Heather Lewis: Notice

Walking into my parents’ house felt even worse than it should have so I headed straight for the living-room, for the bar in there. Open their liquor cabinet and the smell of gin is enough to knock you to your knees. I’m used to it, though. I got out a bottle of vodka, opened it and poured a short one into the nearest glass. My parents are not the highball type, tall glasses I guess being frivolous.

Now I had the drink, I put my bag down on the coffee table and dropped on to the couch. I was thinking how at their house – the couple – there was no coffee table, nothing in front of the couch to block his view.

The date I’d arranged was two days off, which occurred to me meant the weekend. Well, Friday night. I still had my day job, the one I was supposed to go to in the morning, but this seemed less and less likely.

I began taking things out of my bag. First the cigarettes, then my lighter, then the cash. Laid the four new and now-wrinkled hundreds across the table. I nicked the edge of one with my cigarette, and I might have kept it burning, except I’m a little too practical for that. Last I took out my underwear.

If he wanted a weekend, we’d have to talk about money. But the problem was he’d pay it. This was why he’d become such a staple. The reason I told myself anyway. The excuse for why I did and let him do things I’d never agreed to with the others. I mean, the very first time he’d gotten me in the backseat on my stomach and for just forty bucks. Then I wised up and told him that sort of thing cost more.

I poured another drink and took it to bed, that and the cigarettes. The rest I left spread across the table. I didn’t sleep a great deal, and when it got light I thought it’d be easy to just get up and go to work. I’d planned to wear the same skirt. That was the hitch, the thing reminding me that maybe something had actually happened or changed.

I’d been keeping my regular job for all the reasons you always hear. The convenient division between night and day. A way to insist nothing’s unusual.

I was nearly out of the house before I remembered my car wouldn’t be there. I got as far as dialing a taxi and then as far as the train station, but what I did then was get into my car and drive home.

I called in sick that day. It was the next day I told them I quit. Asked them to mail me my check. I spent both of these days half asleep. Was really just waiting for his car in the driveway, and before I heard it I put some extra clothes in my bag in case things dragged out.

We didn’t talk about money and he didn’t give me any up front. Just on principle this was something I should’ve challenged but didn’t.

Once we’d gotten to his house, the two of us sat downstairs for a bit, though this time you could tell we’d be going upstairs. I’m not exactly sure why we were killing this stretch of time but since I wasn’t in a questioning mood, I let this pass too.

When we did go up the stairs he stopped at the landing, began pointing out pictures of his children. One daughter in particular he said I reminded him of, and I thought, at least for now you’re doing to me what you want to be doing to her. At least she’s off at some school like the rest of them.

We continued up the stairs and into their bedroom. His wife was taking a bath. She’d left the bathroom door open, so from the tub she could see us come in.

He told me to sit on the bed, on the edge so I faced her. He sat in a chair opposite, a straight-backed one that looked like it didn’t belong in here. This chair was against the wall, near the doorjamb and so his wife could see me. And she could see that he could see me, but she couldn’t really see him, not more than his elbow.

I sat there waiting because I knew he liked giving instructions. I hadn’t worn any underwear this time because, let’s just say, I learn fast. He’d reached over to me in the car, smiling when he’d discovered this. It was the sort of thing I thought might get me more cash. It might with someone like him who liked you paying attention.

So anyway, when he told me to touch myself I didn’t have to take anything off. And I didn’t even consider unbuttoning my shirt or anything like that because already I knew that was part of it to him. Having me dressed and her not.

It seemed odd that I could see both of them. It should’ve given me some kind of command but instead I felt nervous. I looked first at him. But then my eyes went to her. When that happened, he said, “You look at me.”

He’d carried his drink up here. Was still holding it and so that’s what I focused on. But he didn’t like that either. He said, “at me,” again and louder so I knew to meet his eyes.

I was beginning to think his eyes never changed. That they looked this same way always – guarded but not entirely cold, not quite closed off. There’s so much more someone like this can accomplish if he keeps himself just that little bit open.

That’s the pull. And the kicker, too. That it’s absolutely you he’s fucking with. Not anyone else. That’s the thing you’ve probably always wanted. Someone’s undivided attention. And you’ve wanted it so much and for so long that the form it takes no longer matters.

So he was holding my eyes and I was holding myself. But I wasn’t doing much of anything. I knew that couldn’t last long. Still, I needed to get my bearings because he wasn’t going to just let me pretend it all and be done.

“Come on, now,” he said, and so already I’d used too much time.

Out of the corner of my eye I tried to find his wife. From the little I could see she hadn’t moved a muscle since we came in. And while I knew how she’d gotten that way – I understood it completely – I still couldn’t figure what would cow a person so. I mean look, will you, at who’s saying this.

Without him telling me to, I leaned back some, opened my legs more. I started touching myself in a way that seemed to help all of us.

He stayed in his chair for the longest time and so I was caught in limbo, not sure how far to take myself. But then finally he got up. Did that same thing of taking off his belt, only this time he put it around my neck. This didn’t feel so bad as you might think. Not at first it didn’t.

He stayed standing in front of me. I was looking where his belt used to be until he tugged on it. Until he pressed himself into my face but with his pants still zipped, which left me licking cloth.

He pulled at me with the belt some and pulled my hair a little too. I couldn’t see anything but knew what his wife saw. I found myself wondering how things between them had gotten here. Or if they’d always lived this way, and I was just one of many they’d tried. Thinking this way made me a little too nervous and so I started to unzip his pants. Did this to have something more to do, but he stopped me. Put my hands back between my legs where they hadn’t been in a while.

He unzipped his pants. I kept touching myself even though I knew he’d put my hands there simply to keep them away from him. That was the real trouble – him playing my end better than me.

He put his dick in my mouth and still the only thing he let me touch was myself. That made him the one keeping me upright – doing this by yanking his belt and my hair. It wasn’t the most comfortable arrangement anymore but each time I went to put my arms behind me, just to help prop myself up, he smacked me. So I’m getting it slow, but I’m getting it.

He had his legs between mine, nudging them apart, and was hard enough now to take up most of my throat. Between that and the belt, breathing wasn’t so easy.

When he took his dick back, I got a pretty good breath but I couldn’t get it past the belt. He pushed me down. Had his hand on my chest now, and so there wasn’t any place for the air to go anyway.