You (You #1)(66)

“Is this inappropriate?”

I close Paula Fox and the Beck song “Sexx Laws” starts to play, an ode to handcuffs and illogically great fucking. You and I will make our own fucking song and I adjust so I’m facing you and the door is not locked and the sign says open and the streets are emptying out (a Monday in January) and the Hannah was foreplay and the texts were first base and you move toward me, slightly, and I spread my legs, slightly, and you are standing on your peacoat in your fuck-me boots and I can’t take it anymore and I break.

“You’re late. We’re about to close.”

“Sorry, boss. When do we close, boss?”

“Now.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Yeah,” I say, and I’m a rock and you’re not wearing any panties under that skirt, you whore, and you tilt your little head and twirl your little hair and it’s amazing how the most generic shit in the world can be so hot: half-naked girl in a bookstore, reaching for a Twizzler, chewing on it, slowly, begging for it, silently.

“Well, maybe there’s something else I can do for you,” you coo and I shake my head no and motion for you to come here now and you have the Twizzler hanging out of your mouth and you put both of your hands on both of my knees and lean in and dangle the Twizzler at my mouth.

I bite it. Finally.





28


I have just fucked you for the first time in our lives and it was not good and it did not go on forever and you did not scream. Where was that Macy’s heat when I was inside you? And who’s to blame for our quick fuck? Was it because we weren’t in a dressing room or in front of an open window? Or was it me? Was I too hungry? Too eager? Did I hold you too hard? Maybe I’m better at eating you out than I am at fucking you, and that’s a horrible and unfair possibility. We’ve only done it once. Do I get to do it again? Do you want to do it again?

You don’t want to do it again. You aren’t revving up as we recover on the floor of the cage. You are on top of me stroking my hair and I can’t see your face but I can feel the disappointment in your hands, in your touch, which is full of pity. The pads of your fingers go pat-pat and I can’t let go of you or you might back off of me and I might have to face you and I can’t do that. I lasted maybe eight seconds. Nine. I’m running over it in my head and I don’t know how this happened. Maybe I jerked off too much and maybe you teased me too much and maybe I should have locked the door.

“No,” you said. “It’s so hot with the door open and the open sign up, right?”

I should have been honest with you and told you that the lack of security would only make me nervous. But I didn’t want to disappoint you and I wanted to put your needs first. You wanted to go at it by the register, but I said no.

“Let’s go downstairs.”

“Really?” you said and you were lit up. You were. I’m sure of it.

We got down here (my idea, I have the key, I am the boss), and I unlocked the cage and ordered you in there and I locked it and you smiled and I told you to take your skirt off and you obeyed (I am the boss) and you weren’t wearing any panties and I told you to touch yourself and you did and I willed the other Beck to shut the fuck up. You wanted the music on and so I left it alone (I am the boss and I am allowed to please you on occasion). You stood holding the cage door with one hand and working at yourself slowly with the other while I started getting undressed, and you watched me smiling one second, intent and ready the next. I told you to beg for it and you begged me to come in there and I took my pants off and you saw how badly I wanted to come in there and I told you to get down on your knees and you did and you reached for me (I am the boss, I am allowed to please you on occasion) and I unlocked the cage and entered. You took me in your hands and in your mouth and you kept looking up at me and I knew it was time to fuck you and let you know that it was time and you leapt at me, an animal, and straddled me and commanded me downward (I am the boss and I am allowed to please you on occasion), and then.

And then.

And then I was inside of you and I came. I blew it. I came so fast and so hard and you said nothing at first and you didn’t act like you wanted me to help you finish, you just went smack into gentle stroking my hair mode (the wrong kind of fucking touching), and you quietly told me:

“Don’t worry, Joe. I’m on the pill.”

And that was the moment I was most afraid of you and what you could do to me and not do to me because that was the moment that I realized that you are the boss, not me and you can please me on occasion if you want to. When we finally stood up we were both hungry and dizzy and there was an old man upstairs standing at the register and he looked at us, me all dressed, you in your bra and he smiled.

“You kids have a good night. I’ll come back another time.”

There was something deathly unsexual and anticlimactic and flattening in his words, his old man eyes and his pleasure at seeing us, young and hot and alive. He had more fun in that moment than you and I had in our first fuck and there was no getting around it and I wasn’t surprised when you said you should go check on Peach because she’s been really depressed. I wasn’t surprised that you didn’t suggest we go to your bed and fuck again. I was bad and you are the boss.

But this is what surprises me. A day later—you didn’t even wait a whole day—you texted me: