Chapter Thirty-Two

- My New Best Friend -

I wanted her to hurt.

I wanted her to hurt as badly as me.

I wanted her to know the same pain of a broken heart that I knew, and I wanted her to know that pain from me.

I wanted to taste revenge so bitter my tongue would curl back on itself and choke me to death.

I loved her that much.

•••

“Where do you live?”

“Pardon me?”

“Your address. What is it?” D-Girl started writing on a post-it note and said, “May I ask what this is for?”

“The next ride is leaving the station. Tonight.”

“Oh,” is all she said and handed me the note. I grabbed it, but she held tight to the paper.

“Are you clean?”

“I will shower,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Oh, that. Yes, I have a fresh bill of health.” She released her grip. “I’ll see you at ten,” I said.

“Make it nine.”

•••

Sex had never been initiated so fast in my life. She answered the door in a thin robe and tossed a condom at me. I caught it with my left hand.

“Get dressed,” she ordered. “We’re staying in tonight.” My jeans landed next to her robe on the floor. I was inside her inside of sixty seconds.

“What do you like?” I asked.

“Everything,” she said while making an adjustment, “and some things are negotiable.”

She enjoyed the full velocity of my rage against the blonde.

•••

The anger that fuels a grudge fuck ignites you with more passion and fire than any other time of your life, but also rips open a black hole in your psyche that siphons all desire, making it impossible to come. On paper, you are reborn as a wild stallion. On linens, you can be the time of someone’s life, or it can just seem to take a lifetime if you accidentally end up grudge-fucking someone who is not really into sex. D-Girl was really, really into the sex and couldn’t have cared less how long it took me to come, or if I came at all, for that matter. She was my favorite kind of partner: she knew exactly what she wanted, wasn’t shy to ask for it, and really appreciated that I did the same.

We hurled ourselves at each other for about half an hour before we took a breath. She had two orgasms (faking was a waste of her time) and showed no signs of slowing down. We abused every stick of furniture she owned on the way to her bedroom.

Bite,

Lick,

Suck,

Slap,

Pinch,

Twist,

Squeeze,

Punch,

Scratch,

Pull.

She was unapologetic about her daddy issues, which made her the ideal recipient of my fury. The worse I treated her, the more she turned on, and vice versa. Joined, we made a perpetual sexual motion machine. When we finally reached her bedroom, I literally threw her on the bed. I stood breathing heavily and contemplated my next move. She took the opportunity to stretch.

“Do you want a drink?” She offered.

“No.”

“I do.” She went to fetch some vodka. She returned and offered me a sip from her glass. I took a big gulp and handed her back a glass of ice.

“I would have gotten you one, jerk.” She lay on her bed and cooled her neck with an Absolut-soaked ice cube.

“Turn over,” I commanded. She raised one eyebrow and said, “Is that what you think is going to happen next?”

“Yeah, that’s what I think.”

An ice-melt stream rolled between her breasts to a puddle in her belly button. She stared me down for about twenty seconds, then scooted over to the edge of her bed and opened the nightstand. She rummaged through the drawer for a bit, then fished out a bottle of lube and tossed it at me.

“Here,” she said as I caught the bottle in my right hand, “wouldn’t want you to get hurt.” She braced herself while I freshened up.

•••

Sometime around one, I got up and headed to the bathroom without saying anything.

“Don’t tell me you’re a dick washer,” she groaned and rolled over to face me. I stopped in my tracks.

“I was just going to take a piss,” I said, heading over to her window, “but now that you mention it, I am a little rank.” I grabbed her curtains in one hand, Wiener in the other.

“Don’t you fucking dare.” I smiled and let go of the drapes and the dick.

When I returned, we sat up in bed. She lit a cigarette and absently fluffed me, not so subtly informing me the night was not yet over. I felt dead. Not tired, just lifeless. I never especially liked D-Girl, which was odd, considering how much I was enjoying sitting next to her just then. That was an odd sensation -- finding enjoyment in the middle of all the blackness that my life had become. It reminded me of when I was hospitalized with a new fish allergy. The doctor shot me up with high-test Benadryl to slow my body functions, followed by a strong dose of adrenalin to bring me back up. The combination left me twisting somewhere in the limbo between the two, my heart racing yet I was unable to move. It was just like that.

There was always a distance to D-Girl. It wasn’t till after we had fucked once that she appeared somewhat relaxed being in the room with me. I think she needed to get the sex out of the way before she could relate to me as a person. Her timing was worse than mine.

“She really fucked you over, didn’t she?” D-Girl handed me the cigarette. Without looking at her I took a drag and said, “You could say that.” She took the cigarette from me and inhaled slowly.

“You get what you pay for,” she offered. I just exhaled. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not especially.”

She exhaled smoke and relief.

“Thank god,” she said and then back-peddled, “Don’t get me wrong, I’m sorry you’re hurt -- I really am.” I believed her. “But being hurt doesn’t make you any different than anyone else.”

Two odd things happened when she said that: First, I was overcome by a new fondness for her. Clearly, she had experienced deep pain in her life and could still feel the wounds. She understood. Second, and a bit disturbing -- I was rapidly getting excited. In the world of fuck buddies, I’d just found my new best friend.

She held the cigarette up to my lips and let me take another drag. I sighed, “Do you know how many times in the past year I’ve sat up all night wishing for a cigarette, but I never had any?”

“Don’t go falling in love with me over a smoke.” I didn’t even look at her.

“You know,” I said, sarcastically, “You can just blow me.”

She stubbed out the cigarette, exhaled in my face and said, “Okay.”

•••

I got up once more.

“Where do you think you’re going, mister?” I held up the empty vodka glass.

“Refill. My mouth is dry and I assume my work here is not done.” She relaxed into herself and said, “You’re not as dumb as I thought.”

“Yeah. Remind me to say ‘fuck you’ in thirty minutes.”

“Why thirty minutes?”

“I should be able to make good on it then.”

Half an hour later, her alarm clock went off. She twisted to reach for it and almost broke my neck.

“A little warning,” I said.

“It’s time,” she said.

“Time for what?”

“Say it.”

“Oh. Fuck you.” It took a few seconds to hit me. “You set the alarm?”

And so went our night. We never actually slept, though we did spend a couple hours in silence. During the breaks, she may have rolled on her side to face me and cautiously let her leg rest on mine. And I may have wrapped one arm tentatively around her shoulder. No mention was made of these actions. They were a tacit reward of tenderness we gave each other; mine for not calling attention to her obvious damage, and hers for, well I guess the same.

D-Girl’s agenda was different than everybody else’s. After my marriage fell apart, the other women were attracted to me in spite of my injuries. D-Girl was attracted to me because of them. She saw in me someone who had suffered as much as she had, someone who could be trusted. Ironic, how I had to work so hard to prize the smallest morsel of trust out of 4.

Out of this trust D-Girl and I both felt completely at ease asking to have our darkest sexual desires fulfilled. It was understood from the get go that we would each oblige the other without hesitation or judgment. No request was too depraved, no act taboo. Servicing each other’s physical needs was as close as we dared come to mending the thing that actually was causing us so much pain. That, neither of us could bring ourselves to ask for.

•••

After we showered, she brushed her teeth and I splashed my face with her cold water, trying to remove a couple of the years I’d added to my face by staying up all night.

“Crap,” I said.

“Whath,” she slurred with the brush in her mouth.

“I don’t have a toothbrush at the office,” I explained. “Can we stop someplace on the way?”

“Heah,” she almost said and pried open my mouth with her fingers. She pulled out the toothbrush, still dripping with toothpaste and her saliva, and shoved it into my mouth. I recoiled, but she slapped my hands down.

“Hold still,” she said after she spat into the sink. She held my face with one hand and slowly, tenderly brushed my teeth with the other. The care she put into her work was completely out of character. The whole act was just another strange sensation in my life.

“Thanks, I think,” I said after I rinsed. She kissed me deeply and deemed, “You’re done.”

“Got any floss?” She dug some out of a drawer and tossed it my way. I barely caught it with both hands.

“What’s with you and throwing things?”

“I just like to see who’s paying attention.”

I sat on the bed and watched her dress. Her closet was divided exactly in half and orderly in a Virgo kind of way. One side housed the smart business suits she favored for the office, the other half reserved for fun and evening wear. Though she’d only just made vice president, she spent an inordinate amount of money on clothes. Even I recognized designer labels too steep for her salary. On second thought, her cost of living was probably nil. She had an expense account for business meals, and male admirers for everything else.

I was unusually hungry, but there was nothing, and I mean nothing to eat, except a jar of olives, in her apartment. I offered to buy her breakfast and she looked at me like just fell off a turnip truck.

Breakfast? How quaint.

Thankfully, there was not much conversation in the car. She had the good taste to allow me to percolate in my own juices and plan my next 4-related move. I so wanted 4 to see us arrive together, but alas, it was not to be. My vacant parking space mocked my evil plan as we passed it on the way up to D-Girl’s spot. That could have meant 4 wasn’t there yet, or she had decided not to use my spot anymore.

D-Girl and I tested each step carefully for our footing on the way to the stairwell doors. She was in no better shape than me. No words passed between us. I held the first door open for her, she held the second for me. Equals. We entered the cafeteria in tandem, desperate for that first merciful shot of caffeine. The gentleman in me couldn’t help but let her pour hers first -- she took it black. As I filled my cup, she gathered her coffee and purse and started to leave, but then for no apparent reason broke the silence.

“See you later?” Her voice was atypically soft, flirtatious even. She looped a finger through my hair and trailed it across my ear as she left. What the fuck was that all about?

“Uh, sure.” I wrinkled my brow suspiciously, but never took my eyes off my hand, trying to steady it as I splashed cream everywhere except in my cup. I turned to reach for a paper towel and came face to face with 4, who must have slipped in while my back was turned. For a split second, and only a second, I saw it, almost imperceptible, but undeniable: in her eyes she gave up the tiniest sign of hurt. Her forehead curled ever so slightly, almost in disbelief that I of all people was capable of bouncing back from... her -- and with an officer of the company, no less. Words escaped me.

“Nice.” She huffed the word out.

The footsteps came slowly down to my office. Wiener grunted from the tender area between my legs and said, “I love you like a son of a bitch, but I’m sore.”

“You did good, buddy. Real good.”

Once settled gently into my chair, I sipped my coffee and dialed D-Girl’s extension.

“I owe you one.”

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