Fist of the Spider Woman (5 page)

To my surprise, my eyes are welling up. He smiles. I feel exposed, sentimental, and start thrusting my hips harder at him to show him it's a serious ride. I reach my hands up around his back and scrape my short-but-sharp nails over his skin. He winces.

“You like that?” He nods.

I slap his face. He smiles.

I flip him over on his back, lay next to him, and slide my hand into his boxers, rubbing my hand in his wetness to lube up my fingers, sliding back over his cock, giving him a nice wet hand job. He groans and his ass tightens, lifting his hips up off the bed. “Fuck me?” He stares into my eyes with that pained look he gets when he's desperate to come.

Smiling, I slide two fingers up inside him, rubbing his g-spot while circling his cock-head with my thumb. He groans and moves his body in time with my hand. He grabs the hair on the back of my head and pulls, whimpering and pleading for me to make him come. “Please, oh fuck, you're gonna make it happen, it's coming.”

I fuck him with the muscle of my whole arm and synch up the flow so that his body can bounce along with me, both of us released into the laws of physics. “I wanna see you come, I wanna watch your face,” I say in a low voice that echoes through my body, the vibration sending nice little shock waves to the head of my clit. He puts his hand between my legs. It's turned the wrong way, and he can't pay attention to what he's doing anyway, but he moves it around, and I hump my body against him so he rubs me just right as I push another finger up inside him.

My orgasm builds as I watch him fall into his. His groans get louder and longer and his face contorts into a pained, then overwhelmed expression before it dissolves into surrender and his whole body bucks up, heaving and shaking, his cunt spasming around my three fingers. My whole body feels hot and fuzzy, like the borders of it have faded, and colours flood my mind, red and purple, and then a bright orange light exploding through me, emanating from my clit, up into my pelvis, my gut, my heart.

Burning its way through the hard, stuck places, chasing out the fear.

I hold him tight, sweating against his skin, shudders passing through me, through us. I am overwhelmed. I'm glad I can't cry, because I don't want him to see me like that, I don't want him to feel too needed, or think I'm putting too much on this. I know we aren't in love, that it didn't work. But I've never had this feeling with anyone else. It's been hard to give up.

“Did you notice anything different?”

We're sitting on the couch again in the living room. We just ate delicious sandwiches with steamed beets, sauerkraut, and goat cheese. I never would have thought to put those foods together, but he found them and made something amazing out of it. Our tongues are bright pink from the beets, and we're huddled by the radiator trying to keep warm.

“What do you mean?” He looks at me, his eyes guarded, trying to discern my agenda before it's dumped on him.

“I mean, about my body.” I wonder what he will think.

He chuckles. “Uh, I wasn't really looking. You feel a little different. That usually happens after a breakup.”

I pull the clit pump from under the couch where I keep it. It looks intense and medical, with a hand pump and a dial to indicate how much suction is being created. But when I pull it out, something else comes tumbling onto the floor: a prescription bottle half-full of OxyContin, with someone else's name on it. He grabs it before I can push it back into hiding.

His face falls. His eyebrows scrunch up, and he shakes his head. “Are you shitting me?”

“I've been in a lot of pain.”

“Why don't you go to a doctor?”

“You know how I feel about doctors.”

“Yeah, and you know how I feel about fucking around with this kind of shit. This is an opiate.” Josiah is protective of the work he's done to get sober, which I respect. I've never done opiates before, but my dealer told me this is the best painkiller there is, and my knee has been killing me lately. It's been helping.

“I really don't like the way you're talking to me.” We stare hard at each other, our eyes meeting in combat.

“It looks like it's time for me to leave.” He sighs and gets up off the couch, grabbing his coat and scarf.

“Fine.” We never know how to get through moments like this. We're both too proud, too righteous about our beliefs. That was originally what drew us to each other, but ultimately it was the reason we weren't compatible.

“Do you need anything else before I—”

“Nope,” I interrupt. He grabs his bag and leaves in a huff, making a big deal out of not slamming the door on his way out, which I find even more annoying than if he'd slammed it.

I busily shuffle the piles of yellow envelopes around on my coffee table, separating them into addressed and non-addressed, priority and non-priority. I don't know when I'll ever be able to afford to send all these zines out anyway. Fuck the government.

Fuck the world. Fuck Josiah.

My hands stop at an empty envelope, addressed to Alex Ass-hole in Pittsburgh, PA . I remember stuffing this envelope because I was pressing down too hard on the anarchy symbol in “Asshole,” and broke through the thick yellow paper, making a mark on the zine. The hole is still there. The zine is not.

The phone rings, and my body fills with dread. Did I turn the ringer back on? I pick up the receiver and hold it to my ear, saying nothing.

“It's me,” says Josiah. “I turned the ringer back on while you were still sleeping. Sorry if I scared you.”

“Oh.” I start to breathe again.

“I didn't want to leave before talking about your plan for tonight. Are you still planning on working?”

“I don't know.” I hadn't even thought about it yet. The past twenty-four hours is a blur. “You know, it's okay if you want one of my zines, but I wish you had asked instead of just taking one.”

“What zine?”

My stomach drops. “
Conspiracy of Fuckers.
The new issue. I made the exact number I needed, but I didn't think I would see you.”

“I didn't even know you made a new issue.”

“But …” My head is going to explode. “There's one missing.”

“You probably did something with it.”

“No, I remember.”

“Reggie, we both know your memory isn't as good as you think it is.”

I can't believe he would question my sanity at a time like this. This means my fears are true. I'm being watched, I'm being tracked. Someone came in here while I was sleeping and stole a copy of my zine. I tell him this, trying not to yell.

I hear him take a deep breath to steady himself. “If you really think that's what happened, then you should come over to my place, at least for the night.”

“Can I work from your house?”

Josiah groans. Doing phone sex with him in the same apartment was always an issue—he'd hear me and get turned on, but when I'd get off the phone I just wanted to distance myself from it. He always complained about blue balls.

“I'll go in the pantry. I'll be really quiet.”

“Whatever. Just get over here. But no drugs.”

I smoke a bowl and pop an OxyContin before I leave the house, just to numb the pain so I can make it to the train and up and down all the stairs.

I tell the dispatcher that Hugh Billings was harassing me all night. She seems perplexed. “He's never done that before, and I've been working with him for years.”

“It was terrifying.”

“Well, he can't come to your house or anything. He lives three states over, and he doesn't know where you live. You shouldn't be scared.” She's nice to me, gives me lots of calls, doesn't give me shit for working from another phone number, which she used to always get annoyed about. I spend half the night huddled at the back of Josiah's pantry, cupping my hand around my mouth and the receiver.

“Are you hiding from someone?” one of my clients asks. “You sound muffled.”

“My husband's home,” I tell him. “I don't want him to hear us.”

“Oh no,” his voice gets quiet too, and I smile at how silly and sweet this job is sometimes, like playing house as a little kid. “I hope he doesn't hear me fucking you,” he says, whimpering. “I hope I can come before he catches us.”

“I hope so too. You better fuck me harder.”

“Oh, yeah, I'm fucking you so hard, I'm slamming my big hard cock up into your tight wet hole.”

“Sshh, he'll hear us,” I whisper.

“Ooooh, no,” he groans.

“Oh shit, I think I hear him! He's coming! He's gonna catch us!”

He shoots his load, gurgling in my ear. “Oh, fuck, oh fuck,” he gasps.

“That was a close one,” I smile.

“Thanks. Have a good night.” He hangs up.

“Anything good?” Josiah asks as I emerge from the pantry for the fifth time. He's putting sheets on an air mattress in the living room for me. I guess he doesn't want a repeat of last night.

“That one was kind of fun. We pretended my husband was about to catch us.”

“Ha!” Josiah shakes his head, probably thinking about my fondness for the we're-gonna-get-caught fantasy. “I bet you liked that one.”

I blush. “Yeah.” I smile and look at the blanket he's spreading out for me. I remember that blanket. “It definitely gave me a boner.” I look up at him to see his reaction. He's shaking his head, trying not to smile.

“Remember how it was when I first started hormones?” he asks, laughing. “I'd be running into the bedroom every time you got a call.”

“Yeah.” I feel nervous talking about sex too much. I really liked last night. It would be easy for me to fuck him again.

“Okay, well …” he looks at the floor. “I guess I'm going to bed. Your bed's all made up whenever you're ready.”

“I'm ready, I just need to brush my teeth.”

I'm glad to see my old toothbrush is still here. I stand over the toilet brushing my teeth while he takes out his contacts and washes his face. My thigh brushes his ass as I lean over to spit into the sink, and I feel him press back into me in response. I can't help it, my hand grabs onto the meat right above the waistband of his pajamas, and slides down over his ass before pulling away. He turns to face me, our eyes lock.

“Don't touch me,” he says, taking a step toward me so my back is pushed up against the cupboard door. His face is just a couple inches from mine, our bellies touching. He smirks.

“Okay,” I say, keeping my hands at my sides. He leans in like he's going to kiss me, and I lean forward to meet him.

“I said
don't
.” He grabs my throat, slamming my head back against the cupboard.

“Sorry,” I gasp. He smacks my face fast five or six times, and I snap at him, trying to catch his fingers with my teeth. He grabs my hair with his other hand, pulling my head to the side, subduing me.

“What exactly are you asking for right now?”

“I can't help it.” I whine.

“Because you know what you'll get if you keep pushing.”

I actually don't know. It could be a struggle down to the ground ending in a vicious, guttural fuck. Or it could be an endless, painful tease. Or it could be a hard wall of nothing. I have to press my luck just enough to stay engaged in the dynamic, but not enough to seriously piss him off. “I thought you said no funny business.”

“You started it.” He's still got my head twisted to the side, and he reaches between my legs with his other hand, making a pinching motion that catches my clit between his thumb and forefinger, stroking it through my boxer briefs. I groan in response, and without meaning to, my hands move up to his shoulders. He pinches my clit hard and pulls my head further down to the side.

“Okay, okay, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.” My eyes bug out and my thighs clamp together trying to protect my clit. This is actually really hurting my neck, and my leg can't hold me like this for too much longer. Still grasping my clit, he pulls me by the hair, directing me to rest my ass on the edge of the sink. “I gotta see this,” he says, pulling down my underwear. He pushes back on my cunt lips so that my little cock pokes its head out, all swollen and bright pink. His tongue reaches out to taste it, and I shiver and moan, cursing and trying not to hyperventilate.

He wraps his lips around it and starts to bob his head. I've been working hard to get my clit bigger, pumping it up at least a few times a week, and I can feel so much more than I used to.

His mouth is wet and warm; the suction pulling me in so I can feel it in the shaft and the head. It's almost too much, but I keep breathing and it keeps feeling better and better. I want so bad to put my hand on his head and push him down on me, but I know this would get me in trouble, and I don't want to fuck this up.

“Suck it,” I say under my breath. He stops, looks up at me, and puts his finger to his lips.

“This is my game. I do what I want.” He puts his mouth close to my cock again and I am straining my butt muscles, trying to push it into his mouth, feeling his hot breath. He keeps his mouth right there, just breathing, and I swear the breath is making my cock throb and swell, trying to get bigger so it will reach his wet lips. I am groaning and swearing and losing all control.

“You better be quiet or you're gonna wake up my roommate,” he teases, knowing his roommate doesn't care and will probably happily wank off if he wakes up to the sound of sex. But this added bit of intrigue is almost too much for me. I know I'm going to come the second his lips touch me again, and I don't know if I will be able to keep myself from clawing into his shoulders, pushing him down on my cock, and riding his face for all he's worth. I make the decision to do everything I can to control myself, to let him have all the power. He deserves it.

As if he can read my mind, he chooses that moment to finish me off. Warm, wet lips gently subsume the head of my cock and tenderly suck, and I am gone. Shuddering, moaning, tensing and thrusting, doing everything I can to keep my hands to myself. I accidentally knock the soap and shaving kit off the back of the sink, shatter a glass onto the floor, still gripping the edge of the sink while my body spasms. “Fuck,” I grunt as the orgasm runs its course and leaves me weak and panting.