Grace
I getup and brush myself off, totally alone in the woods.
This was different. It was more. Ofeverything.
Although, weirdly, heartbreak’s the only part I can identity right this second.
Almost numb, I pick my way over to the lit path, half smile at the woman working security for this scene a hundred yards up.
I tell her we’re done and walk back to the tent, as if that’s that.
And it is, isn’t it? Done. Over.
I came, he left.
Silly Grace. What more was I hoping for?
Max isn’t at the Thunderdome, which is probably for the best, since she’d see right through me if she were. She’d know that it didn’t feel right, she’d see that I want to cry, maybe somewhere beneath the fake smile I’d try to put on, and then she’d say something easy and calm and comforting and I’d sob like a baby.
I don’t need that. I enter the big tent, thinking I’ll just take a second to be alone, maybe, or at least to change out of my now-filthy clothes. It’s hot in here, the humidity weighing me down like a wet a blanket. I peel off my shirt and stuff it into the bottom of my bag. Fucking lace doilies at the shoulders. As if he’d ever notice something like that. What is wrong with me?
I rip off my shorts and panties and immediately smell myself on the air. My breath hitches at the memory of his face pressed hard into my core. For a minute, I thought he’d suffocate. Instead, he grunted and gasped and dug deeper.
In the space of a second, desire floods back in, lined with something heavy as lead and bleak like knowing you’ve lost someone and won’t ever get them back.
Stark naked, I flop onto my bed.
I didn’t lose anyone tonight.
So, what even was that? What happened out there? The way he caught me, the prolonged fight that seemed to rev him up as much as it did me. I run my hands over my hot, clammy skin. Shoulders bruised, arms scraped, hips sore, knees rubbed raw. Between my legs, I’m wet, swollen, and abused, in the best possible way.
My body shivers at the memory of giving in, going limp for him, and the way he rewarded me for yielding. The sounds he made.
He enjoyed it. There’s no doubt about that.
Then why didn’t he finish? Why didn’t he let me sink to my knees the way I imagined and suck him. I wanted that. I wanted to take him deep, to show him how good he felt. I wanted…
Oh, hell, I don’t know. You know what? Maybe, I won’t care.
I’m done trying to figure out what makes guys so butt hurt all the damn time.
That’s right.
I reach for something clean to put on. They’re incomprehensible, especially the ones I can’t see or hear or touch. Mr. Stranger Man, whoever he is, just did me a huge favor. If tonight had ended on a high note, I’d have tried to see him again and then maybe he’d have rejected me outright and that’s not something I need right now. Been there, done that just two months ago. I’m good, thanks.
It’s not like this week’s ever been about finding a long term play partner. It’s about doing it—okay, so maybe more than once, but whatever—and moving on. That’s it. I’m done.
A little more pleased with myself, I throw on a tank top and a clean pair of shorts, foregoing underwear entirely, and head back out into the night, just taking the time to grab my pad and pencil from my bag.
Fuck it, I’m going to the Dungeon.
* * *
Liev
Heading home was a bad idea.
Despite the changes I’ve made this past year, Helen’s still everywhere. Her house, her garden. There are nudes of her all over the walls—not by me—art and antiques she bought, collecting dust. I finally got rid of the closet full of clothes, the shoes, perfume, candles. All the accoutrements of my wife’s life on earth. Even so, three years out, my feelings are complicated.
