Debonair Dyke

by Roxy Harte

  I’ve been in town exactly nine days, six hours and thirty-seven minutes. Long enough to know this girl is trouble. I’ve heard the rumors, seen the rude gestures. God, she’s beautiful—achingly beautiful, because to see her and not touch her, hold her, protect her, actually hurts me inside—

  I will not fall in love with another straight girl. I promise.

  God, how many times have I promised that?

  She is not even my type. I’ve always chosen women by their darkness. Goth girls, vampire worshipers, hard-rock groupies, especially if their hair was dyed black. The blacker, the better. I could spot them a mile away by their too-thick black eyeliner, their tats and their dour expressions. This girl is none of that but I still want to run my hands through her hair, maybe grab hold of it and jerk her head back—just to see the look of surprise on her face. I imagine her hair wrapped around my palm and her lips bruised under my mouth.

  I watch her keep walking and force myself to keep my feet firmly planted. Small town. Straight girl. So not doing this.

  Chapter Six

  Dream Girl

  I lift myself over her, looking down on her beautiful body, her beautiful round, perfectly shaped breasts. Her nipples are tight pink buds, small, rosy. Such a soft shade of pink I want to bite them just to watch them fill with color. I squeeze the full orbs before twirling the nipple between my thumbs and fingers. I squeeze only hard enough to make her moan softly. “Do you like that?”

  “Yes.”

  Her back arches and I pinch a little harder, molding them into tight peaks.

  I rub my cock on her belly and she catches the silicone in her hands. She demands, “Inside me. Now.”

  She pushes the rigid length down, aiming, rubs it hard against my clit in the process. Oh god. It doesn’t take much when I’m strung this tightly and this isn’t about me, my needs. It’s all about her. I grab her hands. “Patience.”

  “That’s in short order today, mister. Need you. Now.” She runs her hands up my hips, my sides, my rib cage, the whole time pulling me down, trying to mold me to her will.

  I resist. God, I resist. But it’s hard. There’s nothing like a woman under you demanding your services. Nothing.

  I stroke my cock, aiming, knowing I should go slower…

  Her hands reach my shoulders, rubbing, stroking, pulling me down closer. She lifts herself, arms sliding around my neck. Our breasts collide and her skin is so warm, so soft, so pliant. Her lips hover so close to mine. I can feel her breath.

  Our gazes collide and she demands, “Please, Danni, please. Now!”

  I kiss her, fully, lips, teeth, tongue all colliding. She kisses back with equal drive, passion, force. It’s a battle of wills. Who will control whom? Who will win? I withdraw, breathless, but she playfully catches my bottom lip between her teeth and doesn’t let go. She pulls me closer, so insistent, not willing to allow the kiss to stop. I wrap my hand into her hair, pulling her the fraction closer, forcing the kiss past playful, verging on roughness. She doesn’t retreat, doesn’t yield. If anything I’ve spurred her to be even more demanding. We consume each other with our mouths.

  She cries out, lifting her hips. “If you do not fuck me right this minute—”

  “What? Whatchu gonna do, little girl?”

  She bites my cheek, pulling my face down as she sinks toward the pillow. I follow. What else am I going to do?

  I feel her spreading her legs wider, grabbing my cock, aiming. She lifts her hips again and I feel the soft slide as my cock starts to penetrate. I am not in control of this show, this girl…

  I awake mid-orgasm, the taste of her lips still fresh on my tongue. I sit up, searching my bedroom with a quick look. I refrain from looking under the bed though the dream was that real. I am still in my old bedroom, still in my parents’ house. I am surrounded by a dozen stuffed animals and watched by a dozen eyes frozen by time and camera lens, women from a band I refuse to admit I ever listened to, let alone lusted after.

  God. That was a vivid dream. I’ve never experienced anything like that. I could swear there was a woman in my bed. Not a woman. The woman. The sweet blonde who bobs by the garage every single morning, every single evening.

  At least it might have been her face, her breasts…

  The eyes, the voice, the memory—that was all Tabitha, a tortured Goth poetry writer I kept on the side back when I was dating Rebecca, the then love of my life. Years ago. Many years ago. It’s been a long time since I’ve spent much time thinking about either of them. But especially Tabitha.

  Not long enough, because the ache is still there. When does it stop hurting? I should have never cheated on Rebecca. She deserved better. But at the time, there was no denying Tabby and god, after once, there was again and again and… I don’t even remember who dumped whom, or what the final fight was about. I remember trying to drown her memory out with a hundred other women, hating that she’d been such a good fit. Why hadn’t I seen it while we were together? I never entertained the notion once that I might actually love her. I still don’t think I ever loved her, or even cared very much. But god, the sex. There has never been another who has even come close to matching her intensity, her passion.

  I close my eyes, refusing to remember her face.

  I think about the girl in town as I slide my fingers between my legs, finding myself wet and slick. I know I just came. I felt myself coming. But I need this. I need her. I remember the dream, reliving each stroke, finding inconsistencies that prove without a doubt it was not a Tabitha-induced dream, not a memory. It was too real, damn it. And Tabitha’s nipples were never a light shade of pink.

  I vow today I’m going to say hello when my dream girl walks by.

  Chapter Seven

  Town Whore

  Like a siren, she lures me to follow and before I know it I’m inside the drugstore. I shadow her aisle to aisle, trying so hard not to be obvious. I’m insane. I don’t even know this girl, but inside I know her, know her pain. A psychiatrist could have me locked up for the thoughts I have during the thirty-second delay in chasing after her. I want to keep her, chain her if necessary to keep her safe from the idiots outside.

  Speaking of idiots…one of the local yokel hodunk-ites is now sporting a shiner for what he said to her the other day when she walked by. Words not repeatable in any company.

  “Are you following me?”

  Fuck. Caught. “No, no. I just—” Seeing the aisle I’m in—feminine products—I blush seven shades of red and reach for a box of panty liners. I drop the item in my small handheld basket. As if this isn’t embarrassing enough, add a menstrual cycle to the equation. Not that I have much experience anymore. A daily dose of hormones prevents the red tide and I like it like that.

  “I heard about your dad.”

  Small town, of course she did.

  “Are you okay?”

  What? Me?

  “I can’t believe you came back to this place. If I ever escaped, I’d never look back.”

  I meet her gaze. “It’s as easy as climbing on the daily bus.”

  She smiles, as if I’m being silly, or an idiot, or both. “You came back for your family. I won’t leave mine.”

  “Ah-h. Family. Now there’s the shit of it.”

  She laughs, as if I made a joke. Maybe I did.

  “Is it true? How bad he is?”

  Geesh. Rumor control central needs to get a grip. I wonder if they have his casket picked out yet. “He’s actually out of ICU. Another week and hopefully he’ll be stable enough to be transferred to rehab.”

  She smiles and touches my shoulder. “Oh Danni, that’s wonderful news!”

  Danni. She called me Danni. As though we’ve been friends forever. Now it’s awkward. I still have images in my head of her chained and protected in the basement. The two problems with that scenario being it would be my mother’s basement, because that’s where I’m staying, and I am really not a psychotic lunatic. I turn away, prepared to flee.

  “So,” she a
sks cautiously, “you’re gay. Like a hundred percent?”

  I glance over my shoulder, looking her over, uncertain of her motive. I’ve been gay since before I left this one-horse town the first time. There are obviously more questions riding on the tip of her tongue and so I wait. She doesn’t disappoint me. “Or did you go for the implant-a-dick, and now you’re just another one of the guys?”

  Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why did I think I could come back to this town? I lift the box of pads from my basket. “Would I need these if I had an implant?”

  I hurry away, thinking I should just ditch the basket and leave, but I won’t do that, and I’m sure not taking the time to re-shelve the blasted things I picked up when I was trying not to appear as though I was following her.

  She catches up to me at the checkout. “I didn’t mean to offend you. My name’s Jessica and I thought—”

  I cast her a silencing look, one that says shut your trap because I’m not feeling very nice right now. I don’t need any small-town drama, and I’m certainly not interested in whatever game she’s playing. We’re in earshot of the checkout girl. Who, I can tell by the way she pops her gum, sounding like a drive-by shooting, is waiting to hear what Jessica has to say. I doubt she’d even wait until we exited the store before sending a text to her hundred closest friends, spilling the latest gossip.

  It appears Jessica is a smart girl and doesn’t say another word, not while I’m checked out or even after I walk away. I hear the beep of her single item scanned and the checkout girl asking, “Did you find everything you are looking for today?” with a sugared sweetness that makes my skin crawl.

  Jessica answers with a flustered tone, “Yes, yes, keep the change.”

  I smile at her frustration, probably because I’m more curious than furious. Can’t she see I’m walking slowly? Or that I even stopped to put a quarter in the gumdrop machine by the door? God, why do I care what she has to say?

  I step outside into the sunshine and pull on my shades with Jessica right on my heels. I start walking down the sidewalk toward the garage, knowing she’ll follow whether I say anything or not. Passing by Yah Yah’s Pizza, we draw a few teenagers’ curious glances from the after-school crowd. I jaywalk to the other side of the road. She does too, following as close as my shadow. “At least we’re giving the town something new to talk about.”

  “Sorry about that. I don’t want to cause you any trouble.”

  “And yet you are still following me.”

  “Deny you trailed me all through that damn drugstore.”

  “Touché.”

  “So why were you following me?” she demands.

  I stop in front of the garage, unlock the door and hold it open so she’ll enter first. She gives me a glance before going in. “I’d at least like a little privacy for this conversation and for some reason the sidewalk directly in front of my garage is the busiest thoroughfare in town.”

  She steps inside. I close the door behind us. Suddenly we are nose to nose and I don’t know when or how it happened. “I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my life,” is said at the same time as “I think I’m a lesbian.”

  “What?”

  “You’re new in town.” She shrugs. “And maybe I’m wrong, but I’m assuming you’re a lesbian. I’m hoping you’re a lesbian, because I thought maybe I could swing by the garage sometime. We can talk, get to know one another better…become friends…and you could maybe help me figure it out.”

  “Friends?” I repeat, followed closely by, “help you figure it out?” I just stare at her, dumbstruck. Is she seriously saying she just wants to have sex with me to figure out whether or not she’s a lesbian? I’d be an experiment? Sure, have sex with the freak and when it doesn’t quite work out, that proves it, not gay, go back to the boys. “Not happening.”

  “Why?” She looks hurt.

  I narrow my eyes, thinking blondes really are idiots. That’s why I never go for blondes. Never, ever, ever. I was a fool to think a relationship with this beauty was even remotely possible.

  “I’m not the most popular person in town.”

  “Neither am I.” She smiles, a billion-watt smile, one that makes me remember again just why I followed her in the first place.

  “I’ll ruin your reputation.”

  A ray of sunlight streams in through the storefront window, catching on her ponytail and making it look like spun gold. I like her ponytail. It bounces when she walks. Actually, she bounces, having a natural gait that is so fucking perky I can’t help but believe she was a high school cheerleader in the past. Sooo not my type. Look away. Run now!

  I turn the door sign from CLOSED to OPEN. This conversation isn’t going anywhere.

  “There isn’t anything left to ruin. If you haven’t heard, I’m the town whore.”

  Oh I’d heard. “Is that true? You actually prostitute yourself for money? Do you have a specific corner you stand on?”

  She glares at me, reminding me again of Tabitha. I smile. I can’t help it. The dream was so vivid and I want the reality. I want to grab her, hold her, torture her with pleasure…all because of a glaring look. I’m an ass but the make-up sex I shared with Tabitha was always insane, sometimes violent, but always amazing. And I wonder if this girl could come close to that potential.

  I gesture at the padded and chromed barstool in the corner. “Tell me about it.”

  “You want me to tell you about being the town whore?” Not sitting, she looks at me, pale-blue eyes glistening with fear or anxiety, maybe anger.

  “All the nasty details.”

  “Ask anyone,” she assures me. “There are no secrets in this town.”

  I shrug. “I don’t want to hear the details from anyone but you.”

  “Five years ago my life was perfect, head cheerleader, prom queen, full scholarship to KU…and then I told Bobby Kruegger to take a flying leap.”

  “Meaning you didn’t fuck him?”

  “Yeah, meaning that. Problem is small-town talk. He was the head of the football team and that made him God around here, so when he said he caught me in a gang-bang orgy behind the stadium that was that. Everyone believed him. So, you see, my reputation has already been ruined. No reason we can’t be friends.”

  “Who said I want or even need a friend?”

  “Oh you need a friend,” she whispers and then she walks out of the garage.

  And I’m the dumb shit who doesn’t follow her.

  The bell dings, announcing a car just drove over the black hose out front. I imagine whoever it is has already caught sight of Jessica leaving, not that I’m worried about more rumors. Liar. I’m worried about her reputation, okay? She might think it couldn’t get any worse but I know it can.

  I hurry outside to see who’s here. Seeing John Kramer, I’m more than a little surprised. I call out in greeting, “How’s that transmission working for you?”

  He sheepishly comes around the side of his truck. I meet him halfway and he reaches out his hand to shake mine. I shake, not really certain why. It’s not like I usually let bygones be bygones. I’m known for holding a grudge and it might have been more than a dozen years since I rebuilt John’s transmission only to have him demand it be removed again when he’d learned who’d done the actual work.

  My dad had pulled it and towed the truck back to John’s farm transmissionless. I’d later heard he’d gotten a mechanic from several counties over to put in a new transmission. I’d also heard he’d blown his engine only two weeks later…

  Karma’s a bitch, right?

  That wasn’t the end of the story though. Rumor came ’round real quick that some unknown benefactor had rebuilt that engine during the dead of the night.

  “You know, I’m a pretty proud man and I wasn’t too thrilled about having to come by here today, but my conscience wasn’t going to let me sleep another wink until I at least came by to see if you or your mother need anything. I was real sorry to hear about what happened to your dad.”

>   I take a step back. “We don’t need anything, John.”

  “Meaning from the likes of me?” he asks, shaking his head. “I’m hard as a stone and dumb as an ox, Denise, but I was raised with old-fashioned convictions. I just want you to know, your daddy was always good to me, and it seems you’ve always done right by me too, even when I was an ass.”

  I’m not admitting to anything. I know it always ate at his craw who’d worked on his truck without him being any wiser. He sure wasn’t having it taken out though. He showed it off to everyone and kept it shiny and new-looking for years.

  “Town’s taken a hard hit with this economy and I know your daddy’s been struggling—even before his illness—and while I don’t think there’s a chance in hell you’re going to save this place and make it profitable again, I find it admirable you are trying to do just that.”

  What do I say to that?

  “I don’t think much of how you’re choosing to live your life, but I’m no one to judge. Only God has the right to do that and he’ll have his due come Judgment.”

  Oh fuck. Just leave, John.

  “I told a few guys, Ben Murphy and Jack Collier, to bring their trucks here. You’re as good a mechanic as your daddy ever was. And if you ever need a reference, I’ll write you a good one.”

  “Because you’d prefer it if I go back to wherever I came from?” I can smell a skunk from a mile away and John Kramer is a fat one.

  “I’m sure you had a better life away from here.”

  “Better is irrelevant.”

  John isn’t looking at me. I realize he’s watching Jessica walk down the street. “Better watch yourself around her, she’s nothing but trouble.”