A Terrible Whore

'It's almost like you're avoiding me,' he said.

'I'm not,' I replied. 'She's going to the Gold Coast with my family on Saturday night, and it's easier for everyone involved if my parents take her straight over.'

'Why aren't you going?'

'To the Gold Coast?'

'Yes, to the Gold Coast. Why aren't you going?'

I half-shrugged. 'Because my parents specifically invited Elise and two of her cousins. They're renting a four bedroom Air BnB.'

'What are you going to be doing Saturday night?'

'Nothing.'

'Good,' he said. 'I want to have a meeting with you to discuss why you've restricted my access to every second Sunday.'

'No,' I replied firmly. 'That won't suit.'

'I thought you didn't have plans.'

'You know, this is really none of your business,' I exclaimed. 'I'm not trying to restrict your access to Elise. I'm trying to make arrangements so you're visits are predictable. You disappeared from her life for years, you barely paid child support, and now you've come back into her life and expect us to rearrange things to suit you.'

Carl stared at me appraisingly. 'What's his name?'

'What's whose name?'

'The man you're seeing. What's his name?'

I pulled my handbag tight to my body, in some wayward defence mechanism. 'I'm not seeing anyone.'

'Then why can't I see you Saturday night?'

'Because I want a quiet night alone. I want to clean the flat, do the washing, and watch TV. I want to unwind.' I was shaking. I was still terrified of Carl. I don't know why he'd chosen to come back into our lives but God, I wished he'd go. I wished he'd leave Elise and I alone. 'We can talk another time. You pick a night. I'll be there.'

'Any other night?'

'Yes. Any other night,' I confirmed.

'But not Saturday,' Carl acknowledged. 'Because you're seeing him on Saturday. You're spending the night with him.'

I hurriedly shook my head. 'No, Carl, there's no one. No one. I just want a night alone.'

'Can you remember that odd little custody arrangement we had, Rachael? Can you remember what my lawyer added? The clause that laid out that you were to tell me within seven days if you entered into a relationship with another man? And that his suitability to be around Elise would be assessed?'

'You don't need to worry,' I replied grimly. 'I'm not in a relationship with anyone. And, as you might also recall, that agreement expired on her twelfth birthday. You know that, that's why you've come back and started pestering us.'

'Pestering you,' he repeated in disgust. 'Pestering you. All I want is what's best for my daughter. I've changed, Rachael. But it seems that you haven't. You've still a stupid little whore and I wouldn't piss on you if you were on fire.'

~~~~~~~~~

It's funny how you can want something so badly that you completely ignore the risks you're taking. You ignore the warning signs because you tell yourself it'll end soon, you'll pull up the runaway train, and salvage things before it's too late.

That's how it was with Dean.

I arrived at his house at four o'clock on Saturday. I had with me a cute dress, heels, hair straightener, nice lingerie, make-up bag and an outfit for the following day, but I was currently wearing leggings, a singlet, thongs and no make-up.

Dean had just finished mowing his lawn. He was only in boardshorts and crocs, and he was hot and sweaty from the sun and when he hugged me, I hugged him right back.

'I missed you so much this week,' he said, kissing me.

I kissed him back. 'I missed you, too.'

He had a funny little habit of rubbing my temple with his thumb while staring adoringly at me. At first, I'd thought he was rubbing at me because I had something stuck to me, but these days it just made me melt inside. He was doing it then, thumbing me and gazing at me, before drawing me into a tight, all consuming, hug.

I followed him about, patting the dogs and chatting to him as he put everything away. Underneath his house he'd put in a concrete slab and enclosed the sides, and he used it to store all of his tools and machinery for his business. I didn't know what ninety-nine percent of it was, but Dean (obviously) did, and it all seemed to have it's place.

Also under the house was a full bar, pool table and wide screen TV. He'd told me that his mates would come over for major sporting events, because it was a guaranteed woman and child free zone and they could yell at the TV and drink too much without being interrupted.

'You want a drink?' Dean asked, following my gaze to the bar area. 'There's no Moscato down here, but there's beer and probably a few cans of pre-mix.'

'That wasn't what I was thinking,' I replied. 'I was just thinking how absolutely luxurious it would be to have people over and drink all afternoon without having to worry about looking after a kid the next day.'

'Nah, you've got it wrong. It's depressing, because you know you're going to wake up the next morning to an empty house, and nothing to do. Everyone else goes home to a girlfriend or wife, maybe some kids, but something. And there I am, bored shitless and whacking one out to foot fetish porn.'

I giggled. 'It's kind of cute how you are around feet.'

'It's cuter still that you pretend it's not weird,' he replied. 'Have a drink with me. If you don't, I'll just end up trying to have sex with you as much as physically possibly before you have to go home tomorrow.'

I laughed again. 'Theoretically, how many times do you even think you'd be able to do it between now and then?'

'Three without breaking a sweat,' he replied. 'I reckon four is possible, and five isn't too far fetched.'

'I like you, but not enough to have sex with you five times between now and tomorrow morning.'

He gave a rueful shrug. 'Sorry. It was worth a try.'

I dissolved into laughter. Dean grew sheepish and came over to hug me, to try and stop me from laughing. Or, maybe he was just after sexual encounter number one, because the hug was decidedly sexual and it was impossible to miss his erection.

Dean was trying to kiss me and I was trying to divert his attention because he was still an appallingly shithouse kisser. When he nibbled on my earlobes or sucked on my nipples or buried his face in my pussy, I had no issues with his tongue skills, but when it came to kissing, I really didn't like it.

I reached down and rubbed his hard-on through his shorts. 'Do you want me to attend to that?' I asked.

Dean drew back. 'Do you want to?' he asked curiously.

'I... I'm here for you.'

'I know why you came,' he admitted. 'I'm just curious. If you had a choice, would you do it? Would you want to?'

It wasn't a question I'd contemplated.

'Do you mean at all or 'right now'?' I clarified.

'Humour me,' he said, looping his arms around my waist. 'Answer both.'

'Um,' I replied. 'I don't know how to answer. I'm not interested in having an actual relationship with anyone, so the idea of engaging in a sexual relationship just for fun isn't something I can wrap my head around, but I really, really enjoy sex with you.'

'Why do you enjoy it?' he prodded. 'Is it because it's no strings attached?'

'Partially, yes. It's liberating. And, because you're paying for a service, I don't feel like I should be taking up your time by complaining about myself, or drawing attention to my flaws, and because I can't concentrate on them, I focus on what's happening.'

'Hmm. Interesting.' He kissed my forehead. 'I love fucking you. I love that you actually cum. I think about it all week, and it's not just sex I think about, it's you. You and sex with you and talking to you.'

I tugged at the waistband of his shorts. 'I want to do it.'

He let me strip him naked from the waist down, and didn't complain when I started kissing his prick. He was hot and sweaty from being outside but it was a clean sweat; he'd obviously showered that morning and I liked the taste of him.

I knelt on bar room carpet while I sucked him off. His legs grew wobbly when he got close to cumming. His hands were in my hair, holding it back off my face, and he was muttering my name, my real name, over and over.

It didn't take him long to orgasm. Five minutes maximum. He was an easy man to blow, and always super appreciative, and the moment he finished ejaculating he went and got me a wad of paper towel to spit into.

'Not a fan of the taste?' he asked.

'You want a kiss?' I challenged, wiping my chin.

'Fuck no, but I'll give you a special kiss between your legs if you want.'

'No, I'll wait. I know you'll be back for more tonight.'

He reached over and stroked my face. 'You're beautiful.'

'And you have a cute bum.' I replied, reaching around and swatting his arse. 'What time do we need to leave tonight? I bought nice clothes with me but they're still in my car.'

'I reckon if we leave about six we'll be right. It takes me about ten minutes to get ready. How long does it take you?'

'Give me half an hour,' I said. I pulled out my phone and glanced at the time. 'We have an hour to kill.'

'Let's have a drink,' he suggested. 'Talk. We talk on the phone all the time, but not much in person.'

'Okay, sure.'

I sat on a large leather couch that featured two recliners, one at either end, as well as two separate matching recliner chairs. It was probably the most comfortable couch I'd sat on in my entire life. It was both supportive and soft, and cosy without being hot to sit on. Dean flicked on the air con and went to the fridge to get us both a drink.

The whole area - the man cave, the rumpus, the bar, whatever you wish to call it - stank of maleness. There were no feminine touches, no signs that a woman resided here, or had even visited for that matter.

Dean got us each a beer and took a seat next to me. He rolled himself a cigarette and asked if I minded if he smoked. I shook my head. His house, his rules. Besides, I was starting to associate the smell with him in a bizarrely positive way.

'How many hookers have you taken down here?' I asked.

He lit his cigarette. 'None.'

'Except for me,' I acknowledged.

'No, you're different.'

'Not really. Not when it comes down to it. I like you, but even if I didn't, I'd still be having sex with you, because you're paying me.'

'But you wouldn't be here tonight, and you wouldn't talk to me on the phone, and you wouldn't have orgasms,' he argued.

'Yes, but if you stopped paying me, I'd stop coming here,' I said in the gentlest tone I could manage.

'Because you need the money,' he argued.

'Exactly,' I said.

'What if you didn't need the money?'

'I'm not in any sort of position to be in a relationship so no, I wouldn't be coming around.'

'Are you seeing someone?'

'No, I'm not seeing anyone. I have a nightmare of an ex-husband.'

Dean stared at me long and hard. I tucked my legs up under my body and wished he'd talk about something else. I wanted to enjoy this while it lasted. He wanted to make it last.

'I'm sorry to hear that,' he eventually replied. 'You deserve better.'

'And you probably deserve better than me,' I replied. 'Why don't you date? I've met men with far less going for them who are far more successful with women. Get a Tinder account or something.'

'Women have standards, Rach.'

'What do you think is wrong with you?' I asked curiously.

Dean rolled his eyes, resentment clouding his face.

'What?' I prodded. 'You're employed, you have a house, you have a car - a car and a truck, if we're going to be precise, you're mostly not a slob and you're very thoughtful.'

Dean didn't respond to my question. Instead, he picked up one of my calves and put my foot in his lap. 'I'll give you a foot rub.'

I eyed him carefully. 'You're actually kind of cute,' I added. 'You have great arms.'

Dean chuckled. 'You're crazy, lady. Nuttier than squirrel shit. But I love it when you come around, so I suppose I must be just as fucked up as you.'

~~~~~~~~~

Dean didn't raise the topic of relationships or what might happen when I'd finished paying off Elise's braces again. We just chatted about work and the difficulties in finding a comfortable couch and how nice it was to be sitting under his house in the air con drinking beer.

We both agreed that it was difficult to get up, shower and get ready for a night out, but we both did what we needed anyway. As we got in the car, Dean pointed out that we needed to have a crash course in each other's lives if we were going to pretend we were actually a couple.

'I don't need to know where you work, but what do you do?' he asked.

'I'm an admin assistant,' I said, telling him the name of my employer. 'I'm thirty-four, I'm a Leo, my parents are together and I have a sister and two brothers.'

'Does everyone get along?'

'Yep. How about you? Any siblings?'

'My old man did a cum and run, so it was just me, my Mum and my grandparents,' Dean replied. We all lived together growing up, but I moved out when I was twenty-two, when I bought my house, and within a year the three of them were dead.'

'Your Mum's dead? Oh my God, I'm so sorry. She must've been young.'

'Early forties,' he agreed. 'She died of an aneurism, and within a year my grandparents were dead, too. Gran just didn't know how to cope without her daughter, and Pop couldn't cope without Gran.'

'Holy fuck.'

'Grim,' he agreed. 'I had a good childhood, though. Loved my Mum, loved the grandparents, and my only regret is that I spent a lot of time wishing my Dad was around. How about you? How was your childhood?'

'Perfect. So perfect and idyll that it never occurred to me to be suspicious of anyone. The problem is that there were problems, they were all just swept under the rug. Even now, my parents refuse to tell anyone the real reason my marriage broke down. They just say 'Rachael was too young'.'

'That'd piss me off,' Dean remarked. 'It kind of insinuates it's your fault.'

'It annoys me,' I agreed. 'What's the story with your father? He 'cum and...' oh, never mind. I understand. And he wasn't in your life?'

'Nope. He and his wife had split up when he slept with my Mum. My father went back to his wife, and a week after that Mum found out she was pregnant. Dad wanted Mum to have an abortion, she refused, and he swore if she had me, he'd never be a part of my life or pay for me.'

'Yikes. What did his wife say?'

'The same, only nastier, and directly to me. They had a kid after they got back together. He and I were in the same grade at school. We ended up in the same class in second grade and he invited everyone to his party except me.'

'They sound like complete cunts.'

He gave me a funny smile. 'They are,' he agreed. 'They really are. I went and saw my Dad when I was nineteen. Just went and bailed him up as he was leaving work one day and asked him if we could talk, because I'd tried countless other times just to, fuck, just to make some sense of everything, and he never gave me the time of day. He said 'what's there to talk about? You're the bastard child nobody wanted, and you're dumb as a box of rocks to boot. Get the fuck out of my face before I knock you into the next century'.

'So I take it he's not leaving you anything in his Will?'

'I'm going to say 'probably not',' he agreed. 'That's all in the past, though. I'm just telling you because you asked, and because you gave me an honest answer about your ex-husband.'

'What do you do on your birthday? Does anyone get you a cake?'

'I normally book a hooker a week in advance and she comes around on the night of my birthday.'

'Is that what you're doing this year? Or have you already had your birthday?'

'My birthday is in a month,' he said. 'As for what I'm doing, well, you see sweetheart, I know this beautiful woman who puts up with my obsession with her feet, and who pats my dogs, and although I know she'll ask me twenty questions and I know that everything that goes through her mind will be showing on her face, I was considering asking her to come out to dinner with me.'

'Everything that goes through my mind shows on my face?'

'Yep.'

I mulled that over. 'What day is your birthday?'

'This year it falls on a Tuesday.'

'I might not be able to swing that,' I admitted.

Dean shrugged. 'It was worth a try.'

'I'm sorry,' I replied quickly.

'It's okay. I probably shouldn't have asked.'

He held my hand as we walked up to the restaurant. Bistro, really, it was more of a bistro with a bar attached, so while it was nice enough, it wasn't anywhere you needed to worry about which fork to eat with or how much the bill was going to be. Dean had said he was paying, but I'd checked the prices online just in case that wasn't the case.

I was terrified, but only of people's reactions, not of going home with someone who might smack me across the face if he decided I'd eaten too much, or laughed at the wrong joke, or 'flirted' with someone, so it was a type of terror I could live with.

Dean's friends and their wives and children were mercifully all normal. Some were welcoming, some eyed me up suspiciously, and others just bided their time, waiting to see what I was like before making a decision.

Dean was good to me, very good to me, keeping a careful eye on me to ensure I wasn't bored or left out of conversation, but not interfering, either. It was one of those places were you go to the counter and pay for your meals individually, and one half of each couple took on the duty of standing in line to order.

Both Dean and I knew what we were eating; me, because I'd found the cheapest thing that would satisfy me, and Dean because I could tell from the font on the menu that he'd have trouble reading it. Someone commented that Dean and I picked quicker than anyone else, and my client and I exchanged knowing glances. We both knew why the other had chosen their meal ahead of time.

'We're efficient like that,' Dean replied.

Under the table, he rubbed my thigh, and when attention was diverted back away from us, he leant over and whispered in my ear that he wasn't expecting me to pay, and would I rather have a steak than a Caesar salad?

'Maybe,' I admitted.

He lips brushed against my cheek. It was the softest of kisses and incredibly romantic, but when he spoke it was to express a thoroughly 'Dean' sentiment. 'I'll get you the salad and chips to go with it. I'm not sharing my chips and I don't trust you not to try and sneak mine.'

I laughed and gently swatted him. 'I wouldn't do that.'

He smiled at me with shimmering blue eyes and his lovely, white, smile full of perfect teeth, and in that moment I realised two things; a) he'd only been joking and b) I loved him.

'Mash or chips?' he asked.

'Mash,' I replied. 'Thank-you. Steak medium rare.'

Dean kissed me on the forehead and stood up to go and order. I watched him walk over to the counter, staring at his departing figure with an odd mixture of love, lust and shock. Oh, I'd known I'd had some sort of feelings towards him, but I'd put it down to hormones. I'd been having sex with him, and I've never thought they called it making love for nothing. Sex has the power to make you believe all sorts of wonderful things exist, even when you're just being humped by a dickhead with a cock. But this... oh no. This was definitely something.

I picked up my handbag and walked to the bar. I figured I'd buy Dean and I a drink each. God knows I needed one.

When I asked for two beers, the bartender suggested I just buy a jug. I thought of Dean, and realised that her advice was pretty solid. I carried the jug and two glasses back to the table. Dean hadn't arrived back, so I poured a glass for him, a glass for myself, and tried to smile and nod at the right moments in conversation while I waited for him to return.