Crystal D'Arque

He drove a truck. That was all I knew about him as I straddled him, watching him writhe and moan underneath me in an ecstatic frenzy. He paid me well to meet him in this rank hotel room once a week, so he could worship me with his gaudy baubles and carnal sacrifices. Occasionally I'd let him think that this was more than just sex to me--he'd hold me close and whisper how he wanted to take me away from this dreary existence with love shining in his eyes, and I'd sigh and pull him closer, allowing him to believe that I was truly an innocent in all this and not some paid whore he kept. I knew he could never do the things he said he would. The tan lines on his wedding finger betrayed the story of his bachelor status, and the correspondences I'd stumbled upon in his overnight bag were enough to assure me that the woman he wrote to be not his mother.

But I played along anyway. The sex was good, and the money he gave me paid for my car and cigarettes, and the apartment on the East Side, not to mention the nameless others I'd take out once in a while when straight sex wasn't doing it for me. I didn't have any friends to speak of--a few ex's here and there to confide in had I any emotional problems to speak of, and a few regulars from the bars and clubs I frequented who knew my name and tastes and little else and who were good for keeping me interested in life with their own little idiosyncrasies. Considering the bullshit most I knew dealt with on a consistent basis, life was perfect. After all, what else did I need? Love is simply a higher form of lust; a state of mind which teaches us to become addicted to another's attributes. I learned this far too late in life, but once I did, it made things a hell of a lot easier for me.

He came in a few moments, with a final thrust and a sort of gasping whimper as his semen dribbled out of him. He lay there motionless for a moment, allowing his heart rate to slow before wrapping his arms around me and saying he loved me, but in no time words turned to snores and he was fast asleep. Gently, I pulled myself from his embrace. His limp dick slid out of me with a plop as it landed against his sweaty thigh. I watched him for a moment, still fascinated by the way he could appear to be so pained and yet so peaceful, before I made my way to the bathroom.

The showerhead was old, and the lime-encrusted spigot sent tiny needles of water in conflicting angles around me, but it still felt good. I lathered up the washcloth and scrubbed every inch of my body, washing my hair twice before resting my forehead against the shower wall. I watched the foamy soap run in rivulets down my breasts and stomach and legs. It almost looked as though I were shedding my outer layer and revealing a new person--a sort of soap-and-water reincarnation.

I ended the ritual, toweled dry, and padded back into the bedroom. My john lay just as I had left him; legs twisted in the sheets and naked save for the patina of sweat and the puddle of aftercome on his thigh. I studied him again. I can't say he was handsome, but he did have his good points. His long, black hair fanned out around his head like a dark halo, and beneath closed lids were the most remarkable pair of grey eyes I'd ever seen, which darkened every time he was lost in the throes of passion. He was fairly muscular, though not cut, and I ran my hand up and down my arm as I remembered one particular night when he'd pinned me on the bed, both wrists held captive by his one hand as he slapped me around with the other. This was, of course, at my request. He was, above all things, a gentleman, which was probably one of the only reasons I allowed his illusions to hang unpierced by the truth of our relationship.

I made my way to the corner of the room where I'd left my clothing. I carefully folded my bra and panties and put them into my purse. I normally didn't wear such things but he'd bought them for me and they turned him on so much that I couldn't resist. I picked up my burgundy dress and slid into it, languishing in the sensations of silk against flesh. I began to pull on my stockings, then thought better of it and rolled them up into a little ball, placing them in my bag as well. Why bother wearing so much when all you do is take it all off again? I slipped on my shoes; the black stiletto pumps that some ex-girlfriend of his had worn once and he'd given to me because "I wore them so much better than she ever did." My money was, as always, in the top drawer of the night table by the bed. I took it and was about to leave, but stopped at the door to look back one
last time.

In a former life I was a painter. I remember canvas upon canvas of bright, sunny landscapes, full of women with streaming tresses and billowing skirts standing on the edge of some great precipice or flower-covered field. I could never capture a scene like this; the painful serenity of the lone lover, the scent of sex still clinging to the air, smoky and thick. I had always wished to paint like that, but while my mind screamed for darkness and expressions of rage and pain, all my feeble talents could produce were happy little Kodak moments, brought on my years of hippie art teachers and throngs of adoring relatives and so-called 'friends' who oohed and aahed at the latest saccharin study. Of course, that was during a time in my life where I felt I needed approval; when I thought of love in hopelessly romantic terms and actually bought into the whole concept of need and desire beyond the physical and primal. All I needed after a night like this was a drive and a drink.

I drove down to the Blue Light, a seedy little bar on the farthest edge of town. Only regulars and their dates ever ventured this far into no man's land; most natives were more comfortable at the brightly-lit clubs and bars near the riverfront. I knew I was looking for a hardcore time, with someone who could 'drive away the daemons,' as an ex-lover so aptly put it, and I knew I'd find it at the Blue Light. That knowledge was confirmed as soon as I stepped out of my car. A small group of college boys, drunk on testosterone and beer, began catcalling and whistling as soon as I came into view. A few of them actually wanted me to come over to "hang out" with them, but the autumn chill was quickly seeping through the thin fabric of my dress, and I wasn't really in the mood for a gang bang.

Inside, the Blue Light looked exactly as I remembered; dim, smoky lighting in all the right places, couples in shadowed corners, their giggles and gasps betraying their hiding places, and at the center of the room, a large horseshoe of a bar. Carlie, the only bartender at the Blue Light, stood behind the bar, mixing a drink in a halo of light. She nodded to me as I slid onto an open stool, and smiled as I was greeted by the few regulars who were sober enough to recognize me. She made her way towards me, a sexy little smile on her sculpted face. "Your usual?" She purred. She always purred at me. I responded by leaning over the bar and catching her half-opened mouth in a kiss, causing gasps and cheers from the crowd around us. Carlie pulled back, slightly startled, but recovered quickly. We had fucked about a month ago, right there on the bar after hours. When it was over, she held me against her ample breasts and muttered "This isn't right...We shouldn't have done it..." over and over until I finally just had to leave. I had come back a few times afterwards, on nights when I knew there wouldn't be many people here and that we could talk. She was one of the few people I actually wanted, and I supposed I loved at one point, but she was raised Catholic, and couldn't handle the emotions my vodka-induced sexcapades had stirred up in her. She recovered eventually, and was better for it. From what I'd heard from the other regulars, she was actually dating other women, and finding herself a much happier person for her indulgences.

She was about to say something else but turned and quickly went to the other end of the bar, where a couple had just sat down and were obviously in a hurry to get drunk. She returned a few moments later, just long enough to hand me my usual; a delightful little concoction a Vampire Kiss. I sipped it carefully; savoring the poison sweetness as it rolled around on my tongue. Carlie was gone now--probably in the back room gathering a few more cases of beer. My attention was quickly drawn to the couple across the bar, or rather, to the man across the bar. His stiff mannerisms and bleach blond crewcut screamed military, and he eyed me now and then with unabashed lust as he feigned interest in the chatty brunette who gushed and bubbled nonstop beside him. He'd downed two bottles of Corona before the brunette had even touched her first, and from the looks of him, he'd probably need more than two to survive this poor excuse for a female. I'll admit, she was cute, but I'd probably walk out on Uma Thurman if she were as annoying as this little slut was. I decided to save him.

I got up and took my drink over to the jukebox, my eyes driving into his as I crossed the room to the far wall. I leaned over, allowing my skirt to catch on the coin slot and giving my GI a glimpse of what wasn't under my dress. I glanced over my shoulder at him and nearly burst out laughing at the expression on his sweet face. He was practically drooling, but quickly composed himself when he saw me watching him. Not quick enough, however, for the brunette had realized that he wasn't listening, though she didn't quite know why. I honestly wondered at that moment if she was born stupid, or if her brains had been fucked out of her. She got right into his face and whined like a siren, balling her fists up like a spoiled child. He apologized to her, still throwing quick glances in my direction as he put his arm around her to try to comfort her. Suddenly, he jumped up and excused himself from her, mentioning something about the beer. His eyes were locked on me until he disappeared behind the little door that led to the bathrooms. Carlie, who'd returned in time to watch the brunette's little shit fit, gave me a knowing look and jerked her head towards the door, leering. I set my drink on the jukebox and walked straight to the door, hesitating only slightly so I could smile politely at the brunette, who ignored me completely as she ransacked her purse looking for lipstick.

He grabbed me as soon as I'd cleared the doorway, pulling me into the men's room and locking the door behind me. Not a word was spoken as he pressed his lips against mine, his tongue forcing its way through. I relented and began to unbuckle his belt. My fingers couldn't quite catch the clasp, and with a furious grunt, my GI let go of me long enough to tear the strip of leather from his waist and unzip his fly. He lifted me up onto the sink, pushing the thin silk of my dress up to my navel. I shivered at the shock of the cold porcelain against my bare skin. He nearly tore my dress off of me then, probably mistaking the shiver for arousal. His hands ran up and down my body, their coarseness giving me goosebumps. I wrapped my legs around his body and guided him in. I honestly hoped that he was one of those minutemen--the last thing I needed then was another fuckfest.

He fucked me just the way I like it--fast and furious. Every now and then he'd grunt or hiss and squeeze my ass or tits but he never missed a beat, not even slowing as I felt his first orgasm gushing inside me. My ass was beginning to get sore from rubbing against the porcelain, so I slid my arms around his neck and lifted myself off of the sink. My GI barely even blinked. He kept on going, picking me up and slamming me against the door. I could faintly hear men's voices from the other side of the door; something about having to go out to the alley and how they hoped we were having fun. I almost laughed, but I looked down at my GI's face and thought better of it. He fucked like a man possessed--a demonic scowl shadowing his face. He came again, lifting me so fast that my head nearly hit the drop ceiling. This time, he slowed, losing momentum and gently lowering me to my feet. He still didn't say anything, just breathed heavily and stooped to pick up my dress. I slipped it on and went over to the mirror to check my hair and makeup. In the mirror, I watched my GI quietly slip out the door. I checked my watch, a leer growing on my lips as I saw that only seven minutes had passed since I left the jutebox, waited until I'd heard the outer door close, then switched restrooms so I could pee.

The bar had emptied considerably in the short time we'd been occupied. The brunette had left; my GI was walking outside as I walked back in. Carlie was leaning against the bar, my purse and drink in front of her. "You know we heard you," she said as one of the men at the bar raised his glass to me in a silent tribute. I laughed loudly, slipping onto the stool in front of Carlie. Eyes downcast, she toyed with the stirrer in my drink. She looked up at me, her cerulean eyes questioning. "I was wondering when you'd give up on all this hetro-sex bullshit and let me take you out for real. You know we're good together," she added. I propped my elbow on the bar and rested my chin in my hand. "Carlie Love," I said slowly, searching for the nicest things to say, "A month ago, you despised me for what I did to you-- for what we did to each other. Granted, you're well over that now, but you can't expect me to, to-"

"To what?" Carlie interrupted angrily. A few drunks unfortunate to be close to us at that moment winced and covered their ears. "Fall in love?" She lowered her voice to a near whisper. "I'm not asking for that. All I want is a chance to do more than just fuck you. I want a chance to find out if we could be something, instead of just doing something." She was whispering now, her voice sounding painfully desperate. "Just say you will. Let me try. I want... I want to know if I can love you."

She stared at me, into me. I think somewhere inside she knew I couldn't do it; betray my better judgement and say 'sure, go ahead, let's try to see just how much we can truly fuck with each other'. She just needed me to give her some sort of end-all be-all answer, but I couldn't speak, knowing that what I would say would probably break her. Tears slowly formed in the corners of her eyes and slowly trickled down her cheeks. Her lips began to tremble. I leaned closer and kissed her one last time. No tongue, no passion, just a gentle kiss goodbye. I pulled away slowly, watching her weep. I stood, placed a fifty on the bar and turned my back on the Blue Light, tasting the salty sweetness of Carlie's tears on my lips as the door closed behind me.