Some people told me that their parents had told them that he “paid” my mother to leave. That she had become a drunk when I was young and that he gave her money and asked her to leave and never return. Either way, she was gone.
My father was attractive, wealthy, and owned the BMW dealership in town. He always had attractive women in his life, and I often wondered, especially now, why he never had a permanent woman in his life. I had begun to recently wonder if he still truly loved my mother after all these years. It was something that he never spoke of, and that I never tried to bring up. The few times when I was younger when I tried to ask questions, he would respond in short responses, and change the subject.
“I just like to cuss, it makes me feel good. I think, deep down inside, if I talk really dirty, I will get dirty results from a man. The older and dirtier, the better.”
“Fucking old men is gross,” Heather said as she took a drink from her new bottle of Bud Lime.
“Fucking men makes me have repeated orgasms. Fucking boys makes me angry. Boys always end up doing everything that they say they won’t ever do. Eventually, they all do it. I don’t want someone to appreciate me for who I am, I want someone to fuck my brains out, and that’s it.” I said, looking at the melted ice in my glass.
You have always said that you wanted someone to appreciate you for who you are, not what you look like, what about that?” Heather asked dryly.
“I did. But. But. But. There’s a difference. I want someone to appreciate me for who I am. For the person that I am, and the person that I am able to be; not for what I look like. But, I do not want them to appreciate me and want to marry me. I want them to appreciate me and fuck me. Fuck me
because
they appreciate me. Not appreciate me because they
fucked
me. If a man appreciates me for who I am, and then fucks me, he’s going to fuck me like he
appreciates
me. Get a boy to do that,” I responded as I finished my drink.
“I just want someone to love me,” Heather said as she finished her beer.
“Oh. My. God.” I said in a loud, exaggerated tone. People turned and looked our direction to see what happened.
“Heather, seriously? Love? Love is something that is created by the Hallmark card company to sell shit on
Valentine’s Day. Love isn’t real. Love is what people say to you so they can keep fucking you. So they can keep your interest. I don’t want lies; I want my ass slapped, my hair pulled, and treated like a little whore,” I held my glass up to the passing waiter as I finished speaking.
“You’re a little closet whore. That’s freaking gross. I can’t believe you’re like that. It makes me puke just to think of it. I remember when we were in high school, and you figured out you had no gag reflex. That word passed quickly. Jesus, you were sucking everyone’s cock in our sophomore year.”
“I love it,” I tilted my head back and stroked my throat with the palm of my hand. “Feeling a cock slide in and out of my throat makes me so wet. I love my eyes watering and acting like I am gagging, even if I am not gagging naturally. It’s so easy to own a guy. All you have to do is suck his cock really good, and he’s yours forever.”
“Quit rubbing your throat, you tramp,” Heather said, laughing.
As I sat at the table and waited for my drink, I began to feel the tingle. I was so wet from talking about sex. The thought of it just made me wet. The talking combined with the tattooed guy at the bathroom was more than I could take. I felt that I may have to text one of my old boyfriends and have them meet me in the parking lot. Generally speaking, if I was awake, I was thinking about sex or some form of sexual act. I often fantasized about men even when there were no men around. Boys, on the other hand, got me out of the mood quick. I started thinking about the douchebag that pointed at me when I went to the bathroom. I crossed my legs and started to speak.
“So. Tattoo guy. Where does he live?”
“I don’t know, Kelli. Bel Aire, I guess. In a shitty house. His mom died, and he lives in her house. I think she died the year you left for college. You’ve been at KU so long, you’ve missed him. He’s just some biker. He drives a nice car, though. One of your dad’s. My dad said that he filed a lawsuit against the insurance company or something, I don’t know.”
“Well, I have always said, if you want something bad enough, you can make it happen. I am going to find him. I am going to find him, and I am going to have a summer of insane sex with him. And then, I am going to go to grad school,” I said, smiling.
“Are you still serious about that? Running your dad’s dealership? That’s retarded,” Heather said, looking into the neck of her beer bottle.
“Yes, I was accepted at Columbia, and have done everything to go in September,” I said as I finished my drink. “Let’s get out of here before they get busy.”
The waiter quickly brought the tab. I reached into my purse and got my credit card from my wallet. As I was handing him my card, Heather spoke.
“You don’t have to do that, Kelli, let me pay for mine. You never let me pay,” She said, waving a handful of bills in front of me.
“I know I don’t have to, but I can, and I will. So, get over it, bitch,” I said, smiling.
When the waiter handed me my card back, I reached into my purse and got out my wallet. As I dropped my wallet back into my purse, I saw my little vibrator in the bottom of my purse. Staring at it I began to think about masturbating in the parking lot. I didn’t say anything to Heather, but I wondered. How many girls truly have this insatiable desire to have sex? A desire from deep within that can never really be satisfied, only put on hold. I looked at the vibrator, and mentally drifted away. Thoughts of the Bel Aire motorcycle guy began to fill my mind. As I started to wiggle in my chair, Heather brought me out of my comatose state of mind.
“Are you ready?” she asked as she stood from her chair.
“Yeah, let’s go,” I said, standing and placing my purse over my shoulder.
As we walked outside, I could hear the music playing. The guy had an amazing voice. He was doing a Sublime cover.
“Now that’s an older dude I would fuck,” Heather said, pointing to the lead singer.
As we started to walk toward the platform, he looked up. He was wearing a ball cap, and had it pulled tight down over his eyes. Average height, and stalky, he was extremely attractive. A very manly presence, but he was kind of cute at the same time. He played the guitar as he sang, and he sang from his soul.
“Oh, I’d fuck that guy until he begged me to stop,” I said.
As we passed the stage to go to the parking lot, a gorgeous petite blonde who was standing beside the stage gave me the stink eye. I suspect she was either some groupie or his girlfriend.
“And I’d make that little blonde bitch watch,” I said, laughing.
As we exited the fenced portion of the patio, they finished the song. “Ladies and gentlemen, Timmy Jonas and the Whiskey Militia. Timmy Jonas…” someone said over the sound system.
Timmy Jonas
. I decided I would look him up on Facebook in my car before I left the parking lot.
Right after I masturbated.
KELLI.
I couldn’t believe that he actually came into the dealership. I had not been home from college for two weeks, and I had seen him at the bar, and he came into the dealership. I acted like I had never seen him before when he came up to my desk, and he obviously believed me. I felt so different in his presence. So different. This was unsettling. I felt as if he told me to do something, I would do whatever he said. There was a certain comfort in being near him. I didn’t want him to leave when pulled away on his motorcycle. When he was gone, after he pulled away from the lot, I missed him. His smell, his presence, his little smirk that he wore oh-so-well. I desperately wanted him to be near me again. I wanted to feel his hands touch me.
Driving home was taking forever. He said, as best I could remember,
before your head hits your pillow tonight…
What did that mean, exactly? Right now was before my head hit my pillow. Was I supposed to wait until I was about to fall asleep and text him in my almost sleepy state of mind? Maybe he wanted to convince me of things as I was groggy that he couldn’t convince me of otherwise.
Who was I kidding? He could get me to do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. I have never felt this immediate attraction, this
anything
toward someone before. Even though I never wanted to allow myself to become attached to someone, I had felt attracted to men before. I had never, however, felt anything remotely close to this. His breath on my ear,
enunciate, Kelli. Erik with a “K’.
I almost wet myself right there. Right there in the dealership. On the sales floor.
Enunciate.
His hot breath barely felt on my outer earlobe. It was enough to almost drop me to my knees. Did he know that? Was he aware of what he was doing? I bet he was well aware. Hell yes he was. Who else would come into a dealership and whisper such absolute nothingness into some random girl’s ear? The way he walked. The way I felt, as if in his presence, no one would be able to get by with anything without him just crushing them. Doctor or no doctor, I bet he knew how to fight. I bet he would fight for me. The thought of him filled me.
As I sat at the light, waiting to turn left, I heard a motorcycle getting closer. I turned left. Nothing. I turned right. Nothing. Where was it coming from? I spun around and looked to the rear of the car in the blind spots. Finally, there it was. Shit, not Erik. What had he done to me? All we had done was walk outside. That’s it. A walk outside. We didn’t even really talk, we just stood there. He told me to text him. That was all. I was hanging on his every word. Hopeful that they were intended to mean as much as I wanted them to. Hopeful for having more with him than I had ever wanted with or from anyone else. Ever.
My heart racing from hearing the motorcycle, I began to pull away from the light. Thinking of what I actually wanted from Erik, I exited the frontage road, got onto the highway, and drove west down Kellogg, headed toward Old Town. What I wanted. What was it that wanted? Did I want it, or did I just want to think about it? I felt as if I was being sucked into some form of game and I had no idea what the rules were.
And I hadn’t even talked to him yet. Not really. The thought of him excited me greatly and not in ways that normally excited me. I had a tremendous desire to see him. To understand him. I wanted to know him, to see what it was that made him be the way that he was. His motorcycle, the tattoos, and that physique. His way of walking that made him look like he had no care in the world, and didn’t fear anything.
Watching him just walk to that motorcycle almost made me melt. I don’t know that I could accurately describe or define what it was that he did to me, the way he made me feel that was different. Maybe it was just that – the unknown. The not knowing exactly what it was that made him up. Not knowing what it was that he would want from me, desire of me, and require of me.
What in the world was I thinking? I never had these types of thoughts before. I never consciously wanted a man before. I settled for whoever I decided that I was going to spend time with, and I spent time with them until I didn’t want to anymore, and then I was on to the next person. Having a want for one person was what made people weak. It’s what made people make stupid decisions like getting married and having a family and becoming divorced. Who knows? Maybe he wouldn’t even answer.
What if he was just playing a game…?
I got my phone and pulled the business card from my purse. Erik Ead. I typed the number into my text screen, saved it as Erik Ead, and thought. As I exited the highway and began driving into Old Town, I contemplated whether or not to send a lengthy text, a cute text, or something sexy. These things we girls have to decide. What should I say? I am going to struggle with this all night.
I pulled into the parking lot, and eased the car into the basement parking garage. After I parked, I sat in the car and thought. I typed into the text screen.
Erik Ead:
This is Kelli. How are you this evening?
I read and reread the message. It seemed too simple. Too long. Too stupid. I erased it. Quickly, I typed another message.
Erik Ead:
I am not ready for bed, it’s still early. But, this IS before my head hit’s my pillow, so…
I looked at the message. I read it, and reread it.
I’m not ready for bed, it’s still early. I’m not in bed. I’m in bed. I wish you were here. My head hasn’t hit my pillow. I wish you hadn’t left so soon, have time to talk?
I thought of every combination of ways to text him. What has happened?
Think, Kelli, think
. This is easy. Think like he’s going to think. Send what he wants to read, but not what he expects. Don’t be some stupid girl. I pondered a moment, and typed a new text.
Erik Ead:
As instructed, Kelli
I pushed send.
I stared at my phone. Nothing. I waited. Nothing. I reopened my text screen, nothing. I grabbed my purse, pulled my keys from the ignition, and got out of the car. Clutching my phone in my hand, I started walking to the elevator. My heels clicking on the concrete basement floor, every step was amplified. With each click of my heels, I remembered walking behind him in the parking lot. I pushed the button and waited for the elevator. As I waited, I checked my phone. Nothing. I held my purse with my chin, and used both hands to power the phone off. As I depressed the button, killing the power, the elevator opened.