by SM Johnson
I giggled, tore off a section of my napkin, balled it up, and tossed it at him. “That’s a long story for a sad look at a cup of coffee.”
Avery laughed. “Yeah, probably too long. How’s your day going?”
My soup and sandwich arrived, and I glanced at it, then at him, blushing again.
“You may go ahead and eat, cute boyfriend.”
I grinned. Avery and I are boyfriends. “My day. Well, aside from being hardly able to drink coffee or eat a cupcake without emailing to death, it’s been good. Four boring manuscripts, four gentle letters.”
I was giddy and chatty through the rest of lunch, and Avery was perfectly indulgent. And then I was giddy and chatty back at work, until Susan told me to put a sock in it, which made Tasha explode trying to hold back a crazy, snorting laugh.
“Yesterday you hardly spoke, and today you can’t hush,” Tasha said, still laughing. “I miss that feeling of being newly in love. Just hope Avery doesn’t burn you.”
Ok, so that embarrassed me into being quiet again. Well, that, and an alert that sprang up on my screen telling me I had something new in my inbox.
It was a reply from the author of the demon story, accepting my offer to publish it as an e-book. I’ve been working out the kinks, he wrote. The latest version is attached, and I look forward to hearing what you think.
There were two files attached. The first was <
I downloaded and opened it. Yep, same story, same author, this time without a cover letter or synopsis. I held my breath and scrolled through the file. It was longer, more complete. There was backstory that let the reader know, without question, that the tentacled creature was, indeed, a demon. Not a ghost. Not an alien. I scrolled fast because I didn’t dare read the dirty details here in the office of submissions.
And then I downloaded the second file. It was titled <
Wait.
What?
I opened it.
Mr. Julian Sparks likes me more than he should. I can’t seem to stop myself from playing little games with him, and when I’m not playing games with him, I’m thinking about what kind of game to play next. He blushes at the simplest sexual innuendo, and is so adorable I can’t stand it. He just – nah, that doesn’t even make sense. He’s the total opposite of the person I’ve become, and the sex games I drag him into feel inevitable. I should work harder at stopping, because, honestly, spanking his bare ass in my office is the ultimate definition of workplace sexual harassment, right? I mean, Evan, the entirety of our Human Resources department, would have an absolute stroke.
It’s like I’m on a raceway just about to crash, because in spite of how much I enjoy Julian, I’m not ready for anything that looks like intimacy. He doesn’t know me. He definitely doesn’t know how I used to be. How can I explain?
When should I explain?
I like him, too. More than I should.
It might already be too late.
And I have no idea how he might react to the truth of me – will his lip curl with disgust? Will he even be able to look at me the same way, ever again? Or maybe he’ll be angry. He’s put a lot of trust in me, and might feel like I’ve been lying to him. What if he feels betrayed and runs back to Minnesota?
He sees me as strong and powerful, the dominant male – obeys my every command.
I hate the feeling of dread that tightens my chest and curls my stomach, the not-knowing. It’s possible that I have fucked this up before it’s even begun.
I don’t think there exists a person who can love me exactly as I am, including the parts of me that aren’t perfect and will never be perfect.
His stutter charms me beyond belief, and yet he thinks it’s a flaw and a weakness. But not me. I see it like the panic of a drowning man caught in a stormy sea, desperately hoping he won’t be pulled under. I can save him – I know I can. He responds to my direct command as if it were a lifesaver, and holds on tight. He’s nervous, yes, but I can calm him, almost without giving it any thought. We’re a perfect complement to one another, yin and yang.
I’m not prone to worries, but things that seem to be too good to be true usually are.
chapter twenty
may you live your life with ease
Yin and yang. I felt that way, too. And too good to be true scared me to death.
It suddenly occurred to me that the document was attached to the demon story. Which meant Avery sent the demon story.
I tore my headphones from my ears, said, “Be right back,” to Tasha, and practically ran to Avery’s office.
I knocked, but didn’t wait, shoving on the door, half-expecting it to be locked, but it wasn’t. It didn’t occur to me that he might be with someone.
Some guy at least twice my age was sitting in the visitor’s chair. My own desk still sported Avery’s beautiful neckties and looked abandoned and forlorn.
I stopped just past the door, like the first day, and stared.
“Yes, Jules?” Avery said.
Was he angry at my intrusion? I studied his face, trying to guess. “Y-y-ou,” I started, but then stopped.
“Jules.” He didn’t sound angry. He sounded patient. “Just tell me, whatever it is.”
I didn’t know who the visitor was, which made me stop and think. It occurred to me this man could be a famous author, and I was about to out Avery. Not his gender, but his hobby, his talent. As an erotica writer.
I took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “It’s yours.”
“Mine?” he questioned, and then seemed to understand. “Oh. That. Yes, it’s mine. Are you okay with that?”
I took another deep breath, then tangled my fingers together. “Yeah. Um, I mean, yes, that’s fine. Just checking.”
“Is that all you needed?”
I nodded, then turned to pull the door open again.
“Jules?” he said, and there was a questioning tone, that made me turn back.
Avery just looked at me, but his lips, his lovely lips were curved into a small smile.
“Yes?” I asked.
“It’s Thursday, so you should leave on time and get some rest. I’ll talk to you later tonight, if that’s all right.”
I said okay, even though I had no idea what he was talking about, and scurried back to submissions.
Avery was the author of the demon story.
How was that even possible?
I couldn’t concentrate, so I went to google and typed ‘Phoenix & Phoenix’. I was offered an entry on Wikipedia for James Elliot Phoenix.
James Elliot Phoenix (June 24 1940 – October 24, 2014) was a well-respected New York-based literary agent in America.
Early Life
Born 1940, Phoenix (a presumed family alias) emigrated to the US as in infant in 1941 and settled in New York with his parents, ostensibly to escape the ravages of war in Europe. Almost nothing is known about the early life of the Phoenix parents except that their youngest child, Gordon, was born the United States in 1945
Career
James Phoenix established Phoenix & Phoenix Literary Agency in 1969, and, along with his brother, Gordon James Phoenix, represented Amy Linden’s Flying and Falling, which sold more than 5 million copies in the United States alone. Phoenix & Phoenix is responsible for the publication of the first works of Andrew Elliott, Elizabeth Corrie, and Richard Damascus. James, the elder brother, lectured widely on publishing. He served on the board of International PEN and as secretary of the Association of Authors' Representatives(AAR). Among the agency's more than 100 authors are four Pulitzer Prize winners.
In 1975, James Phoenix married the young, up-and-coming ballet dancer Vivian Androsky. The following year he lost his younger brother in a tragic accident, but in 1987 was graced with the birth of twin daughters, Olivia and Ava. The agency maintained its name, and upon the elder Phoenix’s death in late 2014, ownership transferred to Vivian Phoenix (Androsky).
James Elliot Phoenix’s sudden death left the agency fl
oundering, but under the triumvirate leadership of Vivian Phoenix, daughter-turned-son Avery Phoenix (who has recently come out as transgender), and Evan Wolters, husband of Olivia, the agency has regained its solid footing in the world of author representation.
Ava. His old name was Ava.
It went nicely with the other names in the family, but the name Avery seemed to suit him better.
I continued poking the internet and found pictures of Avery’s parents proudly posing with two small girls in tutus. The caption was ‘Mr. and Mrs. Phoenix beam over the performance of their darling daughters.’ I browsed around some more, but only found two more photos of pre-male Avery, both when he was still young, and both in ballet costumes.
I looked up when Tasha and Jennie started getting ready to leave at four-thirty. I’d put in eight hours, too. Was that what Avery meant? That I should go home, and wait for him there instead of here? He’d given me a key last night, laughing and telling me that I didn’t need to overwork myself. So, I decided yes, he meant for me to go home after putting in a reasonable days’ work. I shut down my laptop, closed the lid, and unplugged it, then hesitated. Did I really need to take it home? It would be safe enough here, and if I made myself lie down, I’d probably at least doze, even if I didn’t fall all the way asleep. I hesitated. I’d never left my computer before. If I left it behind, it was like admitting to myself that I had plans later.
The apartment was quiet without Avery there. Part of me wanted to rummage through cupboards and drawers, but the thought of him catching me was too humiliating. I wasn’t a child. I knew how to respect someone’s space.
The couch looked inviting. I slouched on it for a minute, then kicked my shoes off and swung my legs up so I was lying on my back. A throw pillow cradled my head comfortably, I let one hand rest across my chest, and draped my other forearm across my eyes. There. Ready, set, relax.
I giggled for a second, because I always felt a little ridiculous at first.
Okay, Julian, I told myself. There’s no need to sleep. Just drift. Find the floating place, and just…float. The pressure to fall asleep made me tense, so I’d learned to give myself this different message. I loved it when I could relax enough to just float in that weird space in between asleep and awake, and I could almost always get there in a fairly short time if I wasn’t disturbed by music, television, or my cell phone. The muted sounds of the traffic outside was my white noise.
You don’t have to sleep, Jules, just float.
Calling myself ‘Jules’ was almost too distracting, because I could feel myself smiling.
No worries or cares, this space is just for rest. May you be happy. May you be healthy. May you feel safe. May you live your life with ease.
Well, that new meditation was a bit distracting, too, but I decided to let my brain run with it.
May you be happy. I pictured myself laughing, skipping if I wanted to skip, pictured Avery laughing with me. I felt that sunburst in my chest, feeling so good that my happiness just had to spill out of me.
May you be healthy. I wasn’t even sure about that one. I’d looked good last week, in clothes that fit, a fresh haircut, and with that smoky line of eyeliner that made my eyes so dramatic. I saw myself a little less pale, a little less thin, and a lot less twitchy.
May you feel safe. That was easy. Me, leaning into Avery, burying my face into his neck, just under his chin, inhaling the scent of him, the feel of his arms coming around to hold me and shelter me. Avery made me feel safe. Avery made me feel like this, all of this, could be my life.
May you live your life with ease. I imagined myself having a friend, maybe Avery, or maybe that young guy from the club, sitting at a table at a sidewalk café. We leaned toward one another, really talking, really listening – having some sort of intense conversation. I said something, and instead of awkward silence, the friend laughed, and said something that made me laugh.
I saw myself walking through the club, weeks from now, maybe, at ease enough to greet people by name.
I was drifting now, and didn’t put any effort into containing or explaining the images that came into my head. That boy from the club getting spanked, but then that image morphed into me being spanked, and I watched myself as if I were observing from somewhere up above. I didn’t feel embarrassed or sorry for that version of me, nothing like that at all. No. What I felt was a great and overwhelming acceptance, a rush of warmth and love for this version of myself. It was perfectly okay to just be me. And if I was both inexperienced and a little pervy, that was okay, too, because Avery was the kind of man who knew exactly what he wanted. And he wanted me, just the way I am.
I floated into an ephemeral space of darkness where tentacles wrapped firmly around my wrists and ankles, holding me tight and stretched. There was no surface to lie upon, no bed to sink into. When I opened my mouth to speak, it was filled with a gliding, sliding appendage that slid all the way into my throat and trapped my voice and my breath. I hung there, suspended in darkness, unable to see or breathe or speak. My body convulsed, wanting air, and then a voice came out of the dark. “I can take all of you, fill you in every possible way. I am form without form, substance without substance.”
A distant part of me was conscious that Avery created this creature that held me in thrall, that trapped me and entered me, tentacles now sliding into my nostrils, tickling into my ears. A smaller, thinner appendage wrapped around my hard, aching cock, and began a terrifying slither across my glans toward the slit. A much larger tentacle wormed between my ass cheeks, and when I jerked away from the violation of my slit, the larger tentacle breached my anus. The demon was inside every part of me. It filled my throat and stretched my asshole, hurt me in places I didn’t know I could be hurt, and then soothed the pain with unfathomable pleasure. I was breathing without breathing, deaf and mute and blind, so helpless against this assault that I could do nothing but surrender.
Avery’s key in the lock jolted me awake, heart pounding, startled and disoriented. Then Avery was looking down at me, grinning. “You must have been having a nightmare. You look terrified.”
“Yeah,” I managed to say. “Weird dream.” I took a few deep breaths. My heartbeat slowed, and the paralysis of being held and violated by the demon slowly faded.
I sat at the table while Avery warmed up the chicken stir-fry we hadn’t eaten last night. “I don’t want you getting shaky and light-headed, like last time,” he said, as he pushed a plate in my direction. “I startled you badly when I came in. What were you dreaming about?”
The envelope was on the table, and having it right there when he asked the question gave me courage. I tapped it with my clean fork. “This. Exactly this. And you wrote it!”
He seemed to avoid looking at the envelope, and more specifically, looking at me, like he was embarrassed. He tapped his own fork against the rim of his plate. Tap-tap, and three more quick taps. Maybe he was nervous.
“Avery?” I let the question hang there.
He finally looked at me, a steady stare. “Yes. And somehow you chose that story as the best ever from the slush pile, and brought it from your home in Minnesota to my office in New York. Fate? Serendipity? Or did you know my dirty little secret before you even laid eyes on me?”
I dropped my fork, and it skittered across the table. “Are you serious? The moment I saw you, all your confidence, that little bit of arrogance, I was horrified about that story. I would have rather died than hand it over, because it I thought it said so much more about me than it did about you. Y-you’re like, the most scary-beautiful man I’ve ever seen. I picked that story in a moment of insane bravery, intending to shame you for passing up fantastic writers because they got a little explicit. It wasn’t my intention to tell you I was gay, but that story was going to out me, and I knew it.”
“It’s given us some interesting conversations, at least,” he said. “Very uncomfortable conversations for me, in particular.”
“You can’t think they were comfortable for me! It
was agony. There were moments I wanted that story to burn in a fire. I wished I’d picked anything else. Especially since you kept talking about it.”
“I posted part of it on a website for gay fiction, oh, months ago. Maybe you saw it, tracked my screenname back to my identity, somehow. Some people are good at that sort of thing.”
“I’m not all that into stalking people, Avery. I told you I had a crush once, and it made me sick. I’ve never gone looking for that kind of obsession. I try to avoid situations that I know will make me anxious. The only way I can survive without getting too crazy is to keep to my boring routine. That story was in the Phoenix & Phoenix reader feed. You put it there in the first place.”
Avery let out a coughing laugh. “I did. It was a… a joke for myself, more than anything. I got the idea it would be funny to shock the readers in the submissions department. I don’t know why. I mean, I pictured Susan or Jennie stumbling onto it. Well, no, actually, I imagined it would be Tasha, and that she would post to the forums about this bat-shit crazy story she found, and I figured I’d get a kick out of it. The story starts out benign enough, right? But with a definite hint of a dark twist to come. A trick to pique curiosity.”
“Yeah, it piqued mine. I had such disturbing dreams, thanks so much.”
“You swear you didn’t know?”
“Avery, I swear or promise or whatever you need. I did not know you were a writer.”