HOT as F*CK

by Scott Hildreth

  “Sorry, I thought I was going to sneeze,” I said as I turned to face him. I pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth and swallowed a few times. “I’ve got a few more questions, yeah.”

  “Whenever you’re ready.”

  I set my drink on the table between us, all the while wishing I could throw it away without upsetting him.

  “Okay. So, you don’t have any diseases. According to you, if we decide…if you decide to have sex, it’s going to be something we both enjoy, but it won’t include threesomes and collars. We’ve defined that much, but I need to know a little more.”

  “I’m an open book.”

  “Two things: One, between now and day thirty, is all sexual contact off-limits?”

  “No.”

  His face was expressionless. My acknowledgement of his response wasn’t. I sat up in my seat and shot him a look.

  “It’s not?” I asked excitedly.

  “No,” he said. “There are things that I believe should be. Other things? We’ll have to see. I suppose it will be determined by how well we get along through the course of these thirty days. But to prohibit all contact? That’s certainly not my intention.”

  “Good. I guess we’ll just see how that goes, huh?”

  “I suppose so.”

  He didn’t seem to care, but I was overjoyed at the possibility of something happening. “Well, that gets me right to the second question. I guess more of it’s a statement.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “I uhhm.” I cleared my throat. “Describe your dick.”

  “Come again?” he said, coughing out the words.

  I shrugged innocently. “I want to know what it looks like.”

  His mouth twisted into a smirk. “It’s kind of fleshy, covered in a smooth skin, and has a cylindrical shape.”

  “That’s it?”

  “I think that covers it,” he said dryly.

  A sigh shot from my lungs. “I was hoping for more.”

  He chuckled. “Oh really?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Like what?”

  I twisted my mouth to the side, and wandered around the room with my eyes, like I was thinking, but really didn’t need to.

  “I think I’d like to see it. You know, just to make sure we’re going to be okay later. That is, if things go like I think they will.”

  “And, you think that’s something you won’t be able to wait for?”

  “You’re not, like, tiny are you?”

  He chuckled. “You won’t be disappointed.”

  “So, can I?”

  “Right now?”

  Dressed in jeans, a fitted V-neck tee, and black zip-up boots, he had his right ankle resting on his left knee. His eyebrow was cocked in wait for my response. I looked around the coffee shop. At least two-dozen people were littered about.

  “Probably not. Maybe on the way to the oyster bar?”

  His other eyebrow raised. “While I’m driving?”

  The boatload of confidence that he hauled around with him led me to believe he hadn’t been deprived in the dick department. I doubted I was wrong, but I wanted to see it nonetheless. I’d known him for eleven days, and we’d been seeing each other for eight.

  I had guys introduce themselves on Facebook with a dick pic, and some of the men I’d met on Tinder had done the same. Waiting eleven days seemed like an eternity.

  “Oh. I don’t know.” I shrugged, hoping to maintain my innocent portrayal of myself. “In the parking lot?”

  “Afraid that’s not going to happen,” he said with a laugh. “Anything else?”

  It seemed juvenile, but the thought of seeing his dick had become as exciting to me as sex had been in the past. If the eleven days of abstinence were any indication as to what lie ahead, I’d be ready to burst on day thirty.

  “I guess not.” I crossed my legs and looked him over. “I was worried about the threesome thing more than anything.”

  “You’ve heard Dom and sub used in describing a sexual relationship, have you not?” he asked.

  Upon hearing him say the words, my face went flush. I wedged my hands between my thighs and swallowed a lump that was slowly rising in my throat. “I have.”

  “For clarification’s sake, I’m neither,” he admitted. “I like to consider myself nothing more than sexually demanding. If we reach that point, you’ll understand what I mean fairly promptly.”

  My interest was piqued. “What do you…what do you demand?” I asked, my tone barely a whisper.

  His gray eyes pinned me in place. “Whatever my cock desires.”

  Dear fucking God.

  I couldn’t speak. I simply sat and stared at him. Expressionless, he gazed back at me. Thoughts of sex rattled around in my head like marbles.

  “Any other questions?” he asked flatly.

  I swallowed hard. “How many days do we have left again?”

  Chapter Two Hundred Fifty

  Marc – Day eight

  After spending an inordinate amount of time perusing the menu, she lowered it and took a drink of her water.

  “Make a decision yet?” I asked.

  “The Crab Crusted Fresh Icelandic…” She glanced at the menu and then looked up. “Cod Filet.”

  I titled my head to the side. “No oysters?”

  “I love Cod. If I didn’t get it, I’d be kicking myself for weeks. I’m so glad they serve it. Especially the Icelandic Cod. And fresh?” She cocked her head and grinned. “How can you top that?”

  “The only way to top something like that is with an oyster” I said. “I’ll order plenty, don’t worry. Rockefeller, and on the half shell. We can share.”

  The color drained from her face. After taking a drink of water, her mouth curled into an awkward grin. “I can’t wait.”

  The waitress approached the table and glanced at each of us. “Have you decided?”

  “We have,” I said. “She’ll have the Crab Crusted Cod, and I’d like the O-Side Clams, Mussels, Scallops, Shrimp and Cod. I’d also like half a dozen Oysters Rockefeller, and half a dozen on the half shell.”

  “Would you like the oysters before the meals come out?” she asked.

  “Please.”

  “Any wine?”

  “None for me, thank you.”

  I gestured toward Taryn.

  “None for me, either,” she said.

  “Great choices. The oysters will be right out.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You must be hungry,” Taryn said.

  “Seafood is one of my favorite foods. Actually, it’s my go-to food.”

  She swallowed heavily and then widened her eyes. “Oysters included?”

  “Oysters included.”

  She took a drink of water. As she lowered her glass, she wagged her eyebrows. “That’s awesome.”

  “I’ve got a broad palate. After eating foods in other countries, I’m open to almost anything.”

  She wiped the condensation from her glass. “I haven’t been outside of the states.” She looked up. “What’s the weirdest place you’ve ever been?”

  “None of them are weird, they’re just different. Different cultures, different beliefs. They think we’re the weird ones.”

  “Are they really that much different? In other countries?”

  I chuckled. “In Pakistan, when a male member of a family commits a crime, the punishment is oftentimes financial,” I said. “If he is incapable of paying the debt, he can be forced to forfeit his daughter for marriage. It’s called Vani. The tribal elders discuss it, decide who will be given for marriage, and that’s it. No discussions, no negotiations. It’s a form of arranged child marriage. Eleven or twelve years old is a common age for an arranged marriage.”

  “Holy crap,” she said. “Eleven?”

  “In Pakistan, child marriages are as common as a cold. Many countries have arranged marriages, not all of which are children. Afghanistan, Yemen, Guinea, Niger.” I shrugged. “I’m sure there’s a few more.”
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  Her eyes went wide. “I had no idea.”

  “Do you believe that a marriage like that can be a loving one?”

  Her gaze fell to the table. After a long moment of consideration, she looked up. “I don’t know. I mean, I can see the girl growing up and not really knowing any better. At eleven or twelve, she’d be too young to understand love. She’d probably look at her husband as a fatherly figure, and be attached to him in different ways. I suppose it could become love. Over time. It’s really hard to say.”

  “What about the arranged marriage of adults? In China, Japan, and a few of the other countries I mentioned? Many of those are forced, and some are exogamous. That means that a third party makes the decision of who is marrying who regardless of their social, cultural, or economic group. So, you’d be forced to marry whoever they decided. No exception. And, that person may be someone who has beliefs and habits that you’ve been raised to oppose. Can those two people love each other, or do they simply settle into a life of misery?”

  “That’s a good question.” She reached for her glass of water. “What brought this up?”

  “I’d like your views on love. Can those two adults who are being forced to marry outside of their social and cultural groups love one another?”

  “I think so. Eventually. They’ve got no choice as far as the marriage goes, right?”

  “That is correct.”

  “I think if two adults know that, sooner or later, they’ll make whatever adjustments they have to. You know, to accommodate the other person.”

  “So, you think their relationship is about sacrifice? Or that sacrifice is necessary for it to succeed?”

  “I think it would have to be. In that circumstance, you know there’d be turmoil. One person believes x, and the other believes y. But they’ve got to be together, no matter what. No divorce? Is that allowed?”

  “No.”

  She shrugged one shoulder. “I think they’d have to be willing to make adjustments. Consider what the other’s beliefs are, and be willing to accept them. That’s a tough one.”

  “But you think, in the end, that they could find love? Develop it?”

  “I think so.”

  “What about love at first sight?”

  “What about it?”

  “Do you think soul mates exist? Two people meet and, bam! They’re in love? They say, I knew the instant we met that we were in love. We got married six weeks later. Everyone oohs and aahs at their story of how they met at the produce section of Whole Foods. Is that realistic? Is it love?”

  She chuckled. “I think they tell themselves it is. I don’t believe in insta-love.”

  “What do you believe the people from my Whole Foods story feel?”

  “I think they’re like the girl from China or whatever that was forced to marry the guy from another culture. Eventually, they’re in love with each other. Until that time comes, they’re riding a wave of lust.”

  I let out a laugh. “A wave of lust?”

  “Yep.” She nodded. “I think they fell in lust in the store while they were squeezing the no chemicals added avocadoes. Then, later, while they were buying the free-range chicken salad at the deli counter, he noticed she wasn’t wearing a bra when she put the little container in her cart. Then, she noticed a bulge in his cargo shorts when he was putting his chicken salad in his little basket. They shared an awkward glance. After they paid for their preservative-free selections, as fate would have it, they find that they were parked side by side in the parking lot. Boom. It was meant to be. They probably made a date for later that night, and from there, they rode the wave of lust until they eventually fell in love.”

  She clapped her hands together, and then raised them high in the air. “How’s that?”

  I smiled. “Pretty entertaining. I have a question. Why did she have a cart and he had a basket?”

  “She’s divorced. Has kids at home with her sister because she can’t afford a sitter. He’s single, so he can fit all his shit in one of those little baskets.”

  I found her theories not only entertaining, but interesting. “Why can’t she afford a sitter?”

  “Because she shops at Whole Foods, duh.”

  “So, in summary, soul mates don’t exist?”

  She wiped the condensation from the cup with the web of her hand. “They do if you want them to.”

  “Love is something you tell yourself you’ve found when you’re finally ready to settle. Is that you’re belief?”

  “Yeah. I think that’s pretty much it.” She looked at me. “What do you believe?”

  “I believe there has to be an attraction at first. It could be based solely on looks, or it might be personality based. It could even be sexually based. Say, from what was expected to be a one night stand. But there must be an attraction. If there is, it can develop into a loving relationship if both parties are interested, and if they allow it to.”

  “It’s that easy?” she asked.

  I extended my index finger. “To survive, a relationship requires sacrifice from both sides. In the absence of sacrifice, the relationship will be sacrificed.”

  “Here you go,” the waitress said, interrupting our conversation. “Rockefeller, and on the half shell.”

  She placed two platters on the table. “I’ll bring some wet-naps back.”

  “Thank you.”

  Taryn looked at the oysters on the half shell, and then at the oysters Rockefeller. After a quick study, she looked at me.

  “The little guys without the spinach.” She wagged her finger toward the oyster-filled platter. “What’s on them?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Just oyster matter?”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Matter?”

  “Just all the slimy stuff that comes with an oyster? No other stuff?”

  I chuckled. “No other stuff. Why?”

  “I’m not a big spinach person.”

  “I doubt you’d even realize it was spinach. They’re quite tasty.”

  “I’m sure they are. I think I’m going for the plain ole oyster.”

  “It doesn’t bother you that they’re raw?”

  Her face paled. “Huh?”

  “They’re raw.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “They’re uncooked.”

  She looked at the platter and then swallowed heavily. “They just busted ‘em open and tossed the little guys on the plate?”

  “I sure hope so,” I said.

  “Were they. Were they alive?”

  “A few minutes ago.”

  “Are you being serious?”

  “They have to be alive, or they’re not safe to eat. If the shells are closed tight, they’re alive. They take a special knife, insert it between the shells, and break the muscle that attaches the shells. At that moment, the oyster is killed. They need to be eaten immediately if they’re not cooked.”

  “I’ve got to go to the bathroom.” She pushed her chair away from the table. “I’ll be right back.”

  “You better hurry. We need to eat these before they spoil.”

  She stood. “I’d sure hate for that to happen. I’ll make it quick.”

  In no time, she returned. The pleasant scent of her perfume filled the air as she sat down. “Thorry, that coffee ith going right through me.”

  I cocked my head and gave her a look. It seemed that she’d somehow developed a lisp while she was away.

  “That’s quite alright,” I said. “We’re all sitting here patiently.”

  She looked at the oysters. “Tho how doth one properly eat an oythter?”

  I nodded toward the tray. “Pretty simple,” I said. “Pick it up and slurp it off the shell.”

  She reached for an oyster, raised it in toast, and slurped it from the shell. After swallowing it, she took a drink of water, and reached for another. I did the same, and we each held them in a mock toast.

  After eating it, much to my surprise, she picked up the third. “If were tharing, we’re tharing.”<
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  “What happened to your tongue?” I asked.

  “I bit in the bathroom by mithtake.”

  “Oh.”

  We ate the third oysters and shared a look. “Good, huh?” I asked.

  “Probably an acquired tathte.”

  “Rockefeller?” I asked.

  “Thure,” she said. “Why not?”

  “Scoop them out or pierce them with your fork.”

  We shared the platter of oysters, and upon swallowing the last one, our food arrived.

  “Perfect timing,” I said to the waitress.

  She removed the empty platters and replaced them with our meals. “Anything else?”

  “No, thank you,” I said.

  Taryn shook her head. “No, thank you.”

  “Enjoy.”

  Taryn situated her plate, and then looked up. “What you thaid earlier, about thacrifithe?”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Yes?”

  “We’re on the thame page.” She smiled, scooped up a piece of her fish, and paused. “Thacrifithe ith what iths all about.”

  Chapter Two Hundred Fifty-One

  Taryn – Day ten

  With each passing day, Marc allowed me to see a little more of who he was. In my opinion, he was an interesting man with an oddly keen moral compass. I maintained an expectation of him eventually doing or saying something I disagreed with. So far, however, he’d exposed no major faults.

  I’d been ten days without so much as a single drink of alcohol. Although I didn’t consider myself an alcoholic, I viewed the accomplishment as being more than noteworthy. Sitting with Stefanie in the very bar that I met Marc in was testing my ability to abstain, though.

  “You what? Not a drink?” Stefanie asked.

  “Not one.”

  “It doesn’t bother you that I am?”

  “Nope.”

  Her face contorted. “Did he ask you to stop?”

  “No. I decided not to drink on my own. You know how I am when I’m drunk. I want to get to know him without any influence from alcohol. This way, I get a clear picture.”

  “I think that’s kind of awesome. Really.”

  “Yeah. Me too.”

  “So, what’s new with him? Anything? Did you do anything on Saturday night?”