But the damn prickly man booby-trapped the hell out of the path into town and up to his place.
He had to.
The farmhouse has working solar panels, which means running water and power.
A target for anyone who comes through.
But the crazy bastard put the boots and tattered clothes of trespassers he’s killed on scarecrows he displays along his property and along the main street in town, complete withimpeccable signage that clearly states his opinion on unwelcome guests.
Luckily, I know where most are on his property, having covertly watched him traverse the disaster zone many times over the years. Mostly, because I’m lonely and spying on him keeps me busy.
Stopping at the wooden fence, I stamp my feet to try to get some feeling back.
"Mac, if you shoot at me again, you aren’t fucking me tonight." I push the gate open and step onto the brick pathway.
Silence, except for the hail that pelts my jacket like rocks.
I groan and keep walking along.
Sex.
It’s what got me into the mess yesterday. A form of payment in this new world, along with occasional pleasure.
While I might be good at fishing, I don’t have the skill or weapons to hunt large game.
So, every now and then I run out of food, especially since canned goods are becoming scarcer as the years go by.
I think Mac spies on me too.
Somehow, miraculously, during times when I’m starving, food appears the next day.
Only three weeks ago, something changed.
A bad rainstorm lasted a few days. It was so bad, I struggled to catch any fish. The weather just got worse, and it became too dangerous to even forage.
So, I went to Mac for help.
Which is when he tried to shoot me. Then he said I wasn’t getting food unless we had sex after.
My jaw literally dropped.
But I was so hungry, I caved.
It was my first time with a man.
Mac has always been my protector but after that night something shifted in me. And now I have a stupid crush on the prickly jerk.
Maybe not a crush. More like an attraction.
On more than a few occasions I’ve jerked off to the memory of that night.
Stomping up the porch to make extra noise, I kick the lip of the top step to knock mud off my boots.
The door swings open and Mac levels his shotgun at me. “Get in. Clothes off.”
"Aw, come on. It's cold as balls out." But something deep inside wants to comply.
The barrel lowers from my head to my chest. "Off. All of it. Or no food."
