by K Larsen
I ask for a picture of his hands in my email to him. It is a strange request but one that weeds out the serious ones from the amateurs. The serious ones always send a picture of their hands—no questions asked.
I am only flesh and bone. Since Holden, only a flicker of flame lives inside me. I try to kindle it by succumbing to my darker desires. I need the pain to enjoy the pleasure.
The last time I tried to date, months ago, ended in disaster. When I finally felt ready to be intimate. When I finally stripped bare. When he saw my scars. He panicked, though I had warned him. To make matters worse, the very normal sex left me feeling unfulfilled and repugnant. Polluted.
I’ve pondered, in my nyctophilia, the heart of the matter and although I don’t think Dr. Richardson would think it is healthy, it is safe. As safe as it can be, anyhow. If I get a bad feeling, I walk away. It is not a done deal when I email back. I still have an out. And I’ve used it. I keep waiting. Holding my breath for that moment. The one where bats fill my belly and flutter. I keep expecting to find another Holden. One who lives among society. A docile version perhaps. One who is also looking for me. I shut my laptop and change my top before heading out.
I have not had good luck. But these one night stands suit me just fine. I do not think I can be bothered to sustain a relationship, if a spark doesn’t ignite from the first instant together.
I sigh and take my seat at the bar. I always come to the same bar. Just far enough from home to be anonymous. The drive here is only thirty minutes. I miss green eyes, long, unruly hair and defined muscles. I miss the scent of an outdoorsman. The bartender nods. I never speak to him, but this is where I tell all my ... conquests, to meet me. He slides a beer at me. I never drink it. I wait. Wait for my Craigslist guy to arrive.
The music on the jukebox is not my predilection. It is too loud and too chaotic for my taste. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle. I glance casually around. Nothing is out of place. It all appears status quo. A head interrupts my gaze.
“Hi?”
I take him in. He doesn’t look like much. A smallish man with a kind face. “Gill?” He nods.
“What’s your name?” he asks.
“Is that really relevant?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I mean, it’d be nice to know, like, one thing about you.”
“Can I see your hands?” I ask. He holds them out on the bar, palms up. “I’m writing a book,” I say. There, one truth for him.
His ear-to-ear grin is cute. Not rugged. Not infectious or endearing, just winsome. He is diminutive. Maybe only an inch or two taller than I am. His clothes are Target or Walmart. Not that it matters. I check him over and decide that perhaps, he can inflict some, but not much, pain. But it is adequate for tonight. I lean in and whisper to him that I will follow him to a hotel.
Liam
I sense what is coming before I see it. I can feel it through the soles of my boots.
She sits with her back to the wall, one foot dangling toward the floor, the other propped up on the bar stool next to her. Her long legs tease. Who is she meeting? There was no mention of going anywhere in her emails to Eve or Aubry. I saw her Craigslist search history, which led me to look through her emails. I really should thank my guy from The Black for getting me access to Nora’s passwords. There was a short and to the point chain between her and an anonymous Craigslist email address asking for pictures of hands. Which made me chuckle. What the hell is that about? But the respondent sent a picture and Nora replied with a place to meet. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up like they have been zapped with static electricity. A man comes in. Sits down next to her.
I watch from my booth near the back. He chats her up. All five foot ten of him. Every last scraggly blond hair and the cheap clothes he wears, light up around her. I don’t blame the poor sucker, she’s out of his league and he’s probably thanking the one-night-stand- Gods that she’s even humoring him with curt conversation. He nods at something she says. His eyes glow with anticipation at whatever she’s said to him. He slides off the barstool and walks out with a grin on his face. I scowl because I don’t like being in the dark. I like facts. I like power and knowledge and right now, I have neither.
She sits one arm on the bar, her hand wrapped around a glass of beer. It is still full, but the foam has long since dissolved. AC/DC blaring on the jukebox, she drops her foot off the stool, and puts five bucks on the bar. The bartender swipes it up, and watches her go. A little too closely for my liking. I leave a twenty on the table and stand when she’s through the door.
I count to five before following her to the parking lot.
She’s in the arms of that little gremlin from the bar. She followed him to a cheap motel. The shades are threadbare and I can see their silhouettes from my parking spot. His arms lift her shirt up and over her head. I reach into my trousers. Her body wiggles back and forth as she shimmies from her jeans. I fist my cock. I watch his shadow meld against hers. I stroke. Up slowly, then down.
They shift, his arms extend and she flies backward to the bed. A low growl escapes me. Apparently, she likes it rough. I tighten my grip and stroke myself faster. For her. For that milky white skin I can almost feel, if I concentrate hard enough. For that crimson hair that is probably softer than silk.
The idiot’s body straddles hers. I can see the outline of his arms pinning hers to the bed. Is this what she craves? Their silhouettes move, but not together, against each other. She is pushing against him. A pang of irritation flits through me. I want to intervene. He should not be touching her. She belongs to me.
He flicks off the lamp and casts my world in blackness. I close my eyes, rest my head against the headrest and imagine Nora beneath me. Her soft lips wrapped around my hard cock. Her tongue massaging it. Her wide, innocent eyes begging me to go easy on her. But I don’t. I thrust in with an eagerness that only schoolboys possess their first time around. When I come, it makes me shiver.
After me, she will never troll Craigslist again. I will fill her up so entirely, she’ll beg me not to leave her.
But I will.
Nora
I bite my bottom lip and muffle my moans of pleasure. He pulls his hand away, leaving me wanting, and my eyes pop open. Green jewels shine at me. “Say it, Nora,” he says.
“Only ever you,” I breathe. With one hand, he drags his blade across my skin while his other works between my legs and I am in heaven. I am pleasure and pain. I am his. I reach out in my agony, in my hedonism, to run my fingers through his beard. I am almost there. My fingertips are about to feel him.
* * *
I shoot up to see the morning sun shining through a crack in the half-closed motel curtains. My limbs twitch with inactivity and my emotions run the gamut from rage to fear. But only for a moment. My eyes follow the stream of white light radiating from the window to the rough stubble lying on the pillow next to me. Feeling my stomach tighten at the sight of his naked chest poking out from beneath the blanket, I begin to panic. Swinging my legs to the floor, I notice a pair of tattered jeans, and a gray deep-v T-shirt. Making as little noise as possible, I locate my clothes and dress quickly. I check my purse to make sure all my belongings are in it. When I’m confident I have everything I arrived with, I leave.
In my car, I lock the doors and rest my forehead against the steering wheel. I try to piece together the events of last night. The morning afters are fuzzy and distant, as if my brain goes somewhere else for a time. My phone buzzes from my purse. It startles me and I yelp. I pull it out.
Aubry.
“Hello.”
“Where are you?” she asks. Her voice is light but tense and I know something is up.
“Home,” I lie.
“I’m sitting in your living room,” Aubry deadpans.
Shit. I look around because I do not immediately know where I am. Squinting, I read the street sign left of where I’m parked and get my bearings.
“I’ll be home in thirty,” I say and end the call.
; I don’t need Aubry’s judgment this soon after waking up. I slap the steering wheel twice and groan before putting the car in reverse.
I shouldn’t have stayed the night.
I am surprised I did. It is not something I am generally capable of. My anxiety gets the better of me. The last thing I remember is letting myself close my eyes, just for a moment.
* * *
As we laid in bed together sated, the questions started. It irked me because I wanted to sleep. To rest my eyes for a small while.
“Come on, what's your name?”
I sighed. “That's not important.”
“Tell me one thing about your life or who you are.”
“I love words.” I pulled the blanket up to my chin.
“Who did this to you?” he asked and wiggled a finger under the blanket over my shoulder.
I rolled away from him. “Who doesn't matter.”
“Are you on Facebook?”
“No. Listen,” I said tiredly, “This was fun but I don't intend on repeating it.”
I laid still and slowed my breathing. Gill tried touching my shoulder after a few minutes.
“Are you awake?” I did not answer him. He sighed and the bed shifted as he made himself comfortable. When his breathing slowed and his light snores began, I let myself rest my eyes for a moment.
Liam
It is early morning when the sound of a car starting wakes me. I rub the sleep from my eyes. The motel room door isn’t latched all the way. I look around the parking lot. Nora sits in her car. Head resting on the steering wheel. I wonder what she’s thinking. If she feels me watching her. I will her to look up. To spot me. She lifts her head and slams the steering wheel with a free hand. Anger is something I have not seen in her yet. It’s intriguing. Her brake lights come on. When she pulls out from her spot, I start my car and follow.
She drives like a lunatic. Fast and without care for things like blinkers or yellow lights. I maintain a safe distance behind her until she slows and pulls onto a side street. At the bungalow with the yellow front door, she pulls in the driveway. I park two houses down and kill the engine. I can see into the kitchen window from here—just barely.
My hand rubs my cock as I watch. I am pent up and tense. My hand does nothing to relieve me. I give up and grab my phone. I press the first speed dial. When her voice greets me, my jaw tenses. She is not the one I want.
“Liam.”
“Hello, Candy,” I say.
“We’re not due to meet, are we?” she says. I can picture her blonde hair being brushed over her shoulder.
“No, but I’d like to see you tonight.”
She makes a tsking sound and papers shuffle in the background. “I might be able to squeeze you in at eleven.”
“That’ll have to do.” I hang up and drag my hand through my hair. I need a release. If I can’t have Nora yet, I can at least have Candy. It makes my stomach turn. The thought of giving my body to Candy, when I want Nora. But I can’t stand the bottled up sexuality I feel. I need to take the edge off.
Nora
“Craigslist again?” Aubry says. I wrinkle my nose at her as I enter my living room. Resentment swoops in and morphs into anger. She does not understand. Who is she to judge me? I try to rearrange my thoughts. To find equanimity.
“I don't want a relationship. I want a certain kind of pleasure. I can find it there.” I sound bellicose and childlike. I haven’t had my morning coffee and it is showing in my mood.
“But it’s not safe, Nora.” She twists her legs under her. Burt is curled up next to her looking like a dog bagel.
“I'm not scared of them.” I sink into the armchair across from her and bite my lip and mentally dissect my night. I didn’t garner much pleasure from Gill. It was barely enough to sate me. He wasn’t hard enough on me. I don’t hand out directions with these men. I simply let them know in my ad that I am looking for rough play.
* * *
“Are you even listening? Hello, Earth to Nora.” Aubry’s voice yanks me from my head.
“What? Yes,” I say. Aubry shakes her head and chuckles. “What?”
“I asked, if you had gonneherphsiphilaids.” I laugh. Loud and hardy because ... it is a very Aubry thing to say. And she caught me not paying attention.
“How’s the book coming along?” she asks.
I blow out a breath and pull my hair up into a ponytail. “At a laggard pace.”
“I’m going to pretend I know what that means. Instead of trolling Craigslist, maybe you should write.” She gives me a pointed look.
I shoot one back to her. “Har, har. Why are you even here this early?”
Aubry jumps up, excited. She claps her hands together.
“Because today is dress shopping day.” My shoulders slump. I hate shopping. “But first, we’re hitting the nine a.m. yoga class so that when we try on dresses, they all fit.”
“That’s absurd, you know that, right? Doing yoga before dress shopping will not make them fit any better,” I say.
“Spoilsport. Just do as I say.” Aubry sets her hands on her hips. It is her tell-tale I-mean-business pose. I snort and roll my eyes at her.
“Yes, Master.”
“Go wake up Eve and Lotte.” She points toward the stairs.
“You didn’t wake them up? You just came in and what ... chilled out in someone else’s living room?” I squawk.
She gives me a pout and terribly executed puppy dog eyes. “I’m hurt. I think of this house as mine.”
I approach her, arms spread wide. She lets me hug her. “It is. I was teasing.”
Aubry swats my rear end and giggles.
“Go wake the others,” she says.
I knock on Eve’s door until I hear a groan pour out of her. At Charlotte’s door, I twist the knob without knocking. Pushing it open quietly, I watch her for a moment. She is almost fourteen now and it shows. She is a young lady. I admire her tanned, smooth skin and the way her eyelashes brush the apples of her cheeks. Her mouth is puckered into a small ‘o’ and her breaths make a sweet low whistle. I tiptoe in until I am at her bedside. Leaning over her sleeping form, I spread my fingers out and wiggle them into her sides.
She wakes with a squeal, followed by a peal of laughter.
“Nora, stop!”
“Say the magic word,” I say.
“Sesquip-” I tickle her neck. She grunts and laughs at the same time, causing her word to get garbled. “Sesquipeda—” I do it again. Now, I am laughing. I move to her waist and she finally draws in enough air to get it all out. “Sesquipedalian!”
I remove my hands from her and clap.
“And what does it mean?” I ask.
“Using long or large words,” she says and rolls over to make room for me next to her. I lie down in her bed, grinning. “That is definitely not one of my favorite ways to wake up,” she muses. We lie side by side, staring at the crown of fake wild flowers I hung around her overhead light.
“No?”
She laughs and looks at me. “I prefer my alarm clock to you.” Her eyes give away that she is only joking, although it has become harder and harder to tell what is true sass and what is fun-loving ribbing these days. Teenagers are difficult creatures to discern.
“Mmmhmm.”
“Is Aubry here yet?” she asks. I nod and sit up. Lotte follows suit and hops out of bed before she digs through her monumental pile of clothing on the floor for workout clothes.
“Ten minutes,” Aubry yells up the stairs. Eve’s door creaks open and I leave Lotte to find a fresh change of clothes for myself.
Liam
It took me nearly forty minutes to get to Nora’s house from mine. I’d followed her home, then to yoga and then shopping. I’d treated myself to a coffee and cheese danish while I sat in the corridor at the mall and watched the four women fawn over dresses. I almost touched her. She looked like she needed a break, as if shopping were tiring to her. When she stepped out of the store for a moment, she closed her eyes and leane
d against the glass store front. I walked toward her slowly, watching her inhale and exhale. Her lashes almost touched her cheeks. Her profile defined and her body, womanly. I was almost to her when her eyes opened. I looked to the floor and walked past her. The smell of her skin intoxicated me.
I sink into my chair, and wrap my hands around her mug which I took when I broke into her house today. Temptation crept up on me. It got under my skin and wouldn’t let me be. I had to go in. I’d left the mall and gone straight to her house. My craving for her, unrelenting.
Her room was nothing like I imagined it would be. She doesn’t have many belongings. She is not the typical twenty-three year old. The walls did not hold pictures of friends or family. There were no necklaces dangling from dress knobs. No makeup spread across the bureau. Her clothes were sparse and neatly put away in her closet. The mug was on her nightstand, along with a stack of books. It is plain white, with the phrase Good Morning, Gorgeous stamped on the inside bottom.
I set the mug down and grab my iPad to open iTunes. I am going to buy and read the books that sat stacked next to her bed.
“Liam, is that you?”
I jump. My iPad falls to my lap. “In here, Carol.”
“Ah, there's my handsome man,” she coos. I chuckle.
I squint at her. “It’s Saturday. What are you doing here? Don’t you have a real family to tend to?”
She tsks at me and swats my head as she passes by. Stopping at the mantle above the fireplace, she picks up a piece of paper.
“I forgot my grocery list yesterday.”
“Sure you did.”
“Did you eat the plate I left in the fridge for you? You have to eat, Liam. All these late nights at the office aren’t good for you. How’re you going to find a nice girl and settle down with your hours?”
If she only knew. “I’m fine. I’m young. I have plenty of time.”
She shoots me a look that splits me in half. She wants a nice woman for me to share my life with. She is relentless about reminding me of that fact. She would not be accepting of what I am doing. In fact, she would probably adore Nora Robertson.