Authors: Mercy Walker
I yanked the door open to find a scared looking nearly albino motherfucker, dressed to an inch of his life in the cheesiest “skater garb” I’d ever seen. He looked like he’d just walked out of a late nineties slacker teen-movie.
I closed my eyes and cursed my fucking bad luck. This kid was pathetic…even worse, he was obviously the product of inbreeding. I shook my head and opened my eyes again. And then it hit me.
He was scared shitless.
Empathy for the cowardly little weasel welled up inside me, and I sighed in exacerbation. Now I was going to feel bad for the asshole blackmailing me for sex!
I tried to look him in the eye, but he wouldn’t pry his gaze off the carpeting.
“So you’re Neville?” I asked.
He just stood there, his hands in the pockets of his ridiculously over sized, frayed and ripped blue jeans, not saying a freaking word.
I leaned and stared up into his face. “Anyone in there?” I reached out and rapped a knuckle against his forehead.
He jerked back, glaring at me for under a second, and then resumed staring at the mangy, stained shag carpeting.
Oh, this was fun…
I was tempted to reach out and grab him, and then pull him into the hotel room with me. At least then that part would be over, and then maybe I could intimidate the video out off him.
I had an uncomfortable flash back of Mikey gasping for breath, doubled over like the number seven, after I’d knocked the wind out of him with my forearm.
No, I didn’t want to do that again…not ever. I was just going to have to wait for this shrinking violet to make up his mind whether he was going to take his prurient payment.
Finally I just couldn’t take the silent treatment any more. “You know you’re late, right?”
His head jerked as if I’d slapped him, and then he cleared his throat with enough force to dislodge a basketball. He shrugged his shoulders and then mumbled something to the carpeting.
“What was that?” This was getting old fast.
“I-I wasn’t late.”
“You could’ve fooled me. I’ve been sitting with my thumb up my ass for over an hour.”
Neville gulped and rocked back and forth on the soles of his feet. “I was outside…trying to…trying to knock on the door.”
Lord help me, this was the most painful conversation I’d ever tried to have. It was like pooling your own teeth. “Well, you knocked. I answered the door. So why don’t you just come in.”
He sighed and bit his lip. “Can’t.”
“Why not?” One more one word answer and I was going to give this badly dressed dork the biggest, deepest wedgie any human had ever suffered.
“Too nervous,” he said, and cleared his throat again. “I think I’m going to puke.”
Swell…now I had a skinny, albino dork in bad slacker drag, and he was going to puke on me the second he got close enough.
Then I looked down and saw what he had clasped in a white knuckled grip: a minni boom-box, circa 1980, but it was a CD playing version, so it was probably pretty new.
“Gonna play some mood music?”
He nodded, and ventured a quick glance at me. His eyes lingered on my face, damn near making actual eye contact, before his eyes raced down over my body, and then back to staring at the floor again.
“This could go on all night, and I’m getting bored.” Now that sounded pretty damned snotty, I had to admit. But it was the god’s honest truth. “So why don’t you bring you and your tune machine inside here and we can relax a little.”
I slowly reached my hand out to him, like he was a skittish wild animal, and took him by the shoulder and pulled him gently through the doorway. I quickly shut the door behind us, and turned to find him over by the token desk and chair combo, setting his little boom-box down, clicking a button on the “wheel house” and Barry White started up in his raspy bass about how he “Can’t get enough of your love, baby!”
Fuck this unholy shit! I strode over to him, reached around and pounded my middle finger down on the stop button. I was so frustrated I just about wanted to strangle the little goon, but instead I tried a tactful approach.
“Maybe we could save the music for later. Try to get to know each other first.”
Neville turned even paler than he was, if that was even possible—and looked like a deer caught in headlights. Never a good look to see on a man.
“What’s wrong now,” I snapped.
“I told you I was nervous.” And just like that the dude turned an unhealthy shade of green. Ah, cripes, he was going to puke. I so didn’t want to clean up virgin vomit…and I sure as hell didn’t want to try and have sex with a guy with throw-up breath.
So I turned to his mini boom-box with faux curiosity. “So what besides Barry do you have on this thing?” If he thought some music would help keep him calm, and from tossing his cookies everywhere, then we’d play a little music. I just hoped he didn’t have Barry White’s greatest hits, and nothing else.
The green leached from his extraordinarily white skin as he turned back to the boom box and started flipping through his electronic menu. “Any requests?”
I was standing right behind him, and I suddenly noticed he had a nice pair of shoulders on him. Even with the over sized, florescent orange t-shirt making him look like a scarecrow, I could see how his neck curved into his shoulders with surprising muscle tone. Plus his barely off snow-white hair was shaggy and just long enough to hang in ringlets against the smooth, white flesh of his neck.
But that stupid leather studded cap! Where the hell had he found such a dated thing?
I felt something stir inside me, and I suddenly wasn’t worried about having to fake being turned on. One look at this guy’s neck and I was ready to lick him.
“You have seventies disco…so do you have any eighties or nineties rock on there?”
He turned his head and his drab face brightened with a sheepish grin. “I’ve got everything on here.”
I reached out and knocked the studded cap off his head, and then twirled a lock of his fine white hair around my finger. He mumbled something incoherent, and I slid my hand down the back of his neck, making him shudder.
“How’s ‘bout you play me some Guns and Roses?” I couldn’t control myself. The more I looked at the guy, the more I wanted to touch him. I moved in real close and purred into his blushing ear. “Something slow.”
He breathed in hoarsely when I purred into his ear…but he gasped and jerked like a fish out of water when I nuzzled that ear, giving it a cursory lick.
I smiled at his reaction, and then I heard “Patience” start to play from his boom-box.
“Good choice I said.” And then started gently tugging at the fabric of his too-lose t-shirt with my fingers. He got the hint quick and pulled the ugly thing off over his head, tossing it in a heap on the floor.
It was suddenly my turn to gasp. Neville may look like a skinny dork in his garish, oversized clothes…but out of them, he was just the sweetest little slice of heaven I’d ever seen. His snow white skin was blemish free, milky smooth, and covered every inch of him in a delectable glow. And though he was rather skinny…too skinny…he had a nice amount of muscle hiding under that succulent alabaster skin.
Before I could stop myself I had both hands on his shoulders, kneading his smooth, rather warm flesh, watching the faint pink marks my gentle touches were leaving on his flesh, only to watch them fade away as he breathed asthmatically in time with my every touch.
He had an oval tattoo on his right shoulder blade, and I rubbed the back of my hand against it, digging my knuckle into that inked flesh. “Who’s she?” The tattoo was the picture of a pale, dark haired woman that looked surprisingly like the man I had my hands all over. I saw where he got his a little too big nose, and slightly weak chin.
He sighed as my hands caressed over more and more of his bare flesh. He nearly sobbed as he tried to answer me.
“That’s my mom…she died when I was seven. So I got her tattooed on my shoulder when I turned eighteen.”
“But you can’t see her,” I whispered, suddenly very interested in everything Neville said.
“I got it last year…I was so skinny that she wouldn’t fit on my arm. So I had her inked on my shoulder blade…” He just stared off into space for a second.”
“So you’d have her there with you,” I said.
And together we whispered, “Forever.”
Okay, that was creepy…but I no longer cared how creepy this whole thing was. I might have come here only to pay some blackmail and then go home, but I had wound up finding something so mouthwateringly beautiful that I just couldn’t bring myself to think about anything else, except how I was going to touch and taste and probe every lovely inch, crevice, nook and cranny of the man standing before me.
I pushed my hands down the front of him and then pulled Neville to me, my arms wrapping around him in a close, gentle embrace. He felt so good in my arms…breathing heavily, his back against my chest.
But that was wrong somehow…and in an instant I knew why.
Neville’s chest should have been heaving against my own.
I pulled my arms from around him.
And we should be facing each other.
So I tugged and pulled on his graceful, though hard shoulders, until he was facing me and I had my arms slipped back around his back, pulling him in close to me.
And we should be kissing.
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2013 Mercy Walker
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