Me and My Boi Page 4

  All around us the smell now was the indictment of her tears. “Can’t you find her, Georgie? Tell her you didn’t want that, tell her we never did—we never did.”

  I tucked my cock back into my drawers and then zipped up. I wanted something to cover her with, but there was nothing. Her exposure was too much for me.

  She raised her eyes and met my gaze in the mirror once again, and her face fell in that instant. I had backed away from her, as far as I could get. Her eyes sharpened to flint and she watched me open the door a hair, with her still bent and offering, there at the sink. I slipped out, shut the door and listened again to her sobs.

  It seemed like the whole bar (near empty now and still) was glaring at me, most especially Shirleen’s best friend Carla Jo and her butch, the bartender, Azele. I stopped at the bar for a second to gather my jacket and Azele came over to me with a shot of bourbon, and let me throw it back. “You’re gonna have to go, Georgie—you know that, right?”

  I knew. I went. And still and now, all the way up here in the frozen North—even jerking off in my little twin bed to every part of that night except the very end, but even so not quite being able to come—I know. I’m still leaving. I can’t get far enough away.

  BIKE PEDAL. EMPANADAS. AND WHISKEY.

  Aimee Herman

  I am going to try to find an adjective. One I’ve never used before, which may be difficult since I tend to use the same ones. And for the purpose of our conversation, I will call this person I’m trying to describe Q. I am going to need you to get comfortable. Order your drink now, so that when you take your last sip, the waiter will already know what you want and there will be no interruption. What’s that? Yes, it is quite loud in here, but this seemed like the best table and I do like the ambiance. Thickly painted women stuck inside these giant canvases. That one over there. Look. That one’s cleavage looks as though it’s a spill from the neck down. Don’t you think? Okay, good. You’ve got your whiskey and I’ve got mine.

  The start of this isn’t so romantic. I was in a bike shop in Brooklyn on Franklin Avenue. Yes, that new one. And I was with my lover who had a busted pedal and needed a replacement. Inhale for a moment. Oh, take your sip and then inhale. Yes. Imagine this shop with scents of tires and oil. Now breathe in deeper because my lover interrupted these smells with his face. He still reeked of my cunt. He hadn’t brought his cock the night before when he came over, so he preferred to leave his clothes on. I was able to persuade him out of his pants and I imagined his cock into me. I was nude as I often am when I am home. He lifted me and I wrapped my thighs around him as though my legs were fan blades whipping at his hips. He didn’t throw me onto the bed; this isn’t a movie. It was a careful drop. He did not take the time to kiss my inner thighs or my belly or even my mouth. He just sucked out the sweat of my bush and dug his tongue into me.

  Damn, this whiskey is good. I don’t even want to be gentle with it, you know? Where was I? So, we are in the bike shop. He is talking to the mechanic about his pedal, asking him to look at the alignment as well. I was walking around, my cunt still sore, wishing we hadn’t left my apartment, and then I saw Q. Here is where the proper adjective has to come into play. Imagine a mellifluous voice. And face. And…well, everything. Are you with me? Do you see this? Can you picture this? Okay. This isn’t Q. This one was more like aluminum. You know when you messily remove the metallic-like casing on the top of a wine bottle? It’s a bit sharp. It bends, but it can also cut. This is Q. There was no melody or rhythm to Q’s face. It was more like grit. Fleshy, thick gravel. Q was wearing jeans, denim that just hung like a hard waterfall plunging from hips. There was a gathering at the bum and don’t worry, I searched for it. I stared. And my stare was unapologetic. It was guiltless. My stare did not care that I had just been fucked by my lover who had lustful rage in his fingers from yesterday’s T shot. My stare had no remorse for the fact that just a few feet away my lover was arguing about price with the mechanic while I wondered how I could get this human in denim, with shadowed cheekbones, to leave with me but not go too far. Walk up Park to where that abandoned building is. I think there was a fire there many years ago. And I’d slip my hands down Q’s pants. Not even unbutton. Everything would remain on us because it is only two in the afternoon. It isn’t nighttime. There is plenty of sun breathing out its energy at us still. And I’d search out Q’s erection.

  Wait. What did you just order? Yeah, I’ll have one of those too. This booze is making me so slippery. Okay. So, my fingers would be wrapped around whatever is in Q’s pants. And by the look of things in that bike shop, Q was packing. And Q would aggressively put a hand right into my pants, and notice I was packing as well. It was my soft cock, the one I wore just for me, but it could still be played with, even in its pliability.

  Shit, do you see who that is? Fuck. Alana. What do you mean you don’t know who that—don’t you remember last June? That stupid lesbian speed-dating event I went to? Kelly dragged me and I only went because she had been miserable because of her breakup. I can be so soft sometimes. Anyway, it was the end of the night. Alana was my last “date.” I was exhausted. She wasn’t exactly my type. She was covered in makeup. I could barely see the shape of her face, but she also had on these incredibly sexy stockings. I just wanted to tear them off with my teeth. As she asked me the most banal questions, I couldn’t help fantasizing tying myself up, forcing away my limbs, so I could use my teeth to tear at the webbed stitching and lick her released skin. I managed to put my hand on her knee, and instruct her to slowly get up. No, I wasn’t drunk. All they had was wine, and you know that has no effect on me. I said to her: I want to watch the creases on your dress slowly suction themselves to your body. Then I want you to leave. I will be behind you, I told her. She grabbed her purse, which was so small I can’t imagine how she could even fit a lipstick in that thing, and she walked out. I followed close behind. We got to the end of the street and turned. I pushed my body against hers and threw my hand beneath her dress, which was the exact shade of red that her ass became by the end of the night. My fingers were inside her and—

  What? No, I was gentle. I mean, I started with two fingers before I switched to four. She writhed like wind and kissed her lipstick onto me. Fuck, you know how I feel about lipstick, but it tasted so sweet. Her lips actually tasted like an ingredient. Buttery…like a croissant or something. She used her palm to press against my cunt and then she just turned all rubbery and could barely touch me. She lost it. Came all over my hand.

  Where are our drinks? Didn’t we order something? Anyway, sometimes nights are meant to remain as just that: one night. Somehow she got my phone number. Kelly must have given it to her; I’m pretty sure they knew each other. I am not exaggerating when I tell you that this girl texted me constantly. We went out a few times after that, but we wanted very different things. I was looking to orgasm; she was looking for a girlfriend.

  Shit, I’ve gotten extremely off course. Bike shop. So, my lover is now paying for the new pedal and asking a bunch of questions about adding gears to his bike or something. Q is noticing my stare. Good. I still haven’t named a proper adjective have I? I did? Well, here are a few more. So, Q’s hair was that kind of messy that looked like it had been mashed between hands and rubbed against a bed, back and forth. I know there’re hair products out there to make hair look this way, but Q’s hair practically stunk of fucking.

  Are you okay? Maybe we should get you some water. Or we can order those empanadas you like. They make ’em good here. Yeah, let’s get two orders of those. And two more whiskeys, yeah? So, I notice my lover putting his wallet in his back pocket and heading toward me. I feel one second of guilt that I want him to leave. I want him to just walk out and forget he came with me. I can feel Q watching as my lover grabs my hips and pulls me into him. He tells me something about how much this new pedal cost. I don’t care. I’m just thinking about the shape of Q and the way I want to suck out Q’s tongue. Suddenly, my lover gets a phone call. He digs out his phon
e and answers it. I know it must be important because usually he communicates through text only. Yeah, he’s one of those. And then, he motions to me that he has to go. Something about work or his mom or actually, all I cared was that he was leaving and I wasn’t leaving without Q.

  How about a verb? Q stumbled. It wasn’t exactly a stagger. Or maybe it was. It’s like the difference between print and cursive. You know, they stopped teaching cursive in schools? Shit. Anyway, Q’s body was writing in cursive. These movements were squiggly and it’s like each bone was speaking in a different language. No, no. Not like drunk. More like this loose, slow transition from heel to toe to wooden floorboard to air to—even though I’m pretty sure by the look of Q and knowledge of my own morning, we had both been fucked already that day, there was still hunger in us. And I swear to you I am not lying when I said to Q: leave with me. And there was absolutely no hesitation as Q grabbed a bike and we literally left. What? No, I couldn’t take Q home with me. As smutty as I can be, my bed is only for my lover. I didn’t even think about asking to go to Q’s place. Instead, we walked the four or so blocks to that bar you and I went to that time for Reyna’s birthday. They have those single-serving bathrooms. Fucking small. Barely big enough for one, but then there is that one that is like a suite in comparison. Big mirror on the wall. That came in handy. So we fucked and then I went home and made myself a really delicious lunch of—

  What? What do you need to know? Haven’t I said enough? You gonna have that last empanada? Damn, these are good. I like how they kind of burn my tongue a little and it is almost painful to swallow—okay! The thing was we were both aggressive. There was nothing soft about Q and I was right, there was definite packing. Q was taller than I am; did I mention that? I don’t think I talked about height. Yeah, so Q kind of pushed my head down. Got me on my knees and just pushed cock out from that gorgeous hole built into underwear, which were bright red, by the way. Suddenly, I’ve got a mouthful of polyurethane cock and I am just sucking and sucking, feeling it give and stretch in my mouth. The great thing is that I can use my teeth and Q doesn’t even know it. I can be clumsy and I don’t have to pretend to deep-throat it, even though I totally did. I practically swallowed it. I—

  You want me to stop? Oh, yeah. Let’s grab another drink; I’m pretty thirsty too. I swear they water these drinks down. So, Q’s back is bent toward the wall. It’s scooped out. Then I just get up, pull my pants down, move my cock out of the way so I can finger myself for a minute, realize how wet I am and throw this thick cock into me. We are pressed so firmly together, I cannot believe we just met. I—no, I…what I mean is, we are just moving at a rhythm that feels—what? I’m not going to pretend it didn’t feel good. I’m not—yeah, I guess something happened. I mean, my lover fucks me with his cock—actually, he has several that he uses on me, but Q’s…it’s like my cunt had been chiseled into the exact shape to take this one in. I know, I know what I sound like.

  What? Don’t compare me to Alana. Yeah, we kissed. Of course, we kissed. And it was monstrous and harsh. I’m not going to call it romantic. It was everything but that. Our mouths were greedy. And then I just…sort of…twisted around, which happened so fast, I actually lost track of everything. We were…I don’t know…I felt like Q was climbing into me. I don’t know how long we were in there. It doesn’t matter. All I know is that I left my bones in there that day. Like several, significant bones in there in that dirty, fucking bathroom.

  No, I never saw Q again. Of course, right? Isn’t that how it goes? And I broke up with my lover two days later. Nothing felt right after that day. It’s like…it’s like my shape changed.

  BENNIE

  Sommer Marsden

  I watched Bennie the way I did every morning. Stomping out of her house in her big work boots. She walked like she had a vendetta against the world, and the way she carried herself never failed to turn me on. She clutched a to-go mug of coffee and rooted in her deep pockets for her car keys. Every morning she did this, and every morning I enjoyed the ritual.

  I sat inside my apartment, watching her as I drank from my Snoopy mug. My computer whirred gently and my freelance work waited and yet…I watched her.

  I had this fantasy, had had it for ages, where she’d stalk over here instead of to her car. She’d rap on the door hard enough to make me jump instead of root for her keys. She’d ask me out on a date instead of driving off to work.

  It had yet to happen. Would probably never happen. But I had the fantasy anyway. It went on from there. Her coming to pick me up for said date in her black fitted trousers and her leather vest. The one she only wore to special events. Semi-casual, she’d once laughed when I complimented her on it. I’d been getting the mail, she’d been heading out for the night.

  I’d blushed as if I’d asked her to drop to her knees and go down on me instead of complimenting her outfit. It had taken everything in me to do it and yet I’d forced myself. Then I’d watched her pull away in her ’66 Mustang coupe—white to her almost consistently black ensembles. After she’d gone, I’d damn near staggered into the house, dropped to the sofa, shoved my hand into my panties and gotten myself off, not once, but twice. Just remembering her clear blue eyes on me and the way she’d laughed.

  It made me want to kiss her, that laugh. It made me want to fuck.

  I’d let the curtain drop so when the doorbell rang I damn near swallowed my own tongue. A peek through the window showed me Bennie, and I found my feet had disappeared on me. I couldn’t feel them at all. Nor my lips. My face was on its way to being numb as well, but I forced my hands to work the lock and then turn the doorknob.

  “Hey, hi,” I stammered. “What’s up, Bennie?”

  She had no idea. She was clueless. She didn’t know that as we stood there I was wet inside my panties, frantic and nervous inside my stomach.

  “Car,” she growled. “Won’t start. And…” She patted her pocket and a clicking sound arose. “Phone’s dead. You’d think I would remember to charge it, right? I have no home line.” She stared at me.

  And? And? My mind scrambled for words. Finally, she did that little half-smile thing of hers that always made me want to drop to my knees and beg her to notice me. She ran a hand through her close-cropped dark hair and said, “So…Ava…”

  “Yes?” Damn if I didn’t sound breathless. It was mortifying.

  “Can I use your phone to call a tow?”

  My heart kicked in my chest, hard. I realized my stupidity. How silly I must have looked. “Of course!” I chirped. “I’m so sorry. Clearly I need more coffee.” I was babbling as I hurried to the kitchen to grab the portable home line. My cell was dead too, so that made us two for two in the dead cell department.

  When I turned she had come in right behind me. Standing so close to me, I could see the green striations around the pupils in her blue eyes. I could smell some sandalwood scent on her skin and the clean generic smell of shampoo and soap. I could see up close what those lips looked like in that little twist of a half smile.

  She took the phone from me and her fingers brushed my hand. I jolted and then tittered nervously when she noticed.

  “I didn’t hear you come,” I said. Then caught my words and had enough presence of mind to feel my cheeks flame red in an instant.

  “Oh, you would.” She laughed. “Thanks.”

  She punched in a number that she seemed to know by heart and turned her back to me. “Tony, it’s Bennie. The Mustang. Yeah. Again. I thought you fixed that shit. I mean, come on—yeah, okay, forty-five minutes.”

  She hung up the phone and shook her head. “Fucking mechanics. Thanks, Ava. I’ll go wait out by the ca—”

  “Have some coffee,” I blurted. “It’s cold and…”

  I don’t want you to go.

  But I didn’t finish. I swallowed hard waiting for her decision.

  She cocked her head and smiled again. When she stuck her hands in her pockets the long, thin silver chain that went from her wallet to her belt loop swayed. Mor
e than once I’d imagined that chain wound around my wrists as Bennie did things to me. Dirty things. Good things. Whatever she damn well pleased.

  She caught me watching that chain. She tapped the toe of her boot on my black and white linoleum floor. When she smiled this time my stomach dropped. That was the smile of a predator. The knowledge that she’d get whatever she wanted, the pleasure from that knowledge…they were written all over her face. I didn’t know whether to feel excited as opposed to afraid.

  I was both. It was magnificent.

  “Why don’t you pour me some coffee,” she said slowly.

  I hurried to do it but she reached out and grabbed my wrist before I could get too far. I gasped, turned to face her, not sure what was going to happen. “I wasn’t done, Ava.”

  “Sorry,” I stammered. A wet, thick ache had taken up residence inside me. I pictured her hands on me. Her fingers in me. Her mouth on me. My own mouth had gone dry.

  “While you’re pouring me that coffee, tell me what you were just thinking. Just now. Looking at me.”

  “At you? I…” Maybe I was about to deny it all, I thought. Maybe my embarrassment would get the better of me.

  “When you were looking at my wallet chain. I want to know. And don’t lie,” she said, squeezing my wrist hard enough to make my pulse thump wickedly. “I’ll know if you lie.”

  I believed her.

  “I can’t,” I said. I’d lusted after her for over two years but our interactions had been kept to softly shouted greetings, the occasional wave, an exchanged bottle of booze at Christmas. I’d picked up her mail for her when she’d been away and she’d gotten mine for me but never…