Healing Melody (8 page)

He meets my gaze with his warm, innocent puppy eyes.
 

“I’ve got a name for you,” I declare as I stare at his sad looking mug. “Mingus. Don’t ask me why,” I shrug. “It’s just what popped into my head right now.”

Mingus licks my fingers. I guess he approves.

“Okay, enough of that,” I say. “I have to get back to work. Suzie says she doesn’t want a crappy song, so here we go again…”

I lower Mingus to the floor and place my hands back on the piano keys. I begin searching for a tune. But after an hour of chasing dead ends, I’m right back where I started… nowhere. Suzie wants something real from me, not some pop dribble that doesn’t say anything. A song about singing in the shower or taking a selfie won’t cut it. Not that I could ever write that kind of crap anyway. But the truth is, I feel so blocked, so rigid, that nothing’s coming to the surface. I have a million emotions swirling inside of me – everything from grief to anger – but I can’t translate any of it to the keys, or put it into verse.
 

I’m frustrated beyond belief.
 

And after my third vodka soda… I’m also, really, really horny.

I laugh sarcastically. A year ago, my therapist thought I couldn’t go a month without sex.
 

“Told you I didn’t have a problem,” I mumble. I’m closing in on dry month number thirteen. I take another sip from my drink.

Flashbacks to all the crazy sex I had – in my short but eventful life – slowly play through my mind. Each one makes me hotter… and hornier.
 

I’ve masturbated plenty of times during my self-imposed lockdown. But I’ve grown tired of my hand and my toys. What I desperately long for is a man’s hard body, writhing against mine. His hard cock sliding between my legs and filling me with its girth.
 

Then I notice my reflection off the piano’s shiny black wood.
 

I sigh.

I realize something, as I stare at my scarred, damaged face.
 

I’m totally unfuckable.

Any idea you have after four vodka sodas is usually a bad one. But after fiddling with my piano for another hour, and reminiscing about the hot sex I used to have, I just couldn’t take it anymore. No man, of his own free will, would ever want to sleep with me. But I have over thirty million dollars in the bank. I’m sure I can find someone I can
pay
to do the deed.
 

I decide to go online. I begin searching site after site. I’ve never done anything like this before – actively searched databases for someone to fuck me. Before the accident, I had men lining up to pleasure me. I was a catch. But now, post accident, I’ll need money to entice someone to fuck me.
 

It astounds me how many sites are dedicated to selling sex, in one form or the other. With so much to choose from, it becomes a bit overwhelming.
 

You can have any flavor you want, in any combination.
 

I begin clicking from one site to another. So many men to choose from… but none of them are jumping off the page.
 

Sure, a lot of these guys are good looking, but in a plastic kind of way. They’re all exquisitely tanned and groomed. And their bodies, although muscular, look too sculpted, too steroid ridden.
 

I’m not looking for a model; or one of those guys who spends all day at the gym, obsessing about his body mass index. I’m looking for a real man. Someone who can fuck me the way I need to be fucked. Someone whose got an edge, some fire. Someone I can sense is simmering underneath the surface.

I click to another site.
 

It’s a website dedicated to military men: veterans who are now selling their bodies for cash. I click from one profile to another…

Then I stop.

Those eyes.
 

They’re dark, intense, resentful… haunted.
 

They reflect exactly how I feel. I read his profile. He’s done two tours in Iraq, one in Afghanistan. He’s a mixed martial arts fighter. As I stare at his face, and his dark haunted eyes, I can tell this dude has seen some shit. There’s something devastating underneath his hard look. I can feel it. It draws me in.
 

I’m practically drooling at the sight of his body. He’s rock solid, heavily tattooed. And upon closer examination, I even notice some scars – probably from the battlefield. This guy is the
real
man I’ve been looking for. He’s also hot as fuck. But it’s his eyes that draw me to him. I can’t explain it, but I feel a connection to him, even though he’s just a picture on a website.
 

I sound foolish, but it’s true.

I have another sip from my drink. Can I really go through with this? Call a complete stranger to have sex with me? It’s been so long since I’ve had anyone touch me in a sensual way. I wonder if my body even knows how to respond. But then again, maybe a sexual encounter is
exactly
what I need to start feeling like a human being. After all, sex was such a big part of my life before the accident.

I take a deep breath and decide to go for it.
 

Mingus, who is resting on my lap, huffs. I look at him.
 

“Hey, don’t judge me, Mingus. I need to deliver a song to Suzie by Wednesday. I can’t help it if sex may be the only way I get inspired.”

Mingus lowers his head, acquiescing to my logical drunken argument.
 

I take another sip from my drink. Then I take a deep breath and click the link below his picture. Another window pops up, alerting me that a call is being placed to my “friend.”

I take another sip from my vodka as it continues ringing.
 

When the ringing stops, I hear his voice. It’s low, baritone and steady.
 

“Hello. This is Kade.”
 

I find myself struggling to speak.

It’s dark. I can’t see anything. I walk down the hallway of a dilapidated building. Gunfire and screams ring in my ears. I’m wearing my combat uniform. Am I back in the Middle East? The building I walk through appears to be a rundown hospital. As I make my way down the hall, the smell of gunpowder filters through the air. I clench the rifle in my hands. The human screams continue, and slowly, one of them becomes more predominant.
 

Soon, it’s the only cry I hear.
 

It’s Max.
 

“Daddy! Daddy!” He’s crying for help. I race down the hall, clutching my gun, searching room after room.
 

I finally find him. He’s in one of the rooms, standing by an open window. There’s an angel – with white wings surrounded by a blinding white light – standing next to him.
 

“Max, get away from her!” I shout.

Max turns to me with a smile and says, “It’s okay, Dad. I’m going with my new friend.”

“Don’t leave!” I shout.

“It’s okay, Dad,” Max repeats.

“No, it’s not,” I mutter, tears streaming down my face.

The angel motions Max to follow her through the open window.
 

“Bye, Daddy,” says Max with one last wave. “I love you.”

The blinding white light fills the room. When the light subsides, I’m standing alone, tears still streaming down my face. Then I notice blood pouring from my chest.
 

I’ve been shot in the heart.

I wake up frantically. My cellphone is ringing. My face is wet. Fuck, was I crying in my sleep? I wipe my eyes and reach for the nightstand. I glance at the time stamp on my phone: 2:00 a.m.. Then I notice the number. It’s a call from the website. If I don’t pick up, Shane will know. He monitors everything on the site. I sigh and answer.

“Hello. This is Kade.”

Silence.

“Hello?” I repeat. “Anybody there?”

 
I’m annoyed. If you’re going to call me at 2 a.m., you better have something to say.

Then, she finally speaks.
 

“Hi…I…uh…I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

I rub my eyes. I decide to be honest.

“Yeah. It’s all right though. I was having a nightmare.”

“Oh,” she says. There’s a long pause. Then she finally speaks. “I’m sorry… I don’t… I think I’ve made a mistake.”

Like I said, Shane has someone monitoring the site. And he hasn’t been too pleased with the number of customers I’ve booked this month. I owe him a ton of money. And with my lackluster sales rate, it’s going to take me
two
lifetimes to pay him back. I have to keep this girl talking and
hopefully
have it lead to an actual meeting.
 

“How can you be so sure?” I blurt. “We haven’t even talked yet.”

Another long silence. I can hear her breathing.

“I’ve never done this before?” she admits.

“Called somebody at two a.m.?” I say, trying to be light hearted. It doesn’t come naturally to me, but Shane says I need to get better at it so clients feel at ease.

“You know what I mean,” she replies. “I’ve never used a website for this sort of thing.”

I sit up in bed. I have to keep her on the phone.
 

“I really think I’ve made a mistake,” she repeats.

“The only mistake you’ll be making is hanging up,” I quickly say. My words disgust me. I take a deep breath and decide to speak honestly. I’ve never been good at faking it… ever. “Listen. I know this might be something out of the ordinary for you. But you’ve called for a reason. You need something. There’s something missing from your life. Am I right?”

Another long pause.

“I miss being with a man,” she admits. She takes a breath and continues. “I’m lonely. I’ve been lonely for a long time.”

“Most people are,” I tell her.
I know I am.

“I guess that’s good for your business,” she replies, a little sarcastically.

“What do you miss about being with a man?” I ask.

“What do you mean? Like specifics?”

“Yeah,” I reply. “It will help me get a better sense of whether I can help you.”

She takes a moment.

“Let me see… everything,” she says with a sigh. “I miss everything about a man: his hands running over my skin, his breath against my neck, the muscles in his arms, his smell, his masculine energy, and definitely his cock.”

As she talks, I realize how amazing her voice sounds. It’s rich, sensual, layered. It sneaks into you, warms you. As she describes what she likes, I find myself getting surprisingly turned on. It’s her voice: it’s captivating. I wonder what this woman looks like.
 

“Why’d you choose me?” I ask, when she finishes.

She takes another long pause. “Something in your eyes. They lured me in.”

“I’ve never had anyone mention my eyes before,” I confess. “Usually they notice the tattoos. What about my eyes?” I ask, trying to keep the conversation flowing. After all, this lady is getting billed every thirty seconds.

Another long pause. Then she finally speaks, her voice low, like a whisper. “They’re haunted.”

Her words linger in the air.
 

“Haunted?” I repeat.