Better Than Burroughs

Callum

Sliding in a few tokens, the curtain rises and slowly the girl is revealed. As usual, she’s sitting on a low bar stool and has yet to take her clothes off. That’ll take more tokens. Not a problem. I traded in enough cash for the entire place to strip for me. I throw my body back on the plush armchair. It’s green and crushed velvet. I hate the feeling on my forearms but I cope. I ignore the thought of just how many different bodily fluids have encountered where my arse is sitting.

She’s gorgeous, bathed in a red light. Sexy as all hell in a librarian get-up. Lips lined heavily and eyes covered in thick makeup. A slutty librarian that is. Tight pencil skirt, jacket only has one button, she’s pretty damn inviting. Her hair’s been dyed bright red one too many times though. It’s taken on that hail bay dry look. As a whole, she probably makes all the blokes in this place go apeshit.

The Plexiglas window is sparkling clean and someone must clean it from my end between customers. How thoughtful. I’ve been to worse places. I don’t find these things in the least bit erotic. They’ve just never done anything for me. It’s all too fucking viable. Too planned. I’m just expected to wank off. Just like that. The setting is designed for it. I don’t like the commercialism approach to sexual activity. Plus, the fucking Plexiglas is a major turn off. You can’t even smell what you’re masturbating to. Can’t feel her heat whatsoever. It’s utterly cold.

I pick up the phone receiver and relax back against the chair with my alcoholic choice for the night. I went with beer. Something heavier just didn’t appeal. Speaking into the phone, I ask, “What’s your name, darlin’?”

She smiles and says that it’s Barbie. It’s a stage name but I don’t question it. I don’t really give a toss. I just want something to call her. But if I were to think up a fake name, it wouldn’t be Barbie. Unless I wanted it to be that soddin’ obvious.

“Wonderful to meet you, Barb. My name’s Callum.”

She smiles and stands up, pressing her body against the window, “Why don’t you put in another token, baby, so I can take this thing off?”

“Would you mind very much if I drew you?” I ask, motioning towards my bag of goods. She seems thrown off but a small smile makes its appearance.

“You wanna draw me?”

“If you wouldn’t mind,” I nod. She shrugs and watches me get my stuff out. I flip the pad of paper open and sharpen a pencil, not too sharp, nice and smooth. She’s flattered to all hell and I wonder when’s the last time she felt interesting. She keeps still as I do a quick gestural sketch. She can move if she wants, I don’t tell her that yet. She seems to come out of her stupor by the time I’m finished with the first sketch and move on to another.

“Token,” she says, pointing her sharp chin down.

I do as she says and she makes a show of taking her jacket off. She does her job well. Her breasts are encased in a red lace bra. They’re small but perfect with her body. I’m glad she doesn’t have implants. There is nothing wrong with small breasts. Breasts are breasts. They’re all beautiful in their own right. Her stomach is flat and tight. She works out. A little too much, her stomach is a tad too hard. I watch her dance slowly in front of me and I wonder how long she’s been doing this for. How long can someone do this before hating the world? Hating herself? Hating men? Which did she begin to despise first?

“What’s wrong Callum? You don’t like me?” she pouts, her voice husky around my name. Using the name is classic. Gets most guys off, hearing their name come from a sexy mouth. Even when Marin uses my name in anger it’s fucking hot.

“Not in the slightest, you’re lovely. How long have you been working here Barb?” I use her name against her in the same way and she smirks. Too long I presume. I don’t pay much attention to what I’m drawing, not really even looking at the paper. It’s just something that relaxes me. Keeps my hands busy.

“This the third degree or something?”

“Or something.” She looks at my crotch blatantly and I haven’t even pulled my zipper down. Her entire demeanor changes in an instant and she kneels down on the floor in front of the window. She’s closer to me now. Raised above me a bit cause of the platform, but closer. Does she feel like a zoo animal? Or is it I who looks like one from her side?

“You from England?” she asks and I shake my head. No sense in lying to her. I’ll never see her again.

“Ireland originally.”

“Why are you here? If I were you I’d be back in Ireland.”

“And where do you come from?”

“Nowhere as exciting as Ireland,” she says without answering my question and I’m fine with that. She’s American, I can tell that much. She stands back up and rolls her hips in a slow dance. It’s more so to amuse herself than it is to arouse me. I don’t want her to lose money from my being in here so I put a few more tokens in. I don’t care if she gets undressed. I just don’t want to fuck her over. She does her job though and neither one of us says anything for a few minutes. Besides, the body is in its best form when nude. That’s not perversion talking, it's just plain fact.

By the time I finish another sketch, her bra is off and she’s left in the smallest pair of panties I have ever seen. The second the bra came off, I found my favorite part on her body. Everyone has a perfect part. Hers are her nipples. It’s not so much the actual nipples that are extraordinary, it’s that she’s not embarrassed like a lot of women would be. Nipples that turn inward are more common than people think and I have so much respect for this girl who doesn’t care. But for all I know, she’s terribly shy about them in real situations. What does she care what her customers think of her? They’re here to cum all over themselves. Most men in these places aren’t fucking picky.

Inward nipples would just further my mission to please a girl. I would place the responsibility upon myself to coax them out of hiding and have a terribly splendid time doing so. I concentrate on them, wanting to render them perfectly on paper.

“Do you have a boyfriend Barb? Girlfriend?” I ask absently, looking up at her.

I see her flinch a bit before she shakes her head. There’s a back story but I don’t want to push. I don’t want to know too much about her, I’ll want to save her if I do. Marin probably wants to save me.

“What are you doing here if you’re not gonna jack-off?” she asks, her shoulders sagging. “You get off on talking and drawing or something?”

“Sometimes. But not this time. I just want to talk with you. There’s nothing more to it. Drawing’s just something to do with my hands.” I realize how pathetic I must sound to her. I can’t even imagine what sort of guys she has to deal with on a daily basis. I wonder if her parents know what she does for a living.

“There are other things your hands could be doing,” she smirks. “You gonna keep paying?”

“Of course.”

“Fine, whatever you want. You wanna put a few more in there so it at least looks like I’m doin’ my job?” she asks, pointing up towards a small surveillance camera in the corner. There’s one on each side of the window I smile up at mine before giving up more tokens. She still writhes out of her panties, even though she doesn’t need to. I can’t say that I don’t appreciate her insistence.

What’s Marin doing right now? Sulking and hating me probably. Nah, she’s more mature than I. She’s probably going through lists in her head. I crack my neck and groan. I’m always tired and it’s rather aggravating.

“You got a girl at home?” Barb asks, breaking the silence and I smile because she initiated the conversation all on her own.

“Yeah.”

“So why are you here?”

“Why are you here?” I throw back and she doesn’t answer but she doesn’t look ashamed either.

She dances a bit more, throwing a leg up on the stool and stretching provocatively. I follow the line of her leg with my eyes all the way up and the shaved look doesn’t work for her. It’s too young of a look. Actually it doesn’t work for anyone old enough to have gone through puberty and if that hasn’t happened yet, no one should be fucking looking. No matter how hard one tries to ignore the news, those fucking kiddie fiddler’s always get through to you. I’m not usually one for extreme violence, silly fights aside, but I would be content to single handedly bash in the skull of anyone who touched a god damn child.

Barb leans back, touching the floor and I like this girl. I find myself smiling at her genuinely and I want to help her. I don’t want her to be angry at me for that so I say nothing. Besides, what the fuck can I do besides give her money? I don’t think that’s her problem.

“No offense, but why in fuck’s sake are you working here?”

“Money makes the world go ‘round, Sugar. I didn’t make it that way,” she says.

“But why are you here? There are countless of other jobs you can get. Fuck if you wanted it, I’d even hire you and I don’t need employees. So why are you gyrating for the sexually perverted?”

“Maybe I enjoy it just as much as they do. Maybe I go home and fuck myself thinking of all the sexually perverted that came because of me,” she purrs out and I’m appalled. The thought never even crossed my mind. I wanted her to be innocent. Stuck in this job with nothing else to do. Instead she’s painting a picture of a girl who gets off on this shite. I can’t help but feel disappointed. She doesn’t need saving. It’s the other side of the glass that needs the saving.

“In that case, I’m sorry. You’re going to have a slow night.”

“You think you’ll be the last one tonight? Hunny, I don’t get off till five,” she mocks and in the same breath, she asks, “You want me to tell you how sexy you look right now, watching me? Drawing me?”

I don’t actually want her to tell me that, no. I don’t want her to tell me how badly she wants me to fuck her either. Things that she says all the time. I want her to tell me what she thinks about in the morning. Something real. I want her to tell me what Marin thinks about before she sleeps. Fuck, if she somehow had the magical powers of mind-reading, I’d prop her up in the store and have her report on everything that goes through Marin’s head. I don’t care if I wish I didn’t know in the end. I want to know everything, I just don’t want to ask.

“You ever been in love, Barb?” I ask, putting an emphasis on her name. Her eyes narrow a little bit more with every utterance of her stage name.

“Love’s for the birds,” she quips and she’s probably right. “Is that why you’re here? Wallowing in childish self-pity over a lover?”

“Except she’s not a lover.”

“Unrequited love?”

“Not really that even. Unpersued desire.”

“What the hell’s your problem then?” Her eyebrows knit together and I don’t have a real answer for her because I don’t know. She knows nothing of anything and already I feel like she can lace into me for being a git.

She backs down and asks, “Why’d you come here? Why not stay in Ireland with the rain?”

“My parents died. I wanted a change of scenery,” I say so bluntly that I even throw myself off because for once it doesn’t hurt. I said it with no emotion and it scares me a bit.

Barb hesitates in her dance before saying that she’s sorry. I tell her that it’s not her fault and she smiles because it’s obvious. “Is that your problem then? Afraid of commitment or something?”

I must be looking at her questionably because she adds with a shrug, “I knew someone.”

I get rid of the rest of my tokens, putting them in all at once. It probably gets me another hour but I don’t care. She begins furthering her dancing efforts, really putting energy into it. I only got rid of the tokens because they made clanking noises in my pocket every time I shifted weight. The red light glows against her skin and I wonder what color her skin is without it.

“You’re right. Commitment isn’t something I’ve often desired in the past.” I lean back in the chair with my arms on the side, bodily fluids be damned. Talking to this girl is refreshing. There are no pretenses. I like that. I know exactly where I stand with her. She doesn’t give two fucks about me and that feels good.

“You think about going back ever?”

“Every bloody night.”

“So do it.” She says it so bluntly that it seems easy. Just go back home. Fuck everything else. What’s holding me here? There’s Marin. I don’t fucking have anything else and I don’t really even have her.

“You don’t have as many problems as you think. Besides your parents, I doubt anything’s bad happened to you…ever,” she says calmly andshe's not trying to offend me. She’s making observations. She’s right to a point. Besides my parents, everything else is self-inflicted.

“Have you ever read Unbearable Lightness of Being?” I ask her, looking back to the pad on my lap.

“I’m not much for books,” she says, sitting down on the chair and spreading her legs wide.

“You should try it. I think you’d like it.”

“And why is that exactly, Callum?” Her hands slide down her breasts. I work quickly to catch her movements.

I think about my answer because I just think she should. I honestly think she’d like it but given that I know nothing about her, I can’t presume to think that I know enough to tell her why I think she’d like it. I, instead, tell her why I like it because that’s always reason enough for me. If someone tells me about something they feel passionate over, I’m pretty fucking likely to look into it. As long as it’s genuine and intelligent on some level, be it emotional or intellectual.

“When I first read it, I met everyone I ever knew and everyone I will know. I saw myself in it; who I was, am, and who I can be.”

“That doesn’t tell me much,” she says.

“It tells you everything.” She doesn’t say anything in argument. I could have just told her about the love and sex, but the words mean nothing alone.

We don’t say anything for a good twenty minutes and she continues her slow dance. I pay more attention to what I’m doing and slowly finish my beer. I spend extra time on her cheek bones; they’re sharp and very distinct. I don’t really know why I started to try so hard on this. I’ll leave her the finished product. Give her something to remind her of how beautiful she is. I draw her soft and feminine, pulling my chair up closer so I can catch the details of her knees. She has perfect feet, high arches and pink toenails. The pink is so girlish and young that I want to cover her up.

“Are you happy?” I ask once I’m almost done with it.

She looks down at me and tilts her head to the side, bringing her finger up to tap her thin bottom lip, something that was a bitch to get the shading right on, “No. But I’m not unhappy either. I exist.”

“Is it better? That lack of feeling? Does it make waking up easier? Going to work less painful?”

She doesn’t say anything for a long time and then she looks to the left, “Times up.”

I accept the rejection and stay seated. I watch her watch me and her face is devoid of all emotion. I must have hit a nerve. “Pleasure talking with you Barbi.”

“Christine,” she corrects just as the curtain falls. I spend the next few minutes cleaning the picture up. I could have done better. I don’t know why, but I write on the back my address, saying that if she ever wants a different sort of job that most assuredly would pay less, she can work in the book store. I really don’t expect her to show. But I want her to know that something else is available to her. I want her to have that chance.

Marina

I’m brought awake by the feeling of my mattress dipping behind me. I have a momentary panic attack before I smell Callum and relax. I’m still somewhat asleep when he wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me back against him tightly. Opening my eyes, I’m worried that something’s wrong. He’s never really come into my room uninvited, let alone to crawl into bed with me. I keep quiet as he buries his face into the back of my neck. He sucks in deeply and I feel his chest expand against my back.

After Em went home, I fell asleep waiting for him to come back. Having Emma talk things out with me helped. She’s pretty level headed when she wants to be. It’s nice. Before she left she told me that on top of just being who I am, it wouldn’t hurt if I blatantly used my sexuality to get to him. I’m not sure I really know how to do that beyond the obvious and I don’t know that would be considered manipulation or not. I surely don’t want to manipulate him. I guess it wouldn’t really be that though because he has admitted to wanting me, I wouldn’t be tricking him to feeling something that he already doesn’t. I just don’t want to have to think this much about everything. I just want to be here, in the moment, and not have to worry about what’s going on. The man is just so damn tiring sometimes.

His legs are curled around mine and he’s wearing pants. He’s fully clothed. It breaks my heart. I don’t mind that I’m only wearing underwear and a shirt. I don’t feel all that self-conscious around Callum. He’s very vocal about loving the female body in all its forms. Besides, he’s told me that I have a nice one. His hand moves against my stomach and finds the hem of my shirt, pushing it up to slide his hand underneath. The air catches in my throat at the feeling of his hand on my bare skin but he makes no move to slide farther up. He lays his hand flat against my stomach and keeps it there, pressing lightly. It’s not sexual, it’s just taking comfort. My entire body is awake and I can’t relax. It’s too much feeling him like this right now. His not saying anything and waking me this way, it’s too akin to lovers.

“You feel wonderful,” he whispers against the back of my neck. His breath is hot and I can feel his lips against my skin.

I slowly roll over a bit, his arm makes sure that I don’t try and leave. I wouldn’t have regardless. Making it to my back, I try and seek out his face but he keeps it close to the side of my head. His hand hooks around my waist and I like the pressure.

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly, pulling the sheet down to my hips and smoothing my hand over the arm around my waist. “I don’t like fighting with you.”

“Sure you do,” he taunts.

I shake my head and he nods his. So maybe I do to a certain degree. But if I didn’t, he’d never say anything. I have to get a rise out of him some how. But I don’t actually want him to get angry. I don’t want to hurt him in any way. I never want to mess things up. I’m not so ignorant to think that it’s entirely my fault though. He knows what he’s doing. I yawn and don’t bother to cover my mouth or stifle it. I wonder what time it is.

“You did nothin’ wrong, heart,” he says, pressing his lips against my temple and this is the first time he’s ever called me heart. Such an odd thing to call someone. Just the word heart with nothing accompanying. But he somehow makes it work and I can’t control the giant smile. I actually feel all warm and fuzzy just from his calling me heart. I am so far gone it’s pathetic.

He lifts his head up to look at me as his hand comes up to turn my face towards his. Slowly, almost as if he’s giving me a chance to escape, he lowers his mouth to mine. He’s slow and gentle and it’s so amazing that I want to cry. His lips are pliant against mine and it’s nothing like the other one. This is innocent. It’s not about sex. Sure, I feel a definite erection against my hip, but he’s not pressing into me at all. It’s just there. He’s not concerned with whether or not I feel it. I respond sleepily, not feeling any pressure to give it my all. He tastes of beer and I happily notice that I find no trace of cigarettes. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had started smoking just to spite me. He’s not drunk, but he drank a bit and I’m so proud of him for not getting crazy with it. I wonder where he was but I don’t ask because right now, it’s not important. He couldn’t have been that upset if he didn’t even get drunk.

He pulls away, kissing the tip of my nose softly, and lays his head back down. His hand stays on my cheek with his arm lying across my breasts. I turn into him and snuggle against his chest. I quickly discover that he has the perfect body for snuggling. He wraps his arm around me and I feel so completely safe. His chin is on the top of my head and his legs are mixed with mine. I wrap an arm around his waist and keep the other one trapped between us. I like the image of our bodies twisting up together, leaving no room for anything else in the world. I love the way he touches me, the way he feels, his deep voice and how his accent wraps around words. I love that he drops the G’s a lot when speaking, running words together when his brogue gets especially thick.

My mind starts drifting and the last thing I register before falling back asleep is the feeling of Callum pulling the sheet up around us and whispering something in Gaelic.


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AN: Someone asked on FictionPress at around this chapter how to pronounce Callum’s name. It is pronounced kal-um. It’s originally Scottish I think but I have also seen it labeled as Irish, so I have no idea.

Unbearable Lightness of Being is written by Milan Kundera and is one of my favorite things in the world. My reason for loving it is the same as Callum’s, actually that should be flip flopped. Callum’s reason for loving it is the same as mine.