By the time my short shift is over, I get to the apartment, by way of the bus this time, no Bram to whisk me away in his car. I’m absolutely exhausted and it’s getting close to midnight. I feel terrible that my mom has to drive back to her place so late but as soon as I step inside the door, she’s all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and ready to go.
“Everything was okay?” I ask her.
She nods. “She didn’t wake up, keeps on snoozing away.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to stay the night?”
“On that couch, are you kidding me? Last time I woke up with a back I thought I’d get when I’m 80,” she says with a grin. “Seriously, Nicola, darling, first chance you get, get a new one. You know this couch is too big for most living rooms anyway. What about two loveseats? I bet IKEA has them at the right price.”
Two loveseats would make the living room area look much bigger but there are so many other things to spend money on – important things – that a new couch or two seems frivolous. Besides, how the hell would I get my things from IKEA anyway, haul all the boxes on the bus?
“By the way,” my mom adds as she heads to the door. From the saucy look in her eyes, I have a feeling I know what the subject will be. “I spoke to Bram again.”
“Again?”
She lowers her voice. “He came home about an hour ago. He was alone if that makes any difference to you.”
“It doesn’t,” I quickly interject.
“Nonetheless,” she goes on, “he knocked on the door, just wanting to see if I was okay and if I needed anything. Actually I needed a cup of tea and your kettle isn’t working so he came over and lent me his.” I look over my shoulder in the kitchen and see a fancy stainless steel one on the counter. “He said you could keep it. I told him you would really appreciate it.”
“Mom,” I say, nearly whining, “I don’t want anything else of his. He’s done enough and I’m tired of feeling like a charity case.”
Her smile fades. A heavy pause settles between us. “I know darling. It never gets easier, does it?”
I sigh, my heart feeling fragile, like tempered glass. “No. It doesn’t.”
Then, to my surprise, she quickly pulls me into a hug and holds me tight. She hasn’t done this for ages. She’s a lot like me, or maybe I’m a lot like her – we forget to be affectionate every once in a while.
“You’re a good mother,” she whispers into my ear. “I’m proud of you, just like this, just the way things are now. But they will get better. For both of us. I promise.”
I close my eyes, letting that glass shatter. Just a little. Then my mother lets go and the air in the apartment is cold. She gives me a loving look and she’s out the door.
Slipping off my shoes, I head over to the poor, ragged couch and flop down on it.
The rip gets larger.
The apartment is almost silent except for the faint beat of music coming from Bram’s place. I make a mental note to talk to him about soundproofing. Since he owns the building, he could make it happen.
There’s something assuring about the fact that he’s up even though the music sounds like it’s getting louder and louder. It’s nothing too drum heavy, it sounds more like Massive Attack or Portishead, with slow, lazy beats.
I wonder what he’s doing. My mom had said he came home alone. Did that mean he didn’t get laid with Justine? That it was just an opera fling? Knowing Bram though, I wouldn’t be surprised if they screwed each other in a private box seat or something.
Stop thinking about him, I admonish myself, he’s nothing more than Mr. Rogers to you. So I get up to check on Ava instead. I sit on the side of her bed and watch her breathe in and out for a few moments, her own breathing steadying mine.
Meanwhile the thumping bass continues. I go into the kitchen and eye the kettle. I meant it when I said I didn’t want his charity. I pick it up, wrapping the cord around it, and go out into the hallway. I wait at his door for a second. I can hear the music more clearly here, the beginning of Portishead’s “Strangers,” which makes me flashback to high school and my British trip hop phase. I used to have a lot of sex to this kind of music. I kind of want to tell Bram that, just to get rid of my prude persona.
I knock on his door and wait. No response. I knock a bit louder. The music must be blocking me out. The right thing to do is to go back in my apartment and give him back the kettle tomorrow. After all, it’s not an emergency. I can gain back my pride another day.
But I don’t do that. Instead I try the door handle.
It’s not locked. It turns with easy and against my better judgement, I push open the door slowly. The music is loud now, a light is on in the kitchen but everything else is dark.
“Hello?” I call out, stepping inside. I push the door closed to keep the music out from the hall. I tiptoe forward now and place the kettle on the kitchen counter.
It’s then that the music quiets for a break beat and I hear something from his bedroom, like a groan. Could my mom have been wrong and he didn’t come home alone? Suddenly I’m very aware that I’m standing in the near dark in my landlord’s apartment, completely trespassing while he might be banging Justine in his room.
But I don’t hear any female noises and I no longer hear his.
I slowly make my way over to his bedroom, mindful of my footfalls, as the music builds up again. His door is open half-way and the light is on. I carefully peek inside.
My mouth drops open.
Bram is lying down on his bed and from my angle I can only see him from the chest down. He’s lying on top of a silky white duvet cover, completely naked. More than that, he has his dick in his hand and is slowly sliding it up and down his shaft.
Oh my God.
Oh my God.
Oh my fucking God.
I’m stunned, frozen in place as I watch him pleasure himself. This may make me a huge pervert, but to me there’s nothing sexier than watching a guy get himself off. Maybe that doesn’t make me a huge pervert but the fact that I’m sticking around to watch him do it, secretly I must add, most definitely does.
And yet I can’t help it. This is my first look at him completely naked and he’s one tanned, muscular machine, his body taught and golden against the white beneath him. His legs are long and toned, there’s a defined six-pack on his abs that glisten with sweat, and his chest is broad and hard with a bit of chest hair that only adds to his pure, vibrant manliness.
Then there’s his dick. I obviously had a hint of it before but now it was large and in charge. His own hand looked like he could barely tame it. I wasn’t sure anyone could.
But right now, I’d be willing to give a shot.
I have a brief fantasy about walking through the door. What would Bram say? I bet he wouldn’t even stop. He would keep going, watching me the entire time. Just before he’d come he’d ask me to get on my knees and crawl to the edge of the bed. With one large, tense hand he’d wrap my hair around his fingers and he’d tell me to slide my gorgeous mouth over his length. He’d tell me, breathless and commanding, to suck his cock.
In the fantasy I do it. I lick him from balls to purple tip and watch his eyes roll back in ecstasy. I’d do it and I’d love it.
But this isn’t a fantasy. This is reality. I’m spying on Bram as he jerks off and I’m fucking wet as hell, the throbbing building between my legs along with the music. Jeez, I really need to get laid because this is ridiculous. Those cobwebs need to be cleared ASAP.
I watch for a few more moments, each one seeming to stretch into an abyss of yearning. I’m practically salivating. I feel no shame in taking it in, not in this moment. Maybe later it will dawn on me that I have a secret, skeezy soul. But now, now I watch and I want. I want to put my mouth where his hands are, feel him, squeeze him just so. Then I’d climb on top and ride the shit out of him, ride him until this need inside of me is gone.