The Nix(149)

“No.”

She shrugged, as if to say, Clearly I am right. She raised her hands to him, presented her wrists, which he reluctantly handcuffed.

The next time she asked for the handcuffs again.

“And try to be a little rougher,” she’d said.

He asked her to be more specific.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Just don’t be so gentle.”

“I’m not entirely clear what that means in practice.”

“Smash my face into the car or something.”

“Or something?”

And this is how it went every time: Alice asked for something new and weird, something that Brown had never done before and maybe had never even considered before, something that gave him the creeps and made him feel all sorts of dread that he wouldn’t be able to bring himself to do it—or wouldn’t be able to do it to her standards—and so Brown resisted it until eventually his fear of disappointing Alice or losing Alice overcame his shame and panic and he muscled through with whatever sexual act she wanted, self-conscious the entire time, not exactly enjoying it but knowing the alternative was much, much worse.

“You got anything to show me?” he said now, pressing Alice’s belly into the car and pressing himself against her back.

“No.”

“Anything in those jeans? Best to admit it.”

“Honest, no.”

“We’ll see about that.”

She felt his hands in her pockets, front and back, turning them inside out, finding nothing but lint and old tobacco. He patted her legs, outside the thigh, then inside.

“See?” she said. “Nothing.”

“Shut up.”

“Let me go.”

“Shut your mouth.”

“You’re a f*ckin’ pig,” she said.

He pressed her face harder into the cold metal of the cruiser. “Say that again,” he said. “I dare you.”

“Fuckin’ cockless pig,” she said.

“Cockless,” he said. “I’ll show you cockless.”

Then he leaned over her and whispered into her ear, in a tone about five octaves higher and full of tenderness and affection, “Am I doing this right?”

“Don’t break character!” she scolded.

“Okay,” he said, “fine.” And she felt him pull at her jeans and yank them down. She felt the slight buckle of the metal where he forced her cheek against the trunk of the cruiser. Then the feeling of the morning air as he exposed her, brought her jeans all the way off and kicked her legs apart so she was spread out and easily enterable. Then entering her, pressing at her until he worked his way in, and she felt him inflate inside her, thicken and fatten, before he began pushing. Whining and pushing, light little puppy yelps each time he bucked. No rhythm to it. A chaotic and spastic pulse that ended quickly, after only a minute or two, with a final catastrophic jab.

Then the quick diminishment. His body softening, his hands becoming gentle. He released her and she stood up. He handed her the jeans he’d removed. He looked at the ground sheepishly. She smiled and put her pants back on. They both sat down, behind the cruiser, leaning into each other and the bumper. At length he finally spoke.

“Too rough?” he said.

“No,” she said. “It was fine.”

“I was worried it was too rough.”

“It was good.”

“Because last time you said you wanted it rougher.”

“I know,” she said. She twisted her back, one way, then the other, felt the spot on her cheek where she’d met the trunk of the cruiser, the spot on her neck where his hand had been.

“Why you gotta walk alone all the time?” he said. “It’s not safe.”

“It’s perfectly safe.”

“There are dangerous people out here,” he said, and he gathered her up in his big arms and squeezed her right where it hurt.

“Ouch.”

“Oh, god,” he said, releasing her. “I’m a moron.”

“It’s fine.” She patted him on the arm. “I ought to get going.” Alice stood up. She felt the dampness in her jeans turning chilly. She wanted to go home. She wanted a shower.

“Let me drive you,” Brown said.

“No. People will see us.”

“I’ll drop you a couple blocks from the dorm.”

“It’s okay,” she said.

“When will I see you again?”

“Yeah, about that. Next time I’d like to try something different,” she said, and his heart leaped: There would be a next time!

“Next time,” she said, “I’d like you to choke me.”

Brown felt his butterflies disappear. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You don’t have to actually choke me,” she said. “How about you put your hand there and act like you’re choking me.”

“Act like it?”

“If you also wanted to squeeze a little, that would be fine too.”

“Jesus!” he said. “I am not doing that.”

She frowned. “What’s your problem?”

“My problem? What’s your problem? Did I hear you right? Choke you? That’s going way too far. Why on earth would I do that?”