by Roxy Harte
He looks.
“Don’t close your eyes again.” I keep up the pressure, sliding into him with a calculated slowness, watching his facial expression change…pain, embarrassment, raw need…as I stretch and fill him. I wait until I am as deep inside of him as I can go, holding him, looking at him. “Is this what you wanted?”
“Yes, yes, yes.”
“I’m going to fuck you now.”
I hold his gaze and he holds mine as I start to move, in and out of him, the pace building, the force of my need harsh against him. I know he is coming when his eyes glaze over and he cries out, not words, nothing coherent, but something more ancient, the incoherence of primal man. I pound him then, harder and faster, until my own jism is filling him. I fuck him until he comes back to his senses, until he screams words that are coherent, “Oh God, fuck, oh, oh, oh. Aaaadddrrriiiaaaannnnn!”
It takes a moment to catch our breath and another moment to get his feet back on the ground. I adjust my clothes as he pulls on his pants but am left with nothing to do but watch him as he ties his boots. I want to tell him how much I’ve missed him, but we don’t have time for that conversation.
He is squatting under the light and his knees are damp, just barely though. He looks up at me, finished with the last tie, catching my gaze and he smirks. Ducking his head, he laughs as he stands.
I punch his shoulder. “Good to see you, Phelps. Don’t be a stranger. I expect to see you at the club. Soon.”
He nods, embarrassed. “Yeah, I’ll be there.” And then he goes back in through the rear exit.
I wait until the door closes, the latch clicking. “You can come out now, little boy.”
Toby crosses the alley from her hiding place behind an old oak tree.
“How did you know I was there?”
“I always know where you are, Toby.”
She comes all the way up to me, chin buried in her chest, and pushes the top of her head against my shoulder. I wrap my hand around her nape, making her look up at me. Her cheeks are wet with her tears.
“Why, Toby? Why did you watch?”
“I had to see.” Her face scrunches. “If you knew I was there, why did you do it? Did you want me to see? Did you want to hurt me?”
A sob catches in her throat and I pull her against me, holding her tight while she cries. I pat her head. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I would never do that. By the time I realized you were there, it was too late. You’d pretty much seen the whole show.”
She pulls away from me, making me look at her, making me see her pain. “Do you love him?”
I frown, not sure of the answer myself. “He’s not your competition, Toby. I love you. Remember? My heart is yours, I told you that.”
“But you need that!” She points to the empty place on the brick wall where I just fucked Phelps, and I know she still sees it in her mind. “Him. Bianca. The others. They give you that. That’s why you need them!”
I don’t refute her.
Her expression twists in brokenness and fresh tears fall over her face. She shakes her head, and I’m certain she is seeing the scene over and over in her mind. “I can’t. I can’t be that for you. I can’t.”
I don’t know what happened in Toby’s past. She doesn’t share that part of her life. I know that she has always been as she is now and I cherish her for who she is, but I may never be able to make her believe that. “I don’t want you to be anything or anyone other than who you are, Toby.”
She looks up at me, her hurt still hard lines on her face.
I kiss her, taking her mouth gently, just lips on lips, until I feel a subtle give in her and know instinctively that she needs more. I purposely keep the kiss the gentle, knowing that she will push for more, but then when she gets what she thinks she wants, the passion terrifies her and so for her sake I keep the kiss soft. I taste the salt of her tears mingled with the sweeter taste of her saliva as our tongues stroke.
“I love you, Toby. You have to believe me. Every second of every day. I love you.”
I feel her face nodding against mine. “I know, Adrian. I do. I’m just so afraid.”
I feel a fresh rain of her tears, and then she is pulling away from me and running. I watch her disappear around the corner of the building and do nothing to stop her, not even calling after her. I’m exhausted by relationships, by the drama. I’ve managed to keep it going with Toby as long as I have because she is the least amount of drama and even this small show, which is completely my fault, is too much.
Chapter 16
Toby
A heavy fog engulfs the city. It is otherworldly. A dreamscape. So peaceful, I feel I could be dead, an ethereal spirit trapped between clouds. Heaven? No, between heaven and hell.
After the quick cool down last night I should have expected it, but as I step outside I am wrapped in a heavy veil of white and it takes me by surprise.
I guess my mind is still trapped in a fog of its own.
It is barely dawn and I haven’t slept. I walked most of the night, returning home only to change into my running shoes, shorts, and a tank. Adrian isn’t at the apartment and obviously hasn’t been all night. Maybe he’s with Phelps or Bianca. I wouldn’t be surprised by either choice, or a dozen others.
That he isn’t home seems to say a lot.
I stretch and inhale, my only thought to not think.
I take off running. It isn’t safe, visibility is non-existent, but as I hit the trail at the public park where I always run, I have no fear. But then, I’m not thinking clearly this morning because when I think, I see Adrian plowing his dick in Phelps’s ass and then all I see is fire.
Better I run and not think.
Every morning I run. When I’m upset…I run…until I outrun the pain. This morning I could run forever to keep from thinking…
Run…
Run…
Run…
Fuck me, Adrian, fuck me hard.
…keep from feeling.
Phelps’s voice is in my head, and I can’t get him to shut up. He says the words I will never say to Adrian. “Fuck me, Adrian. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.”
Stop thinking about it!
How? Tell me how and I’ll stop!
Just stop!
Run…
Run…
Run…
Why didn’t Phelps just stay away?
It isn’t fair for me to ask Adrian to stop fucking Phelps…or Bianca…or any of the others. Hundreds. I lost count our first year together. I knew then that Adrian was a slut, but I didn’t care because he accepted me for who I am. God, who am I? Who the hell am I? A freak who won’t let her pussy be touched. Don’t touch. Off limits.
Stay the fuck away from my goddamn vagina!
I hear Phelps’s voice in my head. “Fuck me, Adrian. Fuck me, fuck me.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
What is wrong with me?
I try to focus on passing trees, flowing asphalt, anything but the images haunting my mind, but it is useless. All I can think about is Adrian pounding Phelps against the brick wall. I shouldn’t have watched. I shouldn’t have gone looking for him. I can’t compete with that.
I can’t compete!
Run…
Run…
I stop running, unable to go farther. Gasping. Where the hell am I?
I have no idea.
I left the path. When? Hours ago maybe. Fuck. The fog has started to lift, but it doesn’t matter. I have no idea where I am. Looking at my watch, I see I’ve only ran an hour so best guess I could be anywhere within a 12k radius of Adrian’s. I’m an idiot.
Sitting on a curb, I decide I have to think this through because I’m going insane. I tell myself everyone’s sexuality is different. I don’t need labels to define who I am. I don’t need anyone to tell me if my sex life is normal. Pretty much bullshit to make myself feel better.
I have to do something. Soon.
What I do know is I will never change Adrian, and maybe before, I didn’t want to change him. I wish I knew
what is different about me that I want to change him now.
I want him to love me enough that I am the only love in his life. Maybe that’s what is really behind my delusional plan to have sex with Bianca. I don’t want to think about it that way, but honestly, I do want him to know what it feels like to share.
I want him to ache when he sees me in her arms.
I want him to see he doesn’t need anyone else in his life but me.
I know Adrian well enough to realize sharing me is going to kill him. That’s how I feel, like I am dying on the inside. Not me. I’m not dying. Love is dying. And knowing that is what is killing me.
Chapter 17
Jameson
Is the room too bright, or is it me? Everything seems super illuminated, the exam table, the shiny chrome stirrups, the electrical gadgets. When did doctor’s equipment become so high tech? A digital thermometer rubbed over Emma’s forehead, the completely automated blood pressure cuff—I’m waiting for a robot to come into the room to do the actual exam. Nothing seems real to me. I feel like I am walking through a dream. I keep expecting to wake up, even at the doctor’s office. I pinch myself, leaving a welt, but the pain doesn’t register. I’m numb, completely numb.
I can’t believe my wife is pregnant, I never expected this. Emma’s stomach is as flat as ever. Or should I say round, although that makes it sound like she is obese and she isn’t, just forty or fifty pounds overweight…so just a little round, curvy, wonderfully, sexily curvy. She doesn’t look pregnant, though I guess it’s still too soon for that.
A man I recognize enters the room, and the reality hits me like a bucket of ice water. He delivered all of our boys. I know him. I know this moment. Oh God. Oh God.
I recognize the room’s equipment now. Ultrasound. Ultrasound!
He doesn’t squirt blue gel over Emma’s stomach as I suspect he will, instead he whips out a gadget that too closely resembles a dildo for my comfort level. He pushes her knees apart.
I can’t breathe.
“This may be cold.” He pushes the plastic inside her. “You may feel a little pressure.”
I gape.
This is not the doctor’s office experience I remember.
“You should be able to distinguish some shapes very soon.”
I pull my eyes from Emma’s gadget filled vagina and look up. Both her and the doctor are looking at a glowing monitor. The screen is a fuzzy blur of black and white shapes that seem to have no rhyme or reason.
My eyes are drawn to the doctor’s hand which seems to be moving a lot, the hand attached to the vaginal wand, moving it around.
Emma makes a soft sound.
“Sorry,” the doctor says.
I’m totally flipping out.
He points things out…the brain, the heart…the labia.
I squint at the monitor to keep from punching the doctor who is mechanical-device fucking my wife.
“Really?” My wife inhales excitedly.
“Yes, I can honestly say that this is not a penis.” He points at the screen, but all I see is fuzzy white nothingness.
“Oh!” Emma grabs my hand and squeezes. “It’s a girl, Jamie! Can you believe it?”
I shake my head, not really believing any of this as he withdraws the wand from my wife’s body. “How far along would you say she is?”
The doctor lifts his brow and sends a questioning look at Emma. “Twenty weeks.”
I gape at him. Twenty weeks?
He tidies his table. “We’re all done, Emma. Congratulations, Jameson. I’ll meet you both in my office once you’ve had a chance to get dressed, all right?”
“Thank you, doctor,” Emma gushes, the radiant joy of finally creating a girl oozing from her pores.
I’m well-mannered enough to wait until the door is closed before demanding, “Five months? Just when were you going to tell me, Emma?”
“I told you!” She pulls the paper drape tighter around herself. “I told you as soon as I was certain. We waited until I was well into the second trimester with each of the boys before we told anyone.”
“Anyone?” I repeat. “Really? I’m classed along with anyone these days, well thank you for that.”
“Why are you mad?”
“When did you find out?”
She looks away, and I know as well as she does that it was months ago.
“That’s why I’m mad.”
She starts to cry. Perfect.
“This is why I didn’t tell you. It’s one more thing to fight about. I want you to be happy and excited about this baby. I want you to share my joy and go through this pregnancy with me. I thought that the marriage counselor would help you see how much I need you. Why I shouldn’t have to share you with other women.” She climbs off the table and reaches for her clothes. “You said you wanted to come home. That’s the only reason I even told you about the baby. I was waiting until you admitted you missed us.”
My eyes go wide. She wasn’t going to tell me?
As manipulative as she is, I don’t think she realizes how badly she’s crushed me with that admission. If I’d never expressed regret for moving out, would she have gone through this alone? Would she have just shown up at my door with an extra child for visitation one day? What if she’d never told me…never showed up with that extra child. My heartbeat accelerates to match the wild thoughts going through my head. The boys would have told me. I pull in a deep calming breath. This baby wouldn’t have remained a secret forever. A girl.
She takes my hand and puts it on her stomach. “Do you remember when we had Mick’s first ultrasound? You told him ‘hello,’ using my bellybutton as a direct line.”
I nod, remembering.
I was so excited then.
“I want to be excited about this baby, Emma. Really, I do.” I want to be excited about my daughter.
“Then you have to try to be excited, Jamie. You have to try.”
I nod, squatting down to put my lips over her bellybutton. “Hello, little baby girl. Hello, Hypatia.” I wait for Emma’s reaction. We’d argued heatedly over the boys’ names when I chose the three great Greek philosophers. We finally settled on Socrates Thomas, Plato Michael, and Aristotle David, agreeing that they would be called by their middle names, Tom, Mick, and Dave. It seems fitting that I would name my daughter after the earliest known female philosopher, and although almost all of her writings have been lost, Hypatia was a woman renowned for her learning, eloquence, and beauty during the Alexandrian Neoplatonic Era.
Emma runs her hands through my hair, whispering, “Hypatia,” before asking, “what will her middle name be?”
I look up at her and see tears streaking over her cheeks. I say, “You tell me. What would you like our daughter’s middle name to be?”
“Dawn,” she answers. “Because she will be the dawn of our new beginning. Our fresh start—”
I don’t have to look at her face to know that she stopped speaking because her face has crumbled in despair. I’ve seen the look too often in the last few years. I’ve heard the catch in her voice as she halts a sob. I don’t look at her face, because I can’t look at her face…not now. I’m too angry, too hurt, and I would no doubt say awful things to her like, ‘Pretty shitty way to start a fresh beginning, don’t you think? Keeping our baby a secret?’ I want to scream at her and shake her…
Instead, I cup my hands around my mouth and speak loudly through Emma’s bellybutton. “Can you hear me, Hypatia Dawn? I’m your—” From nowhere emotion chokes off the rest, filling my eyes with tears, and I have to swallow before I can say, “—daddy,” because even though I love my boys, I’ve always wanted a little girl. I lay my head against Emma’s stomach, and she wraps her hands around my head, holding me while I sob.
Chapter 18
Bianca
I’ve fallen into a dream, and I don’t want to wake up. Bishop is the Prince Charming every little girl dreams about, and I am on an idyllic holiday with him. I’ve left messages with Jameson and Adrian, they�
��ve left voice mails back, but somehow we continue to miss each other’s calls. I’m done calling. They will see me soon enough, and I don’t want to miss a second of the time I have with Bishop.
This morning he asked if I could ride and as soon as I said yes, I found myself being led to the stables. Bishop has stables. Why am I surprised?
He leads me through the countryside on horseback, and I find I don’t want to leave. I could stay here forever. I don’t want to think too hard on what that thought means. He smiles, pointing at a stand of trees, quickening his pace now that he trusts that I not only ride but can ride well. I race him to the top of the hill, reining in once I’ve reached the trees.
“I win!” I laugh.
“Where did you learn to ride like that?”
I smile, dismounting, hiding what I am sure is a mixed expression in my eyes. How can I admit that I was once a pop star and my horseback riding skills come from learning to ride for a music video?
I force myself to laugh as I sit down in the grass. “I’m a horrible rider. I haven’t ridden since I was a teen.”
He falls into the grass beside me and lies down. “Maybe you could demonstrate some of those horrible riding skills on me?”
I unbutton the top button of a borrowed shirt. Is it his? Hiroko’s? Another woman’s? I wasn’t brave enough to ask, so I took the top, slacks, and boots and was merely thankful that they were a little loose instead of a little snug which made me believe that they are his.
He watches intently as I slowly unbutton, revealing inch by inch. We are in the middle of nowhere, or so it seems. I haven’t seen more than a bird in hours. Still I look over my shoulder.
“Don’t worry. There’s no one there.”
I smile and toss the shirt into the grass. I pull off my boots and socks before unbuttoning and sliding off my pants, not taking nearly so long as the top. I chastise, “You still have your clothes on.”
“Undress me,” he says.
In my mind I argue a little. That was supposed to be my line. I don’t say a word, remembering how slowly he undressed me in the hotel room back in LA, deciding two can play such torturous games. Straddling him, I find his erection firm beneath the covering of his pants. I push against him, rubbing my clit against his solidness as I slowly unbutton his shirt. I close my eyes, unbuttoning by feel as I pleasure myself against him. He growls and rolls, trapping me beneath him.