. She caressed her nipples, traced them with her fingers, then cupped her hands under her breasts and bounced them a little, then glided her hands down her shapely, thin body and stood back a little. She looked at herself in the other larger mirror. She loved George and did not want to get ugly—he won’t love me anymore. And her thoughts tormented her. What will Monday bring? How ugly will I get? Of course, he can have any other. She made up her mind, then sat to pee.
“George, George. Wake up,” Jessie said, pushing at him. He awoke from his short hour nap to see her on his side, sitting on her calves.
“Again? Can’t you ever get enough?” George said. He laughed groggily.
“I—guess, I’m in,” Jessie replied meekly. “But we don’t have to hurt her, do we? We can—hide her, until our turns get passed—”
George upgraded his smile to a sinister grin and the power of it stopped her words. “Get me a drink and I’ll tell you.” His eyes followed her. Another rule: strut side to side, swing it, gracefully, always. His grin mutated into a slow bobbing nod and shadows from the dim light of the static buzzing on the dresser further sculpted his face. She’s mine, forever. He ogled at the slow side-to-side thrusts she’d perfected so well.
She returned with more than a drink. She’d put together a late-night snack, remembering the good times they’d shared: staying up late, eating, talking, and lovemaking. She reminisced and wanted things to be great, forever. And seeing him, lying there nude, propping his head, elbow on the pillow, with a contented look of approval, it filled the emptiness she’d had in the bathroom. And likewise, it filled that void, that pit, the one that constantly needed filling.
George grabbed a handful and stuffed his mouth. Jessie sat with half a cheek off the bed, the other stretched onto it, ass crack taking the corner: another rule, spread the scent.
“Well?” she said, holding the plate for him. “Are you gonna tell me? What do I—”
“You have to fuck David,” he said, with a stuffed mouth. “The one in the control room.” He spit seeds onto the floor and took another bite.
After the momentary shock faded, and the earth finished rumbling beneath her, she screamed, “What? You are kidding, right?” He shrugged and took a drink. “No fucking way! David who? Are you crazy, George?”
He kept stuffing face, studying her reaction.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” She was overly upset and stood up. She crossed her arms and looked down at him. George just sat there, chewing, his head fixed but his eyes following her. “George!” she yelled. “Answer me!”
“Sit down, Baby, please,” George said, as he swallowed his last mouthful and the last bit of food on the plate. He wanted to test his control on her, nudge it, push it. “Look—you don’t have to, but if we want this…” He touched her leg close to her knee, then brought two fingers up along her inner thigh. “Baby…there’s no other way.”
Jessie was still steaming, her face flustered. But her madness changed to utter sadness and her color faded so quickly it made her weak. She sat again, the same way. “George, how can you ask me to do this? Don’t you—”
“Jess, David works in the control room. He can—”
“Gross, George, come on!” Jessie protested. “That beady-eyed guy? You are crazy. He already practically rapes me every time he sees me—with those dark raccoon eyes. I hate the way he looks at me.”
“Baby,” he said, massaging her leg back and forth, “I already talked to him. Sort of joking, but I know he’ll do it. I asked him what he would do for…you know. Anyway, he said he’d aim the cameras away for five minutes while we, do our thing—any more would be suspicious. All you have to do is meet him late tomorrow in the park, go back to his place, then—”
“I can’t, George.”
“Babe, just show him your clit. I bet he’ll pop like a rabbit getting electrocuted.”
But Jessie just kept moving her head side to side. And she looked fragile, and shaky as if she was going to pass out. George paused, noticing, but continued nudging the idea.
“Jessie, make it quick—” He stuttered a laugh. “Would probably be less than a minute anyway. Then, Monday morning before work tell Amy you would like to walk with her to work, and talk a little. Just…tell her you want a truce, that you want to be friends, get to know her a little. Ask her if she’d like to take the long way to work, along Rim Road so you can talk and get acquainted before logging in together. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“I don’t know, George. I don’t want to sleep with anyone, only you.”
“Come here.” George pulled her close. “You know I love you, Baby, and after this we’ll be together forever, just me and you, young and beautiful. And this little one-time thing won’t change anything. Like Rico reminded us—we’re at war, right? The things we do at the lender facility, the hard things like he said, it’s because we are at war. This is our way to fight, and sometimes we all have to do things we don’t want to do.”
“I know, George, but—” Jessie wept, and finally, her muscles gave out. She fell limp into his arms.
“I love you, Baby—” He rocked her a little. “—you know that, don’t you?” He palmed the back of her head, then grabbed her hair, and forcibly turned her head to face to him. Their eyes met. As though a bulb had been smashed, hers were less of a bright green, turgid and gushing with tears. He slowly continued, “And I know you can do this. But if you don’t want to do this one thing for me, for our future together, I will understand. We can call it off right now.”
Jessie couldn’t speak right away. She felt a sharp pain invading her throat, it hurt to swallow, and her body trembled. She cried like a little girl, sniffling. But, she wanted more than anything to make George happy, and to keep him so, forever; to keep that painful empty pit full at all times. It was empty again, more than ever, and she accepted that only by doing something extreme like this for him, could it ever be full again.
“I love you, George. I’ll…do it for you.” She squeezed herself into him. Water-balloon-sized tears fell to his body and pooled between his ripped chest muscles.
George lowered his hand to caress her naked hips and smiled while ogling at her nude body again. His grin grew as the pool of tears deepened, as they overflowed onto the dirty sheets. And he had to try to contain a laugh. He dissembled it in exchange for a sinister full-toothed smile. Mine forever, she’ll do whatever I want, he thought. The elevated power of control he had over her left him feeling fantastic. And he thought about how well he was going to sleep, right after another hour or so of good…
62. A Board Game
The next day she left David’s apartment and headed home.
Ding. The elevator stopped on the ninth floor and the doors opened. Jessie composed herself but it was obvious she’d been crying. She walked down the hallway to the last apartment and knocked on the door.
“It’s open, Jim, you know that,” Amy said. The knob turned and Jessie peeked inside. “Gee, that was fast. Oh—Jessie, it’s you. I’m sorry I was expecting Jim with some food from my Mom’s. Um, what’s up?”
Meekly she said, “I hope I’m not intruding, can I come in?”
“Of course, you’re welcome anytime,” Amy replied. “We were gonna play one of these old board games that I checked out from the library. Have you ever played this one?” She’d been reading the instructions when Jessie knocked.
“No, I can’t say I have. I, I just wanted to apologize for how I’ve acted toward you. I kno
w we will be logging in tomorrow morning and…I want us to get along. I…want to be your friend.” A big smile lit Amy’s face and she tossed the instructions and got up.
“I would be honored to be your friend,” Amy said, walking toward her. “Apology accepted.” She noticed Jessie had puffy eyes. “Jessie, are you okay? You look like you’ve been crying.”
Jessie wiped any trace of lingering tears and blinked her eyes. She didn’t feel comfortable in Amy’s apartment, and as she had just found out, Jim would be coming back soon. Although he’d changed, she knew him notably as a grouch and couldn’t take any negativity, not right now. “I’m fine,” she said. “I was thinking of how we…might have been mean to you, and I started to cry on the way over here. Friends then.” Jessie changed her tone to a perky one. “And, I wanted to ask if you would join me on the walk to work tomorrow. I know you like going through the park so I figured we could take the long way around and, get to know each other a little.”
“I’d absolutely love to,” Amy said. “I’ll wait for you here, just knock when you're ready. I do wake up early, though—I love going to work, that’s why I’m always first.”
Jessie seemed uneasy and there was an awkward moment so, Amy suggested again, “Are you sure you won’t join us? I think this game is better with more players. It’s something about buying properties and houses and stuff.”