Page 5 of Hurts So Good

“A hickory switch,” she’d said, and he couldn’t even answer, just stood there and gaped. Julia got her bottle, twisted off the top, and drank deep. It wasn’t allowed and she hadn’t paid, but Ryan didn’t say anything.

It was late and he needed to close up, but Julia didn’t leave. She’d followed him around the store as he straightened shelves and swept, as he mopped, watching him with eyes so dark blue they were nearly violet.

They must have talked some, but he couldn’t remember what they said.

She’d sat on the counter with her ankles crossed while he counted out his drawer. The finger-shaped bruises on her thighs distracted him so he had to count the dimes twice.

“Do you want to know why?” Julia had asked. Her bones looked fragile as spun sugar. She was the kind of woman anyone would want to protect.

Ryan had said no, but he was already nodding his head. He’d flushed a deep and searing red. Julia had laughed out loud, and Ryan felt the sound inside his skin like the rushing of his own blood. That was when her fingers found his belt. He wanted to stop her, but he was afraid if he touched her, he’d be the one to break.

“Wait,” he’d said.

“Have you ever?” was how she’d answered, her thumbs through his loops.

“No.”

She’d laughed again, and this time her mockery gave the sound rough texture and sharp edges. His fingers, clenched into fists, were already starting to ache.

She hadn’t even told him her name yet, and already he wanted to shatter her just to see her put back together again. She was excited too. He could hear it in her voice, see the way her skin had flushed, the way her nipples thrust against the thin fabric of her shirt.

Ryan had taken a step toward her and Julia had stepped back, hands up, palms out—in defense or surrender he couldn’t be sure. Her eyes still laughed at him.

“Easy, baby boy,” she’d said, trying to draw blood.

The beer sign lights flashed on and off across her skin as she’d dropped to her knees. The buckled linoleum must have dug into her, but she’d looked up at him, eyes wide, mouth just open.

She’d untied her top at the neck and let it fall. Silver rings ran through each dark pink nipple. The flesh around them was raw and red. Ryan swayed on his feet, and she’d slipped her two little fingers through the hoops and tugged.

“You like that?” Julia had asked.

He’d said nothing and she’d pulled harder, stretching the skin tight and white and shiny. The expression on her face, something like prayer, something painted in watercolor, sketched in charcoal. She was that beautiful.

She’d rocked back and forth on her heels, tugging her nipples. A tiny pink wedge of tongue poked from one corner of her mouth as she made a noise deep in her throat like something caught and desperate. Still, it was her eyes that had held him in place.

“Stop. Stop. Please, lady. You have to stop.”

But still he was rubbing his cock through his jeans. His skin was tight and chafed raw, burning inside and out.

Her rocking had sped up; her motion and moaning grew more frenzied until finally she’d closed those amazing violet eyes, thrown back her head, and howled. The sound had hit the back of his skull cold and hard as chunks of hail.

She’d held herself motionless for a space of breaths, if either of them had actually been breathing. Then she’d stood once more, smoothed her skirt, straightened and tied her shirt. The flush on her throat and cheeks was the color of fresh-crushed strawberries. Her freckles stood out like tiny brands, and she leaned in close so he could smell the sex and soap on her skin.

“Thank you,” she’d whispered against his neck before she turned toward the door.

“Wait!” he’d cried. “What about me?”

“You want to know how it feels?”

His ridiculous cock had strained at the front of his pants, a small dark spot growing where the pre-come had started to bleed through. He’d felt his pulse beating there and inside his head.

He’d have got down on his knees and begged her—for what, he couldn’t say. And it didn’t matter because she had just shaken her head, kissed the air around his cheek, and walked away.

Now she comes back night after night like a haunt to tease and torment him. Always a fresh bruise. Always he is too afraid to ask her how or who. She puts on her little performances, exhibiting her addiction, or is it his? And how can he ever be sure?

He makes his promises, and he locks the door at closing time. Then Julia shows up on the other side of the rain-streaked glass, and he just can’t turn her away.

His desire has weight now. Length and breadth. Scales, claws, and teeth. It terrifies and exalts him. Her shame makes him feel debased.

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