Edging Obsession

1

M y hands press against the headboard to prevent hitting it as the bed creaks from thrusts accompanied by grunts. It lasts far too long before the moans of ecstasy assault my ears. Of course, they didn’t come from me. Carl fucks like a drill sergeant, in and out, and onto the next thing. There’s no romance. Intensity. No eye contact. Nothing but Carl’s aim toward his own release. I like sex, except with him. He’s a self-serving vanilla , and his natural smell of car fumes adds to the displeasure.

Carl rolls off, catching a last second glance of me, and leaves to relieve himself. When he returns, he slips on his underwear and jeans, unzipped and unbuttoned, and drops into the antique chair positioned by the window. I found the chair at an antique market on the side of the road and fell in love with it. All of its beautiful wood finish and S-scroll legs, maroon velvet seat and backing, along with gilded studs. I admire it more than Carl. Finally, I look at him. He almost appears angelic the way the light beams through the sheer white curtains. Almost. Carl sits back in the chair while I pull the covers around my breasts and rest my back against the headboard.

It doesn’t take long for him to break the silence. “I can’t do this anymore.” One of my brows cocks up. His hand flaps between him and me. “This. Us. Pretend like I want a future with you.”

“Ah, but a fuck wasn’t out of the question.”

He leans forward in the chair. “You know, Jules, your swearing is a turnoff. Among other things.”

I roll my eyes at him and return my focus to the antique chair. I bought it prior to meeting Carl, and although he hated the vintage style, I refused to part with it. But Carl, I’m not so sure I’ll have a hard time parting with him. It’s not his lean muscle build, short blond hair, and green eyes that are a turnoff. It’s his personality. He lacks a sense of humor, which got lost somewhere between our first hello and our first date. It’s best he doesn’t laugh though, because he sounds like a hyena.

When we met, I made the first move, which he shut down. He said he wanted to get to know me before we slept together. So, I waited. And waited. On our tenth date, he decided it was time for us to become intimate, as he put it. I should have known then this relationship was doomed. Not only that, but he has an ever-growing dislike list about me he tends to regurgitate whenever things don’t go his way…even though it went his way minutes ago. The ache for an orgasm between my thighs is proof.

“And another thing…” Carl’s voice brings me back. “I’m tired of your moods. One day you’re chatty Cathy, and the next, you’re a frustrated bitch.” I let out an animated sigh. He points at me. “This is what I’m talking about. You’re acting as if you don’t care.”

“Because I’m not prepared for another lecture about the list of things I do that bother you.”

He shoots out of the chair as if Satan burned his ass. “Jesus, Jules! The list keeps growing and you don’t do a damn thing to change.”

I smooth down the sheet against my body. It’s 400 thread count is how I assume sleeping on a cloud would feel like…if I were to imagine the experience of a thick, puffy cloud.

“Are you listening to me, Jules?”

My voice levels. “The entire neighborhood is listening, Carl.” His hands are fisted on his hips. “What do you want from me? Are you upset I didn’t moan enough? Forget to thank you for a not-so-fun time?”

He begins to pace, running a hand through his hair, and when he does this, it’s serious. I’m not sure my heart can take another hit. His dismemberment of my character hurts. I just don’t know how to be the kind of woman he wants me to be.

“I had planned to tell you yesterday, but then, well…you looked so hot in your dress. Anyway, this was supposed to take place yesterday.”

Wrapping the sheet around me as I rise, I stand in front of him, eyes almost level, and say, “This is me, Carl. I’m the same Jules from when you first met me. Apparently, you are more absorbed in my fa?ade instead of my true self.”

For the first in a long time, his eyes dig deep into mine, searching for something which doesn’t exist. After realizing this, he swipes up his shirt from the floor, pulls it over his head, and reaches for his shoes. My hand latches onto the top of the sheet while I shift to my other foot. He’s tossing clothes into a duffle bag and shaking his head. In the washroom, the cabinet slams against the wall, there’s clattering, and he’s back to tossing items into the bag.

He zips it and says, “I’m sorry, but we’re done. You can keep your moods. I need someone who’s stable, consistent. Someone willing to meet me halfway. I’ll get the rest of my things later.”

I swallow down the sadness because Carl doesn’t deserve to see my cracks. He has no problem pointing out my flaws, yet I’ve never introduced him to his own. There was a time when I cared about him, so I brushed off his shortcomings until they were specks of dust buried deep under the rug. All his messiness went unspoken. His lack of consideration never uttered. I ignored Carl’s proverbial sarcasm at my expense. Over time, it made our relationship hollow. A cavern of empty promises and lost hope.

Carl is at the door, holding the bag, and gives me a last glance before leaving. I don’t chase him or beg him to stay. His stiff back disappears behind the door. Another relationship disintegrates. As usual, my friendships and romantic relationships go up in puffs of smoke. I know there’s something wrong with me aside from depression—a shortage in my brain. How does one fix themselves when they can’t pinpoint the problem? Some days I’m an explosive volcano, and others, I’m buried under the lava, my focus solely on breathing.

There’s no time to worry about another failed connection. I gather the droppings he left on the floor, toss them in the garbage, and start getting ready for work. The ensuite washroom is a bit darker without a window. Still, the airiness of white is inviting for the large shower and two-sink vanity, which I take full advantage of this morning to wash away Carl.

O utside my office building, I stand to the side, sipping my coffee and contemplating my place in life. School wasn’t for me, so after many attempts at finding a job, I came upon a low-level magazine position. My boss Fred found me attractive enough to hire and make me a writer. With no experience other than my enjoyment of writing, Fred lets me write all kinds of articles, even when the editors curse and complain to him. I’m grateful for the job, but I’m unsure if this is my forever.

My coffee spills onto the ground when my arm is bumped. I hold the cup away to prevent it from splashing on my clothes. My frown turns into a smile when I see Fred.

“Sorry, Jules. I should have nudged your other arm.”

His underwater laughter caused by years of cigarette abuse brings unwanted attention. Some colleagues pass by, sneer at the favoritism, and walk into the building. Fred disregards them, taking out a used handkerchief to wipe off my coffee cup and hand.

I back away and toss the cup into the trash bin. “No worries, Fred. I was about done with it anyways.”

He crushes the handkerchief back into his bloated pants pockets and holds out an arm toward the door. “Shall we?”

I walk ahead of him, knowing he’s checking me out. His wandering eyes are never subtle. Instead of going to my desk, Fred invites me into his office. All I can do is hope he doesn’t try anything again. His hands tend to graze, pat, or touch me. I haven’t said anything because I like the job and experience.

His modest frame plops down on the chair as fingers whisp aside the lone hairs on top of his head. I take a seat on the other side of the desk. A barrier against his roaming hands.

“Jules, you’ve been with us for quite some time. I’ve given you countless opportunities.”

I perk up and start firing away. “Did I do something wrong? I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. What can I—?”

Fred lifts his hands in a stop position and says, “Slow down, Jules. We’re only talking. It’s my job to make sure things run smoothly at this magazine.”

My nerves are sparked. “I understand. I do. You’re a great boss.”

“Now, now, calm down. This is a chat about your performance and expectations. You’re not getting fired.”

I glance around the room, and when he bows his head, I adjust my breasts so they’re bloating out of my blouse. When he raises his head, his eyes zero in on them, he clears his throat and says, “It’s no secret some of the employees have been somewhat discouraged by your work. I’ve placated several of the people making the complaints until now. Some of them went over my head regarding you, which is why we’re having this discussion.”

This can’t be happening today. First Carl and now my job? What the hell? I can’t prevent my lips from quivering, my breasts heaving up and down, capturing Fred’s attention. I swap a tissue from the box sitting on his desk and blow my nose.

“Everything will be fine, Jules.” He comes around to pat my shoulder, and somehow his hand drifts onto my breast. I still, our eyes lock, until he moves it to my arm, taking the chair next to me. My knees are his next target as he rubs them in a circular motion.

“No need to worry about something that hasn’t happened yet. As of today, I need to put you on probation.” My eyes widen while my mouth opens. Fred stops me from saying anything. “It’s only a trial run. But I have a solution.”

He licks his lips while he gives my knees one last rub and sits back. “I’m going to give you the biggest opportunity of your life. You’re going to do a ‘day-in-the-life’ of The Coven. The biggest band today.”

I lean forward, my breasts pouring out of my blouse. Fred glances at my mouth, and swallows down an accumulation of saliva. My back crashes against the chair when he kisses me on the lips. The nicotine habit withered his mouth—skin puckered and rough against the softness of mine. He backs away, keeping his hands on my thighs. We say nothing for a moment, letting the instance evaporate.

“This will work, Jules. For two weeks, you’ll travel with the band, and then write an article about a day in the life of The Coven.”

The Coven is the biggest international band on the planet. Their music is deep, moving, and the diverse songs set them apart from other bands. My favorite song of theirs is Butterfly Winds , which always evokes emotions in me.

I pat my lips with my fingertips, eyes remaining on him, and say, “I can’t thank you enough for this, Fred.”

“This is a make-or-break opportunity. If you produce an outstanding piece, you’re off probation, but if you don’t…” His eyes devour my body, and he readjusts in his seat to hide his arousal. It isn’t working. “If you don’t, then I’ll have to fire you.” He looks into my eyes. “Neither of us want that, so make sure this is the best thing you’ve ever produced.”

I nod and smile. “I will. I promise I’ll make you proud.”

We sit there staring at each other while his hands slide up my thighs, back to my knees, and fall away. I stand and move behind the chair to stop anymore intrusions.

“When do I leave?”

Fred walks over to his desk, puts on his glasses, and reads a short memo. “Tomorrow.” He gives me a once over. “Is that too early?”

I go to the door as I say, “Not at all. I’ll prep now, pack tonight, and meet the band tomorrow.” The door opens and my eyebrows knit together as I ask, “Where am I meeting them?”

“At their bus. I’ll send you the address.”

Before I close the door, I say, “Thanks so much, Fred. You won’t be disappointed.”

In the bathroom, I squeal from excitement, and place my hand against my chest once realization sets in. I can’t believe Fred felt me up and kissed me. I let out a shocked laugh. It’s never gone this far. A peek here and there is fine, but he just about molested me in his office. And I let him. For what? To keep my job?

Hell yes! I can’t believe he gave me the opportunity of a lifetime. To meet the members of The Coven. I’ve been following their careers for a while. The lead singer, Callan Crothers, started the band with the lead guitarist, Ace Dilliard. They played at parties, and added bass player, Thomas Capers to the mix. The band progressed to small gigs and seedy bars. It wasn’t until Miles Nash, the drummer and handsomest of them all, joined that the band took off. They went from small bars to arenas overnight, which spread throughout the States and into Europe. Dubbed “The Atomic Band”, The Coven has been going strong for several years. And I’m going to be traveling with them.