An Isolated Incident by Emily Maguire Page A

to wind down after a shift. I’d never been threatened, never frightened.
    But Nate was right. Those things hadn’t just happened to Bella; someone had done them. Someones. Someones who were still walking, driving around free and easy as could be.
    But they’d been driving around free and easy every other night I’d walked home. Tonight was no different except now I knew they existed, had seen with my own poor eyes what they could do.
    It was a good night behind the bar. We had a busload of footy players from interstate and not a one of them had any idea who I was or what had happened. I still had the odd regular giving me the poor old thing but what’s the goss look, but mostly I got to talk and laugh and bend for tips like nothing in the world could be wrong.
    The busload left for their hotel around midnight leaving only a pack of local boys around the telly up the back and a few long-distance truckies and coach drivers holding up the bar. One of them, Tyler, was a semi-regular sleepover friend of mine. He was one of the younger fellas I’d taken home, only twenty-eight, but with a good decade of life on the road under his belt. Not married, no girlfriend last I knew. Lived with his mum in the outer suburbs of Melbourne. Shy in the bedroom. Shy and grateful. Now that the crowds of footy players were gone I saw he was watching me from his perch near the smoke machine.
    â€˜Hey, Chris,’ he said when I came close.
    â€˜Haven’t seen you in here a while. Cut back on the long-hauls, hey?’
    â€˜Nah. Been on holidays. Took me mum to Thailand.’
    â€˜Good on you! Thailand, hey? Come to mention it, you do have a bit of extra colour in your cheeks.’
    He didn’t until I said that. He blushed like a bloody virgin.
    â€˜Yeah. Just got home yesterday. Straight back on the road today.’
    â€˜No rest for the wicked, hey.’
    â€˜You’d be one to know.’
    â€˜Cheeky bugger,’ I said and swatted him with my towel.
    â€˜So, ah, you got a big night planned?’
    â€˜Oh,’ I said. ‘You know . . .’ I stopped myself. He obviously didn’t know or he wouldn’t have asked me. I could tell him and have him be sorry and ashamed and slightly thrilled like the rest of them, or I could let it go, tell him I was tired. Or I could do as I promised Nate and get a damn lift home and, while I was at it, avoid being in my goddamn house alone all night.
    â€˜Nah, it’s cool, I just thought –’
    â€˜Actually, my feet are killing me. I’d love a lift home if you don’t mind hanging around until close?’
    Like I said, he was a shy one when it came down to it. I set him up with a beer while I had a shower, put on my low-cut red nightie and changed the sheets on the bed. Then I called him in and took off his clothes. He was scrawny with a pinched, ferrety face but he had this lovely thick, golden, wavy hair. Such a waste on a bloke, I always thought.
    I lay him down and straddled him, hanging my tits in his face, letting him nuzzle and knead me while I reached over to the drawer where I kept my supplies. While he could see nothing but tit I scooped out a bit of lube and stuck it up myself, then unwrapped a condom.
    (You’re the one wanted to know how I could jump back in the sack so soon. This is how. Don’t ask if you don’t want to bloody know.)
    I readied myself then sat up straight. I rolled the condom on him as he continued kneading my breasts. He let go for a second when I stuck his dick in but then grabbed hold again. Normally I’d’ve played with him a little, tried to give good value, but I was so damn tired and sad I couldn’t bear to draw it out any longer. I held his hands down and lay almost flat so my boobs would slap his face with each thrust. Slap slap slap slap and – boom – he bucked up and moaned, sank back down, sighed.
    I kissed his forehead, carefully removed the condom