by Kit Smart
Seri
Traffic is bad and we have no time to stop for lunch before the second interview, so despite his confident body language Owen looks a touch drawn about the face as he faces off with the interviewer.
Wandering over to craft services, I pocket a few packets of nuts and cookies to give him later. I know we won’t have much time between the end of this interview and the beginning of the next one, so I reluctantly pass on the idea of putting together a plate of real food for him.
By the time I get back, Owen has lost the tightness in his face, and I see with some relief that someone has provided him with something to drink.
“How do you spend you time?” The interviewer—a brunette in her mid thirties—asks him with a professional smile.
“My personal time or—?”
“Personal.” The interviewer confirms.
“Well, mostly just relaxing. I don’t have that much personal time to be honest.” He rolls his shoulders a bit to ease the tension there, and I take note of it. We need to buy a few minutes somewhere, so you can take a breather. My watch informs me that it is now half past five. He’s been at this all day.
I glance glumly down at the cookie in my hand. And this isn’t helpful so far as providing good, stable energy goes. This is a sugar crash waiting to happen.
“I’ve primarily been occupied with establishing myself in a new professional role. I’m at a bit of a crossroads right now.”
“You had a lengthy military career prior to this. Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“Any interests in family and kids?”
“Of course.” Owen offers her a smile—a charming smile that makes me momentarily want to storm the stage and mark him as my territory. Get a grip girl. Eat another cookie or four.
“But it’s not an instant process is it?” Another shrug, another smile. “First, you have to meet someone; date them…” He waves a hand. “Etcetera etcetera.” Etcetera? Is that what we’re calling it now? “Unfortunately, children don’t just arrive on doorstops do they?
“You could adopt.”
“True.”
“Would you consider it?”
“Adoption?” He shifts slightly in his seat. “Of course.”
“Even if you found a partner?” The interviewer probes.
“Yes. Why not?”
“Many people would prefer to have children that are blood of their blood.”
Owen raises his eyebrows at her. “I don’t feel that way. I think it’s as easy to love a child that doesn’t share your blood as it is to love a child who does. I would like to be in a long-term, committed relationship before adopting though.”
“So, is that something you’re looking for—a long-term, committed relationship?”
“Yes.” He laughs and flashes another smile at the interviewer. “Finding someone willing to put up with me though—that’s the difficult part—I’m not the easiest person to live with, so I’m going to need some sort of saint.”
“Is that what you look for in a partner—Saintliness?”
Owen laughs leaning forward toward the interviewer as he does so in order to better connect with the woman.
Jealousy is not attractive. I remind myself.
“All joking aside, no.”
“Okay, okay. So all joking aside, what do you look for?”
“A hopeless romantic with a slightly dirty mind.”
The interviewer gives a startled laugh. “Oh? Can you elaborate on that for us?”
“I don’t want a woman that I have to chase or beg. I want someone who wants me at all hours of the day; a woman who is game no matter where we are. Someone who’ll kiss me where it hurt and kiss me until it hurts. He holds the interviewer’s by now mesmerized gaze. “And that’s important. Someone who can turn me on, but who will also treat me right, I’m after that.” He leans back displaying the breadth of his chest to the interviewer. Tone it down Owen. “Someone like that—that’s worth quite a bit to me.”
“So, it’s not all about sex?”
“No. It’s not all about sex.”
Seri
The third interview of the day seems to go one endlessly with the interviewer—a young blonde woman this time—waffling about with unrelated questions and comments until I am tempted to just call the whole thing off.
By the time the interviewer actually gets to the point, I am starving and fighting to keep my composure.
I have absolutely no idea how Owen is managing to remain so cool and collected. With your body mass and metabolism, you should be in much worse shape than me right now.
“What gives you such confidence in your sexuality? I mean—what you did—it’s what many men have nightmares about; that dream where you’re naked in front of the class. What gave you the confidence to walk the runway so visibly erect?” The blonde asks and to my ear she sound nervous which is interesting.
If Owen notices, he doesn’t react. “I think that one of the keys to sexual confidence is to embrace exactly the areas you’ve been taught not to.” Owen answers after a short pause. “Erections are a thing that happen several times a day for the majority of men. We’ve been taught to hide it because it says something embarrassing about us; about our sexuality, and we feel exposed when it happens. Believe me, I know. I’d much rather have waited until my body had calmed down to go down that runway.” He shrugs. Apparently shrugging is his thing today. “But the time wasn’t available for me to do that, and as having an erection is a natural physiological function of my body, I don’t believe that there is any reason to be ashamed or embarrassed about it. And I think that everyone being so titillated by it, says a lot about our cultural attitudes towards sex.”
“Hmmmm….” The interviewer ignores that and moves awkwardly to her next question. “Everyone wants to be sexually pleased—especially women who often don’t tend to orgasm as easily as men do. For women, it requires more, hence the importance of finding a man who knows what he’s doing. Do you have any tips or techniques to share with our viewers in that regard?”
I watch Owen start to push his legs forward only to stop and draw them back as he remembers that he’s supposed to maintain his confident posturing. “I think that it is important not to detach life from sex. For men as well as for women.”
“Oh?” The interviewer prompts looking somewhat intrigued.
Owen lowers his voice. Shameless. “Foreplay,” He tells the interviewer. “Isn’t something you do just prior to penetration. Foreplay is something that starts at the end of an orgasm and continues throughout the day and night until your next sexual engagement.” He smiles at the interviewer who has leaned so far forward, at this point, that he ought to be able to see her navel down her blouse with little to no effort. “It’s the way you brush past her in the kitchen, the way you stroke her hand as you’re holding it, the way you kiss her goodbye when she leaves for work, it’s the way you remember to pick up milk on the way home and the way you drink wine with her while she’s cooking and it’s the breakfast you prepare for her to eat in bed on Saturday morning while she’s still sleeping.” He leans back in his chair doing that sexy chest display thing again. “And it’s not just women either.” A slow, smile. “If I’m honest, I don’t want sex, I want all of the things that lead up to it; the slow kissing that leads to the passionate kissing, the sensation of being pulled closer against her, the light kisses along my neck and jaw and collarbone; her hands on my ass grabbing me, grinding me against her. I want the heavy breathing—want to feel it in my ear and along my skin. I want the biting and the pauses where you catch your breath and just feel another person against you.”
“Oh, my.” The interviewer lifts her cards to her face and begins to fan herself.
Owen smiles diabolically. “Then sex.”
Brat. I glance around the room and see that most of the women look similarly arrested by his words. Well done.
It takes a minute for the interviewer to regain her composure.“So, since you mentioned
that foreplay is an all day sort of activity, could you let us know what types of things most turn you on in terms of that sort of foreplay?”
Yes, curious minds want to know.
He laughs. “Well pretty much everything she does turns me on, but I am particularly affected by the way she touches my back throughout the day.”
“Is there anything in particular—I mean in terms of a technique that you’d like to recommend to our audience?”
“No. I’m not particular—any little thing she does gets me going, however, this one thing she does when we’re out where she’ll slip her hand underneath my suit coat and stroke the small of my back is particularly devastating.”
He leans back and displays all of the dominant body language we practiced along with a little smile “She also does this little thing where she’ll reach out and slide her hand along my spine and then up across my shoulders that—” He pauses with a funny little smile on his face. “Well, it’s very effective.”
“Oh my.” The interviewer waves a hand in front of her flushed face. “Despite the fact that I think we were all expecting something more explicit, that’s definitely brought the heat.”
Owen levels a look at her. “Simple penetration is a fairly shallow type of thing—can be a shallow type of thing. I believe that sex is deeper than that. There’s a mental component to it—an emotional dance.” He opens his hands. “If you let the mind open up—if you set it free to connect with your partner—the body will follow.” He glances down as he shifts his legs and I wonder if he’s tired of sitting like that. “It’s very simple.”
“But penetration is important as well is it not?” The interviewer gives him an expectant look. I mean surely you don’t object to penetration?”
“Absolutely not. I enjoy penetration as much as the next man.” He rubs his right thumb along the side of his right index finger as he speaks. “I’m just saying that penetration is a relatively small component of good sex.”
“And you’re good at sex?” It comes out like a bit of a challenge.
“My partner seems to think so.” The thumb moves to trace along the tops of his finger tips.
The interviewer leans back and casts him a speculative look. “You’ve used the present tense several times now in reference to a partner. Does that mean that you are currently in a relationship?”
Owen holds the interviewer’s gaze and maintains his relaxed calm as his thumb moves back and forth. “Yes. I am.”
Shit.
The interviewerlooks intrigues as she leans forward again. “Can you tell us about the fortunate lady?”
“It’s a fairly new relationship, but I don’t think she’d mind if I spoke about it.”
What?! My flinch is a reflex. What are you doing?
“Oh? Well can you tell us how you met then?”
“We met through work.”
“So, you’re colleagues then?”
Owen nods, tilts his head back with a lazy smile. “She’s my right hand woman. Without her, I’d be lost.”
The interviewer looks at him knowingly as if she’s imagining him bending her over a desk in her office. “Fascinating. And is she here with you today?”
“She is.”
“Do you think she’d consent to come up here and answer a few questions? I’m sure our audience would want to know all the details of how you met etcetera?”
Owen turns to me where I stand, off to the side of the cameras, and just inside of his visual range. His look is enigmatic as he extends his left hand. “Seri will you join us?”
I watch his right thumb move rhythmically along his fingertips as I plaster a smile on my face and walk toward him.
We are fucked.
Owen
Seri says nothing as we get into the car and start back to Andersley, but I can hear her brain whirring away as she thinks.
What’s going on in your head love?
I try not to think about it.
I don’t think I could take it right now; not if it’s about me and what I just did.
I’m cold and tired and hungry, and all I can think about is getting her home and curling up with her on the sofa.
I know that that is not likely to happen after the last interview, so I cross my arms over my chest in an attempt to warm up. I close my eyes to stop from staring at her.
“You’re very quiet.” With my eyes closed, I find that I can’t stand the silence.
“I’m thinking.” Neutral sounding tone. Wasn’t expecting that.
“Not about homicide I hope.” It occurs to me that I’ve never seen her angry; have no idea what to expect from an angry Seri.
“No. Not about homicide. I’m thinking about how I’m going to fix this. This is kind of the opposite of low profile.” Was that a hint of amusement?
I rub my arms in an attempt to warm up “It seemed like a good idea at the time.” I offer. Please let that be amusement.
“Says the man who hasn’t eaten, or had any water all afternoon.” She returns dryly.
I feel something being pressed into my hands, and open my eyes to see her offering me a bottle of water. “Drink this.” Reaching out toward the forward console, she toggles the heat on. “It’ll be warm in here in a few minutes.”
I take a tentative sip of water. “I am sorry.” I’m dehydrated enough to want to guzzle the water back, but my stomach is tight with stress and I’m not sure how it will sit so I force myself to sip it. Conversely, I feel the need to piss and wonder how that is possible given I’ve only had a single cup of coffee all day.
“I know.” She says calmly.
I glance over at her cautiously. “You’re not angry at me?”
“No.”
My stomach clenches hard, and I’m suddenly glad I didn’t take more than a couple of sips of water. “Why not?” Have you lost interest in me?
“You’re hurting.” She replies, still focussed on the road in front of her.
I find that I can’t breathe as the simple acknowledgement levels me.
I thought I’d hidden it and I struggle to find my feet on rapidly shifting ground in the face of that acknowledgment. It takes a few minutes for my lungs to respond enough to suck in air; at which point I croak out an inadequate. “Yeah.”
This embarrasses me; makes me want to cover my face as my insides heave and twist and rearrange themsleves. I am totally off balance—both emotionally and physically devastated.
“Shit.” I shift forward against my seat belt as my body demands movement only to have to sit back again when I realize there is nowhere to go.
It’s like the acknowledgement; her naming of the tension I’d been feeling growing since the morning has freed it, and all of the shame and humiliation and pain of the day swamps me.
“Are you all right?”
I force myself to breathe. “They say compassion is a frail thing Seri, but I think you’ve just eviscerated me with it.”
She shoots me a concerned look and I shut my eyes because I don’t want her to see. “I—uh—are you going to be sick? Do you want me to pull over?”
“No. I’m not sick. Just give me a minute.”
“Okay.”
I reach out to take her hand and find that my breathing comes more easily and that the feeling that I am beginning to spiral dissipates.
When the car stops, I find that it is difficult to want to move and I keep my eyes shut. I’ll get out in just a minute I tell her silently.
“Did you mean what you said about your back—my touching your back?” She asks into the silence.
It takes me a few seconds to move my lips because I feel far away from myself. “Every word.”
She keeps hold of my hand as she shifts in her seat to face me. “Would you like to come inside and have a back rub? Would it help?”
“Come in?” I open my eyes in confusion to see that she’s brought me to her place and the dread I’ve been carrying in my stomach swells and then dissipates only to swell again as my frazzled emotions d
ip wildly. “You’re not——” I hesitate, unsure of the wording because we haven’t actually formalized anything. What am I to you?
“Not?”
“You’re not—you want to continue—with me—with us?” Ever eloquent MacQuoide.
She frowns at me—the frown she usually gives me when she suspects that I’m simple. “Yes.” She cocks her head to the side. “I mean if you’ll have me?”
“If I’ll have you….?”
She flinches “I mean I understand why you wouldn’t want to—I’ve made a mess of things and really put you through it today.” She looks down self-consciously. “I don’t know what I was thinking with this junket. I shouldn’t have done it, or I should have done it differently. I was impetuous —it was impetuous and stupid to just spring it all on you like that—and now you’re upset because of—”
“Seri—” I interrupt her as I lean over to kiss her gently.
“Yes?”
“It’s okay. I’m okay. Let’s go inside.”
20
Seri
A glass appears in front of me and I glance up from my phone to see Owen in front of me proffering a glass of champagne. “Have a drink” He offers me a crooked smile.
Conscious of all the stares and whispers that surround us, I smile up at him. “I’m working.”
He cocks his head toward our table. “Then sit down and watch me drink.” Despite his comment, he only has one drink—the one he is offering me—in his hand, so I know he’s teasing.
“You’re working too.” I remind him as I accept the glass. Can’t just leave him standing there in front of all the gossips. “You don’t need a drink.”
“Sure?” He takes my arm and draws me closer. I am close enough that I can feel his body heat and it makes me want to reach out and unbutton his jacket so I can tuck myself up against his warmth. The gossips would love that. “This is a very boring party.”
I roll my eyes at him. Not every event needs to have enough drama to inspire a media circus. “Surely there’s something else—something less alcoholic—you’d like to drink?”