Not with Damien
Startled, Black Widow sat up from her bed. The conversation with Damien had seemed so real, like most dreams on the astral plane. Thinking of the threesome, she smiled at the seductive fantasy, almost toying with the idea for a moment.
Shaking her head, she brought her thoughts back to reality. The meek may inherit the earth, and blessed may be the weak, but she was not ready for the commitment as an eternal nanny. In her heart, she knew the Old One would not have time or interest in helping anyway; she knew he lived a happy bisexual life without children.
Shadows of an unborn daughter danced around the room, a what-if taunting at desire. Closing her eyes tightly, a tear squeezed out and diffused through her eyelashes. Knowledge dropped into her stomach, giving her innards a sinking sensation. She knew her body was not physically capable of giving birth, as the curse goes.
Inhaling slowly, moisture dripped down the back of her throat from her nose. She sniffled slightly, blinking to prevent the formation of more tears. Sighing, she twisted the black onyx ring on her finger nervously, longing to feel another life inside her body.
Another tear blurred her vision, and she fought the urge to give up on her unborn daughter so easily. Resigning herself to the possibility that it may never happen, she vowed to straighten her life up to find her true romantic partner. So distracted by the knowledge of her own fertility, she had lost sight of some of the minor details that she cared for.
Damien was not her immediate answer for a rescue; she would actually be rescuing him. In her weakened condition, she could not care for more people than herself. She needed someone to take care of her.
Closing her eyes and taking air into her lungs, she thought of the other proposals that had been laid out before her. A clown, her former roommate, her current roommate, her neighbor, the Brazilian and so many other perspectives filled her mind, each causing a tiny chuckle to escape her lips.
One that perplexed her the most was her landlord, a cousin to the man who was waiting in limbo for her answer to his offer of marriage. Her landlord wanted to make her a lesbian trophy, while her cousin, Dred, wanted to make the Black Widow his wife. It was as if the family was trying to seduce the Black Widow, providing both sexes as an option into the family, allowing her to choose her preference.
Adding Fuel to the Fire
Keep your eyes on the watch. Take a deep breath. Close your eyes.
The watch becomes blurry as your eyes gloss over. Your eyelids feel heavy, and you take one last deep breath. You close your eyes.
Picture yourself in an abandoned theatre. You see words on the screen, but they are blurry, slowly coming into focus; they spell out “sleep.” You know you are in a safe place, so when you are ready, tell me about your childhood.
Alert, having the feeling that someone is watching you, your eyes pop open, as they have so many times before. He is standing at the door. You realize now that you could feel his presence in the doorway before your eyes even opened.
Your heart races, and you close your eyes again quickly to pretend that you are still asleep. Trying to act like you are rolling over in your sleep, you turn and pull the blanket over your head. You can feel the itchy flannel on your face.
He whispers your name, and you clutch the blanket tightly around you. You begin to loosen your grip, because you begin to feel as if you cannot get any air. You give yourself a gap in the covers about the size of a quarter, right by your mouth, just so you have an air hole, then try to cocoon the rest of your body.
He whispers your name again, and you know he is getting closer. You feel his hand grasp your ankle and shake it. He says your name again.
You groan and kick his hand off of you. You begin to wonder why nobody is protecting you. Why can’t the My Little Ponies on your blanket protect you against him?
You feel his hand reach under the blanket and touch your leg. You spasm and say, “get out of here.” His hand moves further up your leg.
Your breathing becomes even shallower than when you sleep. If you just stop breathing, maybe he’ll go away. Why can’t there be ghosts to protect you?
Where is this God that everybody talks about? Why isn’t he stepping in? You feel him lift up the covers.
“Stop. It’s cold,” you whine. He seems to not hear you.
His hand slips further up your thigh, and he slowly slips off your panties, ever so gently. You try to position your legs to make it difficult, but he has no problem disrobing you. Part of you becomes excited, and part of you wants it to simply stop, for you to be able to sleep one night without disturbance.
“I’ll tell mom,” you whisper. Pain fills your thigh, and before you can scream, he cuffs your mouth. You cannot breathe, but it feels as if two ice picks stabbed you.
Tears fill your eyes and drip down your cheeks. You try to bite his hand; in response, he “fishhooks” you, putting his large finger inside your cheek and pulling it outward painfully. You think that his voice when trying to be quiet sounds like a demon.
“You just better shut the fuck up. If you want this to be painful, it can be. If you even think about saying anything to anyone, I’ll kill Grey.”
You think of your Russian Blue cat, Grey, your favorite. The tears refuse to stop streaming from your eyes. Why does he always threaten and destroy the things you love?
You think back to your favorite doll, one that you could feed and then change once she wet herself. Last time you tried to teach him a lesson, he ripped off her head and performed “surgery.” There would never be a replacement for that doll.
He throws the blanket off of you completely. His face is inches from yours. You can smell his stinky breath when he asks, “are you finished?”
You try to give him your nastiest look, but you know he cannot see it in the dark. Instead, you slowly move your head up and down. He takes his finger out of your mouth.
Your mouth is sore. You want to make him hurt the way he makes you hurt, but you can’t. You can’t think of anything that you could do that would not have worse repercussions coming back onto you.
As his head moves between your legs, you think to the coloring book your kindergarten teacher gave you. In the book, it said not to let anyone touch your private places, even a family member. How can you make him stop though?
His tongue laps at your vagina like a kitten at milk. It feels soft and silky. This sensation you do not mind as much as the punches, fishhooks and stabbing sensations.
You wonder if mom will notice the bruise that is sure to form on your leg. Even if she did, she would not think it had to do with this. She would assume it was from falling off your bike, even if she could make out the knuckle prints.
The sensation of his saliva down there sort of feels good, you decide. There’s a tingling sensation; maybe it’s not that bad after all. He asks, “does it feel good?”
You don’t want to say yes, even though it kind of does. Instead, you plead, “can’t I just go to bed?” He punctures you again, right on top first hit, it feels like someone tore off a grown over scab while stabbing you; you know for sure there will be a bruise.
His hand is over your mouth again; your eyes widen at lack of oxygen. “Can’t you answer a simple question? Why do you always have to be so difficult?”
Tears swell your eyes again. Snot runs down the back of your throat. You begin to choke on it and cannot breathe.
Okay. That’s enough. Let’s move forward a bit.
Like skipping forward on a DVD, a new scene appears in your mind. This time, somebody has a hold of your hair, pulling it. There is a penis in your mouth.
“Suck it like a lollipop,” you are instructed. You try to do as told, but your head is being pushed down. You start to gag.
There is the creaking, what you know to be the sound of the heavy door to the entrance below, and you hear a girl ask, “are you up there?” It is your best friend. Everyone has been expecting her.
“Answer her like normal. You know what you’re supposed to do. If you want to be cool enough to hang out with us, then you better do as we say and not mention that we’re here.”
“Yeah, we’ll be up top watching, so if you mess up, we’ll know. We can see everything you do and hear everything you say, just like Santa, so remember to be good if you want to get presents. If you fuck up, there’ll be a price to pay worse than coal.”
“Hello?” You can hear her voice quiver. The boys scamper away into the darkness, like fleeting demons, climbing up to a place where you cannot see them.
“Yeah, I’m here. Come on up. My brother left his fort open.”
“Cool. It’s dark though. I’m scared.”
“Don’t worry, there’s lights up here,” you reassure her. You can hear her foot clunk down on each of the old wooden steps. Before long, you see her blonde head peep around the corner.
“Come on in here. There’s a lock on the inside of the door, so nobody can get to us, even if they wanted to. I’ve never really been in here before.”
The two of you take a minute to explore the forbidden territory. It’s the hayloft of the smaller barn, but your brother had transformed the place with plywood and spray paint. Just as instructed, you lead her to the hidden cupboard to where the magazines are.
“Are these dirty magazines?” She grabs into the pile, flipping through the pages. Both of you laugh at some of the awkward positions of people, twisted like a freak show.
“Look at what these two girls are doing. Do you think we should try that? I guess it’s supposed to feel good, or else why would they be doing that?”
First, you try a simple kiss. Her tongue feels slimy and strange against yours. You pull back and look at each other for a minute, like you both recognized something strange that had not been there before looking back down at a picture in the magazine.
You find it necessary to get undressed and look at each other naked. You can feel the rough wood on your butt as you sit on the floor, and you hope you do not get a splinter. You lie back and allow her to do what has been done to you before, and you decide that you like it better when she does it; somehow, it’s okay when she does it.
After counting to thirty, you tell her to stop and lie back. She does as told, and you spread her legs. For a minute, you just look at what she has between her legs, how pink it is, not brown like some of the girls in the magazines; fresh and shiny, taunt skin.
“Didn’t you know that pussies turn brown and get wrinkly? It happens when you get older, just like when hair starts to grow down there. It’s just part of getting old.”
You stick out your tongue, placing it on the pinkness between her spread legs. Flicking your tongue around, you try to place the taste. It’s not a bad taste, and it actually does not have much of a taste; there seems to be a clear thickness, almost like spit or snot.
“Okay, thirty. You can stop. What do we try next?”
You both look quizzically at the picture and at each other. She shrugs her shoulders. You do the same in response; you feel a fire glowing in your abdomen.
This time you lie down on your stomach. When her tongue touches your asshole, you jump as if a shock of electric current ran through her. It’s soft and slimy, tickles.
After thirty seconds, she lies down on her stomach. You spread her ass cheeks apart. There is a puckery hole that is also pink, almost glowing; pluck away white paper.
When you lick it, there is a different taste than before; your tongue tingles. You sniff, but you cannot smell anything overly bad. It’s not like smelling your brother’s farts when he holds you down and farts on your nose to where you can taste grease splatter.
Okay. I think we can move forward a bit more. Did you ever play outside?
The DVD player in your mind skips to the next scene. This time you are in the woods with your best friend. You are building a fort with spare plywood boards in trees.
It’s about a year later, and you are seven-years-old. As you try to hit a nail into the wood, you hit your thumb instead. In response, you stick your thumb in your mouth and try to suck the pain out of it.
Your friend looks over, sees you and stops. “Let’s take a break. Wanna see a new trick that I taught my dog?”
Her dog is a black mut. Hairier than a lab, he has a white spot on his chest, almost in the shape of a star. He always tags along when you go out into the woods.
She glances back at her house, sees that there’s nobody around and pulls down her pants. “Come here,” she calls to the dog, who comes trotting over. She grabs the dog by the excess fat of its neck and guides the dog’s nose to her cunt.
The dog knows what’s expected and begins to lick. For a minute, she closes her eyes, then opens them; her eyes glow like a cat’s reflecting in darkness. “Wanna try?”
Okay, let’s skip forward a bit more. Tell me about when you lost your virginity. How did it happen?
The mental movie reel skips forward again. You feel that somebody has a hold of your hair. The hand smashes your head against the linoleum floor of the laundry room.
Another hand is cuffed against your mouth. You hear his voice. “I told you this is going to hurt, but you can’t scream.”
Tears are in your eyes. You feel a soft, warm piece of flesh rub up against your vagina. His hand is guiding it, and his hand feels rough against you.
He thrusts forward, and tears stream down your cheek; he bites your neck. A scream guts out of you, but the sound is silenced by his hand. Ripping pain fueling the scream seems to fill your being, wanting to burst out but having no escape, glowing red.
It feels like somebody stuck a knife inside your twat and one in your neck. You can feel a warm wetness between your legs and dripping down your clavicle that you know is blood. It’s official; your cherry is popped, and your innocence is gone.
You cannot stop the flow of tears. He bangs your head against the floor again, and you begin to wonder if the back of your head is bleeding, too. You try to tell him to stop, but his hand suffocates you more; you taste blood and decide that you like it.
You force your voice box to make noises, and your throat begins to feel raw. “If I take my hand away, will you promise not to scream?” You nod eagerly.
His hand slides an inch off your mouth. You know you have to whisper. “Please, stop; I won’t tell mom if you stop – it really hurts.”
He looks down and sees that his penis is covered in your blood. This sight makes him sick. He could never stand the sight of blood, which you thought to be rather ironic, as you notice a drop of blood dripping down the corner of his mouth.
Blood means nothing to you though. He has made you bleed so many times before. You are simply grateful that he is disgusted enough to stop.
Okay, stop there. When was the first time you were a willing participant? When was the first time you actually thought you wanted it?
The movie starts up again many years later. You are now twelve. You are by a bonfire with your brother and his friend.
“I’ll be right back you guys. I’m gunna get more fuel for the fire. This might take a minute, as I have to run back to the woods, but just hang out.”
You watch your brother disappear, and as soon as he is too far away to see anything but the glow of the fire, his friend takes you by the hand. He leads you into the lower part of the small barn. This area is your play fort, and your writing is on the wall, along with the writing of your best friend, obscenities, posters and love hearts.
As you watch him undress, you think about how hairy he is. You blame this on the fact that he is four years older than you. Still, he is younger than your brother, and your brother is not that hairy; the hair begins to remind you of a wolf, like a werewolf.
First, he begins with the stuff you’ve done before. He lays you back and fucks you like the other guys did. Then he surprises you and picks you up, sets you down on his cock.
You wrap your legs around his waist, and he leans your back against the wall for support as he bounces you up and down. You find this position fun. You are enjoying yourself.
He experiments with a position you tried before with your best friend, something called a sixty-nine. The hair from his cock gets in your mouth, and when you try to fish it out, he gags you with his cock. This part is not as enjoyable, so you bite his inner thigh and suck the tiniest bit of blood.
He does not understand what you are doing and asks you to stand up. “Can you touch your toes?” You bend over to demonstrate that in fact you can.
Walking up behind you, he sticks his penis not into your vagina but into your ass. “You’re sticking it in the wrong hole,” you try to point out, but he doesn’t listen. He continues onward with his mission, and you feel like your ass is exploding.
You can feel the blood trickle from your butt. It hurts, and you ask him to stop. He says, “hold on,” and waits until he cums.
As you try to find your clothes, he confesses. “I’m a virgin - believe it or not, you’re the first girl I’ve been with.” He thought he was corrupting you, but you were simply using him, just as people have used you; only now you liked the taste of blood.
Okay. Let’s move forward again. Tell me how your last relationship ended.
Time travels forward on the wheel of your mind. You open a doorway and set down bags. He actually seems happy to see you; for the first time in longer than you can seem to remember, he has that look in his eye.
You feel the strength of each muscle in his fingers, as he embraces you and begins to rub your back with his magical guitar player phalanges. This makes you practically melt momentarily, heaving your body against his, leaning into him as if trying to make the two of you become one. You feel the scruff of his beard against your face and on your shoulder, and you nuzzle toward it and gently bite his neck, a smile growing across your face at the taste of his blood.
Instinctively, you reach up to his shoulder-length brown hair. You can feel that he has recently washed his hair, but it still feels greasy in your hands. You smile at the fact that he has taken a shower for your arrival home.
For a split second, you want to sleep with him. Right then, right there, up against the kitchen cupboards or throwing him down onto the peeling black and white linoleum. You would even suck his cock, then ride his ass; the blood is that good.
But then you feel a cat rub up against your leg. Reluctantly, you pull back. Bend down and pet the cat.
You realize you still have all your stuff to unpack from camping. Elizabeth’s outside with the pitbull and wanting to get to her home. You resign yourself to actually get moving towards what needs to be done, but you are surprised when he follows behind and offers to help you.
He helps you bring all your boxes and bags, says hello to Elizabeth and even allows her to bring the dog inside for a quick drink. You get a bowl out for the dog and watch him slurp up water with his tongue. You think back to the ride home, him lapping out of a to-go cup while curled up on your lap, slobbering all over you.
You reach down to feel the leg of your pants. It is still wet with doggy drool. You take a deep breath, roll your eyes and march forward to finish up retrieving the rest of your belongings.
As soon as the last article is out of the Jeep, Elizabeth bids farewell, blowing a kiss goodbye. You smile as you walk inside. He is following behind you.
The two of you flop down onto the couch, really more of a loveseat, where your bodies touch. You look up at his face and see the eyes of a large feline. You remember his sign is leo, which you find an amusing contrast for him being so much a werewolf.
He turns his eyes away bashfully and reaches down for your pipe, which he already has filled. He hands you the lighter. “This is some chronic I picked up, as I knew you were coming home and would probably appreciate it.”
Grabbing the lighter, you spark the Pyrex bowl that you got on tour. Inhale; watch the weed glow bright orange as you suck harder. As you hold in the hit, you look at the bowl, notice the corner where he dropped your bowl on the concrete when you told him not to bring it out of the house, and feel the slightest pang in your stomach.
Exhale the hit and ponder the feeling. It’s not so much a physical pain, but it’s one of those pains that signal something bigger. Something you can’t quite put your finger on.
You decide you don’t want to sleep with him, but you do want to smoke his weed. You start small talk about your camping trip, hoping he does not ask to see the inside of his tent, which you need to wash out from all the days of knee-deep mud. He asks what you thought of the last Phish show, and you explain how you had to follow a hippie to park in a field six miles away, paying $90 for the service before hitchin’ a ride on a tractor, hiking over three miles and arriving to set up camp near a sign proclaiming “doo doo brown,” with a picture of a dog hunched over pushin’ stuff out; you try to explain how you met a leprechaun named Vision who gave you few hits of e and a tank with balloons, but you could see that he’s ready for bed.
You could still see it in his face that he would be interested in sex if the offer should arrive, but you could also tell that he wasn’t going to press the issue. You feel more comfortable slipping off to bed. He sleeps on the couch, while you curl up on the bed with the cat.
In the morning, you wake up to him screaming. He is in the half bathroom with the black marble floor, the one adjacent to the living room, which is really a ballerina studio with a stripper’s pole, a former witch’s den. As you walk onto the wooden floors of the living room, you notice that the red neon “show” light illuminates only enough to cast shadows.
Past the stripper’s pole in the back corner of the dance floor, you step over the raised board that signifies the dance floor boundary, and feel the cold granite against your feet as you walk to the half bathroom, where you can hear him whimpering. You try to whisper, as you don’t want to frighten him. “What’s the matter?”
He does not look up and see you there. Instead, you watch his eyes scrunch together tightly as he bellers. “It feels like I’m pissing razor blades!”
Okay. One last thing. Tell me the last time you felt in control of a sexual experience.
A blurry series of events run through your mind, like watching a movie on fast forward or rewind. You feel as if you’ve jerked to a stop at the end of a roller coaster.
You hear a knock at the door, so you reach your hand out to feel for a handle.
You grasp round cool metal. With a flick of your wrist, you twist the handle. You hear a click, and pull the handle towards you, taking a step back.
Stacy and Sheena Ann topple through the doorway. Stacy has her hand on some puny guy that looked as if he were a way back holl’r monkey from West Virginia, reefin’ on ‘em. “This is my ex-boyfriend, but we never had sex; in fact, he’s never been with a girl or seen a girl naked – I dated this guy like in seventh grade.”
They stumble past you and manage to flop down on the sofa. “I like your walls.” It registers that the guy has said something to you.
“Thanks. They’re all the promotional 8 by 10 pictures from the movie press kits I get as a film critic. I figured I might as well make use of ‘em.”
“She gets all kinds of cool stuff,” Sheena Ann eggs on; you can see just the faintest shimmer off of her fangs that she hardly conceals. “Why don’t you tell him what we were doing on stage at Croakie’s last week? A lot of people seemed to like that.”
“So, we’re out at this private island, opening up for a band,” Stacy rambles excitedly. “This girl gets the bright idea to have us dress up with all the medical equipment, dildos, lingerie and whips ‘n shit. We do this stripper tease for like a half hour, just beatin’ each other, getting’ each other naked and whatnot, makin’ out with each other and all, but man, you should have seen the people rushin’ the stage…”
“You ever seen a girl kiss a girl?” You smile as you question the guy sitting on your couch. When you see him nod his head no, you grab Stacy by the hair and make out with her for about a minute, biting her tongue and tasting her blood; Sheena Ann walks up, grabs your nipples and try to pull the shirt off of you.
Stepping back from Stacy, you smack Sheena Ann’s ass and rip your shit off, smiling before throwing it at the guy’s head. The shirt hits his head and drips down his face, but he is frozen still and does not move, eyes wide. Sheena Ann snuggles her fingers under Stacy’s shirt, undoes her bra, then yanks both her bra and shirt off at once, also hitting the guy in the head, causing the clothing to fall and rest upon his shoulder, but he still does not move.
Sheena Ann starts bouncing up and down, thumbing her pants lower down her hips and thighs. Finally, her pants fall to the ground, and she reaches down to cover her tiny patch of star-shaped pubic hair, giggling as if she was not supposed to show that in front of boys. She rips off her shirt, and her eyes dart around a moment, then she leaps up into the air, landing like a superhero in front of Stacy, unzipping her jeans.
You register Stacy’s coral colored silk bikini underwear before it falls to the floor. Smug, a smile, cock an eyebrow and feel your mouth slightly open, fangs protruding, ordering a direction without saying a word. Sheena Ann comes when called.
She tugs the drawstring of your pants and with one dart of a movement, she drops your pants to the floor. You step out of the pants with your left foot, then right foot. Stacy shouts, “you gotta see this girl’s…”
You stand in front of the boy. His jaw is gapped. You smile and shake your head.
Stacy smacks Sheena Ann on the ass. You feel a finger in your twat, but before you can figure out which of the girls it was, it is gone.
Stacy laughs. “Okay, into the bedroom!” Like a crossing guard after school, you watch Stacy file everyone into your bedroom.
Sheena Ann gracefully climbs onto the middle of the bed. You and Stacy each grab one of her nipples and start sucking. You can feel her nipple harden in your mouth and feel the goosebumps of her skin as you hold her nipple in between your teeth and flicker your tongue on the tip; you would like to bite her boob, but you know that the fat would block the blood flow, being just a tease when compared to a main vein.
You close your eyes. “You should feel that flicker thing she can do.” Stacy seems to slur her words.
“I’m feelin’ it right now.” Sheena Ann moans. You feel her body shift; you open your eyes and mouth, sitting up to look at Stacy, as you know what she is implying.
“Yeah, but have you ever felt it down here?” At the end of Stacy’s question, you dive your head in between Sheena Ann’s legs, flipping back the hoodie around the clit with two fingers. As you flicker your tongue at high speed over the tip of her clit, you feel her body lurch backward, as if she is climbing up a wall or the headboard; she moans in pleasure.
You stop suddenly, munch into the vein of her bikini line just long enough to taste her blood and jump to your feet. You march straight out of the room, hearing Sheena Ann call, “you didn’t have to stop!” Storming through the living room and into the kitchen, you fling the freezer door open and grab out three freezer pops.
You tear one open with your teeth, spit out the plastic and bite off a blue chunk of ice. You feel your mouth getting cold, and you move the piece around the inside of your mouth, trying not to let it hit your teeth. You feel your fangs retract and savor the raspberry flavor as it melts over the top of your tongue.
Swallow and meander back into the room. Sheena Ann has her eyes closed while Stacy munches down below. The guy still looks as if he’d seen a ghost, not being quite sure what to make of it all, jaw dropped.
You tap Stacy on the shoulder, point for her to move over and hand her the extra two popsicles. You take one quick bite of popsicle before Sheena Ann opens her eyes, then smile at her as her eyes open, not letting her see what you have in your mouth. Dive down and hear her gasp as you lap her twat with the popsicle melting in your mouth; feel her body twitch as she cries, “cold, cold!”
You stop for a second, only to look over and see Stacy unbuttoning her male friend’s pants. She smiles at you, then grabs his cock, stroking it, before sucking on it. You nod over to Sheena Ann who is now pawing at a popsicle; she nods her head vigorously. You both take a quick nibble on the victim before fleeing out of the room.
Okay. That’s enough for today. Now I need you to start waking up.
You are back in the abandoned theatre. A curtain lowers over the screen. The lights begin to brighten.
Your head begins to spin, and you hear a sound like when you hit the end of an old time movie reel, just an end flapping in a circle in the wind, slowly beginning to stop. Your head begins to move side to side in a wobble, and you feel your eyes begin to open. Your surroundings are very hazy, but you notice the black leather recliner you are laying in and the wood floor below.
You’re starting to come out of it. I can see your eyes open. Now, tell me, have you ever considered that you were bred to become a lesbian and perhaps you were sacrificed for this dead life even before you were born, that this began long ago?
DRED
Curled up into a ball, Black Widow rocked back and forth on the floor, bawling like a child.
Dred rolled up a cigarette and smoked it. Not being able to stand the sound of her crying, he grabbed a porno from beside him, putting it in the DVD player. Naked couples engaged in sex filled the television screen and moans poured through the room.
“That’s about the last thing I want to see right now,” Black Widow sobbed. “I mean, considering I haven’t had sex in like five months. I still can’t believe I was so dumb. I mean, if he wasn’t fucking me, of course he had to be fucking somebody else. Then all those gay guys showing up to move him out; I don’t even know what to think.”
“You really didn’t do anything wrong,” Dred said. “Do you want me to turn this off?”
“I mean, go ahead an’ watch it. I know it’s probably better than hearing me blubber any more.”
“I’m here to listen,” Dred assured. “In fact, I already told you that I love you. I fell in love with you the first moment that we met. I couldn’t really tell you, because you were dating one of my best friends.”
“Who I actually loved,” Black Widow cried.
“Trust me, you did nothing wrong. I know his patterns,” Dred explained. “He’ll get with a girl, and everything will be great for about six months, then it goes down hill. He’ll stop working and start going out all the time. You lasted a year-and-a-half. That’s the longest I’ve ever seen him with anyone. Usually it’s only three to six months. You should really feel proud of yourself.”
“I feel like I failed, and I hate rejection.”
“With every door that closes, another one opens,” Dred smiled a gap-toothed grin. “I’m right here. I would marry you right now, if you’d let me. I really do love you. I mean, I lived with you for the past four months, and I have come to know how you are. Trust me, you are a wonderful girl that anyone would be lucky to have.”
“Then why wasn’t I good enough?”
“Good enough? Are you joking me? Think of how much you cooked for us, how you always made sure the bills were paid and how you looked out for all of us in general,” Dred reminded. “You are one of the most generous people I know, sweet and great to be around. Sexy, too, I might add.”
“Not sexy enough, apparently,” Black Widow whimpered.
“I don’t think you fully understand the situation at hand,” Dred commented. “The fact of the matter is that it’s over. There is no going back, because it is done. I know you have to have a mourning period, but I am going to give you ten months to mourn.”
“Ten months?” Black Widow tilted her head curiously, “for what?”
“Ten months to decide if you want to marry me or not,” Dred stated flatly.
“Huh?”
“I’m serious. I love you, and I want to marry you. I am going to give you ten months to straighten your head out and decide if you would like to be my wife.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Black Widow stammered.
“Don’t say anything, or say yes. Don’t say no, not yet. I’ll give you ten months to decide what you’d like to do,” Dred offered. “I brought you a bouquet earlier…”
“They’re beautiful,” Black Widow interjected.
“I would bring you anything you asked,” Dred assured. “I think it has to do with my family, but I’ve always been able to get what I wanted, or at least what I needed. I would give you anything you wanted though, I promise.”
“I definitely would need time to clear my head,” Black Widow agreed.
“I’ll sit back in the shadows and let you do your thing, but I will be there whenever you need me,” Dred cautioned. “Just call to me mentally, and I will be there. I will not come unless you call me, but I will give you ten months from today to decide. In ten months, I’ll show up with a platinum and emerald engagement ring, because I know it is your birth stone. I will ask you properly in ten months; meanwhile, you make a list of demands, like a dowry, what you desire in order for me to have your hand in marriage.”
Wiping tears from her eyes, Black Widow sniffled, “this is all so much at once. I don’t know what to say.”
“I told you not to say anything, didn’t I?” Dred laughed, “I am serious. Go visit with your friends or travel around. Do what you have to do, and I will wait for you. You know, honestly, I don’t really think that you’ll wind up with me. You’ll probably marry some famous rock star or something.”
“He was my rock star,” Black Widow sighed. “I think I’m over that fantasy; I can’t go through all this twice.”
“Okay, then you’ll probably marry some scientist that will pay for you to travel around and see the sights,” Dred shrugged. “That’s probably better for you, but just in case, I will be waiting for you. I want you to know that there is somebody waiting to marry you, in case all else fails. I will be here waiting for you, for ten months at least.”
“Thank you,” Black Widow grabbed a tissue and blew her nose.
“I just hope you say yes,” Dred confessed. “For now, take this.” Dred placed a silver bracelet onto Black Widow’s wrist. “This is for you to remember me by, to remind you that somebody is waiting for your hand in marriage, if you so choose.”
“It’s gorgeous.”
“It matches a gorgeous girl,” Dred flashed his canines in a smile.
Cooking With Charlie
Sniffing the aroma of garlic melding with olive oil, Black Widow chuckled, “Charlie, it smells wonderful already!”
“I haven’t even started yet,” Charlie licked saliva from his fang in a seductive smile, blue eyes glimmering. Prancing around the kitchen, he plucked chicken from the fridge, set pasta in the boiling water and arranged fresh spinach into two bowls. “So, tell me, my little peach, how is the drama in your life?”
“Oh my,” Black Widow slumped into a dining table chair. “I was harassed by our landlord again today.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah, she called to say that I could live at her ocean house for free if I wanted.”
Charlie’s eyes piqued up with shimmering interest, “really?”
“Yes,” Black Widow responded slightly amused. “She said to help me make up my mind, I should picture lying in bed with her.”
“No, she didn’t!”
“She also said that she would give me a car,” Black Widow added.
“Well, she’s not all that bad,” Charlie flashed a pointy-toothed smile from mixing at the stove. “I mean, free rent and a car does not sound all that bad.”
“Yeah,” Black Widow snorted, “and I would have to play daddy to her kid that’s a third of my age, the kid she is raising in a gay lifestyle, with no room for question.”
“I’m gay,” Charlie reminded.
“I’m happy for you, but that does not mean that a child should not have the right to choose for him or herself. I mean, if you had a kid, would you raise it only to be gay?”
“No,” Charlie agreed, swirling the pasta, “I think the child should have a choice.”
“Oh, by the way,” Black Widow squeaked, “when you took me to her house the other day, when the keys mysteriously got locked in your car, did you happen to notice any fondling?”
“You mean between the landlord and that strange guy she had over; her ex-girlfriend’s boyfriend that she was obviously trying to get a threesome with?”
“No,” Black Widow chuckled, giving her hair a toss. “I mean between her and her kid.”
“Are you serious? Now that is wrong.”
“Yeah, it is,” Black Widow agreed. “I mean, I could have been mistaken. Perhaps her hand just happened to slide those places by sheer coincidence, but I definitely saw a fondle or two while we were there.”
Biting his nail, Charlie commented, “that’s fucked up. Is her cousin still calling you?”
“I just talked to him yesterday. He was asking if I had made my list of demands yet,” Black Widow coughed, signaling that it was a topic she was trying to push out of mind for the moment.
Charlie nodded but inquired, “how long do you have left?”
“About a month and a half.”
Setting a white shake in front of her, Charlie said, “I think you need a vacation.”
BRAD
Chuckling into her phone, Black Widow joked, “come up there and be your girlfriend? You’re married, little girl. Did you forget? You know that you’re always my girl, marriage or no. Of course I’ll still be your girlfriend, but perhaps you might consider coming down here. I would fly you down to visit. You know you could use a break from the baby and all, even for a week or a long weekend. Call me when you are ready to come down and be with me. How’s that? For now, I gotta get inside this concert. People are waiting for me, so I’ll talk with you later.”
As Black Widow hung up the phone, Brad grabbed her elbow to escort her inside, commenting, “I’m glad you got all that settled.”
“Yes,” Black Widow chuckled, “I just had to talk to my girls; they miss me.”
“I would miss you, too,” Brad looked down to the ground, shuffling his feet momentarily.
“It’s nice to know that you are missed,” Black Widow confessed.
Guiding her to a dark corner to hide her presence in the shadows, Brad seated himself next to his girl and pulled out a seat for Black Widow, motioning for her to sit. “You remember Allison, right?”
“How are you doing? It’s been a while,” Black Widow greeted. It was the second time he asked her out on a date, and this was the second time Allison had shown up into the picture, causing her to dismiss any serious thoughts, not one to be held in second place.
“Not too bad,” Allison squeezed her dark eyes shut, accentuating the circles making her eyes puffy. “You wouldn’t happen to know anyone with blood, would you? I just don’t feel like going out for a hunt. I’d rather have it brought to me. I know it sounds lazy, but I’m just not feeling the urge to stalk down prey.”
“I’m not sure, but I can make a phone call,” Black Widow offered. Allison and her assistant chatted, flirting cautiously as if to not be obvious, while Black Widow scrolled through the numbers on her phone.
As the name Jacques was highlighted, Black Widow pressed ‘send.’ Ringing continuously, a message answered to say the voicemail was full and could not accept any more messages, automatically ending the phone call. Re-entering the phone book, Black Widow scrolled from the beginning again.
Pausing on ‘Matthew,’ Black Widow massaged the button of her cell phone, not giving enough pressure for the cursor to move from the name. She knew not to call, as it was Lughnasadh and a partner should not be sought, but she could not resist the temptation.
Their first meeting was fuzzy in her mind, the same night that she had met Brad, an incident she could not recall for the life of her as someone had slipped her a poison in her drink. Luckily, Charlie set up a backup plan for such situations, having Elizabeth and Krystal come to her rescue, but she could not recall anything from the moment of meeting Michael to when she and Krystal was in a bathroom, Krystal force feeding her blood.
Calls from Matthew and Brad were what she described as “Wheel of Fortune” dating, as she could not really recall either of them, having it be a surprise when they showed up as to who they were. The night with Brad had almost seemed cursed, his car dying more than once, them having to be rescued by his little brother and a few guys from Tipitina’s, such as Andy, who would later rescue her ex.
When Matthew showed up, she gasped, having to make sure that he was not who she thought he was. “Has anyone ever told you that you look like a guy named Pepper?” They had a casually romantic time, but she regretted not getting a kiss on their first date.
Without conscious knowledge, she had applied pressure to the ‘send’ button, calling him.
At the sound of his voice, she explained, “we’re down at the show. You should come.”
“A couple people told me about that,” his voice crackled on a bad reception and cut out.
Staring at the flashing screen that signaled the end of a conversation, Black Widow shoved the phone in her purse. Eyes distant to reality, a spot on the wall held more interest than Brad’s conversation with Allison. She felt like a third wheel on their date.
An elbow nudge her gently in the ribs, and Black Widow shook her head back to reality in time to hear Brad speaking. “I asked her to come up to the Gathering with me, because I had that extra ticket. I mean, it cost me $600.”
“Oh, you are so lucky,” Allison squealed. “I wish I could go, but I just can’t take off for that long.”
“Yeah,” Black Widow agreed half-heartedly, returning her stare back to the blank spot on the wall. Nodding her head to act like she was following the music of Johnny Sketch and the Dirty Notes, Black Widow mused on why Brad would ask her on a date with another girl. He had asked her to dance, but she had turned him down lethargically.
Just when she had feared falling asleep, her eyes widened at the sight of Matthew walking up to the bar to order a drink. Looking over at her, he smiled. A grin grew with a beam of excitement that ripped through her body.
Extending a hand to her, Black Widow accepted Matthew’s offer to dance, leaping to her feet. Brad and Allison watched in silence as Black Widow and Matthew moseyed to the middle of the dance floor, people stepping aside to allow the two to dance.
The stars of the dance floor, couples danced up next to them, only to shy away with lack of comparative skill. Black Widow could not deny her attraction to him, so she allowed him to encircle her body in a sign of claimed territory after a couple songs. Allowing others access to the spotlight, they took seats at the bar directly in front of the stage at Lounge Lizards.
“Please, don’t mess with me,” Matthew begged. “Be serious with me. I really dig you, and I want you to really like me. Don’t waste my time if you are not attracted to me.”
“But I am,” Black Widow giggled.
“I’ve noticed that your friend does not seem too pleased with us, as he has been following us like a shadow and giving me the evil eye. I hope you don’t mind me claiming you as my own in front of him.”
“Fuck that,” Black Widow set the tone. “He brought a girl on his date with me, so fuck him. It’s the second date, and it’s the second time she’s shown up. I felt like I’ve been tested, almost like I should be worthy enough to be there or something, and fuck that; accept me for who I am and show some respect. He can be upset all he wants.”
“Does that mean that you’re coming home with me?”
DOES BLACK WIDOW
GO WITH MATTHEW
GO WITH BRAD
Marisa's Web sites
Black Widow Online Book home
Marisa's home page
books by Marisa
Marisa's myspace page
Email: thorisaz@hotmail.com
