discover fire

^{This post is Copyright 2007 Jeremy Osborne, All Rights Reserved.}

She moved to Germany on business. I think she wanted a break. She promised it would make us money. I think the she had ulterior motives. She called me by phone, prepaid by me, more infrequently. I got interrupted by important business calls. She said it’ll soon be back to normal. I was told the trip would only last two weeks. She promised that two weeks ago.

I get to fuck myself for another night. She doesn’t have time for romance during her morning. I ask if she loves me. She says I do, I miss you, I can’t wait to come home, and oh no, bye-bye or I’ll miss the train. I ask the dial tone if she’ll call me again when she catches the train. She doesn’t hear a word I say.

I pull my sweaty hand out of my shorts. She moans on my laptop next to me. I watch the men piston their meat into her ass and pussy. She stares back at me, sandwiched between the sweaty steaks. I rub her clit into an LCD rainbow. She wants me. I close my eyes, open mouth, extend tongue and lick. She tastes like plastic. I need more tonight. She needs me. I drag my aching balls across the sheets. She whispers for me to rescue her.

I drop the phone book with a thump on my bed. She stares at me from the entries in index ‘E’.I punch the seven letters into my phone.

“Hello?” she says.

“Hi,” I say.

“Yes,” she says, “Where are you located?”

I gulp, my crotch pooling sweat.

“$200 an hour,” she says.

“Let me call back.” I say.

“Hello?” she says after dialing another.

“Hi,” I stutter.

“$200 an hour,” she says.

“Yikes,” I say and try another.

“Hello?” says the familiar voice.

“How much for a massage?” I say.

“Look!” she says to me.

“What?” I say.

“How many times are you going to call?” she says.

“I figured I’d only call,” I say.

“You do want a massage, don’t you?” she says.

“I want her,” I say.

“Not a problem,” she says.

“Really?” I ask.

“How are you paying?” she asks.

“Do you take credit cards?” I ask.

“Yes,” she says.

I give in and produce the numbers.

“Thank you,” she says.

“How will I be billed?” I ask.

“Greenlawn Sculpting,” she says.

“Not obvious at all,” I say.

“It’s special landscaping,” she says.

“I live in an apartment,” I say

“What is your address?” she asks.

I give her my address and apartment passcode.

“She’ll arrive in an hour,” she says.

“Thanks,” I say.

“I have another call,” she says.

I hang up.

She knocks on the door. I open it. She stands there. I motion her inside and lock the door. She asks to freshen up. I point across the room. She locks the door behind her. I stand still for five minutes. She steps out in six.

My guts clench into a fist.

“So what would you like?” she asks.

I can’t answer.

“Do you have a bedroom?” she asks.

I point off to the left. She takes my hand and leads me away. I turn on the light. She points at the bed. I lie down. She lights candles nearby. I look over at her. She flicks the light switch off. I prop myself up on my elbows.

“What would you like rubbed?” she asks.

I lie face down and point at my neck. She touches my shoulders. I moan.

“Do you like that?” she asks.

I nod my face into the fabric. She rubs down my spine. I relax a little. She drops her hands to my obliques. I tense.

“You’re a sexy man,” she says.

I think most of my $200 funded that statement.

“Would you like to take off your clothes?” she asks.

I nod and modestly remove my outerwear.

“You’re so modest,” she says.

I flush and lie face down. She rubs my hair. I anticipate the best. She strokes my shoulders. I adjust myself a bit. She approaches my waist. I exhale. She heads south. I can’t believe this is happening. She brushes right on by me. I laugh under the sensation.

“You like how this feels?” she says.

“Of course,” I mumble. She rubs down my thighs. I grip the sheets. She traces her finger nails over my calves. I spread my legs just a bit. She reaches down underneath. I raise my waist the slightest. She bumps against me. I grow. She runs two hands up my spine. I tingle.

“Would you like to turn over?” she asks.

“Yes,” I say.

She smiles at me. I close my eyes. She traces my chest. I hope for what’s next. She catches a fingernail on my waistband. I brush her thigh with my hand. She squeezes my leg. I grow. She slows down and tugs on my shorts. I lift my hips. She pulls off my boxers. I bounce up.

“You are one happy boy,” she says.

“I’m not,” I say.

“Don’t you have a girlfriend?” she asks.

“Yes,” I say.

She puts her hand over my mouth. I kiss her fingers. She straddles me. I don’t fight. She slips me inside. I feel squeezed apart. She moves. I come immediately. She circles her lips at me. I turn red. She bounces on top of me. I try to recover. She dismounts. I wear an unexpected condom. She snickers. I disinvite her from poker parties.

“You’re nice,” she says.

“Yes,” I lie.

“We have extra time,” she says.

I shrug. She double fists the condom away. I hear a flush. She lies down next to me. I act like a corpse.

“Thanks for asking for me,” she says.

“No problem,” I say.

“Can I sleep here?” she asks.

“You’re allowed to do that?” I ask.

“Are you allowed to have me over?” she asks.

I don’t say anything.

“Then we’re even,” she says.

I don’t say anything.

“Blow out the candles?” she asks.

I blow out the candles. She disappears in the dark. I close my eyes.

She leaves her card with me.

I never say a word about it. She suspects.

I stop calling her. She never comes home.

I call her. She pretends to be happy. I pretend she is, too.