5PM (11 page)

As I get out of the car, I wave at her as she heads off down the road. It’s late afternoon, and I’ve hardly eaten a thing all day, so I decide to order pizza. By the telephone is a photo of Talissa and me—the realisation I’ve once again had sex with someone who isn’t my wife hits me. Calling her mobile phone, my call goes straight to voicemail. I leave a short message saying I miss her and love her, and to please come home.

Three days in a row I’ve been inside vaginas I shouldn’t have been in, but at the same time, I can’t help thinking how much fun it’s been—three different women with different bodies, but all of them unique and beautiful in their own way. Even in my prime, I didn’t have such luck in the space of three days.

I have enough time to shower quickly and put my own clothes on before the pizza arrives. Washing the large meal down with a couple of beers, I’m bored and not in the mood for TV. I decide on a little time in the chat room might be the cure for my boredom Why I’m doing this I don’t know. I had one of the best sex sessions ever, which I’m ashamed to have to admit to given my twelve-year relationship with Talissa—ten of those as husband and wife.

The piece of paper left by the babysitter is on the desk, and I decide to try her again. It takes a minute, but she accepts.

“Wow, Mr Terry. Your avatar looks great,”
she types.

“Thanks. So can I ask why you left your chat username? How did you even know I use it?”

“Your son went into the study and turned the computer on. He didn’t do anything on it, but when I saw what he did, I thought I had better turn it off. That’s when I saw the computer’s desktop, and there was 3DDreamChat.”

Damn, I need to make the computer settings changed to password protected.
“Okay,”
I type, struggling to work out how to make conversation with an eighteen-year-old without sounding like a pervert. I mean, what on earth do I have in common with her?

“So, yeah, anyway. I guess I wanted to chat with you because I haven’t had a father figure in my life for years. When I was nine, my mother found my father in the shed, a length of rope around his neck. Apparently, it was easier to support his family with a life insurance policy payout than to struggle week to week. Stupid man didn’t even realise the policy didn’t pay out in the case of suicide.”

Oh, shit. Why is she telling me this?
“So sorry to hear that.”

“Anyway, I don’t care too much for chatting on here. All the guys just wanna fuck everything which looks female. You want to hang out tomorrow? I need some fatherly like advice. I need to make some big changes in my life, and I need a second opinion.”

Oh, geez. Surely, I’m safe from temptation with her. She wouldn’t try to hit on someone twice her age, right? Her avatar is dressed in red and has long black curly hair, unlike her real life hair. I think for a few more seconds.
“Sure, where do you want to meet?”
I ask.

“Your house. I’ll be around in the morning.”

“I’ll cook some brunch then. Do you like bacon and eggs?”

“Who doesn’t? I’m not one of those new-age vegan hippy types.”

I chuckle out loud. But what have I got myself into? I see BluesGirl88 invite me in for a chat. She always seems to appear online when I’m talking to someone else. I accept and as her infamous mansion scene renders, I type,
“I want to bring a friend here, too.”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort, Terry. This is my fucking mansion and I decide who comes here. Is it that slut from yesterday? Or is it DancerGirl or whatever his or her name is?”
BluesGirl88 asks.

“Her name is babygirlblonde, and I know her in real life. She babysits my kids.”

“Screwing the babysitter? That’s a little cliché even for you, isn’t it?”

“You know nothing about me. All you ever want to do is screw or fight, and you know damn well DancerGirl can’t come and chat,”
I type. I think about earlier today, and how Hannah and I thought she was on her way to the barn to confront either me or the chat user she knew as Erika19.

“What happened to DancerGirl?”
Bluesgirl88 asks.

“Terry, what are you doing?”
the babysitter types in the chat window she shares with me.

“Sorry, there’s some pretty serious shit going down. Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow then,”
I type to her.

She disappears, and I hope I haven’t upset her. I turn my attention back to this psychotic blonde.
“You killed DancerGirl. You chopped off his head.”

“In the chat I did, so what? You can’t actually kill an avatar, you silly prick. Like you say, if you’re not…”

“Enough!”
I yell out as I type it.
“Why should I bother talking to you?”

“Because you can’t give me up no matter what you tell yourself. I’m like the drug you inject into your hungry vein, and I take over your whole body and have you under my control. You hate me, you love me, you need me, but you can’t have me. Why do I treat you like I do? Because I can, no other reason. I’m scared, Terry. Inside, I’m just a scared little girl who needs to be loved, owned, and worshipped. No one has come back to me over and over like you have, Terry.”

Oh, my goodness. She’s never shown a vulnerable side before. I can’t kick her when she’s down. I need to lift her up.
“It’s true I do need you, and I don’t know why, BluesGirl. You scare me sometimes. Other times you excite me… and then you infuriate me. I wish I could hold you and make you feel safe and have you look at me like nothing can hurt you. Let me save you from yourself.”

“Terry, I wish it was that easy. My life is complicated, and I can’t let anyone into my real world. But here we can be whoever we want to be. We can be together every night and even though we don’t exist together in the physical world, we can be here. Just you and me, no one else, nothing else.”

“Why can’t we meet, baby girl? Why can’t we give it a shot and talk face to face and see what happens next. There are times when we make love on DreamChat that I can almost feel myself inside you. Do you feel it, too?"

“I wish I could, Terry. I touch myself in real life when our avatars fuck, but all I feel is my own touch. I’m lonely, but I’m forced to live in a dream world because the real one just hurts. I don’t want to hurt anymore, Terry, but for that to happen, I need to cease existing. My world is black, tormented, and unable to contain anything more than my tortured soul. I wish I could let you in, but I can’t. And besides, if I exist in a world that isn’t real, nothing can hurt me.”

She disappears, and I know I need to get off the computer and get back to the real world before she consumes me with her bizarre ramblings.

What the hell have I got myself into?

DAY 7

Sunday morning seems
so strange without my Talissa in bed next to me. If I said yesterday had been a strange day, it would be the biggest understatement in history.

I’m showered and have had two cups of coffee already. I’m prepared to face a morning with a breakfast companion.

There are other women on my mind, too. Hannah, the hot cop, who treated me bad and then treated me nice. The sex had been amazing, and all I wanted to do is to relive the afternoon we shared on the couch. I thought about her last night when I went to bed alone, but nothing in my mind could replace her physical presence next to mine, or the almost spiritual effect she had on me.

And then there’s the enigma, BluesGirl88. Is she a mentally unstable psychopath or just playing the game? A murderer or just a poser? I never know what I’m going to get when I log onto the chat with her, and part of me fears maybe I like being treated bad. It could be another reason I felt drawn to Hannah. Oh, Hannah. Why can’t I get her out of my mind?

There’s a knock at the door. I answer it and see Brittany is five minutes early. Once again, her height throws me. Wearing sandals, she still stands a couple of inches taller than me.

“Hi Terry, I brought a few things with me,” she passes me a bag which I take a peek into and see a six-pack of cider bottles, a couple of CDs, and some folded clothes.

“Are you old enough to drink alcohol?” I ask her.

“Well, I’m twenty-one, so I’ve been legal for three years now. I know I look young, though. I always get asked for ID when I go to the clubs.”

“Come to the kitchen and I’ll start cooking.” She takes the lead and I follow her. She’s wearing tiny denim shorts and a white tank top showing off her midriff, and I quickly take my eyes away and get my mind back to the business of cooking. A fear is building inside of me. I’m at a stage where I can’t look at a woman without thinking about what she looks like naked and what type of performer they would be in the bedroom. I hadn’t been this way since before I met Talissa, but I had been much younger then and not attached to a life of responsibility.

She offers to assist me, so I have her work on chopping the mushrooms, and she shows pretty decent knife skills. “Something I should know about you and knives?” I ask her.

“I once stuck a knife in a guy’s ball sack and then cut his throat.” Her look is stone cold, and for a second, I’m worried until she smiles and has a big laugh.

“You had me going for a second there,” I say to her as I place the bacon in the pan.

“Well, I think you would have been hesitant to leave your kids with me if it were true. By the way, they’re such beautiful little people. You and Talissa must be doing something right.”

Talissa, yes—not so sure about myself, though. “Yes, we do love them to pieces, and I have to credit my wife more than myself for that.” I crack the eggs and put the mushrooms in a pot with some butter.

“Give yourself more credit, Terry. I bet you’re a lot more confident when you’re selling a house to someone.” She leans on the table, her top falling forward, showing a little cleavage. A tall slim woman like her normally has a small chest, and Brittany’s no exception, but she knows how to use what she has.

“The professional Terry is ruthless and always striving to make a few more dollars, but the private Terry is like any normal guy. You haven’t even asked where Talissa is.”

“She called me on Friday night, making sure I was okay to work Monday. I didn’t ask why she went away for the weekend, though. Figured you would tell me if you felt comfortable enough. I hope you two figure things out.”

“So do I,” I say, but maybe I’m enjoying my freedom at the moment.

“I’ll do the toast,” she says.

I make us each a cup of coffee. She has hers a little sweeter than I do. Every now and then, when she would take a sip, those big eyes of hers would land on mine a little longer than they probably should have. It’s wrong of me, but I can’t help but find this fresh-faced young lady exquisite.

We make small talk and a few minutes later, brunch is ready. She grabs one of her ciders to wash down the greasy food.

“Wow, it’s not even eleven and you’ve started drinking.” I smile.

“Life’s too short, and I don’t have to drive.” She’s right on both of those points. I didn’t see who dropped her off, but I guess it was the same person who drops her off to babysit.

“What the hell, you only live once.” I stand up and walk to the fridge to grab a beer. I can’t remember when I last had a drink so early in the day, but I’d say it hasn’t been for about fifteen years.

“Geez, I’m a bad influence. You know I don’t drink around your kids, right?”

“Hey, I trust you. You came highly recommended according to Talissa, and I always trust her word.” Why wouldn’t I? I’m the liar of the couple. “So why did you come here today? Why my house out of everyone a girl of your age would know.”

“Boys my age are so dumb. I want to know how to find a good one.”

“Boys get their stupidity from their fathers. I know guys are stupid, and we do so much stupid shit you wouldn’t believe. I can see why so many women turn lesbians.”

“Oh, no. Not another man who says that. If it were the case, then pretty much every female friend I have, including myself, would be lesbians. You men have no fucking idea sometimes.”

She has a point. “Sorry, Brittany. Actually, a lot of my ex-girlfriends would be gay if what I said had any truth to it.” I just need to change the subject. Professionally, I could sell ice to an Eskimo, but right now, I was putting my foot in my mouth with everything I say—so much so, I think my big toe’s poking out my arse.

“It’s okay, Terry,” she says and puts a hand on mine from across the table.

“Truth is, you never know if you’ve found a good man when you first meet one. They may not be on a date purely for sex, but if they start a date with an itch, you won’t get any intelligent conversation out of them all evening.”

“Did you date many women before you met your wife?”

‘Date’ might not be the word I would use. “A few, Brittany—quite a few, in fact. You don’t want to know what sort of man I was back in those days.”

“Were you a bad boy?” Her hand is resting under her chin as she leans across the table on her elbow. She dons those doe eyes and stares at me.

“Yes, I was, and while it was fun, I’m not particularly proud of what I was back then. I’d hate for my daughter to one day be used by a guy like me, who used so many women.”

“Did it ever occur to you they were using you as much as you were using them? We women have desires, needs, and sometimes, we want it so bad we’ll hunt like a vulture to get a bit of action. We just have the advantage. We can be a hunter while appearing as the hunted.”

Looking at those eyes and her long body, I can’t see how she would have a lot of trouble hunting.

“Why don’t we go to the lounge. I brought some tunes along for us to listen to,” she says. 

My beer bottle’s empty already so I grab a full one from the fridge and follow those artistically sculpted never-ending legs of the babysitter to the living room. She has her second cider bottle in one hand, the CDs in the other, and I see a little bit of butt cheek as those tiny shorts of hers rise even higher.

“What sort of music do you like, Terry?”

“I like rock, blues, and even a bit of dance music, but don’t tell anyone about the last one.”

She laughs, and as we make it to the living room, she takes a straight path to the stereo, and turns the power on. She ejects the CD from the deck, and I silently hope she’s one of those people like me who makes sure the disc goes back into the cover, rather than being placed on any rough surface. She doesn’t disappoint, and to me, she makes a true music connoisseur.

“Don’t you hate it when people just put the discs on the carpet or cabinet where they get the hell scratched out of them?” she asks.

I nod as I take a seat on the far right end of the three-seater couch. A sad sounding male voice leads into a song about lost love, which is hardly rare for an opening track to a blues album. I have to say this guy can sing and the slide guitar is smooth. “This is sweet blues,” I tell her.

“People my age don’t get my love for the blues. They think hip-hop and dance music is the real deal, but it has no heart.”

“You sound like someone my age, Brit.”

“Is that a bad thing?” she smiles at me and drains the rest of her cider. “I need another one.”

“I can get it,” I say to her as my second beer is finished, too. It’s not even midday.

Walking to the fridge in the kitchen down the hall, I smile. I’m drinking on a Sunday morning with a six-foot blonde listening to some kick-ass music without a care in the world. I’ve done no work all weekend, and I’m not missing it at all.

I get back to the living room with drinks, and I see Brittany sitting on the couch with a small plastic bag. On closer inspection, it looks like it has pot in it. I haven’t seen that stuff for years, let alone smoked any.

“Do you mind?” she asks, holding up a joint. “I would never smoke around the kids either.”

I’ll have to make sure I spray a good deal of air freshener before Talissa gets home. “Not at all. Knock yourself out.”

What the hell am I doing here? She lights it up and takes a big toke on it, holding the smoke in for a few seconds. The smell of it fills the room, and I walk over to her slowly, accepting the offering.

It’s been a long time. I hold it to my lips, relighting it, and breathing in the fumes of the burning dried leaves inside the cigarette paper. I try to hold it in and find myself coughing up a lung with Brittany laughing at my expense.

“You haven’t done this before, have you, Terry?”

I try not to laugh, but the muscles in my jaw have taken control. “Not since I was your age.”

She takes it back from me and has another puff from it before passing it back. My turn again, but this time, I control myself better and draw the smoke back as far as I can. My head feels a little lighter already, and I can start to feel my body float.

“This shit’s good, hey?” Brittany asks. We take it in turns until the joint is nothing more than a half inch butt.

I feel my head spinning a little now, and the thirst brought on by the smoking needs to be quenched. I drain my third beer and look up as Brittany starts dancing to the music. It’s as if the sounds of the singing and guitar playing are using her like a puppet. Her arms are above her head as her hips sway to the beats, and from this moment, I can’t turn away. She starts wriggling her tight little arse, and her hands move down her body to the front button of her shorts, liberating it from the buttonhole keeping it in place.

Just when I thought she would undo her zipper, her hands travel to the belt loops on her hips, hooking her thumbs through. The song is nearly over, and she winks at me before stepping towards me. Standing right in front of where I’m sitting, she reaches over me and grabs her cider bottle.

When the music stops, she drains the contents and looks down at me. “I need another one.”

I nod and getting to my feet, I soon realise I’m not fully in charge of my faculties. I take my time, putting one foot in front of the other and head to the kitchen. I feel my lips shape themselves into a smile.

Only now the silence is freaking me out. What happened to the music?

Just managing to keep it together, I gather myself another beer and a cider for Brittany, and get back to the living room. She is changing the CD in the stereo with a grin as she presses play. A simple but catchy bass rift pumps out. Walking towards me to the beat, she dons her cheeky smile again and snatches her drink from my hand. She turns her back to me, takes a long drink, and leans into me, her body making contact with the front of mine.

“Sit down, mister,” she says and takes a couple of steps away from me.

The smoky female voice belts out an opening line about wanting the love of a good man, and I find a spot on the middle of the couch to place my bum on. What am I about to witness? I have a feeling I won’t be disappointed.

Brittany turns away from me again and then rotates her head showing me her pouty lips. I can only assume her hands are in front of her waist. Not being able to see what she’s doing is driving me insane, but before I can dwell on it for long, her thumbs loop through the belt loops again. She leans forward and pushes her bum out towards me. I notice her thumbs are pushing her tiny shorts over and then off her hips, falling down to her ankles.