DREAMS of 18

by A. Kent, Saffron

  Because unlike him, I feel it for real.

  I feel this love for real. This need to be his and his only.

  This need for him to look at me like this. Like he’s drowning in me.

  In fact, he gets his arms out from under my legs so he can clutch my face with them, with his hands like yesterday. But the way he’s digging the pads of his fingers in my cheeks and my scalp is so much more intense and dominating than last night.

  There’s an urgency in him, in the way he’s holding me. Like I’m his lifeline. Like I’m the thing he’s losing himself in but at the same time, I’m the very thing that’s going to save him, as well.

  I would think about it more if not for his cock. If not for him fucking me, driving into my body that my tits jiggle, my teeth clatter and my whole soul shakes.

  And all the while he’s staring at me.

  He pushes and pushes into me. Pushes into my snug channel, made snugger because my legs are thrown up by my ears.

  But see, they’re not as stable as they were before when he had his strong, sweaty arms under them, keeping them straight and pulling them taut.

  So he finds another way.

  He stops and pants, “Hold onto your laces.”

  I’m reluctant to let go of his ass but I know what he means. Even through the lusty fog, I know he’s asking me to grab onto my fluttering shoelaces because he wants me tighter.

  And I want that too.

  I want to be nice and tight for him that I feel every inch of his thick cock.

  So I do it.

  I hold onto the laces of my sneakers so my pussy is nice and tight for him.

  So my pussy grips him and keeps him inside of me as he fucks me and fucks me.

  Until that look in his eyes, that fake love blows up. It explodes into this big, huge thing that feels so real and amazing and wonderful and heartbreaking that I come.

  I clench around his cock and his drives become rough and haphazard.

  He jerks and twitches, his body slipping over mine with the sweat, the friction we’ve created. And then, he comes too.

  He does it still looking at me.

  He doesn’t close his eyes. He doesn’t get lost in his climax alone.

  He gets lost in it with me.

  The girl he can’t love but looks like he does.

  The girl who’s thinking, I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.

  I can’t lose that look. I can’t tell him. I can’t tell him the truth.

  I love him.

  He steals all my thoughts and my chanting when he grunts and almost falls on me, his hips thrusting one last time as his orgasm runs its course.

  But he doesn’t rest. He doesn’t look away from me either.

  In fact, he has a frown, a thick one, bisecting his forehead while he pants over me, all sweaty, his fingers still framing my face.

  “Graham?” I ask, my legs coming down and grasping him around his waist and my hands coming to rest on his jaw.

  “I don’t…” He pauses as he gathers his thoughts. “Did I hurt you?”

  Frowning, I shake my head. “No.”

  His cock pulses inside of me and my channel ripples making us both almost close our eyes. But he pushes on. “I’m not like this. I don’t… do these things.” He swallows, looking at me with both marvel and confusion. “I’m not this rough. This insane… I don’t know what happens to me. When it comes to you. You do something…”

  He lets his sentence hang and my heart swells and swells. It pushes against my rib cage with so much love for him and his half-made statements.

  He appears so lost and so dumfounded and so fucking laid bare as he tries to explain this change in him. The change that I’ve brought, somehow.

  Me.

  The girl who barely makes a dent in the universe is making a dent in him. I’m somehow transforming him and the things he does to me, with me, are new to him. As new and wonderful as they are to me.

  I wanna cry. I wanna laugh.

  But all I do is smile slightly and reach up to kiss his jaw, which he turns into a long, wet, sloppy kiss on the mouth.

  When we come up for air, I whisper, “I love it. Whatever you do, however you are, I love it.”

  I love you…

  How can I tell him the truth about me when he thinks I’m doing something to him? Something is changing in him because of me and because of that, he looks at me with wonder. He looks at me like I’m special.

  How can I tell him?

  How can I lose that look?

  I can’t. I won’t.

  I’m too hungry. My heart’s so hungry. My soul is so hungry.

  That I’m ready to eat up his fake love.

  That I’m ready to lie for it.

  There’s someone here.

  A man.

  I didn’t notice him at first or even hear how he got here, possibly by a vehicle of some kind. I was busy with my little vegetable garden.

  Oh, yeah. I have a vegetable garden now. It’s a little patch where I’m mainly trying to grow tomatoes and peppers. Because I thought it’d be something new and fun and also because they’re the easiest to grow here. Or at least, that’s what it said on the internet: my source of all things because I don’t talk to people.

  I can’t.

  But a man is here and as soon as I hear his voice, panic skitters down my spine, a frisson of it.

  “Hello?”

  I don’t turn around. I can’t. My knees are stuck on the ground, grinding actually, scraping into the dirt and I’m staring down at the mud with wide, fearful eyes.

  “Hi, excuse me?”

  He calls out again and I clench my eyes shut, my breathing going stuttered. I can feel his eyes on the back of my neck. I can feel his gaze prickling. Itching and scratching.

  And that’s the only reason, this incessant prickling, that I turn around.

  I come to my feet and see him.

  The man who’s staring at me curiously.

  He’s so sharp and clear and so in technicolor that I realize I don’t have my Audrey Hepburn glasses on. I don’t have my cap on either.

  In fact, they’re nowhere near because I haven’t encountered any situations where I might need them in a long, long time.

  Possibly in weeks.

  I don’t go anywhere.

  Whatever I need, I order online and hide the boxes as soon as they arrive so Graham doesn’t find out that I’m a hermit, or I just tell Graham to bring me things.

  I don’t even have to tell him, actually. He just anticipates them and brings them for me. Lollipops; dresses that he promised – I’m wearing one even now, white colored with giant red roses; glitter pens for my journal; all the Bukowski that I need, since I started reading again; roses from his garden.

  He brings me everything.

  It’s the best arrangement really. He doesn’t do dates and I don’t do going out so we’re always here.

  In this little secluded piece of the world where no one ever visits. Not even the wind or the sun.

  But now this man is here and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where to look. All I know is that I wanna run up to the cabin and shut the door. I wanna lock all the newly-painted doors and the newly-fitted windows – done by Graham – and dive into our bed, his and mine.

  “Hi, uh, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he says politely. “I’m actually…”

  He trails off while I stare at his polished boots, fisting and unfisting my cotton dress, feeling all kinds of exposed, fidgeting, shifting on my sneakered feet.

  “I’m sorry.” He laughs awkwardly. “But who are you? I don’t… I’m not being rude. I’m Richard. Richard Owens. I’m a friend of Graham’s. I’ve never really seen you here.”

  At this, I have to look at him.

  I have to.

  This is Richard.

  The man I overheard that day but never saw.

  The man who came to Graham’s cabin
to give him an ultimatum about his job.

  He’s tall, but not as tall as my Graham, and he has a polished look about him. He’s wearing a suit and his hair’s slicked back.

  He has intimidating shoulders. They’re not as broad as Graham’s but while Graham’s shoulders make me feel safe, this man’s make me feel uneasy and fearful.

  “I, uh… I’m not…”

  Anybody.

  But that’s not true, is it?

  I’m the girl because of whom Graham left his job in Connecticut. The stuff Richard was talking about when he last came to visit.

  Oh my God.

  He knows who I am. He knows.

  I mean, not that I am that girl but he knows about that girl. The supposed minor Graham allegedly had an affair with.

  He frowns. “I’ve got some papers for Graham. Is he… Is he home yet?”

  I swallow and shake my head like a mute person.

  Like I can’t form words. And that just makes me even more scared and angry at myself. That just flushes my throat even more.

  I clear it then, my throat, and try to speak again. “He’s not… He’s not here. But I can g-give them to him. The papers.”

  Graham texted me – we finally exchanged numbers when I told him it was weird that we didn’t know each other’s numbers – and told me that he was running late and that he’d bring pizza with him so I don’t have to worry about dinner.

  It all sounded very domestic and serene and peaceful to me.

  But now, I have a feeling that all the peace is going to go away.

  Richard’s considering me with curiosity and I can’t take his scrutiny. I can’t. It crawls on my skin, slithers on it like some slimy animal.

  I get this hysterical feeling that the longer he stands here, the closer he’s getting to putting all the pieces together.

  “Are you… Have you been living here? With him, I mean?”

  At this, my breathing hastens, and I shake my head.

  I shake it, sending my dull blonde/brown, straight hair to cover some of my face. “N-no. I’m just visiting.”

  Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

  That gets me more silence and more curiosity and my breath is going haywire.

  I need to get out of here.

  I need him to get out of here. Before he figures out who I am. Before the panic takes over. Before it roars in my ears and sets my skin on fire and chokes my lungs and I can’t breathe.

  “I actually have to…” I swallow and try to moisten my desert-dry tongue. “I have to check on something. I-I’ll let him know that you stopped by.”

  I try to take a step to the side so I can get away from him, but he stops me from going anywhere by his next question.

  “Is that your car out front? I saw it parked last time when I was here.”

  I jerk back a little, all afraid and wary and on the verge of panting. “W-why?”

  Richard raises his hands up. “I’m sorry. The question might have come out blunt. But the thing is, the car has Connecticut plates and… I’m just… I’m just wondering –”

  “Don’t,” I snap, panic making my voice high and squeaky. “Just leave. Please.”

  But he moves toward me and I’m right there.

  I’m right there at losing my shit.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he assures me. “You look like I’m going to hurt you but I’m not. I don’t want to cause you any harm. I’m just… I just want to have a conversation, that’s all.”

  He even reaches his hand out and that makes me even more scared.

  That hand.

  It’s not as big as my Graham’s but it’s threatening, and it looks dark and cold.

  I never even had conversations with people before I got this doomsday brain. I’m definitely not having one now.

  “I have to go. I have to –”

  Whatever I was going to say gets swallowed up by… things.

  So many things at once.

  First of all, there’s the screech of a truck coming to a halt followed by thudding footsteps. Then, there’s my gasp. It’s loud. It’s almost a shriek before I jerk away. I practically lunge away.

  But most of all, it’s Richard.

  He is on the ground with a very angry-looking Graham hovering over him.

  Graham fists Richard’s shirt and literally makes him stand up by just pulling on it and punches Richard on the face.

  He does it so hard that Richard shoots back and almost hits the siding of the cabin. The new siding that Graham installed a few days back.

  Graham pins him to that wall with his arm on Richard’s throat, and here I am hysterically thinking that Graham is really handy with all this construction stuff. It’s because over the years when he lived here with his dad, he got really good at repairs.

  And now, Graham is pinning Richard to the wall that he repaired. “What the fuck are you saying to her?”

  Where did he even come from?

  Like one second I was on the verge of losing it and the next, he swooped in to save me.

  Richard grabs his elbow, trying to get free. “What the hell… are you doing?”

  Graham doesn’t budge, however. In fact, he shoves his elbow harder into Richard’s throat so that he goes up on his tiptoes.

  “What did you say to her, huh?”

  “I didn’t… say anything.”

  “Yeah? Why the fuck were you looking at her? Why the fuck…” He shoves that arm into Richard’s throat again. “Why the fuck does she look so scared?”

  “I wasn’t…”

  Richard’s voice is getting fainter and fainter and I think his feet have started to flail a bit. I think he’s going to die.

  Oh God, Richard is going to die.

  Graham is gonna kill him. Graham is gonna kill Richard because I look scared.

  Because I’m standing here, clutching my dress, tears streaming down my face, hyperventilating.

  Because someone just talked to me.

  Someone just tried to have a conversation with me and I freaked out and Graham saw that and now our lives as we know them will be over.

  Unfisting my dress, I rush over to Graham. He looks like a breathing mountain from behind, his back so broad that it blocks Richard completely. If not for Richard’s flapping legs, I wouldn’t be able to see him.

  I grab Graham’s shirt as soon as I reach the pair. “Graham, stop. Please stop. Let him go.”

  It’s like he isn’t even listening to me.

  I clutch his arm, the one he’s using to keep Richard pinned, and try to shake it loose. “Graham, please. He didn’t say anything, I swear. Please let him go. Please. Please, honey.”

  I don’t know how it slipped out.

  Honey.

  Like I’m his… what, girlfriend now? His wife or something like that?

  I mean, yes, we’ve been living together for weeks. We sleep together, eat together, watch TV together, cook together too – well, he cooks and I bake. He wakes me up in the middle of the night because he wants me, he needs to be inside of me. And sometimes I wake him up because I want his cock in my mouth. I need to taste him and feel the largeness of him on my tongue.

  But that doesn’t give me the right to call him honey like it’s the most natural thing for me to say. Most natural and sitting at the tip of my tongue, ready to burst out of me.

  Although, it might be.

  It might be the most natural thing in the world for us because as soon as I say it, Graham whips his gaze over to me, all wild and bright, so loud with emotions.

  Emotions that wrap me up, cover me, blanket me in them.

  I become invisible, I think.

  Invisible to the world and visible only to him.

  “Let him go,” I whisper to him, my honey. “He didn’t do anything.”

  He doesn’t.

  He still has his arm shoved into Richard’s throat and Richard is still flailing.

  “Please.”
I fist the sleeve of his shirt and try to dislodge his arm nonetheless, as he sweeps his gaze over me, over my tear-stained face, my disheveled, wrinkled dress and my messy hair.

  Probably to check if I am okay.

  When he sees that I am, he does. He lets Richard go and steps away from him.

  I never thought I’d smile in front of a stranger again but I am. Smiling, I mean. It’s shaky and broken but it’s there, and even though I feel Richard’s eyes on me, the prickling isn’t driving me crazy right now.

  Not when I’m looking at Graham and not when he’s looking back at me and we’re connected like this.

  It’s not enough of a connection for Graham though because he turns away from Richard – who’s currently coughing and straightening his suit jacket from what I can glean from the corners of my eyes – and stalks toward me.

  I start moving back.

  What is he doing? Shouldn’t he try to fix this with Richard? Shouldn’t he try to make amends of some kind?

  But it looks like Graham doesn’t care.

  My sneakers roll and crunch on the gravel, squelch the grass as Graham advances on me with flushed cheekbones and needy eyes.

  Needy and flaming with so much heat that it licks at my skin. It licks at my stomach and thighs and I come to a stop.

  So he can come at me. So he can grab my face in his big hands.

  Because as it turns out, I want Graham close to me too. I want him touching me and if someone is watching, if someone can see, I find that I can’t bring myself to care.

  I’m not naïve though. I know my issues won’t go away just because the man I love has his eyes on me but I’ll take this reprieve, even for a few seconds.

  So when he does reach me and grabs my face, I clutch his wrists and close my eyes, sighing.

  I shut out the world. I shut out the man standing just a few paces away from us.

  I shut it out while I breathe the same air as Graham.

  Until Richard chokes out and shatters the illusion, “What the fuck was that? What the fuck are you doing, Graham?”

  I can hear Richard’s jerky movements, his panting breaths and it makes me flinch and open my eyes.

  Graham doesn’t turn around or pay him any attention. Instead, he wipes my splotchy tears off with his thumbs.

  Although he does bite out to Richard, “Get out of here, Richard.”