Chapter 41
Three months later, I still hadn't heard from Arthur. He had not tried to reach me even once since he had dropped me off in the parking lot of my building, right after the disaster of the VDO's gala. He had, however, dropped off the telescope he had gifted me for Christmas. One day, after coming back from work, I found it right in front of my door, in its original packaging. I hadn't kept it in my apartment because a telescope was no use there. My windows were tiny, my view obstructed by surrounding buildings, and the light pollution made any observation impossible anyway.
Seeing the telescope being returned to me without even the slightest effort to see me in person, to maybe have a civil conversation, had switched something in me. Just like that, I had decided that I was over him, and that I would no longer hope for him to contact me. Arthur wasn't for me, had never been.
After that, I snapped back to my normal self in record time. In those three months post-gala, I slept with sixteen men and five women, some of them I had met on Tinder, some at frat parties – with all the new members added to my tally, I had now officially slept with all the Sigma members, minus Jeremy – some in bars and nightclubs. I had even met one woman at the store. She was looking for a nice lingerie ensemble for her date and, well, she never made it to the date. The store, though. The fucking store. Its name was the blatant proof of the connection between Arthur and his wife. Eleanart's. 'Art' like Arthur, not like art. How could I have not connected the dots earlier? I had known since day one that they had history together.
All in all, my sex life was now greater than it had ever been and I no longer had the desire to rehash the whys and the hows of that failed attempt at a relationship. Josh would forever remain the only boyfriend I'd ever had, and I was fine with that. In fact, I loved the idea.
I was about to meet number twenty-two PA. Post Arthur. I had swiped right on him a couple days prior, and we had planned a date almost right away. Well, not a date per se. He was coming over and we would have sex. Nice and easy.
I had chosen to wear a skin-tight, long-sleeved, backless black dress with my dearest pair of red Louboutin that I had gotten from that one shift as a waitress for a gala. I usually didn't do black, nor very sexy outfits. However, if I had learned something from meeting people on Tinder, it's that men tended to take it to the bedroom faster if I dressed like a hooker – women, on the other hand, were classier than that. And since I had no intention of having my partners over for longer than necessary, I had adapted to the situation. Bear Grylls would be proud of me.
I had curled my now teal hair – I had dyed it a month before – and let it loose. Men liked long, loose hair. Ugh, how had I become such a man-pleasing creature? I guess the prospect of sex would make me do anything. I was applying a thick layer of red lipstick to match my shoes when my date loudly knocked on my door, startling me.
We're off to a good start, don't you know how to use a doorbell?
I took my time to get to the door, my petty way of expressing my irritation, and opened it to my one-night stand.
Except it wasn't my one-night stand, whatever his name was, behind that door.
My jaw dropped when I met the golden-brown eyes of my visitor. It was Arthur, in flesh and bones, after three months of radio silence. His hands hung limply on either side of his body, the perfect depiction of doubt and insecurity, but his gaze was arrogantly locked on me. For a few seconds, which felt like minutes, none of us seemed to be able to break the silence; we were too busy examining each other. He hadn't changed much, his hair was slightly longer, maybe, but he was pretty much unchanged physically. What did I expect? For him to starve himself because he was too depressed over our breakup to eat?
"You changed your hair," he noted, pointing at my blue-green curls.
Noticing the hair change but not complimenting it, that was the painful reminder that Arthur did not like my style, be it clothes, hair, makeup, or even personality. I didn't bother replying.
"You have some lipstick on your cheek," he continued. Before I had the time to react to what he'd said, he had brought his thumb to the corner of my mouth and rubbed away the stain. I was too stunned to stop him and just looked at him stupidly.
"All this time," he eventually said when he realized I wasn't going to speak, "I've been waiting for you to call me, text, or even show up to my place. I waited for any sign from you, anything! But you did none of that. You really don't care about me at all, do you?"
He said that final sentence in a slightly higher pitch than usual, his tell that he was either very mad, or very upset. I snorted. I wasn't going to let him play the victim here.
"You've got some nerves, coming here, and blaming me for not reaching out. You told me to get out of your life and never come back," I retorted.
I still remembered, clear as day, how he'd left me, alone, in that parking lot. How final his words had been, and how I had spiraled after that. I had begged not one, but two of my closest friends to fuck me because of what had happened. I had even cried. Only thoughts of Josh had made me cry for the past four years, and yet somehow this goddamn redhead had managed to weasel his way into my brain and make me cry for him. And now I was the bad guy for not reaching out? He had been married all this time, for God's sake!
"I . . . I didn't mean it," he said.
"Well, that's too damn bad. You said it anyway."
"I was angry, okay? For good reason, I believe," he defended himself.
He did have a good reason. What I had done to him was horrible. But what he had done to me was horrible too. And yet I had been willing to have a discussion. He had not. He didn't get to play the victim.
"Well, I was angry too. I still am," I declared.
He sighed and remained silent. He put his hand in his back pocket and retrieved an envelope from it. He handed it to me.
"What is it?" I asked as I took the document from his hand.
"My divorce papers. It's official now. I thought you'd like to know."
He looked at me expectantly as I opened the envelope with shaky fingers. I unfolded the piece of paper and read it thoroughly. I could feel Arthur's gaze on me, analyzing my reaction.
"Hi! You're Abby, right?"
My eyes jerked up towards this voice I had never heard.
Shit!
Of all the times Arthur could have chosen to come show me his divorce papers, it had to be when I had plans with . . . what was his name again? Talk about bad karma.
The attractive man outright ignored Arthur as he slipped between us. I extended my hand to him, short of having a better idea about what to do in this peculiar situation. He took it but, instead of shaking it, he pulled on it and locked me into a hug. His hand dropped very low down my lower back.
"You look even hotter in person," he complimented me.
Of course, I was hot. I had made sure of it, dressing like a harlot and all.
"I guess I'll . . ." said Arthur, at a loss for words and disturbed by the presence of that other man who still had not removed his hand from the small of my back. "I'll just go home, it was a mistake. Goodbye, Abril."
He snatched the documents from my hands and turned on his heels, heading for the stairs. What's-his-name turned to face me, a slightly smug smile plastered on his face.
"If he was hoping to get with you tonight, he's going to have to wait in line," he said with an arrogant smirk, putting his other hand on my back and pulling me in for a kiss.
I let his lips brush mine for a fraction of a second before I turned my head and made his mouth land on my cheek. After three months in the dark, being denied any chance of explanation, or closure, or just a discussion, I finally had a shot at getting all that. I wasn't going to let it slip between my fingers. I needed to run after Arthur. I just had to.
"Yeah, I'm gonna need you to go home," I told the Tinder dude. I didn't even apologize. I wasn't sorry. That's the flip side of dating – fucking – apps. It makes it so easy to treat people as pieces of meat and not even feel bad about it.
"Why? You seemed eager to meet over texts."
"I'm just not in the mood anymore. Please leave."
He sighed. "It's not cool, you know. I drove all the way here, it took me one hour. You could have let me know about your change of heart before I made it to your place."
"I know. If that's any consolation, I didn't mean to do that."
Again, I was not sorry. I did understand that I was being a disrespectful bitch to him, and that I was part of what made the Tinder demographic so problematic. But I just really didn't care.
I grabbed my keys, locked the door behind me, and dashed for the stairs, wishing What's-his-name a good night on my way down. I almost snapped my ankle twice because of those stupidly high, stupidly unstable stilettos. It'd better be worth it. Arthur was opening his car door when I finally reached him.
"Wait!" I called out to him.
He stopped in his tracks and turned to see me. I was a sweaty mess and out of breath. He kept silent while I tried to regain composure.
"What are those papers supposed to mean?" I panted, pointing at the envelope in his hand.
"It means I'm no longer married to Eleanor."
"I know that. But why would you show them to me? Why now?"
He thought about it and answered with a shrug. "I guess that's my way of coming back to you. Of telling you I might consider forgiving you."
His words triggered a dormant rage in me.
"Me?" I gasped. "Forgiving me? Don't you think you need to be forgiven? You lied to me! You have a wife!"
"Had. And are you serious? You cheated on me . . . with my father! My own fucking father! Whom you know I do not care for, and who is still married to my mother! I have a thousand reasons to be mad at you!"
I did a double take. For a second, I thought I had hallucinated it. But no, it was very real. Arthur had used a swear word. And not just any swear word. The big one. The F-word. I couldn't help it when I burst into laughter. My reaction threw him off.
"I'm glad to see you find this funny," he spat, his voice acidic.
His furious intonation snapped me back to reality.
"Sorry, it's just that you never swear."
"Well, I do now. Occasionally. I've been doing so since I . . . since we . . . since the gala. It helps with the anger a little."
Another awkward silence fell upon us. He looked at his feet.
"I'll go now. You obviously have plans with that man upstairs," he pointed at my slutty outfit, "and I don't want to hold you back."
"I sent him home," I told him. "I am free now and since you never gave us a chance to talk about that night, now would be the perfect time."
"I don't want to talk about it. It was quite traumatic for me."
"It was no picnic for me either," I replied sternly.
He ignored me and ducked into his car. I needed to act fast.
"Didn't you say you wanted to forgive me?" I tried to bait him. "Well, that's your shot. You can't forgive me if you don't talk to me."
"It's not that easy, Abril. I can't imagine how we could talk about our joke of a relationship when I've literally just caught you about to have sex with another man."
His insult of our relationship hurt more than I expected. For the little time it had lasted, it was real for me. I had not wished for it to happen, but I wouldn't have let myself be swayed if I wasn't at least a tiny bit interested.
"We are not together anymore," I justified the presence of Tinder man. He couldn't blame me for being with other people when he had broken up with me.
"So what?" He retorted. "I haven't slept with anyone since we broke up."
"Well, you're not really a reference in that matter."
He closed his eyes and sighed heavily, clearly exasperated. "Goodnight, Abril."
I grabbed his hand that was putting the key in the ignition.
"Don't!" I demanded. "Please."
He paused for a long while, probably debating furiously in his head about whether it was sensible to come upstairs with me. It wasn't. But that didn't mean it also wasn't necessary. If anything, we needed closure. I needed a chance to explain my side of things, a chance for redemption. And I needed to know how the hell he had expected to pull off those lies about his marriage. Had he expected me to think it wasn't that big of a deal?
He let go of his key and turned our hands over, twining our fingers together. He squeezed my palm at regular intervals, fighting anxiety. My thumb instinctively started to stroke the top of his hand, as if from muscle memory. I hated that holding his hand in mine felt so familiar even after so much time apart. I should have been totally clean from his influence by now.
He squeezed one last time and his face changed: he had made his decision. Without a word, he let go of my hand and exited the car, before marching towards my building. I did not say anything either, for fear that he would change his mind, and just trotted along behind him, as fast as my heels allowed. When he reached my floor landing, he waited for me to unlock the door and swooshed inside, not waiting for me to enter first.
Okay, I get it Arthur! You're angry!
He sat on the couch, his back straight, his legs tense, and his knuckles white from clenching his fists. He was a mix of enraged and nervous. It hadn't started yet, and I could already tell this conversation would be a nightmare.
"Do you want something to drink?" I offered to break the silence.
"Yes, please," he answered, stiff as a stick, as if he were addressing a hostile stranger.
"What do you want?"
"Surprise me."
I didn't discuss his curious order and went to serve him his drink. I had a bottle of very nice vodka I had splurged on, the kind that you can drink straight. I unstoppered the bottle and poured some of its contents into two glasses that I had filled with ice first. I took one and gave the other to Arthur, before taking a seat next to him.
"That's alcohol," he stated.
Duh! If we're having this conversation, we're going to need it.
"And?"
"What happened to your 'don't drink and drive' strict policy?"
I hadn't thought about that, and I didn't like the only answer that came to my mind. And I really didn't want to say it out loud. But I felt like, now more than ever, I had to.
"You can always take a cab," I started saying and I saw his nostrils flare as he took a long, sharp inhale, "but I may not be planning on your leaving."
I felt my cheeks redden. I was embarrassed and I felt naked. Emotionally naked, the worst kind of naked. The fact that his eyes widened in true shock embarrassed me even more. I tried unsuccessfully to hide my face behind my hair, something I did a lot when I was much younger. He took a sip of his drink.
"That's a first," he commented flatly.
"What?" I barked.
"You, acting like you care about me."
My heart stung. Granted, I hadn't exactly been the perfect loving girlfriend when we were dating, whether before or after we'd made it exclusive. But how could he think that I didn't give a rat's ass about him? He was the first man I had a real relationship with since Josh. He mattered to me.
But I guess he didn't see that. I was just a heartless bitch to him.
"You know what?" I said curtly, deeply upset and saddened that he could think I was such a monster. "If that's what you think of me, there's no need for us to have this conversation. You can see yourself out."
Of all the things he could have done, he chugged his vodka like it was a shot at the nightclub. He then refilled it and drank another one just as quickly as the first time, not without grimacing.
"Too late," he declared, "I'm in no state to drive, now."
I should have yelled and shoved his ass into an Uber. But I just smiled. His childish, stupid response reminded me so much of, well, me.
"I did care about you, you know," I told him. "If I didn't, I wouldn't have dated you."
"Cheating on me with my father is a poor way of caring about me."
"I didn't cheat on . . . never mind, you wouldn't understand and it's a long story."
"No, please. Do tell me why, of all people, you decided to cheat with my father." The venom he managed to put in that one single word . . . "You could have gone for anyone and it wouldn't have hurt that much. But you decided to go for the jugular, didn't you? What did I ever do to you to deserve such cruel treatment?"
My ability to remain calm exponentially decreased.
"Arthur, this has nothing to do with you. I didn't do it to spite you, it just happened. And for the last time, I did not cheat on you. This was before we were even a thing!"
"I still found you with his tongue in your mouth when we were very much a thing!"
"Oh, come on! There was no tongue involved and it lasted no longer than one second. It was a small mistake and I have felt terrible about it every single day since then, if that's any consolation."
"Gee, thanks. You betray me but at least you feel bad about it so everything should be all right, is that it?"
"Vete a la mierda, Arthur," I told him to fuck off, insufflating as much rage in my words as I could.
He had the decency to look embarrassed, knowing he'd gone too far. I wasn't sure I liked this spiteful version of him. He tried to reach for my arm, but I jerked away from him.
"I'm sorry, okay? I'm on edge, I'm angry, and I'm taking it all on you. You wanted to talk, then let's talk. Say what you have to say, and I'll listen without interrupting you, I promise. And once you're done, I'll take it all into consideration to determine how to go forward from that."
My mouth gaped. I had not just heard that.
"I seriously hope you're joking. Don't you think you've got some explanation to do, Mr. I-have-a-fucking-wife? You don't get to turn the narrative around to make yourself the only victim. You messed up badly too."
He opened his mouth to retort something, then he closed it. Then he opened it again. "All right. What about taking turns doing the speaking, then? I answer one question of yours and you answer one of mine. And we go on until we've both said everything we wanted to say and heard everything we wanted to hear. Does that sound fair to you?"
It sounded atrociously cliché is what it sounded like. But at least, in this scenario, I would get answers.
"Yes."
"Very well. You may start. Don't forget, you must say the truth, and you can ask only one question at a time."
This was more than a stupid game, this was a turning point. After this, we'd either find it in ourselves to forgive each other, or we would split up forever. No in-between.
"Who asked for divorce?" I began. My curiosity demanded to be satisfied.
"I did."
"Really?" I blurted out. I couldn't for the life of me imagine Arthur filing for divorce. He liked his life to be one long boring flat line. A divorce was a surefire way to shake things up, and not in a fun way. "Why?"
"Only one question," he reminded me. "When did you start messing around with my father?"
A predictable question. And a badly phrased one. 'Messing around' could mean a lot of things.
"We kissed for the first time when you were in New York City," I answered truthfully, although we both knew very well that was not the expected answer.
His nose scrunched up at my cheap attempt at avoiding the question, but he didn't comment. It was my turn.
"Why did you divorce Eleanor?" I asked again.
"Because she cheated on me." Classic, I thought. "When did you have sex with my father for the first time?"
Only two questions each and we were already deep into each other's darkest secrets. No wonder he was so upset by this whole mess, he had a history of a cheating partner. I didn't want to answer his question, I knew it would upset him. But what other choice did I have? We had agreed on total transparency.
"We only had sex once," I said although that wasn't the question, "and it was the day after the Four Seasons gala," I confessed.
He quickly put two and two together. The pain that took over his angelic face was one of the most heartbreaking things I'd had to witness.
"So he was the man you ran to the day after we had sex for the first time?" He said in a higher pitch, on the verge of breaking. "Don't answer that, the question was purely rhetorical. I applaud your timing, Abril. You couldn't have hurt me more if you had tried to." His voice had turned into pure acid. I couldn't blame him, that was very fucked up of me. "It's your turn."
"Do you have a child that I still haven't heard of?"
I had only asked that question to, I don't know, lighten the mood, maybe? I knew he didn't have children and it was ridiculous for me to waste a question on that matter. I just wanted to make him smile at this absurd assumption. And, to be fair, I was sure he didn't have a wife either and yet he had proven me wrong. So maybe it was something worth double-checking.
The fact that his face became resolutely grave and that it took him several seconds to answer "no" freaked me out to another level.
"Why did you hesitate?"
"It's my turn," he said coldly. "To what extent were you indifferent to me when we were together?"
Ouch!
"I was not indifferent, you've got to know that. I was probably not as invested as you were, but I cared for you. I still don't know why but I'm sure I did."
He snorted, obviously not believing any of my words.
"Why did you hesitate?" I repeated, ignoring him.
I could read on his face that the secret he was about to reveal wasn't supposed to be revealed. At least not that soon.
"Eleanor had a miscarriage," he confessed. "Five times. I'm the father of five dead fetuses."
I know it was beyond selfish but the thought that I definitely wouldn't have to deal with secret kids of his reassured me. I sighed in relief. Then I realized that Arthur's eyes were shiny with tears and I felt awful for being so noticeably pleased. I pretended not to see his tears and waited for him to go on. He poured another glass of vodka over his ice.
"Why do you keep saying you didn't cheat on me when it's obviously not true?"
Finally, a question I had a good answer to.
"It is true. I may have slept with Victor," he let out a somber laugh when I called his father by his first name, "at a very unfortunate time, but it was only this one time. I swear I've never cheated on you, with him or anyone else. From the moment we said we'd be exclusive, I've only been with you. In fact, I even started to be exclusive before that."
He didn't know that, I think. He didn't know that, after yet another fight we'd had at his place a bit before Christmas, I hadn't been able to be with anyone else than him.
"Is that supposed to make me feel better? Because it doesn't. I don't care whether our relationship was official or not, exclusive or not, you shouldn't have slept with another man the morning after we had sex."
"But we were not together!" I insisted. "It's not cheating."
"Semantics! I'm not like you, sex actually means something to me! It implies some degree of commitment, of attachment. I know we were not technically together but I sure didn't expect you to run into the arms of somebody else the following morning. Especially not my father."
"Will you stop saying it that way? I get it, sleeping with your dad was fucked up, you don't need to mention him every other sentence like it's the most disgusting thing I could ever do!"
"I can't help it. There are millions of men in that city that you could have gone for. The fact that you went for that one is beyond me."
There was nothing I could say that would change his mind. He was not thinking rationally, he was thinking with his heart. And there's no reasoning with the heart, it was pointless to argue.
"Besides," he kept on saying, "even if we put all that aside, I still found you kissing my father – I mean Victor – at the gala. We were definitely together then. Exclusively together."
"Yes, that was a mistake. You caught us at the wrong time, I was just about to reject him when you saw us. You shouldn't have seen that. It meant nothing."
He scoffed. "So if I hadn't caught you, you would have kept it a secret forever?"
"You mean like you would have kept your wife a secret forever?" I sniped back. I was done getting all the blame. He had some anger to let go of, but so did I. "What was your plan, exactly, smartass? Finalizing the paperwork behind my back and never mentioning her? Would you have had your friends lie to me about her for as long as we'd stayed together? Tell me how that's better than what I did!"
Finally, fucking finally, he looked down and felt called out.
"We clearly have a lot to resolve, still," he declared. "Shall we resume our thing? It's your turn."
I rolled my eyes, it was a stupid game, but I fired anyway. I could sense the shift in the air, things were about to turn dirty.
"Who's prettier?" I asked because, even after years of working on how I saw myself and my body, the insecurities were still anchored deep.
"She is."
His answer felt like a stab in my stomach. It's not like he was wrong. Eleanor, despite being a bitch, was the personification of thirty, flirty, and thriving. She was the boss lady many women aspired to be.
I could tell Arthur had noticed the effect that his answer had had on me. I could have sworn I saw his lips tug slightly upward at the corners. The motherfucker was pleased to be hurting me. All right.
Whatever that is, I'm game, baby!
I chugged the end of my drink and filled a new one. I downed it too and then went directly for the bottle – whatever could unnerve Arthur. The latter surprised me when he took the bottle from my hands and took a large pull from it too. Shit was about to hit the fan.
"Did he go down on you?" He asked.
"What?" I squeaked.
"You heard me. Did he lick you down there, like you wanted me to but I refused?"
Dios mío, that man was officially unhinged. Unfortunately for him, I was just as unhinged as he was; probably even more.
"Yes, he did. He gave me more orgasms with his tongue in one day than you have with your dick in several months. Not that it's hard to beat zero anyway."
His face turned red and his body rigid, but that wasn't enough. I needed to hurt him even further. I was done being on the receiving end.
"Did Eleanor cheat on you because your sperm was too weak to give her a baby?"
"Yes. Then she realized she was the sterile one. Did he like your small breasts? My mother's are quite large, it must have been a downgrade for him."
He was attacking my body, now. That game wasn't going to end pretty.
"He didn't mention their size, actually. Those things didn't matter once I had his cock stuffed in my mouth. You may not know it yourself but I'm quite the expert in blowjobs. I hope you don't mind that I swallowed some of your little brothers. I'm so talented your poor daddy couldn't hold them in."
That was trashy. Disgusting, even. But I was furious, and he deserved my wrath. I could tell he was repulsed by my words but he kept his head on.
"Do you truly believe she was pregnant with your babies the five times?" I pushed even further.
"I have doubts, but it doesn't matter anymore. Who's JIP?"
That stopped me right in my tracks.
I hadn't seen that one coming. When I was positive to lead the game, he crushed me under the sole of his shoe. If I wasn't too busy keeping my heart together, I would have appreciated the beauty of his last blow. What a showstopper.
"What are you talking about?" I tried to save it.
His mouth split into an insolent grin; he knew exactly what I was doing and he was having none of it.
"Please, Abril," he laughed lightly. "Don't play stupid now. We both know I'm talking about the initials on your finger tattoo."
Checkmate, Abs.
"I won't answer that, it's none of your business."
"But what happened in my ex-wife's womb is yours?"
"You chose to reveal that secret. I'm choosing not to reveal this one."
"You're such a hypocrite! Knowing each other's secrets is the entire purpose of this stupid game!"
"I'm not telling you this one. End of discussion."
"Then it's the end of the game too. It's pointless to go on if I'm the only one truly playing."
"Fine!"
As the mature adult that I was, I turned my back to him, grabbed the vodka bottle by the neck, took a long swig, and turned on the TV. There was an episode of Keeping Up with the Kardashians playing. That would do. I liked those mind-numbing shows and I knew Arthur absolutely hated them. I could imagine him shaking his head and wearing that disdainful, disapproving grimace each time one of the K sisters said another stupid but oh-so-funny punchline.
"You know," Arthur finally said while I was almost halfway through a second episode, "using a translating software is very easy."
"Certainly," I answered, not exactly understanding why he had chosen to tell me that.
"'Wait for me, heart. JIP.' That's what your tattoo means. Or 'sweetheart', I should say. This tattoo is dedicated to a loved one, either partner or relative, whose initials would be JIP. The ring makes me lean towards the former. My guess is that this person is dead."
He was so close to the truth that I was getting sick. He had no right to know about Josh.
He made to take my left hand but I snatched it away when I felt his fingers on my skin. Undaunted, he took it another time, more forcefully. I tried to wrench out of his grip but his hand was closed so firmly around mine that I couldn't escape.
He unfolded my fist and stroked my tattoo with the tip of his forefinger.
"Tell me about it, Abby," he insisted. "Please."
It wasn't usual for him to call me by my Americanized name, he had a thing for calling people by their full name, regardless of their preferences. I knew he had done that to make his request more personal, more special, but it wouldn't work. Neither would his sad face nor his fingers delicately grazing my left palm, in an attempt to be soothing.
I remained silent.
"It was about two years ago," he said out of the blue. "I was coming home from work early when I found her in my bed with another man. He was one of her employees, I think. He may still be."
Yep, he still is. And he's still fucking her every once in a while, too.
I chose to keep that thought for myself.
"You don't have to tell me this," I said. "It won't change my mind."
"But I want you to know that."
I didn't know what to respond so I just sat there. He resumed his story.
"I got really angry. Furious, even. I felt so . . . betrayed? Humiliated? Even worse, maybe. I kicked them both out of the house and drank myself to sleep. Not my proudest moment."
The pressure he was applying on my hand increased as he remembered that scene.
"She came back the following morning and I let her in. She didn't even try to make amends for what she had done, she knew I would never forgive her. But she still thought I deserved an explanation, so she explained. She explained that she had been sleeping with that man for over a year because, after her first three miscarriages, she thought I was sterile and she wanted a child very badly. I still don't know if the last two fetuses were mine, and I guess I never will."
He paused for a little while as tears began to well up in his eyes. He blew his nose and went on.
"I let her say her whole story and, when she was finished, I told her that what she did was appalling and that I was filing for divorce. She said she understood, and that she wouldn't make it difficult for me if I let her keep the store, which I had helped her buy after our wedding. I agreed and I even let her keep the house, provided that she bought my share of it. Since that day, the only conversations we've had have been about the divorce. It dragged on because there was a lot of paperwork to do and I couldn't find a quiet moment to do it."
When he finished narrating his story, he looked at me expectantly, my hand still in his, idly tracing meaningless figures in my palm. I kept my face neutral. I didn't know how to react.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" I asked.
"I expected you to be at the very least relieved to know that I have been separated from my ex-wife for two years, and that, even though I didn't tell you about her, I have not been seeing her behind your back. I even dared hope you would show a little empathy for me, what with the cheating and the miscarriages, and all that. But no, nothing. It's like you don't even care."
"I do care," I contradicted him.
That was true. But what was I supposed to say? His story, although tragic, was from a time before me. I felt for him, yes, but he still should have told me about Eleanor.
"That's funny. When it comes to anger and sex, you're hot as fire. But for everything else, you're cold as ice."
"You can't possibly think that," I retorted just as curtly.
As much as I wished I was the coldhearted bitch persona I presented, I was not. I had made a lot of progress since my teenage years, and I kept my emotions in check much better, but I still was an emotional hot mess. Why else would I refuse to be with the same person twice? I caught feelings too easily, and I did not wish to have that many feelings. I couldn't believe he did not see that. He knew me. That was his best quality. He could read right through layers and layers of emotional baggage. Or so I thought. What happened, then, if I turned out to be completely wrong about him?
"I . . . I don't, actually." I let out a small sigh of relief that he hopefully didn't pick on. "I know you're more than that, but sometimes you make it so hard to see past that, Abril. Why will you so readily let people believe you're cruel? Why won't you let me in? What happened to you? Has that something to do with JIP?"
The slightest crack that has started to form in my heart sealed right back up at the mention of Josh. I went rigid and yanked my hand out of his. I thought he had taken the hint and dropped the subject, but clearly he hadn't.
"Stop trying to know about him, Arthur," I asked calmly, although my voice was so icy it would have made Sigrid proud.
"So it's a 'him', then? Is he an ex-boyfriend? A brother? Gosh, we've seen each other for several months and I don't even know if you have siblings. Just talk to me, Abril, please," he pleaded.
I ignored him and remained silent.
"I sure hope that ring on your finger doesn't mean he's your secret husband or I'll need to have a few words with you about hypocrisy," he joked then let out a low chuckle.
The amount of disdain, rage, and disappointment I conveyed in one side-eyed glare that I cut him was enough to shut him up and make him eat his stupid smile back. He bowed his head in apology. He tentatively reached for my hand again but I moved it out of his way.
"I'm sorry for that insensitive joke. I thought you'd like it if I went the humorous way, but I clearly misjudged the situation."
He paused, hoping for me to say something. I had nothing to say. What could I possibly say after that?
It apparently did not deter him from demanding that I speak, though. "Abril, please," he begged once more. "Just talk to me."
"I don't want to talk about it, can you understand that?" I snapped and all but screamed my answer at him. The chances of the remainder of this conversation being level-headed officially reduced to zero.
"No, I can't!" He said, raising his voice too. "I don't understand how you can hope to have a healthy relationship with me if you keep hiding an entire part of your life!"
Wait . . . What?
"What relationship are you talking about?" I spat. "We broke up three months ago, there's no relationship. And it was all a joke anyway, right?"
"You caught that, didn't you?" I rolled my eyes at him. Of course I had picked up on his insulting the semblance of a relationship I had worked so hard on. "I didn't mean that, whatever we had was real to—"
"Whatever," I cut him off, not interested in listening to his explanation.
"Abril, please!" Arthur implored. "Stop acting like that. You wouldn't have begged me to come back here earlier if you didn't have some kind of feelings for me." I snorted. As if I was the kind to beg . . . "There's nothing to be ashamed of, I have feelings for you too and I want to get back with you. Why else would I come to you with my divorce papers? The only things stopping us from moving on are those darn secrets, so just spill them out once and for all, for heaven's sake!"
Feelings. He had feelings. Even after all this mess, and all this time apart.
"Drop it, Arthur. I will not share that with you."
"Nonsense!" He screamed and stood up in a jolt, his body radiating anger. "Can't you see how desperate I am to make this work? Can't you see all the effort I'm putting into this? The ball is in your court but you do have to send it back to me for the game to continue. Do you even want to send it back is the question."
I stood up too. I wasn't going to cower while he was towering above me. I would face him eye-to-eye.
"I've done my part too!" I defended myself. "I'm here having this conversation with you, convincing myself to forgive you for lying to me about your marriage, even though I cannot stand dishonesty. What more effort do you want? It's not like I can erase what I did with Victor. Tell me, what else can I do?"
"I just want you to be open with me, to not keep secrets from me. You've just said it: you want honesty. Well, start with yourself and tell me the story of whoever the hell is JIP!"
"Joder, Arthur!" I shouted. "Why the hell don't you just accept that I want to keep my secrets and let it go?"
"Because I fucking love you, Abril!"
These words hit me like a truck. Not a cute little truck at that, but a big, fat eight-wheeler. I felt like I had been kicked in the stomach and the air had left my lungs. I felt like I had been struck by lightning. I was too stunned about the mention of love to even comment on his swearing.
Talk about one awkward silence. If I hadn't known what to say before, this was much, much worse. I couldn't form a single word, I had nothing to contribute after that. And as if it wasn't enough, the familiar signs of what was either a panic attack or an anxiety crisis started to mess with my breathing. Instinctively, I reached over to Arthur to anchor myself. Like I had done a couple times now, I put my hand flat on his chest and focused on his breathing, on his heartbeat. He did not stop me, but he also did not help me.
"You heard me: I love you," he repeated the three terrifying words, which only made my heart go crazier. I fisted his shirt for purchase. "I know I shouldn't, but I do. I still don't know why. I've spent the last six months wondering what is wrong with me. Why, of all the women I knew, was I falling – had I fallen already – for the least available one? The least lovable one, dare I say. You make it extremely hard to love you, darling."
He paused, as if expecting me to answer his question. I could have told him to fuck off since he had essentially insulted me; curiously, I didn't want to. Actually, all he had said was true: he had zero reason to love me.
"The questioning took an unexpected, much darker turn when I found out about you and my father. I have never felt more betrayed in my life, even Eleanor's cheating didn't hurt as much. I was so, so angry at you, at him. But most of all, I was angry at myself. For falling for somebody who would hurt me this much."
Another pause. Another helping of silence from me.
"But here I am," he continued. "And you know what the craziest thing about that is?"
I shook my head. The whole scene was already pretty crazy, I couldn't imagine what could make it even crazier.
"The craziest thing is that I forgive you. I don't care who you had sex with before me as long as I get to be the next one, and the only one, and the last one. I forgive you and I'm sorry. I'm sorry I hid my marriage with Eleanor from you, I'm sorry I'm always so neurotic and uptight and reluctant to touch you, I'm sorry I'm unable to bed you properly, and I'm sorry I didn't come back to you earlier."
I was still too petrified to talk. How could I respond to that? What could possibly be an adequate answer to such a declaration? I needed to sit down. So I did, and Arthur sat down with me, my hand still on his chest. I struggled to pick up his heartbeat under my palm, my brain too busy focusing on what that hell of a man had just said to me. A hell of a man that was trying very hard to be patient with me and my stupid heart but whose sparkly eyes gave away his eagerness for my reply.
"You know I don't—I can't reciprocate, right?" I chose to say.
It was a harsh and cruel thing to say, but it was the first thing that had come to my mind when I was looking for a suitable answer. It was also the truth. I liked Arthur quite a lot, and definitely much more than I felt comfortable with. But I didn't love him. I hadn't been able, not willing, to love someone other than Josh. He was my one true love and I didn't have space for anybody else in my heart.
"I do," Arthur replied. "And I don't care. I've always known that I would be more invested than you in that relationship. I have enough love for the two of us, for now. I know yours will come later."
"I wouldn't be that sure if I were you. I don't even know if I'll ever be able to love you."
He grabbed my hand that was resting on his chest and laced our fingers. "I don't care. I've missed you. I want to touch you, I want to kiss you. Mind you, I might even want to make love to you."
"No!" I jerked away as he pulled me into an embrace. My hand on his chest remained. "Stop using that word, it freaks me out."
"What word? 'Love'?"
I nodded.
"All right. I want to touch you, I want to kiss you, and most of all I want to fuck you like the very sexual man I am."
I couldn't suppress a giggle. Arthur speaking of fucking me was unheard of. He took my laughter as encouragement and wrapped his arms around me. When he leant in to kiss me, I rejected him again.
"I'm sorry, I just can't," I refused again.
He paused. He put a bit more distance between us, giving me the space he knew I needed. He said nothing while I kept my heart rate and my breathing in check. When I knew I wasn't going to have a breakdown, I lowered my hand from his chest and looked up at him. He was smiling down at me, his face nothing but endeared, and patient, and . . . loving, as much as I hated to acknowledge it.
"That's another first," he said eventually. "I'm usually the one who doesn't like to be touched. And look at us right now. I'm dying to hold you against me and you won't let me."
Oh the irony, I guess.
"I'm sorry," I repeated, trying to insufflate all my guilt in those few words.
"Don't be. It's no big deal, I'll hold you when, or if, you want to. I can wait. In the meantime, why don't we put on another episode of that terrible TV show?"
"No, that's not what I meant. I'm sorry I slept with your father. It was horribly wrong, and I don't understand how you managed to forgive me, but I'm glad you did. I'm also sorry I'm so angry and closed off all the time. I wish I could open up to you, but it's not easy. I'm hoping it'll come with time. I need you to be patient."
"Thank you, Abril. It means a lot." He paused and looked at me with an intense gaze. "And yes, I'll be patient. I'll wait as long as you need and I'll stop pressuring you to tell me. I love—like you so much I don't know what to do with myself. All I want is to hug you tight and tell you everything is going to be okay and stay like this until everything actually is okay."
I wanted to burst into tears. But the tears didn't come. With the one exception of that night, when I had been at my weakest, I still very much cried only for Josh. I was utterly confused. How could we possibly have gone from a nasty fight to a love declaration in so little time? It made no sense. And yet it made perfect sense. It was chaotic, just like our relationship had been—would be. I did the only thing I knew I did well: I grabbed his face in my hands and engaged in one of my most passionate kisses.
"So you're happy with me touching you, now?" He smirked against my lips.
"Shut up," I kissed him harder.
I plucked his glasses from where they stood on his nose and set them on my coffee table. His face now free of any barrier, I pressed mine closer to his. My entire body wanted to feel his, to merge with it even. Our clothes were a terrible obstacle between our skins that only asked for being united once more.
Taking charge, I unbuttoned his shirt. In my haste, one button tore off, fell to the floor and got lost under the furniture. I hissed.
"I'll sew it back," I reassured the neurotic man in front of me.
I met his eyes, there wasn't an ounce of discomfort in them.
"Right now, I couldn't care less."
"Since when?" I inquired, the surprise evident in my tone.
"Since I've spent three months away from your mess but alone and miserable in my surgically clean house."
"See? I've always said it's better to live in a little mess."
"It's not your mess I've been missing, darling, it's you."
I ignored the pang in my chest and kissed him some more. He was as desperate to feel me as I was to feel him. He wrapped his arms around my waist and held me as close to him as I could be. My hand slithered between us and I unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his fly. His trousers fell at his feet and he stepped out of them. He broke our embrace for one minute to take off his shoes and socks.
"I won't mind if you want to take some time to fold your clothes," I told him as I watched him nonchalantly push his clothes out of our way with his foot, not giving a damn about where they landed.
A big, bright smile grew on his face.
"You know, you're extremely cute when you worry about me," he kissed the tip of my nose. "But I'm fine. I swear."
That comment made me shy in a way I hadn't been in a long time. I felt the familiar heat of a blush creep under the skin of my cheeks and I instinctively tilted my head down. He lifted it back up with two fingers under my chin and put his lips back on mine, and his tongue down my throat.
I could tell this time was different from the other times we had slept together. He was more relaxed, more carefree, more active, and simply more into it. For once, he did seem to enjoy it, and that was probably the most arousing thing he could do.
"Er . . ." He hesitated, his hands on my shoulders, "Is that okay if I take off your dress?"
"Yes, yes!" I urged him. "Don't ask, just do."
He smiled again. I think I had never seen him smile that much, he was a lot more handsome when he was happy. He grabbed the sleeves of my dress and pulled them down my arms, the rest of the fabric following on the way down. He knelt before me, bringing my dress all the way down to my ankles. It was another first. I usually had to get undressed myself.
He tried to remain unfazed when my naked boobs came into his sight, but I caught the slight reddening of his cheeks. He didn't let me step out of the garment, but instead swept me off my feet and lifted me, my shoes falling off in the process. I yelped. I tried not to think too much about how I must be too heavy for him to carry me. And failed to do so. Not every day could be a good-self-esteem day.
He laid me down on my single bed and knelt between my parted knees, his butt resting on his heels.
"I don't know what's happening to me," he said. "I want to do all kinds of twisted things to you right now. I've never had those kinds of thoughts before."
I looked at him with a wicked side-smirk.
"Twisted, you say? Like what?"
"Oh I couldn't possibly tell you without making a fool of myself. Let's just say I really, really want to have sex with you right now. So much that it physically hurts."
He had a swift glance south. I followed his eyes. He did want me very much.
"It's called being horny, cari. It's a good thing. It's a great thing, actually."
It was the best thing. For once, he really wanted to fuck me and would not just do it because he felt like he had to.
"But, like, I don't want to degrade you."
I let out a true, uncontained laughter.
"Cari darling, if there is one place where I don't mind being degraded, it's the bedroom. You piqued my curiosity, what do you have in mind?"
"Nothing specific. It's more like raw, animal instinct. I can try to show you."
Music to my ears . . .
"What are you waiting for, then?" I asked excitedly.
He leaned forward, his hands on my waist and his body hovering above mine, and he kissed my lips. Softly at first, but the intensity grew fast. His mouth didn't stay long on mine. He drifted to my jaw, then to the back of my ear, which he knew I liked so much. He enthusiastically nibbled on the skin there, causing my back to arch against him, my hips to meet his. When he slipped his tongue in my ear, something he had never done before, I moaned like a porn actress. And that was not faked. I could feel him smile against the shell of my ear.
I felt his hands move north. Not timidly, as he usually did, but with unfaltering purpose. He palmed my breasts and proceeded to squeeze them while toying with my piercings. He noted the positive reaction I had to it, so he squeezed and pinched harder, hitting the pain-versus-pleasure line that he had never really managed to hit before. My brain started to turn mushy.
His body, ordinarily so inert, was shaken by spasms. He looked like he was really turned on and like he wanted more; and I was delighted that he did.
One of his hands went south and started grazing the skin just below my belly button, not daring to go lower.
"Can I remove your underwear?" He asked like a gentleman, which he truly was.
"Yes!" I cried out, desperate for more skin-to-skin contact. "Please."
He chuckled at my enthusiasm and grabbed the elastic waistline of my panties. He lifted my hips slightly and slid my thong down my legs. He looked at my vulva intensely and I knew exactly what he was thinking.
"I want to lick you . . . down there," he confirmed my thoughts.
"No, no, you don't have to, cariño."
Why was I refusing oral? I'm still not sure.
"I don't have to but I want to. Just don't laugh if it's bad, please."
"Arthur, I'll never, ever, make fun of you when you're trying your best to satisfy me."
"You say you don't love me but you sure say things that mean pretty much the same," he joked.
I winced.
"Forget it, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," he apologized. He took a deep breath then proceeded to go down on me.
I closed my eyes and waited impatiently for his mouth to meet my burning flesh. When it did, the familiar electric shockwave coursed through me. I had longed for Arthur's head to be between my legs for so long. All the anticipation and the build-up, I was finally within reach of the holy grail.
But the satisfaction, unfortunately, never came. My dear lover didn't know what he was doing, even though he was trying really hard.
It was completely out of the question to let him know I wasn't exactly enjoying what he was doing. I would not ruin his confidence. So I took matter into my own hands, literally, and fisted his hair to bring his face closer to my sex and redirect him. I even faked a couple of moans to boost his self-esteem. That seemed to improve things a little but we were still a long way from getting me anywhere close to an orgasm.
After a few long minutes, he stopped what he was doing and kneeled up.
"I'm terrible at that, aren't I?"
"What? No, no, you're doing well," I lied. "It's getting better," I adjusted my statement.
"Abril, I can't say I have the most extensive sex life, but I'm not totally clueless. I used to have a wife, I can recognize when a woman is enjoying herself or not."
"You're talking about your ex while we're having sex? Classy."
"Don't try to change the subject. I was dreadful, wasn't I?"
I couldn't possibly answer yes to such a question. But I couldn't lie either, it wouldn't do us any good. So I decided to remain silent.
"I'll take that as a yes. I appreciate your effort to keep it from me, though."
His voice was off. He was upset, even if he didn't want to show it. I kneeled up too and hugged him tight to comfort him.
"It's no big deal," I said.
"Yes, it is. I know you've been with many people that could make you climax in the blink of an eye and it kills me not to be able to do it too!"
Poor soul, I thought. He looked like a kicked puppy.
"We're talking about my exes now?"
"Don't try to brush it off, Abril."
He was right. This wasn't the kind of conversation that I could take lightly. I opted for another angle. I released him and began to explain my point of view to him.
"Okay, let's talk about these other people. Firstly, you have to know that only a small fraction of them can make me come 'in the blink of an eye', the others are average, and a lot of them are way below average. Secondly, who cares about how long it takes you to make me come? You're the one person I'm happy to keep trying with until we figure it out. That's worth much more than being able to give me an orgasm in a few seconds."
"So I'm your way below average, slow-learning lover, great!" He said sarcastically.
"Arthur, you don't understand . . ."
"No, you don't understand. You don't understand how scary it is for me to not be able to please you as well as other people did. I know you love sex, you may say you're happy for now, but one day will come when you want a skilled lover and you'll either have to get rid of me or cheat on me. And there's nothing I can do about it."
"Just like I said, you don't understand. I don't care if you can't give me proper oral, just the fact that you're trying to overcome your disgust of physical contact and body fluids for me makes me so happy and grateful. Sex with you will always be great because I actually like you. And that's something all those other people combined will never surpass. I mean, we haven't even gotten down to real business and I'm already aroused like crazy!"
To prove my point, I took one of his hands and put it on my breast. I took the other too and placed it right on my burning vulva.
"Can you feel it?" I asked. "You know how the woman's body works, you must know that my hard nipples and my soaked-wet pussy only mean that I want you. Very much so."
He mirrored me and took one of my hands to place it on his erection.
"I want you too," he declared.
"Then let's stop talking. Let's have sex!"
"Could you teach me?" He asked shyly. "Could you teach me how to be a good lover to you?"
That question alone sent my mind flying to another dimension.
"Of course. Let's start easy. You see your hand down there?" He nodded. "I want you to slip your fingers into my vagina.
He slipped his forefinger and began to make back-and-forth motions while I placed my hands on his shoulders to keep steady. I wanted to touch him too, but he needed his focus to be only on me for the moment.
"You can add two more."
He looked at me perplexed. "You sure? Isn't it going to hurt?"
"That's the point, cari," I replied with a wink.
He frowned but, without any more questions, he inserted two more fingers. I could feel the pressure, and the pleasure, grow inside me instantly.
"Now," I continued my lesson, "instead of doing back-and-forth movements, curl and uncurl your fingers as if you wanted to gesture for someone to come to you. And keep doing it."
As Arthur did what I instructed him, a huge wave of arousal washed over my body and I had to hold on tight to him not to falter. I bit my lips to refrain from moaning.
"Are you alright?" He asked, instinctively removing his fingers from inside me.
"Yes," I assured him. "I'm just enjoying it. A lot. Keep fingering me!"
A huge smile split his face and I couldn't have been happier.
"Don't you want to lie down first?" He inquired.
"Yes. Yes, you're right."
I lay down on my back and brought him with me. His left hand gently kneaded my breast while his right hand resumed its wonders on my lower body.
"P—Put your thumb on my clitoris and do circular motions on it," I stuttered.
He took a while to find the right spot on my clit that turned my body to jelly but, when he did, my mind went wild. His thumb drifted to the side a couple times, but I made sure to redirect him to the right spot, teaching him to recognize how my clit felt like, so that he would never miss it again. After a couple mishaps, he, indeed, never got off it ever again.
"What else can I do?" He asked.
"Ju—Just lean down and kiss me. But don't you dare stop what you're doing to me!"
"Trust me baby, I won't," he grinned.
I grabbed his shoulders and brought him close to me. His lips met mine as our naked chests collided. I could feel his fast heartbeat, and I was pretty sure he could feel mine too.
And then, as he continued doing miracles to my privates, I came. I had one of those very powerful orgasms that made my eyes roll back, my mind go numb and my whole body shake. The kind that I needed a minute to recover from. He didn't stop touching me until I removed his hands from my body. He was too afraid he might ruin my orgasm if he did.
"Congratulations, Mr. Dullac," I said as he rolled off me, my breathing slowly going down to its normal rhythm. "You've just given me an amazing orgasm. It was all you."
"Well, I wouldn't have if not for your guidance," he coyly smiled, looking away from embarrassment.
I loved how, even after such intimate moments, he could still be a prude.
"By the way, did you call me 'baby'?"
"Hum . . . Yes. I got carried away, I guess. Did that bother you?"
"Yes. I don't want you to call me 'baby'. Ever."
"Why?"
"Because that's what all the people I slept with called me."
He tried to keep a straight face when I revealed this fact but he failed to do so. I had upset him. Again.
"Okay," he agreed nonetheless. "What should I call you, then? 'Love'?"
I glared at him. Anything but 'love'. And not just because I hated that word. 'Love' was the pet name that Josh had used for me.
"I'm kidding, Abril," he chuckled. "No need to give me this murderous look."
"Just stick to 'darling', will you?"
"I thought you hated it?"
"Oh I do. But you like it and I like how you smile each time you use it."
In hindsight, that might have been oversharing. Arthur's wide eyes confirmed that he didn't expect me to make such a heartfelt statement but he was wise enough not to comment on it.
"Okay," he said simply as he kissed me again.
I had the honor of watching him slowly overcome his shyness in bed. His hands slithered wherever they could go on my body, while his mouth explored all the skin from my boobs up to my neck. He did not hesitate and bit me slightly a couple times, the showstopping moment being when he bit on my nipples. I was close to coming again already.
But I had already had my moment. He deserved his. I traced his chest with the tip of my fingers, firmly heading down, down, down. I played with the patch of hair just above the waistline of his underwear, focusing on how his breathing picked up each time I was going a bit lower. I eventually took his boxers off, exposing his fully erect penis. I grazed its length with the tip of my fingers in slow, up-and-down motions, enjoying how it twitched every time I brushed against the sensitive spot just below his tip. His eyes closed, his lips parted. So I grabbed his cock and squeezed it, hard enough to procure sensations, softly enough not to hurt him. He moaned, and I could tell he didn't expect to.
"Do you want me to blow you?" I asked him.
"What?" His eyes popped open.
"Do you want me to suck your dick?" I clarified.
"Oh no. No, no, no, no! I couldn't—I can't possibly imagine inflicting this to you."
I laughed a little. "Cari, you wouldn't be inflicting anything to me. I would enjoy it. In fact, I'd love to make you feel as good as you've just made me feel."
"Maybe next time, okay? Going down on you was already a big effort from me. I don't want to push it and risk closing up. Baby steps, okay?"
"Okay," I smiled at him. "Baby steps. You don't know what you're missing is what I'm saying." I winked at him and stuck out my pierced tongue. I couldn't resist teasing him.
He laughed with me.
"All right," I planted a light kiss on his mouth. "Well, you're naked, I'm naked, we're both very horny. I'm sure you know what happens next, right?"
"Yes. Speaking of which, I was wondering if you would agree to do it without a condom."
His request knocked me on my ass.
"You're sure?"
"I know it's a lot to ask but you can trust me. You know how careful I am when it comes to germs and viruses and . . . anything else. I do multiple screenings regularly, I'm certain I'm perfectly healthy. And you're on birth control, so there's nothing you can fear from me."
"Arthur, I know you don't have a single drop of infected blood in your veins, and I'm well aware that I'm on the pill. But are you sure you want to risk catching something . . . from me?"
"Well, I trust you. I know you're a sensible person, you wouldn't sleep with a stranger without a condom on."
"But what if I still caught something despite the condom?"
"When was the last screening you did?"
"A month ago, and everything was all right. But I've had other partners since then."
"Did you use a condom each time?"
I nodded.
"That's all I need to know."
"So that's it?" I gasped. "You just trust me and . . . and nothing. You just hope I don't have any STD that I could pass on to you."
"Yes, that's it," he proudly said.
"You're crazy."
"No. I'm in love."
"Don't!" I chastised him.
"Sorry . . . So, you agree, then? No condom?"
"You realize it's going to be a terrible mess? As someone who can't get over the grossness of a blowjob, you may need to consider that."
"For God's sake, Abril. I know what it's like to have sex without a condom."
"Okay, okay. Let's do it bare, then."
After a few more kisses, and caresses, and light biting, he took a deep breath, rolled on top of me and palmed his penis. He guided the tip to the entrance of my vagina and, after I gave him a sharp nod of consent, he penetrated me to the hilt in one slow but purposeful movement. As always, a gasp of pleasure escaped my lips. This gasp was louder than usual. I was enjoying his body in mine more than another person's body.
He engaged in slow back-and-forth motions and the enjoyment quickly dwindled, unfortunately. Here we were again, having the same boring sex in the missionary position. I couldn't ask too much from him, he had already made so much effort for me that night. So I wrapped my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist, and I tried to enjoy the moment as much as possible while waiting for him to finish.
He suddenly stopped and kneeled. I sat up.
"Let's try another position," he said. "I can tell you don't like this one."
It wasn't so much the position in itself that the way he was being mechanical about it that I disliked, but I kept that to myself. Another position could only be a plus.
"Sure, do you want to try cowgirl?"
"What's that?"
"It's just me on top of you."
"No. I'd rather be the one on top."
Of course. Arthur had severe misconceptions about heterosexual sex, especially about the position of the woman. I would teach him how not to be an outdated moron about it. But that was a lesson for another night.
"All right. What about doggystyle?"
It was a joke, mostly. But, had he said yes, we would have gone at it in a heartbeat.
He scowled at me. "You're out of your mind if you think I'm going to agree to a position named after an animal."
"A girl can only dream . . ."
One day, I'd teach him how to properly rail me like I was his whore.
I thought of another position he would like. It was essentially missionary, with a better angle and more skin contact. He would love it.
I took his chin between my fingers and pulled his face to mine. I placed a featherlike kiss there.
"I know exactly what you'll like, cari. Just follow my lead."
As I leant backwards, I pulled him towards me. I kept him at a safe distance while I lay on the bed. One after the other, I placed my legs on his shoulders, his head between my calves. He rested his weight on his hands, hovering high above me. I flicked my chin at him, telling him to go ahead and stick his dick inside me. Which he did.
The noise he made upon entering me would be something I'd masturbate to for a long time. So was his face, with his eyes struggling to stay focused and his lips slightly parted.
"That's one hell of an angle, isn't it?" I gloated.
He just whimpered in response. He pulled out almost entirely and let himself slam back into me, getting a guttural cry out of me and humbling me down at the same time. A sly smile grew on his lips.
"It feels . . . so good," he said.
"I know. And if you come closer and rest on your forearms, it'll feel even better."
He did as he was told and moaned some more. So did I. That angle was just magic.
"I'm not sure I'll be able to hold very long, darling."
"I don't care," I said. And I meant it. We had shared a lot in this bed already. I didn't need the penetration to last for ages.
I slipped my hands between us and started rubbing my clit as he started pumping into me. Slow at first, he soon went faster and, to my utter delight, harder. He was properly slamming into me, hitting a sensitive spot in my vagina with every single one of his thrusts.
I got close to orgasm very fast, and I could tell he did too. When we were both on the verge of falling off the edge, I made myself fall off first, and that was enough to push him over the edge with me. He came inside me in long, warm pulses, his face sweaty, and his dumb, blissful smile matching mine.
That was it. My first properly enjoyable sex session with Arthur. It had required some work and some strong will, but we had made it work. The telltale sign that I had truly enjoyed it was that, even though it had happened no more than a few minutes earlier, the only thing I could think of was how badly I wanted to do it again. I was so fucked.
Arthur got off me and started rummaging through his clothes. I was still catching my breath when he retrieved a piece of fabric from his jacket and handed it to me. I raised a questioning brow.
"Use it to wipe yourself, darling."
"You want me to wipe your sperm from my vagina with your silk handkerchief? Are you crazy?"
"Always so sweet and graceful . . . And no, I'm not crazy. Just do it unless you want to ruin your bedsheets. Unless you want me to do it for you?"
I raised a challenging eyebrow at him. He fully accepted the challenge and lay down between my legs, his face just above my vulva. He diligently rubbed the handkerchief all over my burning folds. The foreign sensation of the smooth, cold fabric between my legs was disconcerting. If not arousing.
Yup, totally arousing.
When he was done, he placed a soft kiss right on my clit and stuffed the soiled handkerchief into his trousers' pocket. I found that weirdly sexy.
"I'll wash it later," he justified himself, like I gave a shit about what he did with the handkerchief.
He rose up to my level and squeezed his body between mine and the wall. "Can I hold you?" He asked.
I didn't bother replying. Instead, I grabbed his arms and wrapped them around me, while my own arms wrapped around his neck, my breasts crushed against his chest. His fingers idly grazed the skin along my spine and I shivered despite the heat of his body. We didn't say anything, we were both peacefully enjoying that post-coital bliss. As my eyelids began to shut down of their own volition, I knew I had to speak before I fell asleep.
"That was . . . wonderful," I confessed.
I felt rather than I saw the smile on his lips as I complimented him.
"You're just saying that to reassure me."
I propped up on my elbow and looked him in the eye. "Do you honestly believe you would still be in my bed right now if we'd had bad sex?"
"Well, you're kind of trapped actually. I've been drinking, I can't drive."
"I could make you take a cab home. Or sleep on my doormat, for all I care."
"Right," he admitted.
"Exactly. You're in my bed because I want you to, even though we're squeezed in there."
He laughed. What a wonderful sound.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
A/N: Soooooooo . . . Yeah, I'm going to give you a minute to recover from that.
This is my favorite chapter, by the way. In case you hadn't noticed already, I have a STRONG penchant for drama, and that chapter was drama piled up on more drama. I had this chapter in mind for so long, I wrote it more than ten years ago, when I first started writing this book. It has obviously gone through loads of edits (if you think this was a crazy ride, imagine what it was originally . . . ) but I have not deviated too much from the original idea that was born in my young mind. Posting this after so many years of imagining and re-imagining the scene in my head means so much to me.
Anyway, I hope I haven't traumatized anyone and I'll see you all on Friday. Sorry again for the late update. life gets in the way.
Love,
Charlie.
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