Chloe and Cy Pt. 02

When she was 9, I'd taken her to the Kennedy Presidential Library. We'd spent the whole day there and left the gift shop with, among other things, a Coloring Book listing all the U.S. Presidents in order from Washington to Obama. We'd learned that naming them all in order helped her with her storm anxiety.

"Okay," I said, once she could manage words. "Start the list. George Washington."

She kept her eyes locked on mine. Starting the list.

Washington, Adams, Jefferson, Madison, Monroe, Quincy Adams, Jackson, Van Buren..."

He was the first president to be born an American Citizen. His first language was Dutch, and he was from Kinderhook, New York. His is the first official White House Photograph.

These were the thoughts I forced through my mind when my eyes dipped low, taking in her wonder woman briefs and the concert t-shirt. The hard-on that had withstood the cold water growled to life.

Grab her! Kiss her! Hold her!

I forced my eyes back up to hers. I was freezing, soaking wet, still covered in soap. Holding a 23-year-old woman with a body to both kill and die for by the wrists. And for the love of God, I did not need to get an erection right then.

"James Polk," she said at last without stammering. "You were in my room earlier?"

Shit.

"You took my-my joint?"

The pot. She used the pot for this. Farewell, weed prejudice!

"I'm sorry, kid. I think I sent it through the wash."

"Not helping. Zachary Taylor."

Damn, what could I do? Find some paper and roll her another one? Would any paper do? There was printer paper in her mom's home office downstairs.

"Fra-Franklin Pierce." Her eyes were growing wild again with fresh panic.

"It's okay, Baby. It's okay. Just let me grab a towel."

Her breath caught. For a second, I thought her airway was slamming shut, and I was about to be dealing with full-on shock.

I'm not sure what happened after that. She just lunged against me. She was tiny, but it took all my effort to keep my balance in the slick tub.

"Hold me, Cy."

I held her.

Chloe

He was wet and sudsy and smelled like a pine tree. I breathed him in. Suddenly the panic in my brain was replaced with something else.

Blah blah blah, Honey. By Lincoln, we're shagging him.

Do you know how guys always talk about their cock taking over in certain situations? Well, my brain was on lockdown with anxiety. And groping in the darkness of my panic, this little voice, the one that had been the tiny fire inside me since I was old enough to understand what sex was, took over.

Hi, Chloe. I'm your pussy. Yeah, I know, I've got a bad reputation...

His skin felt cold. As I nuzzled into his broad chest, I felt goose pimples all over him.

Suddenly, I was aware of music. "Only hope can keep me together. Love can mend your life, or love can break your heart...."

He'd been taking a cold shower. Cy had been taking a cold shower.

Did guys actually do that? Did they do it for the reasons they wrote about in a trashy novel?

He reached for his phone and shut off the tunes.

"I'm sorry," I managed. My breath was suddenly even. "I'm so so sorry, Cy."

"What for?" he asked.

God his voice was husky. His cold skin was already growing warm as I nuzzled him. The cold water running down his chest and abs were soaking through my shirt.

"For... before. I..."

My pussy growled. Less talk, more smelling his skin.

"I thought we agreed it never happened," he said soothingly.

My brain screamed. This is terrible. Stop. What are you thinking? He'll never see you as anything more than a kid. Abandon ship! Utter failure! Abort! Abort!

My pussy sighed. Then again...

"You agreed," I said. "I... Cy, mom's not working late, is she?"

I felt a breath escape him. It sounded like someone puncturing his lungs with a bayonet blade.

"No," he said.

I felt the words form in my mouth. And then, I simply said them. "Can I sleep with you tonight?"

Cy

Oh, murder! Things like this don't happen! At least, not outside the letters sections of trashy men's magazines.

Let her. She's so tiny and frightened.

No.

Chloe

I realized I'd been crying. I sniffled softly, taking in another breath of that damned piney scent on his skin. Why did he have to smell like Christmas!? Why the fuck did that turn me on so? It was all so wrong!

So so so so so so so bad.

"I'll keep my panties on," I said.

Cy

WHAT GOOD WILL THAT DO?

"Um, Kiddo. I really need a towel here."

She seemed to have gotten a handle on the panic attack. I grabbed a towel and tucked my hard-on down as best I could. My back was to her as I stepped out of the tub.

Chloe

I'll keep my panties on?!

What makes you think he would want to take them off?

The hail had stopped, and the din on the roof was once again just rain. Between the first 13 American Presidents and the smell of his soapy skin, I was calm.

Well, externally, I was calm. Did you see his ass? Move over, Aquaman!

Oh, damn. If Pfizer could produce the smell of Cy fresh out of the shower coupled with his rock-hard body, they could discontinue Xanax.

Shut up, Chloe! You've just spent three minutes struggling for oxygen. To him, you're still a kid.

He watched My Little Pony with you after school. He checked your math homework! What is wrong with you?

The towel went around him. Oddly, I hadn't noticed that his cock was out this whole time before he was covering himself up.

Damn, was he hard?!

But the shower had been cold. And he was putting it away.

Oh, thank God, Cy!

You were taking a cold shower. You were fighting it. You're in control! At least one of us should be, right?

Send me to my room again! Ground me until I'm 30! Tell me I'm a dumb, stupid kid controlled by her hormones, and you're disgusted by me.

Slam the door on me!

Please, Cy? Please!?

Cy

Ice skating. Trips to the Boston Zoo. Shopping for Parochial School Uniforms. Chaperoning her first Middle School dance.

The towel was on. I was tucking my hard-on between my legs, but the towel was on.

"Let's get you back to your room," I said.

I put my arm around her shoulders and paused to grab a candle off the bathroom counter.

She grabbed a few herself, sighing with what appeared to be relief.

Thank God, at least she could breathe normally.

We made it out of the bathroom, through the master bedroom, and down the hall. I helped her to bed, finding her old teddy bear already waiting to be snuggled in beside her.

"Stay," she pleaded.

It was like hearing the little kid speaking through a 23-year-old's face. It pulled at my heartstrings and also...

Stay, Cy. Just be her backup Teddy Bear. She can spoon up against you, and you can feel her little ass against your...

"I'm here," I said, reaching for the dusty ukulele.

I flicked the strings and adjusted them into tune before beginning to strum the old familiar song.

She hugged the covers but joined in with the harmony just like she had when she was small.

"Although (Although) we're apart, you're a part of my heart. But tonight, you belong to me."

A small flash of lightning flickered in the windows, and I quietly counted the seconds until I heard the low rumble of thunder five seconds later.

"The storm is passing," I said. "If it were a real nor'easter, I'd be at the station, wouldn't I?"

She smiled. "All bark and no bite?"

I nodded, putting the ukulele back on its stand. "Talked to three different weathermen about it, and they said to order a pizza, drink a few beers, and maybe keep a few candles at the ready."

I set Benjamin Bear next to her. "Just like when you were eight," I said.

"I'm not eight, though," she said. "Seriously, I don't know what it is about storms. You think I'll still be this way when I'm an old lady?"

"People have phobias," I shrugged.

"You don't seem to," she said. "Do you? Have one, I mean?"

"You'll laugh," I said. "It's stupid."

"No," she said. "Tell me. I'm curious."

I considered. "Okay then," I said, exhaling. "I hate guns."

Her eyes widened.

I nodded. "I know. I know. I carry one on my hip every day. But I hate them. I hate the feel of one in my hand, and I hate the sound of them. I hate what they can do to people."

"But you're a cop?"

"In 26 years," I said. "I've drawn my gun six times. And I've never had to fire it once outside the practice range. Even in the army. Hell, when you and your mom moved in with me, I had to see a department shrink about my anxiety."

"Anxiety? You?"

"Keeping my gun in the same house as a kid? I stayed up three days straight the first week you were living with me. My mind went through all the scenarios. What if I forgot to lock it up? What if you found it? What if you brought your friends home to show it to them like it was some sort of toy?"

I shuddered.

I ran my hand gently along her forearm. Smiling down at her. "You're okay?"

She nodded, and then, her brow furrowed. "No," she said.

"As I said, the storm is passing--"

Chloe

It wasn't about the storm.

"Cy," I said. "Since we both agree that I'm not eight years old anymore, I think I need to explain myself."

He looked away a moment and then back at me. "Listen, Chlo-worm--"

"Don't call me that." I kept my eyes leveled at him. "Not right now. I'm not Chlo-worm. I am Chloe Louise Rollins, and you are Leroy Cyrus Brown, and we are both adults over the age of 21."

"Listen, Kid--"

"And stop calling me, Kid! You want to know something, Cy. Three days after you barged into that summer party when I was 18 and scared Chuck Cavanaugh out of ever getting an erection again, I did him! I marched right into his dad's store and drug him to the back. I lost my virginity to the swim team captain atop six 20-by-100 foot rolls of the finest Berber carpet available at Cavanaugh's Carpet Emporium and Tile Store! That was my first time, Chief Brown. And I did it just to prove that you were not my father, and you were in no way in charge of my vagina. I defied the patriarchy! And you, you dumb flatfooted bumpkin police chief, were my patriarchy!"

He winced. "Wasn't it 'bumpkin-assed' when you were practicing earlier?"

I blinked. So he had been eavesdropping!

"It gets worse," I said, not losing my resolve. My steam was up, and my Irish temper was flaring. "I did him nine more times after that, three of them after he'd knocked up Joline. He was balls deep in me the night after he proposed to her senior year. The night he decided to drop out of junior college and go to work full-time for his dad."

He nodded. "Okay," he said. "Can I go now?"

"No," I said.

"Look, Kid--"

I glowered at him.

"Chloe," he corrected.

He seemed to pause, searching for words.

I didn't allow him the chance to find any.

"I disagree," I said.

"You disagree? With what?"

"Earlier," I said. "You said we're just supposed to pretend it didn't happen. Well, I disagree."

"Chloe," he began.

"I know, Cy! You're trying to think up some gentle way to tell me it's wrong. It's filthy and degenerate and scuzzy as all sin, and you hate me, and you're doing the right thing. It's... well, frankly, it's annoying as fuck-all to know you're right. I'm just a dumb kid with a crush who's going to hell in a handbasket because she can't get past the notion that the best place for your cock is firmly planted between her thighs, painting her insides. Goodnight!"

Cy

She flipped over with finality. It was a wonderfully brilliant and equally dirty speech.

I was proud of her.

Now, I wanted to peel back the sheets and tear off her skimpy Wonder Woman panties and wet t-shirt and give her every inch of my--

No.

I tugged the comforter down over her backside. She'd covered up so quickly that her blue-red-gold panty-clad little tush was exposed.

God...

It was a sick and wicked image that popped into my head, and I stood up, resolved to quash every dirty thought from my mind.

"I need to check the fuses," I said. I strode to her bedroom door and flipped the light switch in her bedroom to the "on" position.

"Call when the overhead blinks on?" I asked.

She grudgingly drew back her comforter and gave me a thumbs up.

I left the candles burning by her bedside, accepting what I took as a rather judgemental glare from Benjamin Bear, and went back to my room in search of pants.

I found a pair of pajama bottoms, my house slippers, and a flashlight. I went downstairs in the pitch blackness, and I found the door to the basement. I trekked down in search of the fuse box.

Now, a few notes about the house:

When Christine had found our "ideal love nest," she sold it to me as a "turn of the century Edwardian Gem. With a wrap-around porch, original wood floors, a grand fireplace, and a three-car garage with original copper roof and room for a vegetable patch."

This translates to "pre-world-war-two-era wiring, pipes that knock in the winter, and a cellar that Stephen King would probably describe as 'kinda creepy, to be honest.'"

I plugged a few Edison fuses into the box and flipped the mains.

"Anything?" I called.

"Eureka!" Chloe responded from two floors above.

I went up the cellar stairs and flipped the switch in the kitchen. The lights went on, and I clicked off my flashlight.

I went to the fridge.

"Six rolls of highest quality Berber carpeting," I muttered to myself. "She made that up to be extra hurtful."

Chloe

It was the remnant bin. I spent the following day in the shower learning that moldy 1970s orange shag carpeting had the same color and texture as my un-manicured pubes.

But Cy didn't need to know every detail.

When the lights came back on, I hollered down to Cy that everything was "jake" and then sprang from my bed to rip the bag of weed from my backpack.

I hadn't packed rolling papers. I hadn't anticipated needing more than the one joint to get me through the first night back home.

(I'm a one-puff before bed kind of girl. Like hot sauce on your eggs. Or butter on your popcorn.)

I took up my phone and scrolled my music list, finding the song I'd recognized from the shower.

The cute irony, a cop was listening to The Police.

I went to the nightstand and considered the three paperbacks.

I ripped the title page from the James Patterson novel. (I mean, screw the patriarchy, right?)

I rolled a spliff and lit it, picking my lighter up off the floor where I'd dropped it earlier.

Sucking in icky wood pulp, anxiety medication, and Alex Cross, I coughed.

Bleck. Note to buy reserve rolling papers.

I went to my desk chair, crossed my legs, and considered my reflection in the mirror on my closet door.

"Seems I'm not alone at being alone. Hundred billion castaways, looking for a home...."

I exhaled a thin stream of acrid purple kush. "James Buchanan," I said to my reflection.

Pussy: I like what you're thinking.

Cy

Girl scout cookies. Visits to the Orthodontist to close the gap in her teeth. What are you looking for in the fridge, Cy?

I plucked a bottle of water from the door and cracked the seal, chugging half of it as I let the fridge door shut.

The smell of her hair. The feel of her mouth.

I chugged the rest of the water and ditched the bottle in the recycling bin.

You recycle, Cy.

I needed a Camel.

You quit. You stopped when a kid started living with you.

I needed a shot of Beam.

You gave that up too, Cy.

I pried the fridge open and found the six-pack of light beer. Only one bottle was gone so far.

I twisted the top off a second and downed it in less than three gulps.

I'm a cop, and I lock guys up for doing things to their daughters. Guys who even think of doing something like that to their kids are scum.

You're scum.

I pried another bottle from the fridge and twisted off the top.

I'm scum.

She's your step-daughter, Cy.

Chloe

I took a second hit from the joint, coughing.

What was he doing down there? Should I go and check?

Take off your panties and t-shirt this time.

I licked my fingers and put out the joint. I shut off the police just as Sting started singing about "the old man in that book by Nabokov."

I'm going to check. Shirt and panties still intact, thank you.

I caught myself humming: "You know how bad girls get... hmm...hmm, it's not so easy... to be the teacher's pet."

11.

Cy

I dumped the third beer down the spout without taking a swig.

Best not to make things worse by blurring your judgment.

The two dishes from our pizza dinner were still in the sink, so I grabbed a sponge and ran hot water from the sink.

I heard bare feet on the kitchen tile.

"Everything alright?"

Why was her voice like a knife?

"Fine," I said, not turning, working on the dishes.

"Oh," She said. "O-kay then..."

I shut off the water.

The words came out without my remembering having formed them in my mind.

"If I turn around and you're still there, standing in the doorway, looking the way you do and being..." I sighed. "Chloe, you're gorgeous, and you look so grown up, but you're still a kid. Or not so long ago, you were one."

I heard the sound of her breathing quietly, and I continued. "Frankly, I hope to turn around and find you gone. Upstairs, cuddled like the little angel I knew snuggling with your teddy bear and dreaming, oh, about anything. Anything other than sex."

Chloe

I watched him shake the water droplets from the two plates and carefully place them in the dishwasher. The muscles in his back rippled even with that simple motion.

I felt my fingers find the hem of my t-shirt, and I flung it asunder and watched it land on the breadbasket next to the four-slot toaster. I charged towards him, turning him to face me, pulling his face down into the hungriest kiss of my life.

I planted my bare feet on the tile of the kitchen, but still, he pushed me back, himself swallowing hard as if he suddenly had cottonmouth.

"Goddamn it, just--" He closed the dishwasher and started the cycle, eyes full of something dark.

Don't be angry. Don't yell at me again.

I've never gone skydiving, and I've never been bungee jumping. But I felt a breath catch at the back of my throat as Cy, shirtless in a pair of gray flannel pajama bottoms slowly, leaned against the counter, catching his anger.

His brow smoothed, and he crossed his arms, shaking his head as he fought a smile.

"You kiss like they're making it illegal at midnight," he said.

"I've imagined it so many times," I began.

"Like that?" He asked.

I shook my head. "No. I always imagined you kiss me. Not me..." I shook my head. "What's wrong with me?"

He pointed to the kitchen table. "Take a few steps back."

"No," I begged. "Don't push me away. I want this. And you're fighting it, but I think you want this too."

"I'm just asking us to take a breath here," he said. "Let me wrap my head around what I'm about to let happen."

"Let happen? You're not in charge of me," I said.

He leaned against the sink.

"No," he said. "But, lariat of truth? If there are four feet between us, I can breathe, and I just want to breathe a bit longer."

He shook his head.

The flame in my belly went from low heat to high. Oh, how could mom step out on this level of man-tastic?

Pussy: "That, and he referenced Wonder Woman, you got significant nerd jellies.

I took a step towards him. Then a thought crossed my mind.

Lariat of truth.

"What if we trick ourselves, Okay? Like playing a game?"

"Game?"

"Tell me the truth. What if we were in a bar?" I said. "You see me, and I see you. We don't know each other, and we just met. What's your pick-up line?"

He looked me up and down. His gaze was already like hot coals against my skin.

"Nice shoes," he said.

I scowled. "I'm not wearing shoes."

"Well," he smirked, "In a bar, I assumed you would be. Few women show up in bars wearing nothing but panties and perfume without someone calling the cops."