“Sultana,” comes the oozy, dripping, oily voice. “It’s me.”
They always speak as if they know me personally, not just a projection of my personality. I roll my eyes.
Ew. It’s that guy.
Little do they know that when I’m in this Sexual Headspace, I can access whatever I need or care to know about them. It’s a one-way street and only I know the way.
I let my voice melt into a silky purr. “Hello, handsome. What can I do for you today?” I already know the answer. Today Captain Jack—that’s the name he uses—wants me to pretend I’m his love slave, get down on all fours, and stick my tongue between his toes while he comes all over my hair. He wants me to fawn all over him and let him know that he’s The Man.
Ew, ew, and double ew.
Good thing it’s all virtual fantasy.
“Get down on your knees, you bitch,” he commands.
I roll my eyes again. I know that outside of this room the guy is a pathetic loser. He’s fifty pounds overweight. Smokes Camels. Drinks bourbon, neat. His wife wants to leave him. He’s in a dead-end job. This is the only place where he feels a sense of control. “Anything for you, baby,” I say, dropping to all fours and closing my eyes in disgust.
“Why can’t I see you? Are you trying to be coy, you little bitch?”
I look up. There’s something wrong with the terminal that powers this space, which means there’s something wrong with me. I can only see it as what it is—my back room. There’s a plush sheepskin rug that covers the entire floor. This is in case I have to do elaborate floor play—no sense in getting scuffed knees. Although I could enact the entire scene without moving a muscle, I believe in taking advantage of the time and staying fit. A few overhead lights illuminate the room. The walls are simple, unadorned, and see-through when I want them to be; completely opaque when I have visitors. They are made of plastic and a “special secret blend” alloy that only Kaama knows the formula for. There are delicate fiber-optic strands no bigger than a human hair woven throughout. It’s highly specialized, high-tech artistry. Thanks to Kaama’s mad skills and my abilities, I can project whatever fantasy my customer wants onto the walls and into the scene. I can appear as whatever they need me to be. Redheaded, blond, brunette, rainbow-hued tech-rocker chick, tall, curvy, slender, athletic—whatever they want, I can deliver in this minimalistic, empty-of-furnishings room.
I scan my high-tech suit. All the nodes are in place. I glance at the power terminal on the wall in the hallway, just outside of the room. It appears to be functional, too.
“Do you have your Headspace headpiece in place?” I ask Captain Jack. To access my Headspace, my clients have to wear a special headpiece that Kaama created.
“Of course I do. Do you take me for an idiot?”
“Never! I would never do that!” I pause, frowning.
“I paid for it. I read the instructions. I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Of course,” I soothe. “I’ll have this fixed in a quick sec.”
“I’m pretty good with technology. Let me take a look at it.”
“No!” It’s programmed to dissolve on contact if someone tries to take it apart to see how it operates,.
The client stiffens. When he’s in here, he doesn’t like to be told what to do. “I mean, no, baby. You’re tired. You’ve had a long day. Let Sultana take care of you.”
“She’d better hurry up.”
You just told Jonas your secret
,
Nigel conveys to me from outside the room.
There’s your problem
.
He blinks at me through the transparent walls, turns, and saunters away.
Augh,
I silently moan.
A case of vulnerable interruptus.
I have
got
to stay cool, calm, and in control to do what I do in here. “One second, big guy,” I say to Captain Jack. “There’s a wee technical glitch but I’ll have it handled in just a moment.”
“You’re killing me. I pay good money for you, bitch.”
“I know, I know, but…” I close my eyes. Will myself to button up every chink in my armor. Will myself back to control, control, and more control. The lights splutter and blink. Suddenly I am plunged into Captain Jack’s head. He’s standing before me looking every bit like that long-ago character from my grandparents’ lifetime, Captain Jack Sparrow, a.k.a. Johnny Depp. If I didn’t know what a loser my client is, I just might be turned on. “This one’s on me,” I say demurely. “Also, I might need a spanking.”
“That’s alright, kitten. Let Daddy take care of you. I know you meant no harm. Now get down on your knees and lick my toes.”
The Headspace game proceeds from there, without a hitch. I lick, entice, provoke, stimulate. He comes on my hair, or that’s what he thinks he does. In truth, he probably came all over a towel in his dirty office space. The only real hitch is the sense of cooties I get from Captain Jack. I’ll need a good long shower tonight. But first, I’ll have to deal with Jonas.
One hour and thirty-two minutes later, Jonas is on my doorstep. The guy is nothing if not prompt. His palm is pressed to his swollen cheek and he looks none too happy.
“I take it you had more issues at the dentist than you anticipated?” I say, easing the door open for him. Even though I knew he was coming, I’m always cautious about answering the front door. It’s part of the job hazard. One time a client found out where I live. I don’t know how he found me, but he did and he stood on my front stoop for an hour until the police arrived to take him away. He said he was in love with me; I said I’d never met the guy in my life and they carted him away. Ever since then I’m a little bit paranoid.
“They extracted a tooth,” he mumbles. “We’ve progressed in our culture in some amazing ways. We’ve developed some unbelievable technologies. But…dentistry is still dentistry.”
“Gah! You got that right!” I exclaim. “Well, come on in. I’ll get a couple of cold ones out of the fridge and be right with you.” Before I follow him inside I take a look at the street I live on—or, what’s left of it. I live in what used to be a beautiful old established suburb of Seattle—the Greenlake District. The once-pretty little lake’s polluted as a cesspool, the street is falling apart, many of the trees lining the sidewalk are dead—a lot of what the hippies and activists professed would happen
did
happen. I know, I know—sometimes things have to get way worse before they get better—but still it makes me sad when I scan the neighborhood. With a sigh, I close the door and follow Jonas into the living room.
“Are you ever going to tell me about your mysterious closet?” he asks, pointing to the door to the Headspace.
“What’s to tell? It’s a closet. Full of ghosts, skeletons, and secrets.” I wink at him and meander into the neat and tidy kitchen to get us some liquid refreshment. When I return, we twist off the tops, tap the bottle necks together, and pour a generous swig of delicious amber liquid down our waiting throats. Some things, at least, haven’t changed. Micro brewing is one of them.
He frowns, as if remembering something. “I thought you had to work tonight. Do you get to show up buzzed?”
“Oh, I took care of a client while you were at the dentist. I’m done for the day,” I lie.
Please don’t pry. I love our friendship and don’t want to mess it up
.
He looks at me and smiles. “Took care of a client, huh? That sounds dirty.” He waggles his eyebrows at me. Takes another gulp of beer.
“Not like that.” I roll my eyes.
Don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t ask
.
He sits on the couch smiling.
“This is awkward,” I say. “Since when do you not have anything to say?” I pour a sip of the slightly bitter, honey-colored brew in my throat and swish it, making it bubble and burn the inside of my cheeks.
“Since you started the secret spill, I guess.”
“That was a dumb move. Can I take it back?” I lean forward, letting my forearms rest on my thighs. My long blond and purple hair sweeps along my hands. I shake my head, tossing it behind me.
“Not on your life. I like you sixteen times more since you shared your secret.”
“What do I have to do to merit twenty?” I smile.
He cocks his head and studies me. “Never had an orgasm? Ever?”
“Not unless they’re so inconsequential I don’t have a clue what the fuss is about.” I eye him suspiciously and take another swallow. “How much time do we have to spend on this topic? I’d rather move along. Let’s talk about you and your girlfriend. Why, exactly, are you with someone you complain about?”
He sets his beer bottle down on the side table a little too forcefully. It slams against the bronze and glass-like polymer with an angry
thwack
. “Oh! Damn it! Sorry.” He picks up the bottle and kisses it in apology. Once more he places it on the table but he’s much gentler. Ignoring my snide remark, he says, “Orgasms are incredible. Orgasms with someone you love are amazing with a cherry and hot fudge on top.”
“Like the kind you and the missus have?”
“I wish you wouldn’t call her that.”
“Okay. Your longtime ‘wishes she was more’
girlfriend.
Better?” I press the bottle to my chest. “It’s hot today.”
“Every day is hot thanks to global warming. And no, not like the kind Jenner and I have. They’re adequate. They get the job done.” He smirks and wipes his forehead with his sleeve. “Geez, none of us had any idea it could get this bad, did we?”
“You mean those of us who were toddlers, babies, or non-existent specks in our parents’ eyes when all the global-warming talk ensued? No. I was fully preoccupied with not getting a beating at a tender age.”
Jonas winces.
He looks at me with something like sympathy, which I loathe. Do not, do not,
do not
ever
feel sorry for me. The past is gone, along with the people who inflicted it on me. I’ve moved on. “Can you wipe that sympathy face off? You know how much I detest someone feeling sorry for me.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just that you…that I…never mind. I apologize.”
“Apology accepted. So why don’t you tell me how I can get to the elusive orgasm by Christmas. Will it come with a bow? In a box? Will Santa himself deliver it?” I admit, I’m intrigued.
He takes another healthy swallow, pauses, and then finishes the beer.
“Santa needs some bravery, huh? Want another?”
“Yeah. No. Jenner hates it when I come home smelling of beer.”
“Does that happen often?” I ask, picking up his empty.
“Yeah, lately. Lately it does.” He looks off into space. “I’m not happy, Vienna. I’m not happy with her anymore. I…I feel as if I’m outgrowing her.”
“It’s about damn time. She’s a bitch. Always whining about what you did to her and what you do to her and how you take all the credit for everything. I get ill just listening to her.”
“Yeah…” Jonas says, and his voice trails off. “I…she…I thought you and I could…”
I interrupt him. “Hook up so you could have an excuse to leave her? Hell to the no, Jonas. Hell to the fuck no. I will
not
be someone’s excuse to leave his wife or girlfriend or significant other. No. That’s a commitment I made to myself a long time ago. You want me? You take the steps to extract yourself from the situation that you’re in and
then
we’ll talk. Only then…” I wander into the kitchen and fetch us a couple more beers. “We still won’t know if it will work. Or if you’re the guy whose cock I’ll come around.”
Jonas laughs his deep laugh again. “It’s a tempting thought.” He takes a sip and looks at me. “So. You’ve had a guy go down on you?”
I splutter and choke on my beer. “Puh-leese, Jonas! That’s none of your business!”
“Have you?”
“What do you think?”
“Knowing you, the answer is yes. Big cocks inside?”
“I’m not going to answer that.”
“I’ll take that as a yes. Lots of foreplay?”
“Jonas!” I say, batting the side of his head. “This conversation is getting much too personal!”
“I’m just trying to help,” he says, laughing.
“I didn’t tell you because I needed your help.”
He instantly sobers. “Why’d you tell me then?”
“I don’t know. I, uh…” I look away from him.
I told you because it’s starting to become an issue. I’m starting to wonder if there’s something wrong with me. I told you because you’re perhaps the only person on the planet whom I trust.
Food was good today
.
Nigel wanders and sits on the floor, staring at me.
I could’ve told you this would get awkward
. He lifts his paw to his mouth and pauses.
You should’ve asked me. I would have told you true
. His tongue darts out to moisten his paw, and he starts grooming.
Yeah, well keep it to yourself.
This is going to mess with you big-time.
How do you mean?
You’ll see.
He chews and tugs at a toenail, making tiny clicks as his teeth snap together.
I think you dropped raisins on the floor. One of them’s stuck to my claw.
He pulls with his teeth.
There. Ick
.
He spits out the raisin.
It could be for the best, it could be for the worst. Only time will tell.
“Gah,” I blurt. I shoo away my saucy, know-it-all cat.
“You and your cat.” Jonas cocks his head at me. “Why did you tell me?” Jonas says again, this time softly. He reaches across to touch my cheek with his finger.
The caress feels smooth, silky, and intimate. “Jonas, don’t. What are you doing?”
He brushes my lips with his rough thumb. “You’re my friend.”
“And I want to keep it that way.” I gently push his thumb away. His touch does feel good.
Too good
…
“I’m not some science experiment.”
“I know that. Neither am I. I have needs, you have needs. Maybe our needs could meet in the middle.”
“So, we’re back here again, huh? You’ve had too much to drink.”
“No,” he says, looking me right in the eyes. “I haven’t had too much to drink. We’ve only had one beer. I’ve just never had enough of you.”
I get kind of squirmy inside. This does
not
make me feel comfortable, at
all.
“Jonas…stop. This is the beer talking.”
“The beer only made me tell you things I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time. I think I’m with the wrong woman.”