She reaches again and I twist my head to the side, though my hand’s still working her hard.
It’s different now, though. I’m not lost to the need and the connection I imagined between us and though I’m still hard, I’m ready for it to end. I’ll get out of here, head home, work my body out some other way. On the heavy bag, or a new project. There’s a chunk of granite in the barn, just begging to be banged into submission.
Detached, I concentrate on her g-spot, playing her like an instrument.
She’s no different from the other women, I realize. I mean how could she be? We don’t know each other. I’ve touched her body. She’s taken mine. That’s all.
“Please,” she says, her voice breaking in the middle of the word. And again: “Please, please, please.”
Man, do I like the way she sounds.
It takes five, maybe ten quick strokes before she’s coming.
I ache to come with her. So badly it hurts.
Ignoring my own need, I finish out her climax, prolonging the last few pulses of her pleasure. I want to savor the gush of her release, shove my whole face against her, let her mark me the way my teeth marked her thigh, but I can’t do that and still keep ahold of the dregs of myself.
I wait out her trembling, stroke her leg through the come-down, keeping my body away from her heat. She shuffles to the side to sit up and moves slightly back.
“Can I recipro—”
“No.”
“Oh. Right. Okay.”
I don’t wait for her to stand before pulling the shorts up her legs, feeling around for her shoes and threading them onto her feet.
“Need anything?”Like a little aftercare, you dick?
“I’m good.” She sounds surer now, hardened. Probably for the best. “Thanks.”
I nod. Saying you’re welcome after what just happened would be pretty callous. I’ve become a prick, sure, but I haven’t lost my humanity.
At least I don’t think so.
I open my mouth to tell her good night, but she beats me to it.
“You can go. I’m…good on my own.” What was she about to say there, instead of good? Better off, I’d guess.
And it’s true. She will be better off on her own.
Anyone would.
That’s why I do things this way. Once or twice a year, at camp, I fuck a woman in the dark. One woman, one time. That’s the rule. Anonymous, unemotional physical gratification. No repeats. No goddamn repeats.
I put out my hand and take it back again. She doesn’t want it. Of course she doesn’t. Christ, what am I doing? Why is this hard?
“Good night,” I whisper, choking back the big, oily thing that lives in my chest.
“Bye.”
I leave.
And that’s it.
That’s fucking it.
11
