Toxic

This is submitted as part of the amazing Pink Orchid 2022 for Women-Centric Erotica Challenge. I know that some readers may find it challenging, but I encourage you to read with an open mind and perhaps reflect on the trees you are planting today.

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Although I yearned for silence, noises were all around me. Soon, the sound of Nadia's car tyres traversing the gravel track back towards the main road were but a memory, but insects, frogs and birds all worked at creating a cacophony that was far from the quietness I had expected.

It had been a strange day, landing in a rural city I had only visited as a speaker over a year before and meeting Nadia again, a distant colleague, I suppose, who was excited I had chosen to retreat up here, trying to pen my first book. In my mind, I knew I was running away, but at least I was able to tell family and friends that I was heading north to work on my manuscript, glad that the university had given me at least a six-month sabbatical.

Of all the places I could have escaped to, I had chosen here, a shack on a sugar cane farm, where not only did I know no one, but no one really knew me. Some would say they knew of the feminist academic who appeared from time to time in both mainstream and alternate media, arguing the plight of the modern woman, despite the advances the so-called women's movement had made since before my mother was my age, but I doubted they would recognise me in the street and hurl insults my way.

I found it strange how men who claimed I was the problem, and no one would ever want to fuck a feminist like me, still sought me out in the street and believed that I would actually like to experience their penis anywhere near my body with attitudes like theirs.

Pitching the notion that although men and women are fundamentally different, until men can let go of the patriarchal structures that lead to a society that still sees women as less than in many cases had been a no brainer to the publisher who had heard me talk at a seminar and read many of my columns. What surprised me, though, was the idea that men still needed to be reminded that they were responsible for their actions, and the way they related to others was more about them than about alleged provocation.

Friends had offered me cottages and beach shacks down south where I would be within driving distance to home, but I had chosen to come here, away from my comfort zone and away from well-meaning friends who I believed needed a break from my woes.

As I unpacked my case and hung clothes in the wardrobe, I was grateful for this space. It was perfect. An open-spaced shack with a kitchenette and bathroom. Views to the hills at the front, the path to the creek at the back, and cane fields to either side.

I was setting up my laptop, having moved the desk to sit beneath the window that afforded views of the hills, when I heard the sound of tyres again, this time, getting louder as they approached before they slowly stopped, the sound of the slam of car doors almost muffled by the voice of the girl I had met an hour or so before.

"She's really beautiful, Dad, and she said I can call her Gigi, and she's got purple hair, and—"

"That's enough, Lou; what have I said about describing people by their looks?"

I had contemplated opening the door and waiting for them, but I did not really know what to expect or what was expected of me, so I waited for the knock.

"Ms Golding? Hi, I'm Ben Burrows, I think you've met Lou earlier?"

"Gerry or Gigi is fine," I did not correct his titling of me, the same way I had not corrected his father when I arrived. Calling me Doctor seemed to be a little officious, anyway. "Nice to meet you, Ben, and yes, I have met Lou and Snowdrop before."

Snowdrop sat at Lou's feet, a strange name for a blue heeler cattle dog, but I was sure Lou would want to share more about her as my stay lengthened.

"Um, Dad said you should come and join us for dinner, seeing I haven't got your car ready yet. Sorry again, but I forgot it needed new tyres. Here, um, some groceries, just bread and milk and some homemade jam, eggs, bacon, fruit and granola, really."

"Thanks, but as I explained to Mr Burrows, my colleague and her husband are going to collect me for dinner tonight. Perhaps some other time? Thanks for the groceries; it's not necessary, but appreciated."

"What about tomorrow, Daddy?" Lou looked from her father to me, "Daddy's a real good cooker."

"Look, can I play it by ear? I don't mean to be antisocial, but I'm trying to sort of, well, get away from people and just write."

"Totally understand. If you need anything, you've got the number for the main house. Dad's usually around. I work during the week and Lou's at school, but it's no trouble to get anything you need. It's the first time we've let out the studio and I hope it's ok. There's towels and soap and stuff in the bathroom and well, I hope you'll be comfortable. C'mon Pet, Gigi needs to get working and Melanie will be here soon."

I thanked Ben and farewelled him and his daughter. I figured Lou was nine or ten, but I had never been one to correctly guess the age of children. Being an only child, I had no nieces or nephews to gauge these things by.

Leaving school, I had no real idea what I wanted to do with my life. I enrolled in an Arts-Law degree at university and ended up dropping the law component after a semester having discovered the gender studies faculty. It was like finding a family or a home. I excelled in my undergraduate degree, received first-class honours and numerous scholarships to write my PhD, focussing on the role of men in gaining greater gender parity.

At uni, I had several relationships and spent a great deal of time exploring my sexuality with both men and women. Despite a six-month relationship with Dawn, another gender studies student, I had come to the conclusion that I really preferred cock. It didn't hurt that I met Troy, and it was lust at first sight. I was in the final year of my doctorate, and I ignored all the red flags, all the warning signs that showed me what Troy was truly like. The sex was so good that it was easy to ignore the little things—him rarely staying the night, me seldom going to his home, and when I did, him living alone in a four-bedroom house.

After two months together, I discovered I was pregnant. A condom had broken, so it was not totally a surprise. Troy pretended to be excited, but I told him from the start that it was the wrong time for me to become a mother. With my head held high, I walked through the protesters outside the abortion clinic as I arrived to end my pregnancy. I had always advocated for a woman's right to choose, and this was my choice. Troy supported me but was unable to come to the appointment because of a meeting he told me he just couldn't get out of.

Troy split his time as a lawyer and academic. It didn't worry me that he was 12 years older than me. He told me he'd been married once, but it hadn't worked out. I tutored part-time when finishing my PhD and was offered a lecturing position upon its completion. I had a good group of friends and loved that Troy gave me space to catch up with them—it wasn't uncommon for me to meet up with some for brunch on Saturday, another group for an early dinner, and then even more at a club or gallery. Sundays weren't much different.

Occasionally, I'd invite Troy along, but he would encourage me to catch up with my social circle. We never really did anything as a couple except have amazing, mind-blowing sex. He knew exactly where to put his tongue or his fingers, or his cock to bring me to the most earth-shattering orgasms. He taught me how to pleasure him. Perhaps it was that we only saw each other two or three times per week that made the sex even better. Occasionally we'd get away for a weekend, but every time we tried to plan a fortnight in Bali or Tokyo, something popped up.

"You go," he'd say, "Have a fling, and tell me all about it when you get back."

So, I did. But the flings were nothing on sex with Troy.

"What about you?" I'd ask as I stroked his chest hair on my return, "Did you have a fling when I was gone?"

He was always vague, telling me he almost did, but he realised it would never be what we had together, so he didn't bother. I lapped it all up thinking I had the best of everything and such an amazing partner.

Troy and I had been together for more than three years, always relying on condoms, when the next one broke and again I found myself pregnant. This was different to before, however and I thought that perhaps it was a sign for the two of us.

"Darling, what if we move in together? We could find a place for the two of us close to the uni and your chambers and become a family?"

"I tried marriage once, and it's really not for me, Gerry."

"I'm not suggesting marriage at all! Just I think I want to keep the baby and be a mother. I mean, it could be as open as we wanted; I'm not suggesting monogamy or anything."

We'd talked about our expectations from our relationship, and monogamy had never been an issue for either of us. Looking back, I wonder at how much of a relationship we really had.

"You're still young, Babe; there's so much time..."

And Troy would seduce me again. He hinted I should terminate over and over again, that I should think about my career and perhaps revisit kids in a couple of years. I made an appointment at the same clinic as before and told Troy when the appointment was. It was of no surprise to receive a text the morning I was scheduled for the termination saying something had come up and he couldn't join me.

Anger overcame me. If he couldn't be bothered going to the clinic, then I couldn't either. It caused a huge argument that evening when he called in with flowers for me to see how I was doing. We fought, and it resulted in me telling him I would do it on my own.

I was pregnant when I flew up here last time to speak at the International Women's Day luncheon. Troy had not spoken to me for a few weeks, but I still thought he'd come around. We texted from my hotel room, and he told me how much he missed me and missed being with me and in me. I told him again I was keeping the baby, and he agreed to meet me for coffee when I returned home.

"I don't know how it's going to work, Babe, I mean, I really don't like kids, and I never thought of raising one or anything." He told me as we snuggled after an amazing hour of sex.

"I want to feed him or her, so it would be a long time before we'd be looking at nights alone without me. I understand you don't want to live with us, and that's fine, but I think you'd like being part of their life."

Troy actually came with me for the ultrasound that changed my life. Our baby showed abnormalities. He had a deformed skull and only part of a brain. The doctor explained that the condition was not compatible with life. I had gone in 19 weeks pregnant, expecting to see my baby rolling on the screen but instead could tell where things were wrong. The doctor gave us three options: a termination that week where it would be classed as a miscarriage, a termination the following week where the baby was post 20 weeks, and it would be seen as a stillbirth, complete with a birth certificate and a funeral, or we could wait until I went into labour naturally, knowing that the baby would either be born dead or die soon after birth.

I was numb. The doctor told us that most parents choose the second option, as they found grieving less challenging with a funeral. He said some chose to deliver at term, but that added complications for me and the possibility that I would be unable to deliver further children. The doctor suggested we talk about it with our families overnight, and she would call us the following morning.

Troy had always told me he was also an only child, and his parents died when he was in law school. I had never set out to introduce him to my parents.

What shocked me most was Troy's reaction when we reached his car. He told me the only satisfactory option was the first one, and if I chose either of the other two, he would not be there for me. He knew I would have to deliver the baby regardless of any of the options, and I could not understand his insistence on the first option.

"Well, I suppose that's it then," I told him as he dropped me at my flat, "Do you want me to text you when he's born?"

"Um, yeah, whatever." And he kissed me on the cheek as I undid my seatbelt and climbed out of his car.

I had told my parents I was pregnant, and they were, well, as excited as they could pretend to be. The friends I had confided in were thrilled and had assured me I'd be a great mother. After the scan, I rang my mother in tears, explaining the situation and that the baby's father had decided he did not want anything to do with us. Mum offered her usual platitudes.

Krissy, my best friend, was with me when Michael Troy Golding was born. He was not moving. His arms and legs were perfect, and prints were taken. I could hold him, and we took photos. I texted Troy and offered for him to come and visit, but I heard nothing. A photographer managed to capture some stunning photos that hid the deformity and showed images of the boy I had carried for too short of a time.

We held a memorial service. Troy knew it was on but did not show. I had his address, so I mailed a copy of the hand and footprints and a photo to his address and told him it was just in case he needed them to help his grief.

I had planned to take six months off work and write a book whilst caring for a newborn and had been in preliminary talks with a publisher when Michael was born. I took a month off work, headed back for eight, and then found myself up here, running away as I tried to not only piece my life back together but also get over Troy's lies and deceit.

Never having believed in serendipity, I had to put it to chance when the beautifully presented woman who was at least eight months pregnant was waiting for me when I returned home from catching up with Krissy for a coffee.

"Gerry?" she asked tentatively as I checked my mail.

"Can I help you?"

"I just want to talk about this...," and she held out the envelope containing the material I had sent Troy, "I was wondering how you know Troy?"

"Perhaps you should come inside." I couldn't help but start laughing when all the pieces suddenly fit together.

Troy was unable to be at the birth or funeral of his son as there was no way he could get away from his pregnant wife or other two children at such short notice without raising suspicion. Natalie was also a lawyer and had wondered at times if Troy was having an affair. We talked for ages, so long that she needed to text Troy to ask him to collect their girls from childcare.

I thought what we had was perfect for us. I had space, and we had agreed on ground rules. He loved hearing of my flings but never told me of any of his own, telling me I was all he needed. Except it was all a lie.

"I'm so sorry. I honestly didn't know, or if I even suspected, I chose not to read the signs."

"Honey, it's not your fault, it's Troy's. He knew what he was doing. Can I just ask, how long?"

"Three and a half, almost four years. I was working on my PhD when I bumped into him at the uni."

"So just after Primrose was born then. I, um, I fished the envelope out of the rubbish at home. I'm sorry, but why Michael Troy?"

"Troy told me about his parents and how he was an only child, and he didn't want children because he didn't know if he could be as good a father as his father who was called Michael, and we had agreed that if it was a boy, we would call him Michael. If it was a girl, she would have been called Susan after his mother."

"Michael and Susan are still alive, Gerry, as are his two older brothers and younger sister. It's just that we'd talked about naming this boy, Michael." And Natalie rubbed her stomach.

It was all surreal. All the education and degrees under the sun, and I felt like an idiot.

"How can I help you? I'm so sorry, but I honestly had no idea."

"Leave it with me. I want to get my lawyers onto it, but perhaps dinner this week and we can confront the bastard together?"

We agreed to confront him at my place away from their girls. Poor Troy didn't see it coming.

"I think you know a friend of mine, Natalie?" I spoke as Troy had started running his hands under my shirt, trying to remove it as I opened the front door to him. He'd been so excited when I'd made contact and suggested we catch up for dinner, knowing we hardly ever had dinner together.

He did not know where to look or what to say.

Sitting on the veranda of the studio amongst the cane field, sipping a mug of tea, I reflected on that evening. I still wasn't sure if it was the right thing to do, but I made it clear to Troy that he was no longer part of my life and only part of Natalie's as they shared children. Natalie had torn through Troy at his treatment of me when I needed him, however, I had torn through him when I questioned why he was on the sniff when he had a newborn at home and that in my eyes, he was exactly the type of man I had researched and was now about to write about.

He tried to claim that I was never faithful, despite my arguments about our ground rules, rules that he had suggested.

Krissy had suggested I put the book on hold, but I knew I needed to write it. It was not about Troy but was about men like him that showed little regard for women. She did agree, however, with my idea to hibernate for six months in a faraway place where I knew hardly anyone.

I had searched for short-term leases in the area and found nothing; however, I saw the advertisement for the studio on social media, enquired, and found myself here. The bonus was that there was a car supplied should I need it. I told Mr Burrows on the phone that I needed to get away to somewhere peaceful to write a book for at least six months, and he had readily agreed to host me. That younger generations of Burrows's also lived on the property surprised me once I arrived as their presence had not been mentioned previously.

Dinner with Nadia and her husband, Tom, was pleasant; however, I had to stress that I was here to write a book and did not need to be introduced to lots of people in the town. Nadia and Tom are probably closer in age to my parents than to me. Nadia lectures at the local university and was heavily involved in the local feminist organisations, telling me over dinner how there was a group of people organising a 'Reclaim the Night' parade in a few months' time.

Sitting on the deck the following morning with a fresh mug of tea and my laptop, I thought about Nadia's request to help with the parade. I had helped with such parades around the university where I worked and told her I would give a couple of hours per week assistance, but I really needed to write my book. I flicked her an email before closing my laptop, deciding I would look around outside.

I grabbed my hat. I could hear the creek that flowed nearby, and there was a path next to the cottage that led to it.

Idyllic was the first word that came to mind when I found my way down there. The other side of the creek was a beautiful forested area, and I wondered if there were any local paths I could find or even create for myself.

After Michael's death, I'd had some counselling. It had helped me see that it was not my fault that he had died or that Natalie and Troy's marriage had ended. It had also helped me see that I could not focus the book on Troy or use it to hate all men. We talked about concepts of love and relationships. I knew I was never in love with Troy, but more in lust. We explored my past relationships too and how I had often run rather than open myself up to someone else. It gave me food for thought, at least.