Stricken Desire (16 page)

I had never heard of such a terrible thing
but the fact that Johnathan couldn’t get hard that night kind of
made me feel triumphant in a strange, very fucked up way. Not that
my pussy is made of gold or anything but on the off chance that he
couldn’t get it up because of it. Makes me feel super sexy and
awesome on the inside. Sad for him though because that’s gotta be a
pain not to be able to get off with a sexy woman sucking on your
manhood. Not that I like the thought of anyone sucking his cock.
Deep down I wish it was me. Pathetic? Yes. But that’s the sad truth
of it all.

So now the tour break has taken over and we
all have split our separate ways. I am back here at home with Stacy
in my old bedroom. We are sleeping together in my old full sized
bed with the bright pink comforter and I am seriously staring at my
old ceiling that has Justin Timberlake plastered all over it. The
young J.T from Nsync. I was such a damn girl back then. Boy crazy
as all get out. Stacy always hated these posters. But I still love
them. I bet some of them might be worth a pretty penny or two for
the right buyer. But for now I am going to let my parents keep this
bedroom the same way it was when I moved out and went to
college.

Nothing like being back in good ol’
Bettysville. Named after some lady, two hundred or some years ago
who baked a damn good pie and they named a town after her. Or some
stupid shit like that. A town that if you blink you’ll miss it. One
mom and pop grocery shop, a pizza joint, gas station, bank and a
little diner. That’s all you’ll find here. You even have to go to
the damn post office to pick up your mail. Which I always hated. My
parents find it charming. I find it inconvenient.

Lots of people who grow up in smaller towns
either love them and want to stay in them or are the opposite and
crave the big city lights. I’m the latter. I love cities, the
bigger the better. I’ve only been to LA once to visit Stacy for
five days and I loved it then. He took me all over, we hit up the
walk of stars, the Chinese theater, Rodeo Drive, Malibu at the
beach and about ten other fun and memorable places. I would love to
live in LA or anywhere along the coast. New York City is my home
now. Or until I get tired of it and move to someplace warmer. I
need warmer. Don’t get me wrong I love the whole four seasons.
Where there are long summers that run from the beginning of June
with nearly a hundred degree heat with the humidity so high it’s
like your breathing in water. That lasts until September. October
you hit the cool down point and the leaves fall in such beautiful
colors. People have big colorful trash bags stuffed with leaves in
their front lawn in the shapes of pumpkins and spiders for
Halloween. Then by the middle of November its frigid cold and you
wonder where the hell fall went. The winter trickles in leaving us
cold quickly and the snow starts whenever it wants. There is no
rhyme or reason to it. Many times it snows steadily from December
through April. Other years we get a light dusting in January and
it’s a mild winter after that. I can’t begin to understand my life
let alone mother natures fucked up hormone cycles. Then we hop into
spring which is probably my favorite part of the year. You have
Easter and flowers and thunderstorms. Spring would be the only
reason why I wouldn’t want to leave the northern states and take up
in some place like Texas, Florida or Southern Cali.

Lying next to handsome lightly snoring Stacy
I can’t help but feel a little grateful for where I am in life.
Sure my life as of late has kind of sucked and my love life has
always suffered. But I have the best mom on the planet who when we
came in late tonight off a red eye flight out of North Carolina she
had my bed freshly laundered and her famous butterscotch cookies on
a plate in the kitchen. Stacy could probably eat his weight in
them. I love them but I think he loves them more. Probably has
something to do with the fact his mom never baked a day in his
life?

I quietly slip out from under the covers and
tiptoe in my orange pajama short set into the hall and shut the
bedroom door behind me. My bedroom is on the second story facing
the road in my parent’s three bedroom one and half bath Victorian.
My mom has always had a night-light in the hall since I was a kid
so if I went downstairs late at night I wouldn’t trip and fall down
the stairs. It must have worked because I never did. The stairs
creek as I walk down them. They’re hardwood and well maintained for
a hundred and thirty year old house. I tiptoe my way into our
sizable living room. Well one of the living room spaces. We have
three. Houses like this one are always broken up for social events
in the eighteen hundreds.

There’s a parlor off the front door that’s
mauve and very feminine with Victorian era rose prints everywhere.
That’s where the book shelves are and my mom’s chunky executive
desk. That I spent years doing homework on. The living room is
across from that and is less stuffy. With its cream leather sofa
and love seat and a big screen T.V for my dad to watch his monster
truck rally’s on. It’s sitting on top of a dark brown electric
fireplace. It’s elegant, I suppose but way more modern than the
house itself. I always loved growing up in this place. It seeps
history into your bones when you sleep.

I drop onto the sofa and the leather welcomes
me with a crunch. That air con is blasting high in this heat wave
Indiana is consumed by. Mom said the farmers are mad because there
has been less than adequate rain and it’s a stifling one hundred
and two with high humidity most days. That’s an Indiana summer for
ya. Hot as hell. At night as a kid I loved sitting and gliding on
the porch swing. Now I would rather relax inside. Five minutes in
this heat and you’re breaking a sweat.

I click on the TV. It feels like months since
I’ve watched anything on the
boob tube
, as my dad calls it.
The TV on the bus is hogged by Xbox junkies and we don’t have cable
anyhow. The movie choices the men own are just as bad. Mostly
slasher films mixed with a little Godzilla and the only seasons
they have are the complete collection of Family guy. Which I hate!
Apparently Keith and D love it. No wonder they lose so many brain
cells.

Don’t get me wrong I’m not opposed to
brain-dead comedies they do have some value but I think I’d rather
stick to shows like the Big Bang Theory and Friends to get my share
of tummy rumbling humor. Hell, I’d even watch Archer. That’s
downright hilarious at times for a comedy cartoon with a sexy main
character. Sounds off-the-wall, I know, to have a crush on a
cartoon but if you’ve watched the show he’d be the wallpaper on
your cell, computer and tablet. He’s not mine but I think that
might come to replace The Rock that I have on them right now. Well,
my cell is a picture of me and Stacy but the other two are of
Dwayne THE ROCK Johnson. I just love him. Probably because I grew
up eyes glued to the T.V watching him wrestle. It was love at first
sight for me. And when he’d ask if I could smell what he was
cookin’, I’d be starstruck and feel like he was talking only to me.
Yep, I was drunk on The Rock love all the way back to the time of
WWF, WCW and NWO and the Macho Man Randy Savage “Ooh Yeah!”

I change it to Nick at Night and Friends is
on. Most likely the only good show on at three in the morning. This
is the episode in season one where Joey teaches Ross how to dirty
talk. So funny and brings me instantly back to the dirty talking
with Johnathan. Oh that was such a sensual and meaningful night
that happened two weeks ago. After the initial heartbreak I think I
am doing fairly well for myself. I’ve come to accept the one-night
stand for what it was and lock it away in a special place in my
heart and my mind. It’s painful to draw back on now but I think as
a few months pass and the tour is over I’m sure it will become more
of a fond ‘What if’ memory instead of the ‘he lied and has done
this with ten other girls’ memory that it’s at right now.

I toss the blanket down over my off the back
of the couch and snuggle myself in for a good twenty more minutes
of friends and probably another episode after that. Maybe I can
fall asleep but my mind my racing with so much since I’ve been back
home. Tomorrow I need to call my gyno and set up an appointment
this week. It’s been fifteen months since my last check up and I am
sure he’ll need to re-examine my endo and run a panel for STD’s. I
just pray that I don’t have any. Stacy swears that Johnathan was
tested six months ago and all came back clear but that means he’s
had six months to accumulate all those not so fun STD’s. Maybe one
of the five women he fucked the week before I got there gave him
something. Fuck I have to stop thinking about that. I have to stop
thinking about the fact that a woman was sucking his cock five
whole days ago. She might not have gotten him off according to
Deacon but she was sucking it. That’s bad enough. Jesus, listen to
me. I have got to stop this obsession. My pussy has one overly
fantastic sexcapade and she can’t help but make me think about him.
It’s gotta stop. Now!

“Wake up honey.” I feel a nudge at on my arm.
“Honey get up and go back to bed.”

I know that wonderful voice. That calming,
sweet, loving voice. I stretch my arms over my head and open my
eyes.

“Hi mom.” I smile.

“Hey honey it’s early but you should go back
up to bed.”

I push myself up into the sitting position
tugging the blanket with me. Hum... Guess I fell asleep on the
couch.

“I don’t want to mom.” I rub my eyes and
clean the sleep out of them.

“I figured you’d say that so here.”

She hands me an oversized cup of Joe just the
way I like it. Two teaspoons of sugar, a splash of milk and a
sprinkle of hot cocoa on top. I know that must sound strange but
the chocolate makes the flavor bolder. I can take it without but
the cocoa sets it apart and my mommy is the best and knows me oh so
well.

“Thanks mama. You’re so sweet.” I sip the
warm cup of heaven and she plops down beside me in her plaid pajama
bottoms and white oversized T. I tuck my legs up so she can fit
better and she pulls them over her lap. Sitting with my mama on the
couch in house I grew up in. I don’t think this morning could get
any better. I sigh, with happiness.

“So, I know I was asleep when you two got in
last night but how was the flight? How’s Stacy?”

“He’s good. I think. I’m sure he’s nervous
about seeing his mom. It’s been like eight or nine months since
he’s last seen her. Not that I blame him if I had her as a mom I
would probably write her ass off and leave her to the state.” I
blurt.

“Oh, Emily! Don’t say such things like that.”
She pats my leg hard. “You know that’s not nice. Even though she’s
not the nicest woman she’s still his mother.” She scolds but it’s
my mom’s delicate way of scolding. It’s like she can make you feel
bad without raising her voice. It works well for me and it brings
my dad down to his knees when he’s been a bad boy. Many years of
practice I assume.

“I know she’s his mother. That’s why I am
here for him and to see you. But it doesn’t change the fact she’s a
fucking bitch who’d I rather never see again in my entire life.” I
say nastily.

“There you go again talking just like your
father. That mouth of yours has never changed.” She grins. Like
she’d have us any other way? I think not.

“Yep, like father like daughter.” I shrug and
sling my free hand around my mom’s shoulder and pull her into a
half hug.

I seriously have the best mother on the
planet. If Stacy didn’t have us when he was growing up I don’t
think he could have survived his last two years as a juvenile and
I’m surprised he survived before that. His mother was awful. She
was beyond awful. She would binge drink all the time when he was a
kid and being an only child like me he was left to pick up the
pieces and many of the times that was his mom passed out of the
floor in the bathroom sleeping in a pile of her own puke. Or other
time’s she’d get hammered and beat him. A grown boy took it like a
man when she’d leave welts with a belt or chuck shit at him. All
because she blamed him for his father leaving them when he was only
four. He doesn’t even remember the man. So his mom worked at the
local gas station and fucked just about every trucker and backwoods
hillbilly around for a pack of smokes, a case of beer or whatever
else suited her fancy. Stacy had to work to buy his own clothes and
car and first guitar. Which he can’t play as well anymore because
right before he graduated his mother broke two of his fingers and
they never healed just right. Now that’s why I hate her. He’d spend
many nights sleeping at my house or at Kyle’s a friend of his that
just so happened to be my neighbor.

I never cared for Kyle much. He was so
possessive over Stacy, it was like if he was his friend I couldn’t
be. Which was ridiculous because I never tried to split them two up
from hanging out, ever. But either way we were both there for him
to shield him from that monstrosity of a woman Stacy calls his
mother.

“Can I make you some breakfast?” My beautiful
mommy asks me. She is so damn sweet.

Brushing her long dark brown hair out of her
face, and tucks it behind her ears. My mom and I look nothing
alike. I’m a short, curvy, wavy red head with pale skin and green
eyes. My mom is tall like five foot ten, thin as a rail, olive
colored eyes, straight long brown hair and pale skin with freckles.
She looks ten years younger than she actually is. So half of the
time if people don’t know she’s my mother they assume we’re just
good friends. It’s creepy but over the years I’ve gotten used to
it.

“No mama I’d love to help make some though.
I’m sure Stace would love something homemade when he wakes up.
We’ve been living out of the bus for weeks and him even longer and
he’s yet to have a home cooked meal.”