Better Than Burroughs

The Next Day
Callum

I’m actually happy to be working. I feel so fuckin’ light and I can’t ignore the reason for the change. My best friend is gonna be livin’ here for a bit, startin’ tomorrow. Not to mention that being able to touch Marin any way I like, being able to feel her, is amazing for a man’s mood. It does wonders. The average annoying costumer hasn’t made me contemplate mass homicide. With this cheerful music on that Marin insisted upon playing, I feel oddly content. Granted, the music isn’t really for me but I’m not finding it offensive. The woman’s voice is very sweet but I wish Marin hadn’t left it in. She decided that a soak in the bath was needed and the image of her amidst soapy bubbles is causing me to question this work idea. I’m closing the second everyone clears out. Sadly, I don’ think it will be any time soon. There are some drifters. Even so, it’s still not putting me in a less favorable mood. I’m enjoying knowing that she’s up there for the taking.

A woman distracts me from my pleasurable thoughts and sets a few books down on the counter. Not great choices but not horrible either. Her neck is long and is decorated with a necklace that has dangling, what looks to be, colored pearls. The color is that of abalone shells with a few white pearls thrown in between.

“That’s a lovely necklace,” I say, picking her books up and adding the totals in my head.

Her hand comes up to rest on the necklace and she smiles, “Thank you so much. It’s one of mine.”

“You make ‘em?”

“Yes, for five years now.” She’s obviously very proud of her work and it makes sense. The necklace is rather striking.

“Do you sell ‘em?” I ask.

“Of course, are you interested?” she asks, resting her hands on the counter. Her nails are cut short and painted red. It takes a certain amount of confidence to wear red. I find most of the women who do are over the age of thirty. Marin goes through stages I’ve noticed. She’ll go a month painting her nails one color and then go without any color for a few months. Her nails rarely match her toes, only when the color is black.

“Girlfriend? Wife?” she asks.

“Girlfriend,” the word seems strange and it doesn’t feel right, calling Marin my girlfriend, but it makes sense and the woman nods her head, smiling.

“What sort of variations do you do? She mostly wears them close to her neck.”

“What are you thinking of? I can probably do it.”

Finding a piece of paper, I quickly sketch an image of a necklace. I draw out two strands, one close to the neck and the second longer. Looking at it for a second, I add strands of pearls in a bunch, dangling down where the swell of Marin’s breasts would be.

When I hand it to the woman, she smiles and sets it down, taking the pencil from me, “I would add a white one here, in the center.” She makes the addition on the strand close to the neck.

“Make whatever additions you like. When do you think it will be finished by?”

“Probably two weeks. Possibly sooner.”

“Do you want payment up front?”

“No, of course not. You only pay if you like the turnout. But I must warn you, it won’t be cheap.”

“That doesn’ matter,” I shake my head. I tell her the total for the books and she pays with cash, not wanting the receipt or a bag. I write down my name and number on the sketch so she can call me when it’s finished.

“Is this for a special occasion? A birthday? I can giftwrap it,” she says before she leaves.

“No, nothing.”

Marina

“So, what would you recommend?” the voice startles me. I look over my shoulder to see Morgan standing behind me, his hands in his jean pockets. Smiling, I wonder what in the world he’s doing here.

I’m shelving books. Callum was doing it but he had to run upstairs to fetch a book that a customer was looking for. I can’t see the counter from where I am but I assume the woman is still waiting there. I guess Callum has a copy he doesn’t mind selling. He doesn’t know that I took over the shelving for him. When I finished my bath, I went back down to the store to spend time with him. He complained about the music but I wouldn’t let him change it even though the CD had looped. I hadn’t heard it all though, I was in the bathtub. I rather like Cat Power, Callum’s just insane.

Morgan is tall, taller than Callum, and he looks like he used to be a football player in High School. I’m assuming High School was maybe ten years back for him. His face is sans mustache and I’m relieved because now I have something to say to him.

But in response to his quest, I look down at the stack of books in my hand, and hand him the book resting on top, which is some biography on Elvis. He laughs and takes it from me, pointing to the stack of books in my arms, “Can I help you with those?”

“No, I’m good. Thanks though,” I say, making sure not to drop any of them on my bare toes. Callum didn’t notice my bare feet earlier so until he forces me to put shoes on, I’m staying barefoot.

“You work here too? You must be pretty busy,” Morgan comments.

“I don’t work here, I’m just helping,” I say. “What happened to the mustache?”

Morgan opens his mouth to answer right as Callum brushes past him, book in hand, “Where she go?”

“Who?”

“The…never mind,” he says with a small shake of his head, sliding the small book in his back pocket. He suddenly turns to Morgan, as if he just now noticed him, “Do ya need somethin’?”

“I’m fine. Marina’s helping me,” Morgan says, smiling over at me and ignoring Callum. Looking down to hide my smile, I turn to the shelf and set the books in my hand down, not caring if they’re in order or even in the right place.

Turning back, I catch Callum’s look of disgust when he notices the Elvis book in Morgan’s hand and I almost laugh. “I very much doubt that.”

Noticing Callum’s stiff posture, I step forward and quickly make some introductions before Morgan is insulted further, “Callum, this is Muriel’s grandson, Morgan. Remember, I told you about him moving to town.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Morgan says, thrusting his hand out to shake Callum’s. It takes Callum a second to respond but he takes the offer. I hold back my sigh of relief. I don’t need some testosterone-filled argument among the books. They shouldn’t have to see that.

“So you’re the reason why she lost her job,” Callum says and I’m a little shocked by his blatant rudeness. I don’t know why I am though.

“How’d you know where to find me?” I ask Morgan, quickly interjecting.

“My grandma told me you lived above this place so I thought I’d come by. I don’t know any one else besides you and her. I was curious to know if you were free for lunch. I heard about this great steak place.”

I’m slightly thrown off by Morgan’s self-confidence but I guess he’s right, he probably wouldn’t know anyone and I doubt he wants to spend all his time with Muriel. I feel bad for him but I don’t really want to go out to lunch with him. Callum makes no move to leave my side.

“I’d love to, but I’m sorry, Callum and I are going out in an hour,” I completely lie and hope Callum won’t say anything to make me look like a jerk.

“That’s too bad. Maybe some other time?” Morgan asks with a smile. I nod and give a wave as Morgan takes his leave.

“I may ‘ave to go to that party with you,” Callum says from behind me.

I don’t turn around because I don’t want him to see the giant smile on my face. Instead, I just nod and head for the counter to change the music. “And I was serious, you’re taking me out in an hour.”

That Night

It’s closing in on eleven o’clock and after ten minutes of flipping through channels, Callum grew annoyed and snatched the controller away from me, shutting the TV off and tossing it across the room, muttering a curse about television and the rapidly declining state of America’s youth. I love his complaints and the low grumbling voice he uses whenever he has a good one. Sitting up from reclining against the arm of the couch, I stretch my arms above my head and stand up.

I’m not tired in the least but I yawn anyway. I know he’s watching me and it thrills me. He’s been very sexually comfortable all night. He touches me constantly and I don’t know if I will ever grow used to it. I don’t think I ever want to.

Without saying anything, I leave the living room to walk upstairs to our bedroom. I deliberately walk slowly and I smile when I hear him scramble around to turn lights off. By the time I reach the bed, he’s stomping up the steps.

The second I pull my sweatshirt off, he’s flattened his chest against my back. He hugs me tightly and drops a kiss on my neck. I lean back against him, my arms resting on his.

“That prick wants you,” he whispers, none too gently, beside my ear.

Opening my eyes, I have to think for a moment to guess at who he’s talking about. I shake my head, annoyed with him for bringing this up now, “Don’t be paranoid. And even if Morgan does, so what?”

“I don’ like it.”

“Don’t you trust me?” I ask softly, a lot riding on my question. He hesitates and I turn around to look up at him. I need to see his eyes to know if the hesitation means he doesn’t. I can’t tell and it bothers me.

“Callum?”

He licks his bottom lip, wetting it, and it almost distracts me from my question and it would have if the question didn’t mean so much. I try to step back, away from his arms, but he tightens his hold.

“Don’t. Let’s not do this, not now. Please,” his voice is soft and slightly pleading.

Shaking my head, I say, “No, you started this and if you don’t trust me, what am I doing here?”

“You’re bein’ with me. Isn’ that enough fer now?”

Reaching behind me, I pry his hands off my back and he lets me. I need some space. I can’t think rationally while he’s touching me.

“I want a relationship! I don’t want to just be with you,” I push out, my frustration making itself known. This won’t be the end of us. I know that even if he says he doesn’t trust me, I won’t be able to walk away from him. This is all bullshit on my part. False bravado. But he doesn’t know that and maybe if I’m convincing enough, I’ll convince myself.

“That’s a fuckin’ relief, but I don’ know how ta do this, Marin. I trust you more than not and that has ta be enough for the time being. He’s a fuckin’ wanker an’ I didn’ like the way he was looking at you,” he says, his voice rising.

I bite back the 60/40 trust comment that’s itching to be released and I concentrate on his honesty. I know that I have to give him some time, I need it too, but I just wish we could take the time together instead of separately.

I nod my head and he relaxes. I knew he would be the jealous type and that’s fine with me, as long as he doesn’t let it get carried away. He needs to know that he’s being jealous and that it’s completely unfounded.

“I’m happy with you, I’m where I want to be,” I say, walking into him and wrapping my arms around his waist. He breathes in as if he needs to say something but he lets it die in his throat. He returns my embrace and I feel his chin rest against my head.

He pulls away after a few long seconds and gives me a small smile, kissing the corner of my mouth lightly. “You’re a damned nuisance,” he sighs in complaint, moving over to throwing himself back on the bed. I smile and turn to stare down at him, my hands on my hips.

“And what would you do without me?” I tease, the mood lightened as I crawl over his body to straddle his waist.

His hands slide up my thighs and wrap around my sides, squeezing lightly. His eyes closed, he groans, “Be very…very sexually frustrated.”

“And very, very bored,” I add, leaning over to cover his neck with kisses. He nods his head slightly and runs his hands up my back to my head. He pulls my head up for a kiss, his lips soft and demanding. He’s always so demanding. I like the slight roughness that is underneath his kiss. Even when he’s gentle, there’s this feeling of desperation. Determination.

He drops his head back down to the mattress beneath, “I’m the reason, darling, it’s never you. It’s myself I don’ trust.”

I don’t say anything, I just look at him. His eyes are clear and open, his brows furrowed a bit. Something passes through his eyes, some sort of troubled emotion, but he covers it up quickly with a reassuring smile. I don’t ask about the look and I smile despite it.

Whatever thought just crossed his mind, I want to make him forget it completely. I press down against him, feeling his body respond and his hips buck up. The power of his body makes me lightheaded and frantic. Needing to feel his skin, I forget about everything else as I impatiently pull his shirt up. He sits up, taking me with him. I’m amazed at how effortless it seems for him to sit up with my weight on him like this. He takes his shirt off and seems to have no patience with mine either when he roughly pulls mine off. His hands are quickly on my thighs, hiking my skirt up to my waist and his fingers are immediately between my legs. My head falls back at the teasing pressure of his fingers through my panties. His mouth is everywhere, kissing across my neck and shoulders, over my bra-clad chest and all I can think about is getting him inside me. Feeling that fullness, that completeness I can only feel with him.

His hands smoothing across my back makes me shiver, knowing the scars on his palms and the intensity that came with it. He feels to the extreme and it can be frightening. Wanting to erase some of what causes that pain, I pull his hands to my front and bring them to my mouth, slowly kissing across the scars. He moans, watching me through lidded eyes.

His voice cuts through me when he harshly grinds out, “Enough with the bloody foreplay.”

Callum

After enjoying two of Marin’s gorgeous orgasms and one especially nice one for myself, she’s exhausted. Standing from the damp sheets, I look down at her. Her chest is slightly heaving with the deep breaths she’s taking and the sheet is tangled around her body. With her eyes shut and a small smile on her face, she looks heavenly. Completely content. Knowing that I did this to her, I put this smile on her face and flush on her body, it fills me with such pride and self-satisfaction. If this was my sole purpose in life, to please her, I wouldn’t need anything more. She’s more sexually confident but she still blushes. She still shuts her eyes when I move her thighs apart and she still swallows thickly every time she wraps her hand around me. Fuck, I swallow thickly if she even looks at my cock. While she has repaid me for my oral fixation, I can’t wait for the day when she gets past her own self-inflicted sexual barriers to do all that she wants. I can see in her eyes that she wants more. I can patiently wait for that time to come.

Smiling, I turn around to head downstairs. I need something to drink and she probably does too. I’m quick, wanting to get back in bed with her and fall asleep, as I get two bottles of water from the fridge. While closing the door, I notice a bottle of Advil on the counter. I didn’t put them there. She must have had a headache. This suddenly reminds me of that MRI she had and that she never mentioned the results. I haven’t heard her mention anything even relating to her head. What the fuck? If she’s trying to get under my skin, she’s doin’ one hell of a job.

Maybe I should take the bottle and give it to her with the water. I entertain the notion of being a prick about it but I don’ want ta be that guy when it comes to her health. It would be so easy but it’s also remarkably easy to leave the bottle alone and go upstairs without it.

I toss the water on the bed and it lands by her legs. Standing at the foot of the bed, I watch her sit up and smile when she sees the object I threw. After drinking some of my own, I must be glaring at her cause she asks me what’s wrong.

“Was I supposed to forget about your head?” I ask, annoyance creeping through my voice. She looks up at me, completely confused, and doesn’t say anything.

“What happened with the MRI? I’m assuming you’ve heard about it.”

The look on her face tells me that she did hear about it and she buys time by drinking some water. “I did hear back. I’m sorry I forgot to tell you,” she says softly. “Something went wrong, the technician messed up I think. I don’t remember what the guy said but he told me I had to get another done.”

“And when is this happening?” I ask, getting the feeling that she hasn’t even done that.

“When I make the appointment?” she asks sheepishly.

“Bloody hell, Marin!” I groan. “You’re like a fuckin’ child.”

“Interesting. You fuck me like an adult,” she spits back, a little annoyed, but she can’t sound too convincing while she’s still riding in the sexual haze. I’m turned on by her fire. So many retorts slide across my brain like a teleprompter and I ignore each and every one that relates to any type of Lolita reference. She’s upset with me though and making sure her breasts are covered by the sheet wrapped around her body. It’s a simple way to get ta me, hiding her body, and I love that she knows it. She’s holding the sheet up to her chest with the hand holding the bottle, her chin coming down to rest on the cap. For a brief moment, her eyes lower and she breaks my heart. Something’s wrong and she must have some sort of fuckin’ reason for not having told me.

Absently, I’m rubbing my lower stomach while watching her. She looks up, momentarily caught on the movement of my hand and a faint reddish tint mars her cheeks when her gaze travels below my hand. I tingle at her reaction and I can’t stop the smile. I love this feeling. She makes me feel like a bloody God, like the most desirable man to ever walk the earth.

Any frustration or annoyance I felt with her over the MRI dissipates and after putting the water bottle down on the floor, I move over to sit behind her, pulling her back to rest between my legs, regardless of her wants. She struggles a little, not happy with me, but I ignore her and wrap my arms around her to keep her put, stretching my legs out beside hers and leaning back against the wall.

I know the second she resigns because she relaxes and leans her head back against my shoulder. I kiss her head and temple, I kiss the shell of her ear and softly tell her that I adore her. That she’s beautiful, completely and utterly wanted. I tell her that she can do anything, that she’s intelligent and wanton. Maybe everything isn’t in the proper order but I don’ care. Her breathing relaxes and I feel her chest rise beneath my arms. I switch in and out of English so effortlessly that I don’t know what bits she can understand. I can’t keep track of it all. If there’s one thing I know about women, they need to hear these things. Mum made sure I knew that. And if I had the courage, I would tell her more.

“Why do you resist all things medicinal?” I ask quietly, my lips brushing the sensitive skin just behind her ear. I love the skin behind her ear. It’s like the top of a baby’s head. It smells glorious, like innocence and life.

She doesn’t answer immediately so I tell her what I’m thinking. Off topic but I tell her about this bit behind her ear. I tell her about the insides of her elbows, her ankle bone, the back of her neck and the dimples above her rounded bottom. I ask her the question again and she answers this time.

Her voice is soft and delicate, “I’m afraid of something being found…of something not being found. I don’t want to be put on medication, what if it changes me? I don’t like waiting in the rooms and not having anything to do but read all those horrible information pamphlets.”

She rambles on, telling me all the things that she doesn’t like about doctors and their offices. Everything comes down to fear. Her being afraid of being ill. When she stops talking, I chime in, asking, “Would you like me to go with you?”

“That’s okay, it’s fine,” she shakes her head.

“If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like ta go with you,” I enforce. I’ll do it all with her. If someone being with her will make her feel more comfortable, I’m there.

I kiss her shoulder, inhaling deeply, “I’ll go with you for the MRI, for any doctor’s appointment in the future. I want to be there for you.”

“Thank you,” she says, turning her head to gently kiss my jaw.

“You are more than welcome, darling.” I take the bottle of water from her hand and open it, taking a sip over her shoulder. I offer it back to her but she pushes it away. I reach over the side of the bed to set it on the floor.

She begins to fidget, pulling at the sheet wrapped around her body, making grunting noises. Laughing, I help her fix the sheet and she ends up laying on her side, further down my body, her head on my thigh. We sit in silence, my hands combing through her hair. Her breathing flattens out and I think she may be asleep. She says my name in question and it startles me.

“Tell me a secret?” she asks, her voice sleepy and soft, her fingers tracing invisible patterns on the side of my thigh.

“Okay,” I say, nodding my head. Now, what do I tell her? She waits silently, patiently, for me to decide upon something. The fact that I don’ think we should live together any longer keeps pushing its way to my tongue but I can’t say that. Way to break the fuckin’ mood.

I take two more seconds to think of how to tell her how I feel about her without saying any of the actual words. Oddly enough, earlier, it was easier to tell her I loved her in Gaelic. I’d done it a few times, without her knowledge of course, but I haven’t since. I can’t spit the words out now. They’re harder to say. Harder to think.

“When my parents left, they took a lot with them. I feel like I’m finally gettin’ some of myself back…if that makes any sense to you,” I say, feeling completely exposed.

She mutters something softly and I can’t hear a word of it so I ask her to repeat herself. She shakes her head and says that it’s not important. Like fuck it’s not! Especially if it’s about me. Whatever she has to say in response to what I told her, I want to hear.

“I just said, thank you. That’s it.” I don’t believe her but I don’t push it anymore.

“Are you goin’ ta repay me with a secret of your own?” I ask, my hand on the back of her neck.

“Doesn’t that stuff I just told you about my medical hang-ups count?”

“Not at all. Not even a little.”

“Why not?” she asks, rolling over on her stomach to glare up at me. It doesn’t have its desired affect because all it’s serving to do is to turn me on. Looking down and seeing her lying between my legs, her mouth temptingly close, it’s a very nice sight to behold.

“You told me that rather willingly. It wasn’t anything you would have thought of under the instructions of secret sharing.”

“You don’t know that. I didn’t want to tell you that stuff,” she insists, a slight pout to her lips, trying to cover up the amusement in her eyes.

“But you did and there’s just no sense in arguing with me on this one, you won’t win.”

She smiles mischievously and looks down at my penis. She folds her hands over my thigh and rests her chin on her knuckles. She’s dangerously close and it’s completely on purpose, the little hussy. She just barely turns her head so her warm breath will slide across my skin. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself focused. I don’t mind the slowness. She’s probably counting on my patience snapping. It won’t happen. Sometimes I like it hard and fast. Without waiting and without pretext. But there are those times when you should embrace the slowness. Savor it as if it’s the end. I know just the book I’m reading us to sleep with.

I reach my hand down, sliding it over the curve of her spine as far as I can reach without leaning over. I bring my hand back up, her skin is perfect. Women like her are the reason why the human body is so endlessly fascinating. Men got fucked in that area. A penis just is not sexy. Unless you’re already in the middle of a sexual frenzy, a penis is not going to be a turn-on. Something women shouldn’t admit to their men because even if they know it to be true, it’ll cut rather deeply. They need to know how lucky they are. How amazing and endlessly sexy their bodies are. Clothed, unclothed, always desirable. No matter the body shape, the weight, the height, color of the skin, it’s all fucking sex and it’s all glorious.

I give her a pinch on the shoulder, “Secret.”

She sighs and stares at my belly button, “Fine. Let me think.”

I let her think for two seconds before I pinch her again. She laughs and pinches me back. “The fingers on my right hand are fatter than the ones on my left.”

I laugh loudly at her secret. What a pathetic fuckin’ secret. When she furrows her brows at me, I pick her right hand up and twirl the ring on her ring finger around, “The rings fit tighter on this hand. That’s not a secret.”

“Yes it is. I don’t walk around telling people that,” she insists.

“It’s not a good one. It’s just something you don’t tell people. Not necessarily a secret.”

“What’s a secret to one may not be a secret to another,” she points out and I must admit that she has a point.

I concede, “Fine, darling. What a lovely secret. I am shocked to the depths by it’s frankness.”

“Now you’re mocking me. See if I ever tell you anything ever again!” she threatens, giving me a very ‘so there!’ look.

I hook my hands under her arms and haul her further up my body, “You’re right, lover. I’m a bastard, completely and utterly.”

She gives the most adorable set of giggles and my heart just about fuckin’ implodes. She straddles my waist and relaxes onto me, her arms tucked between our bodies. She presses her mouth against mine and the kiss is lazy, soft and slow.

She pulls back and says, “You can quit being so wonderful now.”

“An’ why’s that?”

“Cause I’m already in love with you,” she says with a small smile and the hint of fear in her eyes. I’m speechless. I blink slowly, feeling my eyelashes come together, than separate. She lays her head back down, her cheek on my chest, and her breathing is deep. She seems to be mostly unaffected by what she just said. Besides that tiny slip of fear of my reaction, I’m guessing, she seems completely and utterly unaffected. I feel like I’m having a heart attack. I want to do nothing more than to ask her to repeat herself. I want to hear those words again. I want to pay attention to how her lips formed the sounds. I want to watch her throat. I want her to say it over and over again.

Not knowing what else to do, I lean off the side of the bed, careful to move slowly so she can lift herself up to avoid rolling with me. Hanging off the side, I riffle through the stacks of books against the wall beside the bed and find Slowness. I slide farther down the bed as I sit back up, giving myself enough room to lie down.

She starts to move over to the other side of the bed but I latch onto her hips, “Stay, I like your weight above me.”

I wait for her to settle back down before I pull the sheet to properly cover us both. Her hair tickles my chin and her breasts are flat against my chest. I can feel the curls between her legs against my lower stomach. Her strong thighs parted around my body and the soft skin brushing against my dick. I’m ignoring my slight erection because this is better. Lying like this is what I want to do right now. Seemingly, what she wants to do.

I rest the book on her upper back, opening it to page 126, I keep my voice low and read without asking Marin if she wants me to. Reading aloud keeps my mind occupied, keeps me from dwelling on the woman on top of me. Words keep me sane.

“‘Because beyond their practical function, all gestures have a meaning that exceeds the intention of those who make them; when people in bathing suits fling themselves into the water, it is joy itself that shows in the gesture, notwithstanding any sadness the divers may actually feel. When someone jumps into the water fully clothed, it is another thing entirely: the only person who jumps into the water fully clothed is a person trying to drown; and a person trying to drove does not dive headfirst; he lets himself fall: thus speaks the immemorial language of gestures.’”


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Author’s Note:
Music:
Cat Power

Books:
Slowness – Milan Kundera