Him. Cecilia Scott

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       2

       He comes over unexpectedly …

       I asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes to say yes my mountain flower and first I put my arms around him yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes.

      James Joyce, Ulysses

      I was useless the day after I met HIM. HIM.

      My body was sore with aching breasts from the love bites he’d bestowed upon them. He’d fucked me to oblivion and back. But I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

      I stopped for a café latte at Starbucks before getting to the college. After my first class was over I ran to the women’s staff bathroom. My pussy burned when I peed. My eyes began to tear. Leaning against the side of the bathroom stall, I wanted to scream out in pain. Closing my eyes I remembered HIM. HIM. And I wanted to rush out of the school and go back to the downtown hotel. It didn’t matter that he’d probably left the room.

      I wanted HIM. I wanted HIM like mad.

      During class that day my students were whiny and needy. THE BOY seemed to have intuited my sexual liaison with the man from the hotel and he scowled at me. I barely listened to the other students. I blew off their questions after class and faked a headache. I couldn’t wait to get home so I could lie in my own bed and think about HIM. I was addicted to HIM already.

      THE BOY stopped at my desk after class. ‘Did you have a nice time at the hotel bar?’ he asked.

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Well, I think you had more than a nice time. You’re all flushed,’ he said, laughing, then turned around and did not look back at me.

      I didn’t keep my office hours but quit the college in mid-afternoon, leaving a stack of ungraded papers on my desk.

      When I arrived home, my landlord was out in front raking leaves. Our daily exchanges were important to us both. He waved but I didn’t acknowledge him; I just wanted to be left alone with my thoughts.

      Inside my duplex I hastily undressed and headed for the bathroom. I ran a hot bath, lay in it with my eyes closed and immediately played with myself as I recalled the evening with HIM.

      I stayed in the bathtub until the water grew cold. After I climbed out I went and stood before the bathroom mirror. My body was still sore in places. He’d fucked me so thoroughly with his cock, his hands and his mouth, and I noticed a trail of love bites turning black and blue on my breasts. Swaying back and forth before the mirror, I grabbed my breasts and squeezed them hard before slipping my right middle finger inside my pussy. I came almost immediately. Because I was thinking of HIM. HIM.

      My body was my gift to HIM.

      I went and lay in bed.

      Later that evening, as I lay awake in bed, my phone began to vibrate. A text message. It could have been anyone but when the message arrived I stopped breathing. I could tell by the area-code number that it was HIM: the man who had put his cock inside me the night before and the man who would put his cock inside me again. I was certain of this.

      HIM: Hey, pretty lady. I loved last night.

      ME: Me 2. It was amazing.

      HIM: I want to c u again.

      ME: Soon?

      HIM: Soon. I need to touch you all over.

      ME: Yes. Where r u now?

      And then nothing. I waited for HIM to write back, heart thumping, staring at the phone and willing it to beep. The phone became hot in my hand but still I held on to it. I waited for an hour and then I texted HIM again.

      ME: Where r u?

      * * *

      And then I really began waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting, always for HIM. This is what I knew – I’d pretended I wasn’t lonely, but I was. Ever since I’d met HIM I’d become sick with loneliness. Getting out of bed began to feel impossible. Where was he? Why was he not with me? I tormented myself with these questions.

      My days crawled. I no longer felt inspired at work.

      Before I had met HIM, even if it was difficult to acknowledge, I was hungry, alone, angry and tired. I was prime for some sort of entanglement. The diverging road was sexually complicated and I took it, knowing that my love affair with HIM would alter my life in some irrevocable way. The intensity of the sex alone had been difficult to process.

      I was ripe for HIM.

      I was 33 years old and had lived in the same duplex since I moved out of my mother’s house when I started college, fifteen years before. My landlord, Sam, lived next door. He and I stood by one another through our loved ones’ illnesses and eventual passings.

      Sam’s СКАЧАТЬ