Ricochet (3 page)

 
I gathered my nerves, took a deep breath,
and knocked. Cash’s face lit up into a smile when he opened the door.

“Hey!
What’s up?” he asked.

“Do
you have plans tonight? I was wondering if you wanted to go halfsies on a
pizza. I really want pizza, but don’t want a whole pizza and, um, yeah. Pizza?”
I stuttered.

He
laughed and replied, “Sure! I could go for pizza. Come on in.” My eyes scanned
the apartment. It was the mirror image of my own, and looked normal enough. It
was clean. There was a sectional couch and a large flat screen television. There
was a boring rug and sheer, rust colored curtains. Abstract art on the walls.
No signs of a torture den. Yet. His voice interrupted my inspection.

“So,
what do you like on your pizza?” he queried.

“Huh?”
I asked.

“Um.
What kind of pizza?” he laughed.

“Oh.
I don’t care. Cheese and sauce on bread I can pick off whatever I don’t like,”
I stated, dismissively.

“Let’s
play it safe, Pepperoni?” he suggested.

“Works
for me,” I said.

Cash
ordered the pizza from his phone and sat down on the couch.

“Were
you wanting to stay and hang out or did you want me to like, come get you when
it gets here?” he asked. I realized I hadn’t budged from my spot in the entryway.

“Oh,
yeah, no, I’ll stay. If that’s ok…” I stammered.

“Yeah,
of course! Come sit down,” he said, beckoning me towards the sofa.

I
walked over to the couch and took a seat on the opposite end of Cash. He smiled
at me and grabbed the television remote.

“Did
you ever watch X-Files?” he asked, flipping back on the TV.

“Uh,
no. It always gave me nightmares as a kid. Old episodes would come on late at
night while I was falling asleep. I never have gone back and tried to watch the
series,” I admitted.

“If
freaked me out as a kid, too. But I found it on Netflix and decided to start
from the beginning. Some of it’s kind of creepy, but not really nightmare
worthy as an adult. I’ve gotten really into it lately, want to watch?” he
asked.

“X-Files
and chill, huh…” I said, sarcastically.
Ironically,
mind you. Remember I am not someone who dates in the post Tinder landscape.
‘And Chill,” is a relatively foreign concept to me. But, Cash calls me out on
it anyway.

“…
and
chill? Really? You’re such a fucking millennial. I
didn’t realize…”

“Oh
yeah. Ha. Ha. Sorry. I’m trying to be hip and relatable to hide the fact that
I’m an actual fucking alien. Are we
gonna
watch this
shit or what? I’ll tell you how unrealistic it is. From personal experience,” I
interrupted.

Cash
laughed, “You’re quick on your feet. I’d much rather be verbally berated than
sit in awkward silence. This is actually really wonderful.”

I
blushed. Rarely do my bad jokes inspire genuine compliments. This is where I
get awkward. Not with being teased, but with being complimented.

“Do
you want something to drink? I’ve got cola, beer, wine, or Jack Daniels if
you’re a cowboy,” Cash offered. I giggled. Like, gleeful teenage girl giggled. Jack
and Coke was actually my drink of choice, and it fit with my fantasy of Cash
that he would keep whiskey around.

“Yeah,
I’m a cowboy. How’d you know? I’ll take a Jack and Coke,” I replied. He left
for the kitchen and returned with the bottle of whiskey, a glass of ice, and a
can of Coca-Cola.

“Didn’t
know how strong you’d like it. I am terrible at playing bartender,” he said. I’m
honestly pretty relieved that he hadn’t mixed my drink. It meant he didn’t slip
anything into it. I immediately feel bad for thinking this way. He’s not coming
off as predatory. He’s being perfectly friendly and respectful. I prepared my
drink, and went a little heavy on the whiskey. I immediately felt the warmth
when the drink passed my lips. It was delicious. I settled back into my corner
of the couch, turning to look at Cash.

“So,
do you live here alone?” I ask, feeling brave.
Probably from
the whiskey.

“Yeah.
Roommates haven’t really worked out. I like having my own space and not having
to fight over who’s
gonna
do the dishes or clean the
bathroom. When I first moved in here it was with my ex-girlfriend, but she
started hooking up with her yoga instructor and moved into the loft above his
studio,” he lamented. Ouch. I see in his face that this is kind of a touchy
subject. Maybe commiserating will help.

“I
moved here from my ex’s place. I found him pounding a stripper. For the third
time,” I stated.

He
laughed, and raised his glass, “to shitty ex’s.”

“To
shitty ex’s,” I echoed. I scooted closer to him to clink my glass to his. I
didn’t retreat to my corner of the couch this time; I was now intent on closing
the gap of space between us. He was so charming, and handsome, and as I drained
my glass, I wanted to be closer to him. I poured another. My mission gnawed at me
in the back of my mind, but this attraction had been building for weeks, and
was overshadowing my fears and curiosity.

There
was a knock on the door. Cash stood up.

 
“Must be the pizza,” he stated. I started
fishing around inside my purse for my wallet.

“Wait,
I have money. How much is it going to be?” I asked.

Cash
said, “No, don’t worry about it. You get it next time.” I shoved my wallet back
into my purse and sat it on the table. Shit, if I would have known it was this
easy to get free pizza, I would have invited myself over weeks ago, let’s be
real. Cash returned from the door and sat the pizza on the coffee table.

“Do
you want a plate?” he asked.

“Isn’t
the box the plate? You’re making your housework harder if you eat pizza off
plates,” I quipped.

“That
is a very good point,” he chuckled. He moved the box in between us on the
coffee table. We both began to scoot closer to the middle of the couch,
stopping with only a couple inches between us. As we both reached for the box,
our hands brushed. A jolt of electricity shot through my entire body.

Cash
quickly said, “Sorry. Go ahead.” I muttered something about it being ok, and
pulled the box open. I grabbed a slice and quickly sat back on the couch.

He
was so charming. He told stories about him and his brother growing up, and
listened intently as I talked about my upbringing. We laughed between bites of boring
pizza, occasionally distracted by intense scenes on the X-Files, which were
consistently confusing as neither of us
were
really
paying attention to the show.
 
I was
amazed at how relaxed I felt, how comfortable I already felt with him. This feeling
is probably at least fifty percent whiskey at this point, but who’s counting.
While I know that I came here for a reason, the discomfort I felt in his
presence had melted away. This is also probably because of the whiskey, but
nobody fucking asked you. When he stretched his arms over the back of the
couch, I leaned back, hoping he would pick up my invitation to put his hand on my
shoulder.
Because I am a teenager apparently.
Like I
said, I haven’t dated in a while. I don’t know how this is supposed to work. I
snapped out of it and excused myself to the restroom. While I wanted him to
touch me, wanted so desperately to feel his skin on my skin, I wanted to
further ease my mind. So I need to get my snoop on before I get drunk and end
up hog tied to a radiator.

I
made my way to the restroom, lingering for a moment near the guest bedroom
door. If I were caught, I couldn’t really say I thought it was the bathroom. I
know exactly where the bathroom is, and he knows I know exactly where the
bathroom is. I man up and try the door anyway. Of course it’s unlocked; it’s a
fucking apartment. I ease the door open and peer inside. I’ve never been so
simultaneously disappointed and relieved.

It
was just a bedroom. No dead bodies, no captive women, no medieval torture
devices.
Just a bed, and a dresser, and a nightstand.
Maybe he really did host drug addicts and prostitutes and rented them out his
spare bedroom. This leaves so many unanswered questions. But the most important
one was answered. He doesn’t have some creepy torture dungeon with bloody women
hanging from the ceiling. I’ll probably make it back to my place safe and
sound. I can find out what the deal is with the screaming later.

I
sat back down next to him, turning to face him, pressing my body against his, finally
bridging the gap between us. There were no teenage cues. There was no dialogue,
no awkward prelude or discussion of where and how and how far we would go like
there was my first time with Hunter. There was only this chemistry. He turned
to look at me and put his hand on my face, pulling me towards him. He kissed me
hard, and deep, like he was quenching a thirst. I eagerly reciprocated. He
pulled my leg to beckon me into his lap, and I complied. His hands snaked their
way along my ribcage beneath my shirt. He raised it above my head, guiding my
arms as he pulled them free. I could feel him throbbing through my jeans as I
pressed myself against him. He fumbled over the clasp on my bra as he laughed
through a kiss. Maybe we were teenagers after all. I helped him, sliding the
straps off my shoulders. He glided his thumbs over my nipples as he pulled me
closer and began to kiss my neck. I moaned as my want, my need for him grew stronger.
He shifted and laid me down on my back on the couch next to him, and positioned
himself over me. I shuddered as he ran his fingers down my collarbone, down my
sternum, across my belly button. He undid the button on my jeans, and I wiggled
out of them as he pulled them away. He came back up to kiss me again, before
retreating to nibble at me through my panties. Anticipation was killing me, and
I thought I might come from that alone. Just when I thought I couldn’t take it
anymore, he pushed the thin strip of cloth aside and his tongue made contact
with my body. “Uh, ok. Actually, can you stop? I’m sorry,” I mumbled.

I
sat upright and covered myself. I couldn’t stop thinking about what had gone on
in that bedroom.

“Are
you okay? Did I cross a line? I’m so sorry I thought-”

“No,
um, you didn’t do anything wrong. You did that extremely, extremely right
actually. I just, uh, I’m not sure if I’m ready to do this? I don’t want things
to get weird, and I just got out of a really shitty relationship so I don’t
really know if I, uh, really want to jump in bed with you, I don’t really know
you… I’m sorry.
I don’t
not
want to do this.
I mean I did want to do this. But now that it’s
happening, I don’t know. I feel kind of weird,” I interrupted.

Cash
chuckled, “Yeah, no I get it. But just to be clear you are the one who
suggested Netflix and Chill. This is what the ‘and chill’ means.”

“Yeah.
I get that. I’m sorry. I just… I don’t know. Won’t it be awkward if we hookup
and then have to see each other every day. Because I feel like that would be
kind of super awkward,” I stammered, pulling my shirt back over my head.

“There
is no possible way it could ever be more awkward than this very conversation,”
he sighed.

“I’m
sorry, I just,
I
don’t know you. You could be some
weird, pervy,
serial
killer. There’s actually more
evidence for that than against it,” I blurted.

“What
the
fuck are
you talking about? Why did you come over
here if you think that? You invited yourself, remember,” he said with equal
parts confusion and frustration.

“I
don’t know.
To prove myself wrong.
Because I’m
incredibly attracted to you…”

Annnnnd we’re kissing again.

“Stop,”
I laugh, ‘’Seriously. I don’t think we should do this. I have some questions,”
I insist.

“Then
ask.”

I skirted around the issue as long as I
could. I didn’t want this little fairytale to end. I wanted to keep flirting,
to keep leading up to the fireworks without ever having to see them go off. I
wanted to feel the anticipation, the excitement, without having to dive in and
get real. I asked him why I heard screams coming from his guest bedroom late at
night. He said, “fuck,” and buried his face in his hands. This is kind of the
opposite of what I wanted to happen, what I wanted to hear. I wanted him to
have a perfectly good explanation. “Oh, I’m moonlighting as a midwife and my
spare bedroom is a black market birthing suite,” or “I do freelance tattoos and
my clients are pussies.” Anything would be better than the sullen, “fuck,” like
I had caught him doing something wrong that he didn’t have an explanation for.

“This
is super embarrassing,” he said, almost choking on his words.

“What?”
I asked, “What is super embarrassing?” My heart was racing. My anxiety was
through the roof.

“Come
on, I’ll show you. It’s not that big of a deal. Just kind of… embarrassing to
get called out like that…” he stuttered.

“Why
don’t you just tell me first? From what I heard coming out of there, I don’t
think I want you to show me,” I said.

“I’m
not going to hurt you, I don’t know, it’s hard to come out and say, you kind of
put me on the spot,” he sighed.

Against
my better judgment, I followed him to his spare bedroom. He ushered me through
the door, and walked over to open the closet. Inside were whips and rods, canes
and belts. There were various clamps, collars, and tools I didn’t recognize
displayed in an over the door shoe organizer. He walked over to the dresser and
opened the drawers to reveal giant dick shaped hunks of plastic and silicone,
as well as plugs of various shapes and sizes.
Vibrators that
plugged into the wall.
Restraints. More clamps. I was kind of horrified,
but also a little impressed.

           
“Holy
fuck balls, Cash. Do I have to sign a contract now? Do you want to do this to
me?” I asked, genuinely concerned. I don’t know what kind of situation I got
myself in. For all I know, it could be one of those “If you want to be with me,
this is the only way you can be with me” deals. I’m super overwhelmed, still pretty
drunk, but mostly relieved that at least what I heard coming through the wall
was consensual. This was bondage gear, not torture gear, if there’s a
difference. I’m pretty sure there is a difference.

“No,
this isn’t Fifty Shades. I don’t want to do this to you. I’m not a kinky sex
robot. I have established and well trained subs I don’t really like to take on
new, inexperienced ones. I’m not vetting you as a sub. I’m genuinely interested
in you,” he asserted.
 

“Do
you fuck these women?” I ask, convinced that this is somehow relevant.

“Does
that matter? Yes, I fuck them. Sometimes. Sometimes I don’t. It depends on my
mood and the scene,” he explains.

 
“I don’t know. Does it matter?
I kind of feel like it matters.
Maybe it doesn’t. Anyway,
what makes you think I’m inexperienced, that’s really rude of you to assume actually,
you don’t know me,” I scold.

“Your
face when I showed you my gear kind of gave you away,” he laughed.

“Ok.
You got me. Maybe I’ve never
done
any
of this stuff. But I think I’m into it. What if I wanted you to do this to me?”
I prod. He grabbed me and pinned me on the bed.

“Do
what exactly? It’s not a blanket thing. There’s specific acts, specific kinks.
Not all of my girls get the same experience. It’s a very personal and tailored
to your likes and dislikes,” he whispered.

“I
don’t know. I’ll do some research and get back to you,” I stammered. He laughed
and let go of my arms. While it may be true that I do not have in depth
knowledge of the inner workings of the BDSM lifestyle, I do find myself in
enough weird porn cycles to know that it’s something I’d probably be into. You
know the drill; you’re watching porn and it starts out innocent enough. Then
you start clicking on more and more depraved shit until you end up coming to
some bitch getting choked out while someone pours pancake batter into her ass
with a funnel. Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.

“I
don’t think I
want
to go down that
road with you. I mean, we can do rough shit in bed if you’re into that. We can
get kinky. But I don’t want to put you in a scene. I don’t want to make you a
sub. That would add a really weird dynamic that I don’t like, but, Jesus. We
haven’t even fucked yet. Can we just like… hang out? Get to know each other?”
he said with a hint of frustration.
 

I
get that. I guess. He wants to keep his romantic life separate from his- whatever
the fuck this is. So he
is
a weird
sex freak, but it’s not like he’s a rapist or murderer. He does weird shit with
other equally weird, consenting adults. I can deal with that, right? I should
probably be flattered that he sees me as a person, and not an object to attend
to his sexual gratification. Or fetch him his slippers or whatever the fuck he
is into. I’m only a little shocked. I mean, this is kind of a normal thing,
right? There is weirder shit out there. He could be a Brony. This is a much
more acceptable deep, dark secret than being a Brony. Overall, I decide I’m
just relieved. I deal with the rest of these emotions later. Relief. Relief is
what I am going to feel.

I
roll to the side of the queen size bed and stand.

“Are
you leaving? On that note?” he asks, with a small catch in his throat.

“No.
I’m not leaving. It’s not… It’s not that big of a deal. Come on,” I reach to
him and beckon him to follow me out. He grabs my outstretched hand, and I lead
him back into the darkened hallway.

“Are
we going back to the couch?” he asks. I lace my fingers into his and pull him
down the hall.

“No.
Take me to your bed. We can start back where you left off.”
 
I sit eagerly on the edge of his bed,
biting my lip. He smiles at me and licks his lips as he pulls off his t-shirt. I
follow suit, pulling my shirt back over my head and letting it drop to the
floor. He clumsily undoes his belt buckle, and lets his jeans fall. I scoot
back on the bed and lie down on my back as he climbs on top of me. He kisses me
sweetly as he slides his fingers past my elastic waistband, and finds me slick
and ready. He slides his middle and index finger across my clit, making my back
arch.

“That’s
not where you left off.” I place my hands on his shoulders and push him down,
between my legs. He chuckles as he loops his thumbs through the sides of my
panties. I lift my ass to help him slide them off. He rises back to kiss me one
more time before retreating back to gently nip my clit with his teeth. I let
out an exasperated gasp, not expecting this sensation. My pelvis jolts upwards,
and he presses it back into the mattress with his palm. With two fingers he
spreads me open and presses his tongue into my flesh. I squirm as he
transitions from back and forth to up and down, taking breaks to lightly suck, gently
prod. I can feel this building. There’s a small ball of light inside of me,
it’s pulsating, expanding and contracting with each stroke of his tongue. I can
feel it illuminating my insides, growing brighter and retreating as my muscles
tense and release. He slides two fingers inside of me, and they’re bathed in
the light. His motions change to little circles, and the ball of light keeps
growing. My hips pulse in time with the rhythm of his fingers, skillfully
pressing and releasing my little clump of nerves behind a wall of swollen
tissue. I’m gasping for air and drowning in bright white light. I’m on the
brink… I’m building and building and so close to falling. He pulls away and
everything goes black and unfulfilled.

“Why
in the fuck did you stop?” I ask, instinctively reaching for my clit to calm
the painful pulsating and finish the job. He grabs my hands and holds them
above my head.
 
He kisses me,
forcing his tongue into my mouth, making me taste myself on his lips.

“I
was so close…” I beg through his kiss.

“I
know,” he replied playfully, “I don’t want you to come yet. The closer you get,
the better it will be.” You don’t need to get me as close as possible without
going over. This isn’t
The Price is Right
,
motherfucker. I roll my eyes, and kiss him back. He lets go of my hands.
Determined to get back on track, I reach down to stroke him through his boxers.
Now this; this is a dick to write home about. In fact, I’m probably going to
call my mom tomorrow like, “Yo ma, so this dick…”

He
pulled his boxers past his hips, making his erection spring out in a way that
was almost comical. I breathed deeply, looking from his eyes to his cock as I
took him in my hands. He climbed back over me, kissing my neck and gently
tugging my hair. He placed his hand beneath mine on his cock and pressed it
into my clit. His breath is hot in my ear as he asks, “Do we need protection?”
Yeah, probably.
I should definitely say, “Yes.” But instead
I say, “I’m on Depo…” My drink was strong. I’m incredibly turned on and was
deprived a well-deserved orgasm. I don’t want this to stop. I want to keep
going. He slides his head up and down across my clit. He circles the entrance
to my pussy, almost, but not quite entering me. I thrust upwards, begging him
with my lips and my body. He teases me with his cock as he runs his free hand
through my hair.

I
can’t take it. I need him inside me. I ache with longing, as if I am only just
now aware of the empty space inside me that needs to be filled with his dick. I
grab his hips and pull him towards me. I bite my lip as I look into his eyes
with pure, unashamed need. He finally gives in, and penetrates. I’m overwhelmed
with sensation as I stretch to accommodate him. Breathing gets harder as we ebb
and flow. My hips rise as his fall. The light inside me ignites again, and this
time, he doesn’t douse it. I dig my nails into the flesh of his shoulders as he
hastens his pace. Our bodies grow slick with sweat, every muscle on my body
becomes tense, awaiting the impending release. My little ball of light was
burning bright, blazing through me in waves. Blinding me, pushing me over the
edge.
 
I gripped him tight as I lost
control. I fell off the cliff of arousal into the sea of orgasm fast and hard. A
guttural, primal sound escaped my lips. He rode it out, catching all my shock
waves, pumping in time to the pulse of my body.

I
came back to reality, slowly and then all at once. I met Cash’s gaze as I
caught my breath.

“Are
you ok?” he asked.

“Yeah,
yeah. I’m… awesome,” I giggled, “Did you not finish?”

“No,
I wanted to make sure you got yours first,” he replied. He started moving
inside me again.

“I
expected it to be a little kinkier, given the conversation we just had,” I
teased. He stopped.

“Yeah?”
he challenged.

“Yeah,”
I replied. He laughed. He gathered my hair in his hand and pulled, hard. I let
out an involuntary moan. He grabbed my hip and flipped me onto my stomach. He
pulled my ass up to meet him, and used his hold on my hair to push my face into
the mattress. With one hand entwined in my hair, pinning my head in place, and
the other holding my hands behind my back, he entered me from behind. The
mattress muffled my screams as he rammed into me, grazing my cervix with every
other stroke. He let go of my hair to free a hand to smack me hard on my ass. He
grabbed my hair again, using it to yank me upright. He wrapped his hand around
my throat, squeezing hard enough to labor my breathing and elicit a gasp as I
choked for air.

“How’s
this?” he whispered wetly in my ear.

“Hit
me again,” I begged, “Harder.” He threw me back to the mattress, pressing on
the back of my head to stifle the sounds I made. He reared back and struck me
again, jolting my entire frame.

“Like
that? Is that hard enough for you?” he leaned down to breathe into my ear.

“Harder,”
I choked. I don’t think I meant this. I think it was quite hard enough. I was
certain I would have handprints on my ass in the morning. Tears welled in my
eyes, not from sadness, disappointment, or pain, but purely from being
overwhelmed by sensation. He rubbed my ass where he had smacked me, increasing
the speed of his thrusts. I could feel his dick behind my belly button, and was
certain I wouldn’t be able to walk tomorrow. Surely he had perforated some
vital tissues and rendered me invalid. His thrust sped up as he laid another
strike across my backside. Suddenly he slowed, and I felt him exit me. Warmth
spurted across my back.

“Don’t
move, I’ll be right back,” he said sternly.

He
cleaned me up gently and said, “Ok, you’re good.” I collapsed into the
mattress. He stroked my hair and asked if I was ok.

“Yeah.
I’m good,” I echoed. I think I was good. Like really, really good. I can’t
remember the last time I was so fully and completely satisfied. I flipped to my
back, wincing as my tender backside brushed the comforter.

“Really,
are you ok? Was that too much?” his eyes reflected genuine concern. Kind, and
caring eyes showed worry that he had scared or hurt me.