| EXCERPT
:
Zoe
said something, but Jenny couldn’t quite make out
the words over the blaring music. They’d gone on to
Zoe’s favorite bar, but the place was so loud and
smoky, it was giving Jenny a headache. “What?”
she called, leaning forward.
“I said I’m glad you came out tonight. It’s
about time,” Zoe said loudly and distinctly in order
to be heard.
Jenny nodded, despite the fact that she was feeling just
the opposite. The bar scene always left a hollow ache inside
her. Plus, she’d already spent thirty dollars tonight,
which was stupid when she didn’t have money to blow.
Zoe had a head-full of black curls tonight and they were
bopping all over the place when she moved her head to the
beat of the music. She sipped on her vodka tonic through
a straw, oblivious to the table of yuppie snobs behind her
who apparently found her amusing.
“Wanna’ dance?” a man slurred in Jenny’s
ear.
She jerked, startled by the voice, and turned to the stocky,
balding man in a business suit who was jiggling slightly
as he waited for her answer. “I’m sorry,”
she said apologetically. “I was just getting ready
to leave. Work tomorrow,” she said too quickly, not
wanting to hurt his feelings.
He was leaning on the back of her chair for support and
he had what looked like some spittle on his chin. He gave
a shrug and ambled off. Feeling guilty and more than a little
creeped out, Jenny turned back to Zoe to inform her that
she really was going, but a fresh glass of wine was being
slid in front of her and Zoe was paying the waitress. “This
is the last one,” Jenny said pointing at her glass.
“What?” Zoe called.
“Last one,” Jenny repeated. “I’m
going to go.”
“No,” Zoe protested. “C’mon. It’s
just getting going!”
It proved to be true. Three more rounds of drinks were quickly
sent to their table and Jenny was hit on twice more -- once
by a guy that couldn’t keep his eyes off her tits,
and once from a decent looking businessman who motioned
her close, grabbed hold and French kissed her ear canal.
“Uh, okay, no thank you,” Jenny said, pulling
away.
“What?”
“Yeah, uh, no. Thank you. I was just getting ready
to leave.”
“With me, you mean?” he asked hopefully.
She shook her head quickly. “No.”
“You frigid?”
For a moment, she was stymied by his arrogance. “That’s
probably it,” she finally said.
“That sucks,” he commented. “You sure?”
“Yeah.”
He shrugged, indicating it was her loss and left.
Across the table, Zoe sent a quizzical look her way and
Jenny answered with a shake of her head. Zoe had hooked
up with Mr. Right, or at least Mr. You’ll-do-for-the-evening,
which wasn’t terribly unusual for her. She had a fun,
easy-going, wide-open attitude, which always attracted somebody.
“I’m going,” Jenny said, pointing at the
door. She got up. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“See you tommorow,” Zoe called back.
Jenny felt the full effect of her alcohol consumption as
she walked back to her car. She climbed in and sat there
shaking from the cold and wondering if she was okay to drive.
Not that she had money for a cab. Damn it, she knew better
than to drink and drive. What would happen if she got pulled
over? Like she could afford that mess.
“Idiot,” she berated herself as she drove home.
“And for what? It’s not like it was even fun.”
She’d wasted money, gotten slightly drunk, drove.
She was twenty-seven years old, way old enough to know better.
Luckily, she arrived home without incident, although her
depression had increased to a seven point five. It was weird
how much more difficult everything was when depressed. Walking,
lifting keys, breathing. She never had mentioned the anonymous
letter to Zoe. She’d started to a couple of times,
but she’d always stopped herself. Why? Did she want
to keep it a secret? Was she actually thinking of going
to the laundry room? Jenny stopped in her tracks, shocked
by the thought and by the sharp thrill that pulsed through
her.
She walked on, fumbling with her keys, and entered the building,
very aware of her increased heart rate. “Being stupid,”
she mouthed. It would be insane to go. Dangerous. How could
she possibly know the guy didn’t intend her harm?
If it was a guy. If he’d even still be there. If he
even existed. It might have all been a joke. It probably
had been a joke.
She took the ancient elevator up to her floor. Of course,
she wasn’t tired. And she did have some laundry to
do. “And I didn’t take a self-defense course
for nothing.”
Her hallway was empty as she made her way to her apartment.
She flipped on lights, went into the kitchen and reread
the letter. It was weird to think about all the men that
had tried to get her hot that night, the eyeballing of her,
the tongue, the verbal innuendo, it had done nothing for
her. Less than nothing. But the letter--
She set it down and went about gathering up her dirty laundry
and some change. Even if the letter had been legit, its
author wouldn’t still be there. It was past mid-night.
She would get some laundry done and then she would come
back to her apartment, masturbate for the first time in
a long time and go to sleep. In the morning, she’d
be mortified by her decision, but that was tomorrow. Besides,
it would be good that her laundry was caught up.
* * * *
The basement was quiet and deserted, as usual. Jenny started
two loads of laundry in the new laundry room and then sauntered
over to the old. The machines in this room were olive green
and gold, purchased back in the seventies. A few of the
incandescent overhead lights flickered and there was an
old pinball machine stuck in a corner, although it was missing
the pull to spring the balls into action.
Her stalker had obviously checked out the room, because
the dryers were completely out of view of the front door.
Not that it was likely anyone would pop in. This room probably
received a cursory sweeping once a month. “Hello?”
she said softly.
Of course, there was no answer. Still, the thought of what
might have been was arousing. She moved to the middle dryer,
spread her feet apart and leaned over the top of it slowly.
God, she needed some release. She’d been so depressed
lately, she’d even given up masturbating. No wonder
she felt so empty.
A soft noise behind her startled her upright, but before
she fully make it, a hand on her back stopped her. “No,”
came a whisper. “Don’t turn around,” he
finished slowly, deliberately, still in a whisper. “I
won’t hurt you, I swear it.”
Her pulse raced.
“Please,” he whispered. “That was . .
. nice, how you . . . were.”
She could see a jean leg behind her. A man’s hand
edged forward, slipping a hundred dollar bill on the dryer
in front of her. He was wearing a pale, denim shirt.
“You need the money and I need to be near you,”
he whispered. “Please.”
“I . . . I can’t do this,” she stammered.
She shivered and made a move to bolt from the room, but
his hands were on her shoulders, steadying her, calming
her. “I thought it was a joke. I didn’t think--”
“Sshhh.”
He slid his arm down her arm, gripped her wrist gently and
brought her hand forward, placing it on one side of the
dryer.
“It’s okay,” he whispered. “Sshhh.”
For some bizarre reason she left the hand in place while
he repeated the action with her other hand, placing it on
the opposite side. He wasn’t pushing himself at her,
but she felt the hard bulge in his jeans. He was aroused,
but not forcing himself on her. Instead, he was coercing
her with money, whispered proclamations of desire, with
warm breath on her neck and the back of her ear. “Who
are you? Do I know you?”
“Ssshhhh.”
Good God! What had she been thinking coming here? She should
turn and leave. He wouldn’t stop her. Even if he tried,
she’d taken a self-defense course. She could get free
of him. So, why didn’t she move?
Her skirt was being lifted, slowly. Why had she worn a skirt?
Why had she shaved her legs? He was running his hand up
the inside of her thigh with light fingers. His fingers
felt rough. He obviously worked with them.
“Soft,” he whispered.
The breath came right at the back of her neck, making her
breath catch and her nipples harden. She allowed him to
nudge her forward slightly, aware that her skirt was being
inched over her thong-clad bottom. She shivered, realizing
how wet she was -- and how dangerous this was. What if he
had a weapon? What if he really did want to hurt her? Her
stomach clenched as his fingers touched the damp heat radiating
through her panties. She bit her lower lip in order not
to make a noise, but as he began stroking her in a rhythmic
motion, a moan escaped her.
He began gently stroking her buttocks. Her knees felt weak
and she couldn’t quite control her shaking. He maneuvered
under the ribbon of material between her ass cheeks and
teased as he began kissing the back of her neck. The muscles
in her midriff were tight with arousal. He was teasing and
toying, and she’d never felt such exquisite torture.
A hand slipped under the front of her shirt and discovered
her front clasp bra, which was easily unfastened.
He was easing her back against him and she was allowing
it. Her eyes closed and she reveled in the feeling of his
hands on her. The stroking was so thorough and it had been
so long since anyone touched her that way. Or had anyone
ever touched her this way?
He fondled her breasts, circling the erect nipples with
the pads of his thumbs, and she felt his breath on the top
of her ear. Her stranger was taller than she was. She had
the impression he was lean and young. A hard-body, as Zoe
would say. He was looking down at her breasts as he learned
them; she just knew it. Did he think they were pretty?
“I’m going to make you come, Jenny,” he
whispered.
The words alone almost did it for her.
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