Page 130 of Bend
“Oh, fuck you, you little rich slut. You like it like this, don’t you? You like it when I fuck you like this.”
“I’m a whore. Fuck me like a whore. Yes, fuck me like a rich little whore.” I knew I was saying the right things. They turned me on, and they made him slam me harder. I felt the swirl of my climax.
Everything was there. Skin on skin. Tick. Prone, exposed to a stranger. Tick. No commitments, no intimacy. Tick. A little risk thrown in for good measure. Tick, tick, tick.
There was the thing I’d forgotten.
The boredom. The space between the hunt for sex and the orgasm, and even the orgasm, half the time. Tedious.
I wanted to come and get it the fuck over with. The seconds in between were not savored but reviled. They were an unworthy means to a worthy end. His grunts were annoying. His dirty talk held no meaning. I didn’t want to look at him, so I bent over. He thought I was a slut, so he called me a slut. Boring.
I pushed against him. “Harder, fucker. Bury it. Break it off.”
He slapped my ass and pounded me. “Shut up, bitch.”
His balls slapped my clit, and his dick plowed against it. I was going to come. I felt it in my muscles, and when they tensed and clenched, it was a release, not a joy. Just a job well done.
He came with an oof, and I rolled my eyes.
He stroked my back from neck to ass. “Baby—”
“Get out. I have shit to do.”
“Why’s it gotta be like that?” He got the condom off and rolled it up in toilet paper.
I stood up. “How else should it be?”
“You don’t want me to be nice?”
“You thought you were the one using me? Funny.”
“You some kinda weirdo?”
“You’re in a mental ward, dude. Come on. Get the fuck out of my bathroom.”
Condom stowed in his pocket, pants zipped, girl disinterested, he got the hint and opened the door. He was almost out, but being a man, he needed the last word.
“Slut.”
fourteen.
“Last session,” Elliot said. “How do you feel?”
He looked relaxed, clean-shaven, happy. I hadn’t realized how troubled he’d looked during our last session.
“I’m okay. Are you going to let me go?”
“I can only make a recommendation. After this session, I’ll type it up, and we’ll meet with Frances and your lawyer. Give me an hour after we’re done. Your mother and lawyer are already here.”
I sit on the couch. “Are we doing hypnosis again today?”
He shrugged. “Sure, if you’re up for it. I’d like to try to find more recent memories. Track back to the last thing you remember.”
I laid back. “We tried this before.”
“Maybe things have changed.” He sat next to me and got out his pen.
I wished I could have met him under different circumstances. When he was a seminarian, before I was a happy little fuckdoll, when things could have been kind of normal. That absurd sense of humor would drive me insane while my affluenza frustrated him.
