Walking Sideways
Chapter 1
I hadn’t been in the new place long, but I already loved it. The bay windows looked out over a vast ocean expanse, and the old house had a “lived-in” feeling to it that I just hadn’t gotten when I lived in the city. Stepping outside for a coffee in the evening allowed me to relax; no planes flying overhead, no cars honking or revving up their engines, no sirens. I hadn’t realized until I left it just how much it all stressed me out. Of course, the stress was partly due to my break-up with my recent fiancée, and my mother kept making little remarks about how my move from Boston to Washington State was as much about running away from my personal troubles as it was a change of view, as I kept trying to tell her.
I’d retired early from sales of my start-up when the dot-com boom was still in full swing, and had avoided the inevitable bust; I wasn’t filthy rich, but I was independent, and could afford to spend years without working. I’d pretty much had a storybook life; my parents were comfortable, and raised me well. I attended a good public school, in a good district, and did well enough in it to get a scholarship to Boston U; I met Linda there and we hit it off immediately, and I thought she was The One, but I had caught her in the shower with another man, and that was the end of that.
I knew I’d eventually die from boredom if I didn’t do something though, so I had purchased a home where I knew I would have things that would need to be done and could keep my mind off everything. I didn’t want a total “fixer upper”, but I wanted something with class and age that just needed a little tender loving care. I figured as well that it’d help keep me in shape, doing things around the house.
Being in the city, it was a lot easier to keep trim and fit. The local gym couldn’t hold a candle next to the state-of-the-art designer spa I’d spent my time at in the city, but then I’d never had the look of the 8-hour-a-day gym bunnies there, either. At 30, I was slim, slightly toned, and looked good in clothes, but that was about all I could manage. At least here in the country, I could go running and not have to fear getting run over at every intersection.
I’d lived in my new home for only two weeks; boxes still littered every room and I still had a list a mile long that I was just starting to tackle. The only room I had completely unpacked, pretty much from the moment I drove my U-Haul into the gravel driveway of the two-story, Victorian-style home, was my bedroom, so I’d have clothes to wear and a place to sleep.
Given the age of my new home and how long it had been since anyone had lived in it, I had plenty to do around the place. The exterior needed repainting, there was no central air conditioning, and several of the windows were cracked and needed to be replaced. As I was unpacking what had to be the twentieth box, I decided I’d had enough and needed a change of pace—something physical. So I donned a pair of sweats and a ratty t-shirt from my old company and jumped into my car for a trip to the little town on the sea that was about 25 miles from my new home.
The idea was to grab some groceries and enough paint at the local hardware store to keep me busy for a while, and to make plans with them to come out and install ducts and wiring for a new air conditioner and heater setup. As I was driving down the bucolic little village, I noticed a quaint little clapboard coffee shop and decided to make a bit of a pit-stop. When I walked into the place, there was only one other guy sitting in a booth in the corner, so I picked a table by the window and waited for the waitress.
“What’ll you have, hun?” she asked affably.
“Isn’t there a menu or something?”
“Nope, it’s pretty simple here. Coffee, pie, Wally made some scones this morning just to be different. ‘sgood coffee, though.”
“Guess, I’ll have a coffee and a scone, then.”
She was right, the coffee was good. As I was cupping it in my hands, letting it warm me up a bit from the chilly morning weather, the man in the back stood up, tossed a couple dollar bills on the counter, and headed out the door. I wouldn’t even have noticed had he not jostled my chair on the way out. I looked up at him, a bit miffed, but he hadn’t even turned to apologize. I saw a glimpse of a broad back in a ratty leather jacket, faded denim jeans accentuating a skinny frame, and then he was out the door, the bell tinkling as it shut behind him.
Despite than the rather rude encounter, other than service personnel I didn’t come up on anyone else the whole day. The town was small, but still, I figured there’d be people running errands along with me, but nobody seemed out for the day. I asked the waitress why everything was so quiet in the town, and she just smiled and said “That’s Em’ry for ya,” and continued washing the tables. I shrugged to myself and figured I really had picked a sleepy little town to live near.
I quickly took care of the other errands I had set for myself, and had nothing else to do but tote the paint and other supplies back to the new home, stop procrastinating, and get things going. After I got home and unloaded, I pulled the ladder I had brought with me out of the garage and set it up against the side of the house that looked like it needed the most help. I’d bought an automatic sander, so I started scraping the peeling beige paint from the walls. I’d decided on something a little sunnier, and figured that a mild yellow would look great up against the blue expanse of the ocean.
It had warmed up considerably by the time I had the ladder up and the sander going, so I stripped off the top of my sweats and rolled up the legs to let the breeze from the ocean play off me. As I got into the rhythm of the scraping, I let my mind wander. I didn’t even notice when the sandpaper wheel needed to be replaced, and had spent a good 10 minutes doing absolutely nothing to a particularly stubborn area of paint, when my mind snapped back and I noticed just how far I’d gotten.
Sweat was pouring off me by then, and I tried to wipe some of it off with my hands and shake it out. My sweat bottoms were soaked through; I guess the ocean breeze hadn’t helped me as much as I had thought it was while I sanded. I decided to head inside and change into lighter gear. I climbed down off the ladder, noticed with some satisfaction that I was already a quarter of the way through the job on the wall—the underlying wood looked pretty good, actually. I considered staining it and leaving it natural instead of painting over it, but I’d already spent several hundred dollars on the new paint so I decided to not dither and keep down the path I’d set for myself.
As I walked inside, I marveled at just how much natural light the new place had. I didn’t need to turn on any lights as I made my way up the curving staircase to my second floor bedroom. Given the state of the outdoors, it was surprising just how nice the indoors looked; the walls were covered a classy striped-green-and-cream wallpaper with a fairly standard white wainscoting reaching from the floor to about the height of my knees; there were little knobs built into each square, as if they were cabinets. I’d actually tried a few in the hopes that there was some sort of secret compartment, but alas, my childhood fantasy appeared to be false; they were just there for decoration. The stairs themselves were a white stone, not marble but marble-like, and they curved upwards gently. The bottom floor had huge ceilings—about 15 feet—so the top floor took a little longer to reach than in other two-story homes I’d seen.
I reached my bedroom and opened the door; it was nice to enter the one finished room in the house. I rummaged through my dresser drawer and came out with some cream-colored boxer briefs; I figured what the hell, there wasn’t anyone in the area to see me, and it would definitely be cooler. I peeled off the soaking sweatpants and pulled on the briefs. I grabbed a towel from the adjoining bathroom and dried off my hair a bit, but decided to leave the sweat on to keep me cool. I headed back downstairs.
I grabbed a new sandpaper wheel from the garage—good thing I’d stocked up on them—and headed back outside. Oh yes, the boxer briefs were MUCH better. The breeze hit me as I walked out of the garage, and I luxuriated in the feel. It was so nice to be able to go around like this without fear of someone sneaking up on me and seeing me only half-decent. I reached the ladder, picked up the sandpaper machine again, and climbed back up the ladder barefoot. This was surely the life.
Well, I’d gotten about a quarter done with the first wheel, so I figured it’d take four to completely take care of the wall, but it was harder work in some places than others. By the time the sun was directly hitting me in the late afternoon, I was only halfway done and completely drenched, to the point where my briefs had gone a bit translucent, and I had used up two more wheels. I had stocked up, but I hadn’t stocked up that much. I’d have to go back into town soon to get more wheels if I was to do the entire outside of the house. I stepped down off the ladder to give myself a break and...
“Boy, what are you doing?”
What?
“Boy, did you hear me?”
Everything was blurry for some reason and I couldn’t see a thing. I rubbed my eyes and as I pulled my hands away, I found I was standing nearly face-to-face with a total stranger. The craggy man looked to be in his 60’s, with a strong weathered face that at the moment was looking at me with a mixture of concern and consternation.
“Wh- When’d you get here? I didn’t hear you come up the driveway,” I stammered.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about boy, but you’re walking around town half-naked,” he replied tersely.
I did a double-take. I was downtown, in nothing but my soaked-through boxer briefs. How the hell had I gotten here? The last thing I remembered, I was standing at the side of my home, about to put my foot down on my ladder. No time seemed to have passed; I was one place, and suddenly I was standing by the very hardware store I had picked stuff up from earlier.
“You all right, kid?” the man asked again, this time seeming more concerned than annoyed. I must have looked about as pale as I felt, and I figured my eyes were about the size of saucers at that point.
“I-I- I have no idea how I got here,” I said, and started trembling a bit.
The older man gave me another worried look and said “well, there’s a doctor up the street. Let’s get you into something more decent and then I’ll drive you over there. Must be heat stroke or something, you’re soaked through.”
I allowed him to guide me to a little house beside the store, because I still was in a bit of a state of shock and would have listened to just about anyone at that point. I just stood in the doorway as he headed into his room and came out with some ratty jeans and a holey t-shirt.
“It’s my son’s clothes, but you two look about a size and he won’t be missin’m,” the man said not unkindly. “You just get these on and I’ll get you to the doctor’s. He stood there while I slowly climbed into the hand-me-downs and just waited. I’d probably have found it a bit disconcerting in normal times, but I was still trying to figure out what had happened between the ladder and my trip downtown, so I barely noticed. He wasn’t a bad-looking fellow; it seemed like he kept himself up fairly well, and while his clothes weren’t designer, they were clean and neat. He looked a bit like pictures of the cowboys from the South illustrated on the cover of Louis L’Amour’s books, actually—very frontier. When I had the clothes on, he steered me back out the door and into a dinged-up, faded-blue truck that looked like it’d last been sold sometime in the 60’s. It got us to where we were going, though.
The t-shirt was way too small and didn’t actually quite reach my midriff, and the jeans were slightly too tight and rode too low, but I was decent enough to not attract stares. The holes in the shirt were accentuated a bit by the stretch my upper body gave them, but I wasn’t going to a ball. I’d pass.
During the trip he tried to pump me for information, what I’d been doing, how I got there. I guess he figured if I seemed ok now, I’d be ok till we got to the doctor’s, and he seemed genuinely curious. We drove up a couple miles to a shiny new-looking clinic and we got out. He tried to hover a bit, but I let him know I could walk by myself and we headed up to the door.
The clinic was pretty new, that much was clear. There wasn’t anything special about it, but it was clear it was a triage stop on the way to real care. The sign read “James Hollinger, M.D., G.P.” and the receptionist looked up at us as we headed in the door. She was a young little thing, attractive and rather buxom. She couldn’t have been more than 23. Her voice, though, was surprisingly strong and deep as she welcomed us in.
“Might as well go right on back, Dr. Hollinger doesn’t have any appointments today.” Must be a new practice, I figured. I stopped to thank the old man, and he stopped me in the middle of my sentence.
“Wasn’t any problem. I saw a kid in need and had to help out. Keep the clothes, my son won’t be needing ‘em. Just make sure you find out what’s going on, you hear? If you need a ride back to your place, have Dr. Hollinger give Amos Wright a call” I nodded and shook his hand, and he headed out. I made my way past the desk and looked for the right door to open. “Straight through the back, last door on the left” the receptionist called. Right.
As I entered the room, at first I didn’t notice anyone there. I closed the door and sat down on the medical bed, and nearly jumped three feet in the air when I saw the body on the other side. The body unfolded itself and the man yelped a bit himself. “What the he—,” he exclaimed.
I couldn’t help it. I let out a scream totally out of proportion to my startlement. I think it would closely resemble “bloody murder.” It had to be some combination of the extremely unnerving circumstances of before and the new startlement of thinking I was alone in the room. The doctor looked about as startled as me, but he got himself under control first and laid a calming hand on my shoulder.
“Hold on there man, sorry! I didn’t mean to give you a fright. I was just adjusting the bed over here, see?” and he pointed at some controls over on the side. At this point I had myself back under control and I apologized for the crazy response I’d given. His hand was still on my shoulder, probably because I had gone pale all over again and was still trembling some from the old scare and the new.
This doctor looked about as young as the receptionist outside, and seemed to have more of a build of a linebacker than a doctor. He had on the traditional uniform of a doctor—shirt, tie, slacks, white doctor’s coat—and filled it out like he spent hours at the gym. His hand on my shoulder was almost painful, the way he gripped it, and I could tell it was unintentional. This man was strong. He had blond hair, parted on the side, without a single hair out of place. It was so perfect it was hard to tell it wasn’t a wig.
“Shall we start over?” he asked with a hint of a smile; his teeth were so white, I noticed in passing. Like something out of a mouthwash advertisement. I smiled tentatively and gave him my name—Aaron Singleton—and launched into what had happened in the last few hours. As I told the story, his smile grew a little crooked. When I finished, he stopped smiling altogether and looked at me gravely.
“Losing time is almost always a serious matter, Aaron,” he said. “It usually indicates a brain injury of some sort. Have you struck your head or been hit recently?” he asked.
“No, nothing like that. I was just sanding, then I stepped off the ladder and suddenly I’m staring at an old man who is telling me I’m wandering around downtown in just my underwear!”
“Are you sure you didn’t fall?”
“I don’t think so.. I was already at the bottom and if I’d fallen it wouldn’t have been much of one.”
“Even a small fall can cause a concussion if you hit your head just the right way. Let me check your head for any bumps” He gently took my head in his hands and felt around, but I didn’t detect any pain as he ran his fingers over my head. “Nothing?” he asked, and I shook my head. He removed his hands and looked a bit perplexed.
“Well, I’m just getting situated here. I don’t have any of my equipment here yet. I’m going to have to set you up for an MRI and EEG in Seattle, and that might take a while. I don’t want you doing any strenuous activity until you get that MRI, you hear? It would be a good idea, if you’re losing time, to not operate any heavy machinery at all. There’s a driver in town I know, I’ll get you set up with him... he can take you where you need to be. And no painting, or other activities around the house that will have you up in the air. You don’t want to black out and go tumbling, eh?”
At this point he had me pretty scared. Did I have a tumor? Some sort of early stroke? Epilepsy? I joked inwardly that I was pretty sure it wasn’t Multiple Personality Syndrome; my childhood had been pretty much perfect. I would have preferred to have had a concussion from a fall; not knowing was worse.
Dr. Hollinger picked up a phone beside him in the small examining room and dialed up the University of Washington Medical Center and relayed what I’d told him. He verified for me that they carried my insurance and set up an appointment. When he got off the phone, he handed over a slip of paper he’d been writing on and said “I’ve got the appointment set up, but it won’t be for 3 days. You’re going to have to keep off your feet until then and don’t do anything strenuous. If you do, you could do harm to others as well as yourself, especially if you decide to go driving. Let me call that driver for you.”
I took the paper he held out in my hand and he turned and made another call. He spoke over the line for a bit with someone he clearly knew, and when he hung up he told me “I’ve set you up with my cousin Wayne. He’ll get you home and leave you his number. You call him if you need to get anywhere, including that hospital visit. Don’t worry about paying him, the insurance will cover it. And don’t let him try to weasel you out of any more cash! He’s a bit of a rascal,” he said with a wink.
I nodded and thanked him. We shook hands again—damn, that man had a grip—and he led me out into the lobby again. The receptionist cheerily asked if everything was ok, took my insurance information down (good thing I’d remembered my carrier)and xeroxed it, told me to call in when I got home and give her my carrier number, and then led me to a chair. I sat and tried to recall the missing hours while I waited for this Wayne to show up and give me a ride.
Eventually the door to the lobby opened and in walked Dr. Hollinger. Wait, no, this was clearly not him, because the hair was redder, but in every other way he was a spitting image of the doctor I’d just met. I guessed this was Wayne, and the receptionist confirmed it for me by greeting him sunnily by name. Wayne looked around the room till he saw me, then smiled another perfect smile and held out a beefy hand for me to shake. “Hear you ran into some trouble downtown earlier,” he drawled. What was it with this town and folksy southwestern accents? I guess the West doesn’t really have a defined dialect, but still. It’s like this place had been transplanted from Texas or Arizona or something.
I nodded and relayed a briefer version of the story, and he looked suitably concerned for me. He led me out to his car, which turned out to be a big, shiny, black SUV. He held the door open for me and actually tried to help me in as if I was an invalid, but I politely waved him off. I was pretty much over the shock and trembling from earlier and was well back on my way to wanting to be self-sufficient again. It already irked me a bit that I’d have to be driven around town for at least a week.
It was already night by then, and chillier than when the whole ordeal had started. The clothes I was wearing just weren’t designed for keeping heat in, so I shivered a bit. Wayne noticed and turned on the heater, but kept it low, and looked over at me to make sure all was fine. “Fit as a fiddle,” I grinned at him. He looked skeptical, but started up the SUV and pulled out of the hospital.
As we headed back to my place, we made some idle conversation. He wanted to know what had happened, and couldn’t help grinning a bit as I relayed the full tale, especially about wandering around downtown with nothing but sweat-soaked briefs on. “I bet you gave the girls a good show, eh?” he said and nudged my shoulder. We both chuckled at this. “Nothing to complain about, that’s for sure,” he said as he openly eyed the bulge in my too-tight jeans.
Ah, I thought as an uncomfortable silence settled. “No offense man, and I’m sure you’re very attractive and all, but I just don’t swing that way,” I said. He straightened up a bit in his seat and grinned right back at me, to show he wasn’t hurt. “Couldn’t hurt to try, could it?” he said with a bit of a leer. “Besides, it wouldn’t be right, hitting on an invalid, I suppose.” I laughed it off with him. I had nothing against gay men at all, and got hit on from time to time, so it rolled off me. I changed the subject quickly and the moment passed.
The clothes I was wearing were actually starting to itch a bit. They were just too tight, I figured. I shifted a bit in the seat, to try to get the jeans to stop riding so far up my crack. I caught Wayne looking at me sideways a couple times, but I didn’t say anything. Let him look, I didn’t mind, but I hoped I didn’t have to be more forceful about my unwillingness to go that way.
We passed the rest of the trip in companionable silence, and as he pulled up into the driveway we could see the ladder and the sander. As I got out of the car, I could hear the sander still going, just spinning noisily. I knew I would have turned it off if I had intentionally left. Something had happened, and it just worried me more.
“You ok getting in?” he called out, and I yelled back that I’d be fine. I walked over to the ladder and shut off the sander, then headed inside and turned on the front light to show him I was fine. I waved from the window to the SUV; I couldn’t see him inside it, as the headlights were pointing right at the door. He honked and then headed out.
I paused at the door to think more about what the hell had happened. I knew I’d stepped off the ladder, or was right about to, and then everything else was a total blank. It was as if there had been no intervening moment between my step and my wandering around in my boxer briefs, and that just made no sense at all. If I’d been unconscious, I would have been sure I would have noticed the missing time. And given that I was at least 25 miles from the town out here, it was a long way to walk barefooted, but my feet seemed fine. No blisters, no glass caught in them. It just made no sense at all.
I decided there was no use worrying about it for five days and determined to get my mind off the events of the last few hours. The first thing I wanted to do was get out of these old, too-tight clothes. I peeled off the tee-shirt right in the foyer, ripping the holes a little wider in the process. Ah well, I wouldn’t be wearing it again. Maybe I could turn it into a rag. I grabbed the pants and unbuttoned them, and peeled them off. I’d forgotten I was still wearing the boxer briefs until I opened up the jeans and saw them on me. They were still soaked through. I could detect a hint of my pubes and see my cock snaking down the side of one leg, not to mention the two large orbs of my testicles rubbing against the wet fabric. If it was this bad now, how had it looked to Amos when he saw me wandering? God, I hope nobody else had seen me. I gave thanks for the quiet nature of the town, remembering what the waitress had told me about the sleepy village. Emory seemed to be the best of all worlds at that moment.
I threw the hand-me-downs on top of my sofa and headed up the stairs. When I got to my room, I headed for the bathroom and peeled off my boxers, sticking them in the hamper beside the bathtub. I climbed into the shower and turned it on, letting the cold water hit me, shocking me a bit, and relishing the warmth as the water got up to temperature. I soaped myself up, running my fingers through my chest hair and the treasure trail that led down to my cock, and allowed myself some time to thoroughly clean all the sweat and dirt of the day off me. After I was done washing my hair, I leaned back into the nozzle and...
I was on my knees and choking on something huge in my mouth! Water was pouring all over my head and I couldn’t see a thing. I let out a yell of sheer panic and forcefully yanked my head back, spitting at the same time, while I distractedly heard another yelp and a shout of “Teeth, teeth!” I frantically rubbed at my eyes to get the water out, while trying to scramble out of the shower at the same time, and a pair of strong hands grabbed me and held me in place. I screamed out loud and fought back blindly, earning a nice “oof!” from whoever my attacker was, but he let go as I squirmed my way out of his grip and ran out of the shower.
“What the fuck, man?” I heard a deep voice say. It was so familiar, too. “I don’t know what game you’re playing at, but...oooowwww,” it moaned in pain.
I was huddled in the corner of the bathroom, still trying to see, and yelled out “who are you? What were you doing to me!”
“It’s Wayne, man! What the hell is going on?” My eyes started to clear up and I could see another man huddled in the shower. Sure enough, It was Wayne all right. I must have been...sucking his cock?
What. The Fuck.
“I don’t know what’s going on here Wayne,” I said shakily. “Why don’t you tell me before I call the police?”
“Call the police? Now wait just a god damned minute, you crazed psycho,” Wayne began angrily. He stood up, dripping in the still-running shower. Steam wafted around the room in a fog, covering up parts of him here and there, but he was still totally erect and...gigantic. He must have been at least 9″ long, maybe longer, and his cock was as thick as a coke can. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was halfway down the road when you called me back, you told me you were awful lonely out in the boondocks, you needed a friend and were worried you’d pass out and fall down the stairs or something. I came back out of the goodness of my heart and you called me up to your bedroom, where you were in the shower, moaning and soaping up your hard cock! You beckoned me into the stall and I didn’t need to be asked twice. I figured you’d decided to stop playing games with me. I could tell you were gay from the moment I saw you, and I just figured it’d be a matter of time.”
“I’m NOT gay!” I yelled. “I have no idea what happened! The last thing I remembered, I was rinsing off from a crazy day. The next thing I know, I have some stranger’s cock in my mouth!” I was so angry... he knew something was wrong with me, because I’d told him the story. I felt totally taken advantage of. From the story he was telling, it wasn’t rape, because I had apparently gone crazy and invited him to have sex with me, but he knew something was up, because I had told him what was going on. “You knew something was wrong with me! You took advantage!” I yelled.
He opened his mouth to retort, then shut it again... the water ran down his body, and even in my currently confused state I had to marvel a bit at it. He had the broadest shoulders I’d ever seen outside of a football locker room, making a perfect diamond shape above his bulging pectoral muscles. His powerful arms had one strong vein running from the shoulder joint down to his wrist, and his still-half-hard cock hung proudly over two extremely large balls. The water danced over a very prominent six-pack, and his thighs looked like redwood tree trunks. A light coating of reddish-blond hair, darkened by the water, trailed down from his front in a mat of fur. Only his nipples were bare. He had a healthy bush of red hair at the base of his now-softening penis, too. Hell if I had been gay, I probably WOULD have invited him into that shower with me. But damnit, I wasn’t. He was clearly attractive, but I felt nothing sexual for him! So what the fuck was going on with me? He turned beet red and looked totally abashed.
“Look man,” he said in a quieter voice, “You should see yourself. You’re so hot, and nobody ever comes through this town. You look like a Russian gymnast or something, so toned and...” he trailed off a bit. “I had the hots for you the moment I laid eyes on you, and when you invited me back, I thought all my dreams were coming true right then and there. I really had no idea something was going on. I shoulda thought, but my cock took over. Please don’t call the cops!” He reached one gigantic arm out toward me in involuntary supplication as his eyes pleaded with me.
I sighed. I couldn’t actually blame the man...apparently I had led him on, though what had come over me I was completely in the dark about. “I’m not calling the cops. I don’t know what’s going on. Just...get out, please.” I said, barely able to make myself audible. I unfolded myself from the fetal position I had curled up into, and noticed for the first time that I was still rock hard, my cock standing proudly 8 inches out in front of me. I looked at it, then looked back at him in confusion. As I stared at him, I felt a drop of precome as it leaked out of my dick. I felt myself flush all over and fled the bathroom.
Wayne couldn’t seem to help saying “Looks like someone’s a lot more confused than they think they are,” as I shut the door hurriedly behind me and looked around the room for something to wear. I grabbed the sweat bottoms I’d discarded earlier that day and hurriedly climbed into them, and then sat on the bed and waited for Wayne to come out. I didn’t have to wait long.
Wayne exited the bathroom only a minute or two later. He’d toweled off and he stomped through my bedroom, putting on his discarded clothes as he left. “What do you want me to do about the driving?” he muttered, and I said “Look, I know it’s suddenly gotten totally weird between us, but I still need to get around the town, and it looks like you might be the only one,” I said, temporarily forgetting about Amos’s initial offer. “Can we just forget this happened totally?” He muttered “sure, whatever,” looking hurt, as he finished putting on his shoes. He turned back to me once more before he left the bedroom. “Look, I don’t know what is going on with you. Maybe it is a tumor or something, I don’t know what. I think you need to give yourself a good long think about exactly what you really are, though, if while you aren’t in control of your actions you do stuff like...this.” He pointed at the bathroom.
I sighed again. “Just...please go for now, Wayne. I’m really sorry about...everything that’s happened. Let’s just forget it.” Wayne pirouetted on his heels and stomped down the stairs. I heard the door slam and a few moments later; I heard his SUV start up and leave the driveway.
I just sat on my bed for about 10 minutes after he had gone, trying to figure out what the hell was going on with me. I peeled off the sweat shorts and tossed them back in the hanger. I looked at the shower stall in the bathroom, trying to remember calling Wayne or anything prior to finding his cock in my mouth with me on my knees, and I couldn’t remember a goddamn thing. Was I going insane? I felt myself tearing up a bit. I’d just raped myself, was what it felt like.
I walked naked back to the bed and fell on top of it, made-up and all. I didn’t care. I cried myself to sleep.