Divine: A Novel (12 page)

He studies my face, my chest, and then
takes another drink and waits. We’re silent for the longest time, staring at
one another, smiling, trying to get inside the head of the other. I sigh,
wondering if I should answer his question from earlier, the one about my
parents. It’s not what he’s waiting for, not specifically, but he definitely
wants something more, some form of untold information to develop a deeper
connection, to bond with me. And hey, it’s not like I’m so fucked up that I
can’t say the words, tell the story, at least about my mother. My father’s
situation was more difficult, far more devastating, and we won’t go there.

“My mother never came home,” I say,
taking a drink and clearing my throat before continuing on.

“You don’t have to...” he starts to say,
before I cut him off.

“I was sixteen, and she didn’t return
from work. No phone message, no note, nothing. My dad and I knew something was
wrong. At six we started to panic, at eight we called every hospital within a
sixty-mile radius, and then at ten the police showed up at our door. My father
fell to his knees and grabbed one of the officer’s pant legs, sobbing at his
feet and crying out the word ‘no,’ over and over.” I choke up thinking about my
dad, that pain he felt, a pain that never subsided. “I tried my best to hold it
together so I could understand their description of the accident over his
cries, but I heard only words and not complete sentences. ‘Deer’ and ‘tree’
stuck with me. ‘No seatbelt’ and ‘head injury’ were others. My dad didn’t need
to hear any of it; it was too much for him.”

I’ve told this story to a handful of
people, including my closest friends in high school after it happened, my
boyfriends and best friends in college, but never this early in a relationship.
I feel like I can’t hide from him, I have to be myself since he’s so damn
perceptive and open about everything. I mean, look at his parents and their
relationship with their kids. No secrets. But is Dan
too
good to be true? I need to figure out what’s wrong with him
before I get hurt. Most men wouldn’t give two shits about my parents, they
wouldn’t ask, or even care to listen. And that’s what scares me right now.
Everyone’s hiding something. I’m okay with him having some weird sex fantasies,
since the more extreme things are in bed, the more I get turned on. But, if he
kills and eats garden snakes for dinner, or breaks into people’s homes and
steals their books (besides my own), then we may have a problem.

My mind’s wandering and he’s waiting
patiently for me to finish.

“They said she died at the scene. We were
devastated and left with nothing. She shouldn’t have swerved, you know? She
should’ve just hit the damn deer.”

Silence again. He shakes his head and
exhales then whispers how sorry he is for my loss. A sincere apology, not the
ones people say just to get it out and then move on to a new conversation. He
embraces my words and sits quietly until I’m finished revealing a part of my
past.

“You make it so easy for a guy to fall
for you.” he says. “Thank you.”

He leaves the room with the blanket
wrapped around his waist and the empty cans in hand, returning with two shots
that he sets on the coffee table.

“Your stomach up for this? It’s vodka.”

I nod and reach for the shot. “Luckily,
my food related stomach problems come and go rather quickly. A shot sounds
perfect after talking about my mother.”

“I thought that’d be the case.” We raise
and clink our glasses then throw them back, both of us coughing afterward and
laughing at our similar reactions.

He leans back and runs his hand across
his face from cheek to cheek then down to his chin, where he rubs his skin and
grins. I feel the warmth on my cheeks as I blush.

“People tend to seek pleasure to ease
pain. Sexual pleasure. I can tell you’re a lot like me in that regard. Reading
erotica to distract your mind, looking at lewd images, or just touching
yourself. You enjoy that hedonistic affection that can only come from your own
hand, your own fantasies and your own little sexual world inside your head.
Some people are obsessed with it because it frees them from the real world. We
all masturbate or fuck for the same reasons, to feel good... to enjoy something
that only exists in that moment. You can’t find the same sensation anywhere
else. Not through food, or a hot bath, a jog, or purchasing an expensive item,
only through some form of sexual indulgence is it there. Let me give that to
you now. I want to replace your pain with some form of erotic pleasure. You
willing to go there?”

I nod.

“Then pick a box, Div. White or black,
your choice.”

I stare at the two shoeboxes on the
coffee table, identical in size and shape, but as I lift each one, they’re
different in weight.

“No shaking,” he says. “Just choose.”

CHAPTER
ELEVEN

W
hite.

I slide the white box closer and watch as
Dan grins. I must’ve made the right choice.

“Don’t worry about the furniture, or the
blankets, they’re washable.”

I smile when I see a small jar of honey
inside. The guy can really read my mind. I was thinking caramel would be fun,
but honey is just as good.

“Taste it,” he whispers.

I open the jar and dip my finger inside,
but decide to play around before I put it in my mouth. He inhales deeply as my
finger swirls around the sweet and sticky nectar. I pull it out then sink it
back in, closing my eyes as if it’s his finger sliding inside me.

His eyes are slits, trying to stay open,
yet he’s in a daze, enjoying some unspoken fantasy in his head.

“Stay with me,” I whisper, lowering the
blanket to the floor. His eyes widen at the sight of my nude body. Head to toe,
I’m cleanly shaven and aroused, with engorged breasts and protruding nipples
that I smear the honey onto. He releases a quiet moan and reaches under his
blanket; a slow movement begins as he pleasures himself. His eyes are glued on
my face as he jerks off, breathing heavily.

I place my feet back on the coffee table,
spreading my legs so he has a clear view. His breathing changes to short pants
as I pour honey over my clit. It slides down to my lips where I spread it
around and then join him in pleasuring myself. This is fucking sexy, one of my
biggest turn-ons to date and he’s not even touching me. The sight of him
jerking off is better than the visuals of porn. He’s so close, feet away, where
I can smell and almost taste him. We’re sharing the same air, both wanting the
same thing. And under his blanket I imagine his hand gripped around his length,
the crown turning red and his shaft engorged.

I hold my finger in the air, the honey
dripping down, and then slide it into my mouth and twist my tongue to lick it
clean. My eyes close in delight, as I taste myself.

“Yum,” I whisper.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he moans.

I dip into the jar again and spread more
over my nipples, ending with the finger back inside my mouth.

“No, not yet,” he exhales, releasing
himself and clutching the arms of the chair with both hands. “Fuck, if I don’t
stop for a moment, I’m gonna cum. I wasn’t expecting this to turn me on like an
eleven year old who just saw his first porn mag.” His dick twitches under the
blanket, searching for the return of his firm grip.

His eyes move from my face down my body
to my toes then land on the black shoebox. I forgot about it for a second; too
caught up in my honey indulgences.

“Div,” he whispers. “Are any sexual
fetishes offensive to you?”

Oh, now I’m curious. “What’s in the box,
Dan?” I ask in my calmest voice, like Hal from
2001: A Space Odyssey
. I reach for it but he catches my hand on
route.

“Answer my question first.”

“If the box has anything to do with
putting on a diaper or drinking blood, I’m gone. That’s too extreme for me.
Plushies kind of creep me out as well. I wouldn’t say they offend me, but they
definitely make me uneasy. I understand fetishes are about comfort and arousal,
but I can’t imagine wearing a fuzzy animal costume or sleeping with a giant
teddy would do much for me. So if your box is free of baby items, vampire
tools, and furry friends, it’s okay.”

“You sure about that?”

He doesn’t know I’m a voyeur. That’s my
sexual fetish. I love watching people, hidden cams, videos of being caught in
the act, and, ahem... looking in people’s windows. It’s a big turn on, so
whatever it is, I can handle it. I don’t need Violet popping into my head
calling me that spotted, whited, spectator, spectacular, whatever it is again.
And I can’t criticize Dan if I’m part of the club.

“I think I scared you,” he says. “I’ll
put it away and maybe we can play another time.”

“No,” I say, pulling the box toward me.
“I’m game, I promise I won’t run away screaming. Fetishes can be fun.”

“Only when both parties are on board.”

“Trust me, I’ve got my own oddities that
will probably make yours seem like child’s play.”

He grins and shakes his head. “Take
another lick of the honey for me.” I follow his instructions and tilt the jar
until a few drops fall onto my tongue, leaving it out as a request for him to
come over for a taste.

He puts his hands on the table and leans
in. Our tongues meet in the air, and he eats the sweet honey from my mouth.
With kisses so sexual and tender, how could this man have anything scary in
this box?

“Go ahead and open it,” he says in a soft
voice, standing before me with the blanket around his waist.

I open the lid and... and... what the...
whoa.

A foot.

Run,
Div! Run! He collects body parts. He IS a serial killer! Run! Get the fuck out
of this house!

It’s silicone, Violet. Chill.

You
sure? There’s no blood or bones?

It’s fake.

Oh,
a foot fetish. That’s rather common and might be sort of kinky. He’s a keeper.

I smile at Dan and then poke the foot.
It’s soft, hollow, and feels like real flesh. I think it can slide onto a real
foot, like a slipper. A little peculiar, but like Violet said, one of the more
common fetishes, and those who don’t know about it have lived a pretty
sheltered life.

“I would’ve thought most people with foot
fetishes would enjoy the real thing, not a silicone replica lopped off above
the ankle,” I say.

He laughs and lifts my foot to his mouth,
sucking lightly on my toes. I sprawl out on the chair, relaxed, and enjoy the
feeling. His nibbling and sucks run through my leg and end at my quivering
clit; an immense turn-on. I’ve never experienced a toe suck and it’s a winner
in my book.

“When you’re alone for as long as I’ve
been,” he says. “You take what you can get.”

He removes the foot from the box and
turns it over. Holy shit, the thing has a fake vagina. No way. Between the heel
and the arch is a life-like opening that he pours honey into. Oh my God, this
is some crazy ass shit.

He slides the silicone over my foot and
allows his blanket to fall to the floor. Hell yes, there’s that dick. Okay,
that thing’s not going to fit inside that... Jesus. I place my elbows on the
armrests and lean forward as I feel his dick slide along the bottom of my foot.
He’s in. This is insane.

“Touch yourself,” he requests. He stands
before me, feet spread, holding my ankle and foot over his dick. Now that’s
something you don’t see everyday.

My finger’s still sticky and my clit’s
covered in honey. It’ stimulating to touch and I’m aroused in a matter of
minutes.

His eyes are on my hand and his dick
moves correspondingly to the speed of my fingers. He holds the silicone at my
ankle so it’s taut, and the pressure against the bottom of my foot is like
nothing I’ve ever experienced. His dick gliding along the arch up to my toes
and back is incredible.

I bend my knee as he leans forward for a
kiss, and when our lips touch, he cums.

“Fuck,” he whispers. He grips my foot and
moves it slowly over his dick, as if he’s pumping it dry. “Omm,” he mumbles
with heavy breaths until he’s motionless with a happy grin.

“Goddamn, that was good. You alright?” He
asks while taking off the silicone and tossing it back into the box. His dick
still throbs with a few drops of cum at the tip.

“That was wild and crazy. I loved it.”

“But you’re not finished?”

I shake my head.

“I’d be more than happy to fix that.” He
kneels and takes my hands in his, holding them firmly. “My first experience
with a woman who shaves,” he smirks.

In a matter of minutes, with licks and
flutters of his tongue across my clit, the moment comes. I’m squirming,
shouting his name, and tightening my chest as a strong orgasm rushes through my
body. Dan’s passionate about making love, and man, can that guy use his tongue.
He’s got some muscles and length to that thing.

“Satisfied?” he whispers with another
indulgent kiss, both of our lips sticky with honey.

“Mmm.”

“That’s a yes.” He returns to his chair,
blanket back in place as I study his tat once more.
Dark is lovely
. “You got your answer, by the way. The foot’s my
deepest, darkest, sexual secret. I think.”

“Oh,” I laugh. “There could be more?”

“Maybe, but I believe that’s enough for
one night.”

We dress and I stare at his wall of books
while he uses the bathroom. There are more erotic books than any other genre,
which seems odd for a man. Oh wait, there’s a shelf that’s different. Steve
Martin, Augusten Burroughs, David Sedaris, Charles Bukowski, Gillian Flynn, and
Chuck Palahniuk. But no, then it goes back to erotica.

“Still admiring my books?” he asks.

“What’s with all the erotic novels?”

“Research. They’re the best guides to
figuring out what women desire.”

I can’t help but laugh at such a nonsense
response. “You know full well it’s all fantasy. Women read these books
because
that type of man doesn’t exist
in real life.”

“Exactly. And the more inside information
I have on the subject, the more I can separate myself from the
other
men. I bet I can be just like one
of those fantasy guys. Think about it. That foot fuck will stay in your head
longer than if we went up to my bed and had missionary sex, right?”

“Wait, you’re confusing me. Is the foot
fetish real or did you play that game because you read it in a book?”

He smiles and won’t answer.

“Dan?” I demand a response.

“It’s real,” he whispers. “And to be
honest, I enjoy erotica because it turns me on. That wall is like a lifetime
collection of Penthouse and I find nothing wrong with it.”

He’s right. I shouldn’t be so
closed-minded to think that women are the only ones who would enjoy these
stories.

“The western books you picked up are
classic pulp porn, my new favorites. I’ve been laughing my ass off for days.
Right now, I’m in the middle of
Six-Cum
Shooter
.”

“I had started a decent book myself, but
someone
stole it from my house. You
think that person might give it back to me, like tonight, or is he gonna be a
dick and keep it, because I‘d like to finish reading it.”

“Div, I don’t think you’re ready for it.
It’s quite dark.”

“I’m aware of the mutilation scenes.”

“No, it gets much darker and I think I
changed my mind, Hayden’s not for you. Go ahead and pick another book, anything
you want.”

I shake my head. “I’ll buy my own copy.
Forget I asked.”

“Don’t get upset, I’m trying to protect
you from some of the content.”

“Why now?”

He sighs while my brow furrows in
discontent, waiting, waiting, come on.

“Just give it to me, please. I can handle
it.”

“Alright, but if you show up crying at my
door in the middle of the night because you had a nightmare, don’t expect me to
keep my hands off of you when you crawl into my bed for protection.”

“Deal,” I grin.

He finds book two and three of the
trilogy and passes them along.

“You sure you want to continue reading Zyn’s
story?”

“Zyn’s exciting,” I respond. “His name
reminds me of the word sin, which goes along with the story perfectly. I’m
ready for whatever happens. I can handle it.”

“Div?”

“Hmm?” I say with a smile as I flip
through the books.

“I like you.”

“Good,” I respond.

He waits for a further reply but I hold
out, teasing him as payback for taking the books.

“That’s it? Good?”

“Well, I don’t see why you wouldn’t,
except for the mistake of showing your father my titties and fufu, I’m pretty
likeable.”

Smartass.

“Will you walk me home?”

“Uh,” he throws his head back and stares
at the ceiling. “I feel so used.”

I stand and wait by the door.

“Why are you taking off so soon? Is it
your stomach again or is it another kind of illness, like, perhaps the foot fuck
sickened you? Tell me the truth.”

“Nope,” I shake my head. “It’s eleven and
I need my beauty sleep, plus I promised my evil step-mother I’d be home by
midnight, that’s all.”

“I see,” he says, stepping outside and
leading me to the sidewalk. “You have plans for the rest of the weekend?” I
hold up the books and he rolls his eyes. “Will you call me when you’re
finished? If I don’t hear from you then I’ll know you’re hiding under your bed
in fright.”

We pause at my front steps, both of us
licking our lips like a couple of teens preparing for a goodnight kiss after
the high school dance.