Cosmic Retribution: A Sissy's Story Pt. 02

By McCall Butterick

Selling my car was an act of financial desperation: It made me enough cash to repay my girlfriend, Abby, and my past due student loan as I scrambled to find a solution to my ongoing money problems. But at the same time, of course, it left me without transportation - now I'd have to take the bus to work most days, and rely on Abby for rides at other times. It made getting a second job would now be a lot harder.

What's more, abruptly putting my Hyundai up for sale to pay my bills meant I could no longer hide from Abby the desperate state of my finances. It was now obvious to her that, despite all my assurances when I moved in, I could not actually afford to pay my fair share of the rent. I was in over my head. Another disappointment. Another link in the chain.

Abby remained somewhat supportive of me, accepting that I was doing my best to get on my feet and agreeing that the car breaking down probably wasn't my fault - if I had been keeping it properly maintained, of course.

But the dynamic of our relationship was shifting. Abby sat me down at the kitchen table the night I sold my car and asked about my plans going forward. How would I make more money, especially without a car? Had I applied for any new jobs lately? When could I expect to start supporting myself with writing? I had no good answers.

"Eric," she said, looking me right in the eye across the table. "Do you have enough money to pay rent this month?"

"Oh, God, of course!" I said immediately, although in all honesty that was by no means a certainty. Paying my half of the rent still depended on scoring extra shifts at the coffee shop, despite having annoyed my manager, Renee. Or making extra money some other way, which had so far failed. And even then I could still be torpedoed by unplanned expenses. Already I had to buy a bus pass and realized I might need to take an Uber home from work some nights, when I worked late and the buses had stopped running.

As these thoughts went through my head I lowered my gaze to the red and white checkered tablecloth, unable to make eye contact with Abby. She had begun to intimidate me a little.

Even before my financial crisis Abby had asserted herself further as the head of our little household, and she was now slowly cementing her place as dominant partner. In the first few weeks after I'd moved in she might have been willing to overlook my poor housekeeping skills, inability to cook and general laziness. Now she was now quick to admonish me for leaving clothes on the bedroom floor, dirty dishes in the sink, the toilet seat up. She began assigning me cleaning chores: The bathroom, the kitchen.

"Eric," she might say, her tone sharp. "There's no time for you to be playing video games when there's housework to be done. Put it away now."

This new attitude extended to the bedroom. As the older, more experienced partner between us, Abby had always sort of guided me in our lovemaking. Now she was firmly in charge.

I could still try to initiate things, and was always very eager to do so, but she didn't hesitate to turn me down if she wasn't in the mood. If I was allowed s*x, it was increasingly directed toward her pleasure. She didn't pay much attention to my undersized p*nis and, though she didn't directly say so, I began to suspect that she found my little tool inadequate for the task. She seemed to prefer that I service her with my mouth and I worried that she was losing interest in our sex life entirely.

By this time we had started spending more time with our neighbor Anders, a big, affable guy in his mid-thirties who lived in a large, one-bedroom apartment just a few doors down and would often pop by after work for a quick drink or two.

Anders was good-looking and charismatic, with a slight accent from his childhood somewhere in Europe, I think. He ran his own business, something to do with construction, and was generous with money, often bringing us a six-pack of beer or bottle of whiskey when he came knocking at our door. Soon he took to hosting us at his place, which had a wooden deck out back where we could sit in the evenings.

If Abby had turned just a little colder toward me, Anders was always warm. Because I'm useless as a handyman and had no tools of my own he was happy to help out around our apartment, cheerfully fixing or replacing things that were broken, once buying us a new toaster when our old one flamed out.

Because Abby and Anders both worked during the day, sometimes I'd come home after an evening shift to find the two of them having a drink together in our apartment. A couple times I found them at his place, having drinks out on the deck.

"Come on and join us, Eric! Have a drink!" Anders would say cheerfully, raising his glass,both of them already looking a little toasty.

I have to admit that this made me a little uncomfortable. Anders took a subtle but still obvious interest in Abby, not openly flirting but sometimes jokingly pushing at the boundaries. He was my friend too, and I was confident that Abby would never cheat on me, certainly not with him, and yet...

And yet, let's face it: Anders surpassed me as a man on nearly every level: He was older, bigger, stronger, tougher. Wealthier, more accomplished. He worked outdoors, in the sun, with his hands and power tools. He could handle himself in any situation. He was an outdoorsman. He drove old American muscle cars and knew how to fix them. Had a real beard. He certainly never struggled to pay his rent.

I carefully broached the subject with Abby one night as we lay in bed after a night out on his deck, trying not to sound jealous or make accusations. Did she notice the extra attention Anders gave her? Did she think it was ... appropriate?

"What are you getting at, Eric?" she shot back, irritated. "Are you really jealous of Anders? You think I'm gonna sleep with him?"

"No, of course not!" I said, quickly backing down. "I didn't mean to imply that at all!

I told her that I just wondered if ... well, if it was such a good idea for her to drink alone with him, in his apartment. A man, a woman. When I wasn't there. I mean, who knew what could happen?

"Stop, that's ridiculous," Abby said. "I can handle myself with men, thank you. Anyway what do you expect me to do? Am I supposed to sit home by myself while you're off making frappuccinos? You can't even afford to take me out at night."

That stung. I dropped the subject and lay quietly in bed until we both fell asleep.

She was right, I couldn't afford to take her out at night, and my financial problems were only mounting. Despite a budget that left no room for extra expenses, I had to buy new shoes for work, when Renee noticed that my old ones were falling apart. I had to Uber to the coffee shop and back a few times, when I missed my bus or it was late. My cousin got married on the East Coast and I had to send a nice gift, since I couldn't afford to attend the wedding. Collection agents kept calling about a medical bill I'd been avoiding for months, until I finally gave in and paid up.

I finally convinced an editor of the local music website to let me write about an upcoming concert by a small indie band that I liked, but I wouldn't get paid until after the article ran, the next month. In the meantime I had to buy Abby and I tickets for the show and ask Renee for the night off.

I was still looking for a second job that I could get to by bus, and that would fit around my hours at the coffee shop, but as the first of the month drew closer I could already see that once again I was going to be a few hundred dollars short of making rent. The stress was getting to me. I couldn't sleep at night. I was eating less to save money, losing weight.

I took a couple pairs of jeans and some other clothes down to the hipster thrift store but they only paid me $7 for it all, not even enough to cover the Uber rides there and back. I listed my old nightstand from home on Craigslist for $15 but got no offers. Time was running out.

I didn't dare ask Abby for another loan, or even tell her that I was in the hole again, but who else could I hit up for money? My Mom was broke too, she was selling our house to downsize now that I had moved out. And we hadn't been getting along. But I called her anyway, practically begging, and she reluctantly agreed to loan me $150, if I promised to pay it back soon.

But now it was the day before rent was due, and I was still short almost $200. On top of that, Abby, still not aware of the problem, texted from work to say she would be getting home late and would I please pick up food to make for dinner and a bottle of wine. More money I had to spend. What now?

I paced the floor of the apartment. There was nothing left to sell and no-one else to ask for a loan. I had an older half-sister but we weren't close, she was married and living in New York. I couldn't imagine asking any of my friends, I had barely seen them since graduation. My co-workers at the coffee shop were mostly broke college students struggling to pay their own rent.

Out of ideas, I decided to go to the grocery store, as Abby had asked. I had some half-baked ideas in my head. I'd heard once that you could write a check to the supermarket and they would give you cash back. Could that work? The check would bounce, but only after I'd paid rent, I could deal with the fallout later. Or maybe I could ask Renee for an advance on my paycheck. I was pretty sure the coffee shop didn't do that kind of thing but could I talk her into it? Maybe claim an emergency of some kind, a death in the family?

Leaving the apartment, locking my front door behind me, I ran into Anders. He must have seen the tension on my face, in my body language.

"Hey, Eric!" he said, greeting me with a big smile and that slightly mysterious accent. "What's up, man? You okay? Where's Abby?"

Anders was absolutely the last guy I wanted to tell about my money trouble. And I was frantic, needed to go, I couldn't stick around for a casual chat over a beer with the neighbor. So I blurted out vague half-truth, that I had somehow "fucked up" and ended up a little short of rent money. I said I was "on my way to sort it out," - as if it were that simple.

But getting past Anders wasn't that easy. His big work boots remained planted on the floor of the hallway. He was concerned now. Couldn't I talk to the landlady? Surely she'd cut me some slack. Maybe Abby wouldn't mind covering for me for a few days.

I started to spin out another story, anything to end the conversation. I said he was right, that the landlady would let me pay late. It was gonna be fine, I said, trying to sound natural. But he cut me off, holding up his big right hand.

"Wait," he said, reaching for his wallet. "How much do you need?"

Now it was me who stopped in my tracks, in my flip-flops. What was going on? Could Anders really have enough money in his back pocket to solve my rent problem just like that? Could I accept a loan from this guy? What would Abby think? Would I have to tell her? I looked from his face to his hand, which had pulled several hundred-dollar bills out of the wallet and was extending them to me.

"Wow, Anders," I said. "Man, that's really nice of you but..."

But ... what? Even as I protested I knew that I couldn't turn down his money. It was really the only hope I had left to pay the rent, to avoid the ruinous shame of telling Abby that I was broke again, asking her for another loan. That conversation that could end our relationship. It could very well cost me the woman I loved, forever.

"Look, don't worry about it, Abby doesn't even have to know," Anders said with a wink, almost as if he could read my mind. "I'm sure you'll repay me somehow."

To be continued ...