But a Big Dream Ch. 01

"That's right. So you have to go. Because otherwise you'll get attached, and I'll get attached, and then it's just a mess."

He obeyed. While he was pulling his shorts back on, still shell-shocked, he said, "I didn't hear that sound thing you were talking about."

"It doesn't always happen."

She lay there doing French inhales. There was a lingering urge to cover herself, but she hated that urge, since she could think of no good reason to be ashamed of any part of her body, so she remained exposed. Her cunt remained notably darker than the rest of her, like a ripe plum.

"Oh. I can't believe your boyfriend talks to you that way."

"Yeah, he's a dick. But I'm a bitch, so it works out."

"You're not, though. You're lovely."

"Casey, let's not pretend we know each other at all."

"Ok." He looked past her into the drizzling night. "Do women like being spoken to that way?"

"Everybody's different. But so far as there's a secret you're looking for when you're going hunting for trim, Art tells me he has his best luck when he acts like he's too dumb to remember all the things he's insecure about. I wish he were here: he could teach you a lot. Course he'd kick your ass first."

"'Trim?' And I thought you said he'd go after you, not me, if we... if we did what we just did?"

"I lied. See? I really am a bitch. Don't worry, he's an ocean away and he's not coming any closer. Plus he's a foot shorter than you. But he fights dirty. Part Irish. Gross red hair. Ugh."

"Doesn't he already know? When he called, you said that you were... that we were... you know."

She laughed, but not maliciously. "No, no, that's just how we joke. Anyway, you should get going. Have yourself a wonderful life, Casey. And remember, if your friends ask..."

"I struck out."

"Mighty Casey struck out, right. Just say I started crying about my boyfriend and you listened to me blab about feelings. Or whatever."

"Chi, I'll never forget this."

She nodded, because he was right, and they looked at each other for a long time. There was a mood in the room she couldn't identify. A wake for virginity lost, maybe. Something, somewhere, was obviously in pain, but who or what she couldn't guess.

It could've been him. He seemed sad, or at least pensive, and his entire face was contorting as if thinking very hard about what he wanted to say, as if trying to solve a mystery that should be easy, but just wasn't. But in the end, he exited without a word, carrying his box of condoms. The door locked conclusively behind him.

She considered cleaning up, but, despite the lack of orgasm, she still felt quite relaxed and unwilling to move. Eventually her blood cooled and she got chilly, so she burrowed under the covers and listened to the rain. Semen seeped out of her, still warm to the touch, and sure, there's something repulsive and downright icky about the whole thing, but that's a matter of framing: her little store of cum was also a memento of a connection with another human being, and the remnant of a pleasure with few competitors. And that's just on this level: microscopically, there was a thrilling chase sequence going on inside her right now. One that would be fruitless, but breakneck and death defying nonetheless. And of course, he had sort of claimed her with it, which meant he thought she was pretty, and, proper emotion or not, that was still hella cool.

"Do you want me to change the weather?" Zeus said, slipping under the cover beside her. He was dank with precipitation, wonderfully warm; his skin exuded a bucolic aroma.

"No," she said, laying her head against his chest. "No, it's quite lovely as is. Thank you."

"My handiwork. I don't suppose you want to go over the psychological motivations for and ramifications of your series of decisions today?

"Not necessary."

"Yeah, I guess it's all pretty obvious anyway. That kid had an impressive unit. Probably one of my many lost bastards. Time to do some Facebook stalking, see if I can find a picture of his moms. You checking out?"

"Mhmm. Sleepy."

"Yeah, you've had a big day, princess. Virgins, boyfriends, that redheaded number, The Leering Dutchman." His rocky fingers were absently petting her pubic hair. "Though here's a counterproposal: I finish you off and then we order room service. What say you?"

She rolled over. He had a faunish grin. She smiled back.

"Ok," she said, opening her legs.

He nuzzled her neck, then gnawed on her earlobe. "Gonna make you yip."

Promise made, promise kept.