A Strange Arrangement Ch. 02

I'd like to say that the first time was the worst and that it got better. I'd like to say I quickly got used to the arrangement and that it didn't bother me. I'd like to say that it was just sex and that I had no problem using my body to secure a place to live and food to eat.

I'd like to say all that, but it simply wasn't true.

After my first time having sex with Andrew, I almost called in sick to work- not because I was actually sick (though the dry heaves of revulsion didn't make me feel peachy) but because I felt like I had so much to process. There were a lot of gaps in our arrangement, things we hadn't talked about, and I wanted to get a handle on some of those things before I talked to him about them.

And he had a different view of "sex" than I did, one that made it hard for me to detach like I wanted to. This was so screwed up, and I wanted to just get to a point where I felt like I could understand it. If I could understand it, maybe I could handle it.

One good thing about this was that it kicked my job-hunting into high gear. I had to make this as temporary as possible.

I showered that morning and started realizing how many questions I had. I had breakfast while Andrew was out grocery shopping, then took my hot tea up to my room. I curled up on my recliner, wrapped a blanket around me (it was a chilly morning for late September) and stared out the window. I had a pen and paper on the table beside me to help keep track of my thoughts. By the time I heard Andrew leave for work, I had quite a list of questions...and even a few answers.

But for now, there was a more pressing task at hand. I opened my computer and searched online for "how to cook."

*******

Andrew had left a note telling me that he would be home for the night after 8pm and that I should have some dinner ready for him in the fridge, since I would be at work by then. I looked at the groceries he had bought- quite a selection, some of which I couldn't even identify. When I lived on my own, I mostly ate out, until I realized how quickly that was draining my cash. Then I switched to microwavable meals and instant noodles, which stabilized my budget a bit, even if it didn't make for a healthy lifestyle. What the hell, I was young.

Andrew had stipulated "cooking" among my duties, however, and given his views on sex, I couldn't imagine that he would consider heating up a TV dinner to be "cooking." So it was time to learn. Until I could pick up some tips from the kitchen crew at the restaurant, I would have to imitate how-to videos that I could find online. Using that technique, I whipped up a respectable tortilla soup (minus the hot peppers). I thought it tasted pretty good. I left the pot in the fridge for Andrew and commenced with my real task for the afternoon: snooping.

*******

Looking through all the papers and books and photos I could find on the first floor, I drew just one conclusion: Andrew was a boring guy. There was nothing even remotely interesting lying around. The guy didn't even have any porn videos, at least not downstairs. No letters from family or friends, no scandalous bills or bank statements, no drugs or paraphernalia. I think he really did just work and eat and sleep (and now fuck me).

But the time wasn't wasted, because in the process of snooping, I managed to organize a lot of the downstairs living area. I knew that is bedroom would probably be a much more interesting place to look, and there was another office-y room upstairs that I hadn't explored, but it was already time for me to get ready for work. The juicy secrets of Andrew's life would have to wait.

*******

I came home late and found a note saying that the soup was delicious. It looked like he had eaten half the pot. Damn- I had hoped that would last a few days. My plan was to make bigger meals so that I might only need to cook a couple times a week.

Remembering my list of questions, I jotted a note that said we needed to talk and clarify a few things. Then I had a small bowl of soup for myself and went to bed. With an afternoon and evening shift ahead of me the next day, I wanted to sleep as much as I could.

*******

*Tap, tap tap*

"Gina? Gina, wake up, it's 10 o'clock."

What? Why on earth was he waking me up? I didn't need to leave until 11:30, and what business was that of his anyway?

"Go away, asshole! I'm trying to sleep!"

A moment of silence, then *tap, tap, tap*

"Gina, our schedules don't line up for a few more days. I'm going to work at 12, we've got until then to..."

"Aw, for fuck's sake!" I yelled, throwing off my covers and yanking open my door. I grabbed Andrew by his t-shirt collar, pulled him a few steps into my room, pushed him onto the bed and pulled off his sweatpants with one angry pull. He wasn't hard at all, which surprised me. I guess that I had expected him to be standing at my door naked and throbbing. I took him in my mouth and started sucking...hard.

At this point I was still in a rage- angry that he had woken me up, angry that he expected sex whenever it was convenient for him, angry that I had no friends in my life to help me out, angry that my parents didn't pursue me, and at some point in all that silent raging, I noticed that Andrew was fully ready to go. He had put one hand on the back of my head- not pressing down but just guiding my movements.

I briefly considered finishing him with my mouth, but I didn't want to give him the pleasure of seeing me swallow, and I sure as hell didn't want to make a mess on my bed (I hadn't really thought this through), so I stood up, pulled off my yoga pants, straddled him, and sank down. Thank God I was a little wet. Andrew wasn't the biggest I had ever had, but he was more than big enough to fill me up.

I sank down hard and started bouncing. Normally I enjoy a good ride when I'm on top- if the guy is angled right, I can rub my clit on his pubic bone and get myself really close without having to use my hand. I've even cum a few times that way, just by rubbing myself on top of a guy. But I wasn't on the path to satisfaction this morning. I was still almost blind with rage- the accumulated frustration of the path my life had taken was finding its way to the surface.

I pounded myself down on Andrew again and again. He seemed stunned at first, but he eventually grabbed my hips with his rough hands and just held on while I worked. I leaned forward a little and put my hands on his broad chest. We both still had on our shirts. After a minute or two, I moved my hands to the wall behind my headboard, stopped bouncing, and took him as deep as I could in that position. Then I started rubbing back and forth, not moving him in and out. I felt a slight tingle, but I knew I wasn't going to let this last long enough to get me anywhere good.

When I started sliding my hips forward and backward, Andrew groaned and lifted his hips up a few inches off the bed. That actually felt better for me, but I didn't think his back could stay arched like that for very long. Then he moved one hand up to my shirt and lifted the side of it up to my armpit, exposing my left breast. He leaned forward (lowering his hips, to my disappointment) and started licking and kissing and sucking my tit.

I was grunting and groaning and moaning, mostly from the exertion and the emotional release I was experiencing, though anyone listening would probably think I was working towards a nice orgasm. When Andrew took my nipple between his teeth, I yelped and stopped thrusting for a moment. It didn't hurt, it just surprised me, and felt good- like just what I wanted in that moment.

I wrapped one arm around his head and held him closer to my breast. He kept nibbling and licking and sucking and I started sliding and thrusting again- slower but harder.

He started to push up in time with my thrusts. Then he pulled his head back, clenched his eyes shut and started grunting. His hands were on my hips now, forcing me to move at his pace.

Gasping, he asked, "Are you close?"

"Just finish, asshole!" I was angry that he would think I wanted this, that I would give him that pleasure. And I was angry because I was getting closer than I thought I would.

In that moment I realize how strong he was. He took complete control of my movements, picking me up by the hips and forcing me down on his cock over and over. He made me slide back and forth at his will. I don't think I could have stopped him if I tried. It was like I was just an elaborate tool used to aid his masturbation. I felt like a total object.

"OhhOOOOHHHH! GAH!!" He forced me down hard and I felt his cock start to pulse inside me. He held me in place, pulled back a bit and then pushed in again. I leaned forward and steadied myself with a hand on the wall. His upper body convulsed with each pump, and I noticed for the first time how sweaty we both were.

He slid down so that we could both lie down on the bed, with me still on top of him. One of his hands moved to the back of my head and held me in place while he began kissing me. My first instinct was embarrassment over my morning breath, but then I chided myself for caring what he thought. I remembered that kissing was supposed to be a part of sex in this house, so I let him explore my mouth with his tongue. Meanwhile, his other hand had moved to where my lower back met my ass, and he held me firmly on top of him as he began slowly sliding in and out of me again. Every few thrusts he would hold himself deep inside and focus on kissing.

Finally, he dropped his hips to the bed, dropped his hands to his sides, leaned his head back on the pillow, and sighed. I could see his mouth starting to move, as if he was starting sentences in his mind but not sure which one to go with. Before he had the chance to get a thought out, I climbed off of him and said, "Get up. I don't want a wet spot on my bed."

He rolled over and swung his feet to the floor. Standing up and retrieving his pants, he said, "Like I was saying...I'm going to work at 12, so we've only got until then to talk about whatever you mentioned in your note."

I froze in the middle of putting on my robe. "My note?" Shit! My note that said we needed to discuss some things. My list of questions. "Yeah, sure. My note."

"But thanks for being so...proactive. That was..."

"That was my job. Don't thank me for something that I would lose my room over not doing," I snapped.

His brow creased as he tried to think of how to respond. Instead he changed the topic.

"I'm going downstairs for breakfast. Do you want coffee? If you want, there's still some time to talk before we leave."

"Yeah, I'll be down in a few minutes," I mumbled and staggered down the hall to the bathroom, one hand on the wall for support.

*******

It took me all of two minutes in the shower to bring myself to a small but sufficient climax. By 10:45 I was showered, dressed, and having breakfast at the table. Across the table, Andrew sipped his coffee and finished off a pile of toast.

"So you wanted to clarify some things?" he began.

"Yeah," I said, munching on a blueberry bagel. "I've been realizing that there are some things we didn't clarify and some things we didn't even consider."

"OK, like what?"

"Well, first of all, are you telling anyone about our...arrangement?"

He froze, a piece of toast halfway to his mouth, and looked at me with eyes wide open. "Oh, hell no. I don't think...I mean, what would...how...no. Not that anyone is asking much about my personal life, but if it comes up, you are renting a room from me."

Whew. "Glad we're on the same page there. Now what about visitors?"

"I never have any."

"Not you, you myopic self-centered child. Me. I'm going to have friends over at some point."

"Oh, of course. Um, just try not to be loud if I'm sleeping, and don't bring anyone over that might, you know, steal something or cause problems."

I found that insulting and snapped at him, "What kind of people do you think I hang out with?"

Mouth full of toast, he answered casually, "Hell if I know. I don't know anything about you."

He had a point, but still..."I don't like what you're implying."

He just shrugged. I rolled my eyes and gave an exaggerated sighed.

"OK, next thing. I'll consent to including kissing and rubbing in our definition of sex, but no touching me when we're not having sex. You don't get to come up and give me kisses or grab my ass or squeeze my boobs or even rub my arm. My body is mine. You get access to it 3-4 times a week and that's it. Understand?"

"Of course. You're not my girlfriend, I get that. I didn't expect anything different."

"And on a similar note, my room is my private space. You have no reason to go in there uninvited."

"Agreed, and I would say the same about my room."

"You don't want me to clean your room?"

He thought about that for a few seconds. "OK, for getting laundry and cleaning the master bathroom you can go in my room, but leave the rest of it to me. I like that you're organizing things a bit, but leave my room alone."

"Fine," I said, fully intending not to honor that.

"Unless you're coming in my room to have sex with me, then you're welcome anytime I'm in there," he said, smiling.

"Ugh. Moving on, no sleeping in my bed and no making me sleep in yours. Again, you use my body for sex, but once that's over, I'm free to go."

"Yeah, that's fine. But know that you'd be welcome to stay in my bed. I really like snuggling with someone at night."

"I am not, and never will be that person for you, Andrew. Don't start thinking of me in those categories."

"What categories? I'm still just talking about two bodies here- nothing more than physical intimacy."

"Physical release. Not intimacy. We are not intimate."

"Uh, sure. OK." I don't think he really agreed, I think he just decided not to pursue that topic.

We talked through a few more details, like paying for my birth control pills and bringing my car in for a check-up (he was horrified to hear how long it had been since my last oil change), but then he got a serious look. "Gina, there's one more thing."

"Oh?"

"Stop calling me names, please."

"What do you mean?"

"You've got quite a list of insulting monikers for me. 'Asshole' seems to be your favorite. 'Creep', 'perv', 'moron'...it's mean and uncalled for. Please just use my name."

I got a little worked up at that, "Uncalled for? You're making me..."

"NO! I'm not making you do anything." He stood up and pointed at me with his fork. This was the most agitated I'd seen him (with all his clothes on). "You were free to choose this, you came into it knowing full well what it entailed. This is not against your will. You will not pin this on me. You can think what you like about my offer, but once you accepted it, you gave up the right to drag me through the mud."

I was ready to jump up and shout right back at him, but...he...was right. I clenched my jaw and simply said, "Fine. No more names. But don't you start calling me 'baby' or 'sweetie'."

He dropped his fork and plate into the sink, guzzled his orange juice, and said in a softer, more familiar tone, "Thank you. Was there anything else?"

"No, I think that's about it for now. I'll see you in a few days." I stood to leave for work as he walked up the stairs to get changed.

*******

As I drove through the neighborhood, I considered that he had a point. I didn't have any good reason for calling him names. I just needed to feel superior. And the anger that surfaced during that grudge fuck that morning made me realize that my resentment was spread all around. The Creep...Andrew, just happened to be an easy target. I couldn't be angry at him for my being in this situation. I was angry at the circumstances that brought me to that point.

But unfortunately for Andrew, it was one thing for me to know all that. It was another thing entirely for that knowledge to change me. So for now, I was just going to keep hating him. I wanted to think of him as my rapist. I wanted to think of him as someone fully to blame for how royally screwed up my life was, how screwed up I was. But he called me out- I couldn't blame him without blaming myself. I felt ashamed. I felt sick.