I shook my head. I wasn’t going to let him take me to his place. That seemed like the start of a cautionary tale, and I didn’t know where he lived. That meant we had to go to my house. At least there there would be witnesses, a familiar place, but… “Take me to my house,” I said. He seemed to understand the reason. “One hour, right?”
“That’s right.”
“Okay.”
I excused myself and went to the restroom. Inside, I dialed Allison and ignored my shaking fingers. When she picked up I tried to control my voice. “Hey, Alli?”
“What’s up?”
“Can you call me in an hour?”
“Sure, why?”
I lied like a professional. “I’m gonna take a nap and I want to make sure I get up.”
She laughed. “Okay, honey. Everything alright?”
“Yep,” I said.
We hung up. If Tom turned out to be a crazy person, Allison would call and call until she got me. If she didn’t, I knew she’d call my parents or Bobby or someone. I walked back out of the coffee shop and sat down across from Tom. It was like he hadn’t moved. He just watched me intently.
I decided to take charge. “Once you give me the money, we can go.”
He nodded. And just like that he pulled open his wallet, slid out five one hundred dollar bills, and slipped it under my coffee cup.
Five hundred dollars. Just like that.
I was his now.
He stood up and motioned for me to follow. I folded the bills and slipped them into my purse, dropped it in my gym bag. We walked silently back around the gym, walked around to where he’d parked his Honda. It was a motorcycle, I’m not sure what kind, but it was a fast thing and it was all in black, deep black, like his hair, with deep blue trim. He wrangled the helmet off the handle bar and handed it to me. Only after I’d put it on did I realize it was the only helmet he had. He swung onto the seat and held out his hand.
“Have you ridden behind before?” he said.
I shook my helmet. I took his hand and let him guide me up behind him.
“You need to hold on tight, alright? Don’t worry about it being too tight. It’s more important that you stay on than I breathe.”
I hugged his hips with my thighs and wrapped my hands around his chest. When he kicked the engine alive I suddenly understood the attraction for biker babes. The thing vibrated up through my yoga pants, which meant it vibrated through practically nothing at all. This could be a problem, I thought. I was nervous as hell, my stomach fluttered like mad, but my vagina, and clit, were suddenly being massaged ferociously by Tom’s motorcycle.
He asked me where I lived and I told him. I told him the cross streets, how to get there in under fifteen. He nodded his head and pulled the throttle. I hugged him tighter and we were out of the parking lot and speeding down the street.
I wonder what he was thinking about while I squashed my breasts into his back, hugged his body with my legs, and my arms. Was he thinking he owned me? Did he think I’d back down? Did he wonder why I didn’t care about Bobby? Was he wishing I was Allison instead? He never asked me why I said yes.
I didn’t think I had an answer.
* * *
We got into my parents’ house at about two in the afternoon. It was overcast and the few shafts of sunlight sunk into the parlor like they were looking for us. Tom parked his motorcycle on the street and I took him up the front walk.
My parents have a little house near Lakeview. It’s a one story with a big brown door and once you’re inside there’s the living room, the staircase on the right, and the hall to the kitchen in front. To your left when you walk in there’s a small end table that comes up to my waist and a large mirror that reaches almost to the ceiling. I slid my purse, keys and phone over the table. There’s a fireplace in the living room and the sofa. And just before you get to the kitchen there’s a bathroom with a shower. I thought he’d want to go up to the bedroom.
As soon as the door was closed behind him he set his bag down by the staircase and looked at me.
“Are you ready?” he said.
I was still in my gym clothes: bright orange T, black sports bra underneath, skin tight black yoga pants, and sneakers. My hair was a mess, especially after the motorcycle and his helmet, and I was sweaty. “I’m just going to take a shower. You can grab a drink or-”
He shook his head. “I want you like this.”
“What?”
“I’ll ask you once more and then that’s it.” He watched me, with those eyes of his, always watching. It was different from being checked out, different from the loving way Bobby looked at me. Tom was taking me in, everything. Measuring me.
My heart started to thud in my chest even harder. The whole way here I’d gone back and forth thinking this wasn’t a big deal, that it was a big deal. I hadn’t even asked if he’d brought condoms. He wanted to fuck me now? Like this?
“Where?” I said.
He surveyed the room. “Here. Are your parents coming home?”
“Not for a few hours.” I swallowed. “Do you have condoms?”
He nodded.
“Let me see them.”
He pulled a packet of them from his gym bag.
I drew my fingers over my temples and swept my hair back from my cheeks and forehead. “I smell like sweat,” I said.
“You smell like you.”
“Okay, whatever.” He waited. Finally I blinked hard and threw up my hands. “Okay, yes, yes, what do I – what do you want me to do?”
He breathed deeply. He seemed so absolutely calm. I was bewildered. I was scared. My vagina was buzzing, not because of him but because it knew what might be coming, and his motorcycle had just set me to active. Tom glanced at the table and the mirror and the drawer inside. “Is there a hair brush in the drawer?”
“Yes,” I said.
He stepped forward. He came forward, to me, until he was right up against me. He looked down at me, into my eyes, and the skin of my forehead. He reached his fingers to me and drew them through my hair. “That was the last time I asked. I won’t ask again. If you want to stop you have to tell me no.”
“Okay,” I said. I wasn’t sure if I could breathe.
He stepped back. “I want you to take your clothes off. I want you to go over to the table and I want you to brush your hair.”
I would have said what except I knew what he’d asked and I knew that he was completely serious. So, I did it. I slid off my sneakers.
I reached down and pulled off my socks.
I hesitated when I crossed my arms but then I had the shirt off. I was now just in my sports bra and my yoga pants. The last person to see me naked was Allison. The last person who I’d slept with was Bobby. And Tom was watching me. He’d paid me, so I hooked my fingers into my waistband and pulled them down.
I was in my g-string and my sports bra, and I could see that Tom liked it. I could already see his erection from his shorts.
“Are you getting naked?” I asked.
“I will,” he said.
“You don’t want to do this?” I indicated my bra.
“No,” he said.
I pulled it off in one motion. My breasts thanked me by falling happily down my chest. Then, without looking at him, I bent over and slid my g-string down my legs.
I was naked in my living room with Tom.
I didn’t ask him if he wanted me at the table. I knew he did. As I walked past him, not looking at him, I thought of Bobby. What would he think? Would he call me slut? Would he be mad, upset? I pulled the drawer open. There were a few sets of keys, loose change, some maps, and that old hairbrush. Brush my hair? I pulled the hairbrush out and slid the drawer closed. I glanced behind me.
Tom had taken off his shirt. I watched him pull down his shorts.
There it was. His dick stood straight up like a javelin and at a hard angle. It was long, I thought, not as thick as Bobby’s, but I realized that it might have been weeks since Tom had been with somebody. It was red and angry looking. And if he really didn’t masturbate, I wonder what that would do to it. It looked insistent, very insistent, smooth and circumcised, not like Bobby’s.
“Brush your hair.”
I turned back to the mirror and started to brush my hair. I looked at myself in the mirror. We hadn’t turned the lights on so the only light came from the shafts of sunlight outside. It was enough to see myself, to see my full breasts in the mirror, the line of my abdominals, and to see Tom come to me from behind.
I actually expected him to grab me, to push it in me, to fuck me. He didn’t do that. I continued to brush my hair and Tom, softly, put his hands on my shoulders. I stopped brushing.
“Keep going,” he said.
I continued to brush my hair.
The whole time I could watch Tom. He bent down and kissed the back of my neck. He slid his left hand over my left elbow; he didn’t tell me to stop brushing so I continued to use it to hold my hair back as I brushed with my right.