soothed and stimulated him. He looked forward to them, even though he knew there would be no sex for quite some time yet, if ever. He enjoyed touching her, even platonically. He’d never had much non-carnal contact with a woman and was pleased to find that he could enjoy it so much.
His previous girlfriends had been frustrated by his lack of casual affection. Some had even suggested that he see a therapist, but he was fairly certain he knew why he was sexually aroused so easily. For the first eighteen years of his life, his relationship with Brodie had been the only emotional connection he’d had. Nobody had comforted him when he hurt himself or given him loving caresses and kissed boo-boos away. If there were monsters in his closet, and he knew from experience that there were, it had been up to him to fight them off. His basic needs had been taken care of most of the time, but anything more than that had not been forthcoming. As far as he knew, his mother wasn’t an especially affectionate woman, at least not with him. She never seemed to have any problem being affectionate with her endless string of abusive boyfriends, but apparently non-sexual contact was out of the question for her.
He craved touch and affection, but having never experienced it, he became overly excited. In the past, tenderness had been impossible for him, and usually he was very rough and aggressive in bed. Characteristically, his sexual encounters resulted in tearful and angry soon-to-be ex-girlfriends. Most of his former lovers were in the entertainment industry and didn’t relish lovemaking that resulted in bruises and carpet burns. Their annoyance was aggravated by his not being particularly tender at other times and his rejection of their affectionate touches. With Callie, his usual burning desire was tempered with a surprising need to be gentle. He wasn’t altogether sure of his ability to maintain that tenderness, but he had finally met a woman who made him want to try.
Chapter 8
Callie looked out her apartment window onto the bleary streetscape below. Usually the faux Dickensian façade of downtown Maple Fork cheered her, as the renovation of the area had made the success of her bookstore possible. But today was one of those bleak fall days when the clouds seem to come down to meet the earth and bring slow chilly rain with them. Even the cheery storefronts and pseudo-gas streetlamps failed to brighten the scene. Located as it was in the commercial space above the bookstore, a more sophisticated real estate agent would probably refer to their apartment as a “loft.” Here in Maple Fork it was called storage space and had been thrown in free of charge when they rented the building. Fortunately, it already had plumbing and electricity and it had taken only minimal work to make it habitable. The apartment stretched the length of the building, but she and Tonya used only the front half; the rear was dedicated to storage. It had the twelve-foot ceilings and beautifully distressed hardwood floors typical of loft apartments. Of course these floors had been distressed the old-fashioned way, by years of having boxes and crates moved across the soft pine surfaces when the owners used it for its original purpose. Tonya had been particularly enamored with the eight-foot-high fan windows and the brick walls she called “deconstructed.” To Callie, they just looked like a bad plaster job.
Their friends were always telling them that their apartment looked like something you would see in New York City. Callie really loved the apartment, especially the massive eight-piece sectional. When they’d received it, the sofa had been upholstered in an unlikely shade of orange velveteen. Now re-covered in chocolate brown chenille, it resembled nothing so much as a giant Hershey bar. Callie frequently retreated to it as her favorite haven from the hectic pace she had to sustain to keep her business afloat.
Despite the dreary weather, Callie luxuriated in this
His previous girlfriends had been frustrated by his lack of casual affection. Some had even suggested that he see a therapist, but he was fairly certain he knew why he was sexually aroused so easily. For the first eighteen years of his life, his relationship with Brodie had been the only emotional connection he’d had. Nobody had comforted him when he hurt himself or given him loving caresses and kissed boo-boos away. If there were monsters in his closet, and he knew from experience that there were, it had been up to him to fight them off. His basic needs had been taken care of most of the time, but anything more than that had not been forthcoming. As far as he knew, his mother wasn’t an especially affectionate woman, at least not with him. She never seemed to have any problem being affectionate with her endless string of abusive boyfriends, but apparently non-sexual contact was out of the question for her.
He craved touch and affection, but having never experienced it, he became overly excited. In the past, tenderness had been impossible for him, and usually he was very rough and aggressive in bed. Characteristically, his sexual encounters resulted in tearful and angry soon-to-be ex-girlfriends. Most of his former lovers were in the entertainment industry and didn’t relish lovemaking that resulted in bruises and carpet burns. Their annoyance was aggravated by his not being particularly tender at other times and his rejection of their affectionate touches. With Callie, his usual burning desire was tempered with a surprising need to be gentle. He wasn’t altogether sure of his ability to maintain that tenderness, but he had finally met a woman who made him want to try.
Chapter 8
Callie looked out her apartment window onto the bleary streetscape below. Usually the faux Dickensian façade of downtown Maple Fork cheered her, as the renovation of the area had made the success of her bookstore possible. But today was one of those bleak fall days when the clouds seem to come down to meet the earth and bring slow chilly rain with them. Even the cheery storefronts and pseudo-gas streetlamps failed to brighten the scene. Located as it was in the commercial space above the bookstore, a more sophisticated real estate agent would probably refer to their apartment as a “loft.” Here in Maple Fork it was called storage space and had been thrown in free of charge when they rented the building. Fortunately, it already had plumbing and electricity and it had taken only minimal work to make it habitable. The apartment stretched the length of the building, but she and Tonya used only the front half; the rear was dedicated to storage. It had the twelve-foot ceilings and beautifully distressed hardwood floors typical of loft apartments. Of course these floors had been distressed the old-fashioned way, by years of having boxes and crates moved across the soft pine surfaces when the owners used it for its original purpose. Tonya had been particularly enamored with the eight-foot-high fan windows and the brick walls she called “deconstructed.” To Callie, they just looked like a bad plaster job.
Their friends were always telling them that their apartment looked like something you would see in New York City. Callie really loved the apartment, especially the massive eight-piece sectional. When they’d received it, the sofa had been upholstered in an unlikely shade of orange velveteen. Now re-covered in chocolate brown chenille, it resembled nothing so much as a giant Hershey bar. Callie frequently retreated to it as her favorite haven from the hectic pace she had to sustain to keep her business afloat.
Despite the dreary weather, Callie luxuriated in this
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