me so I tasted myself in her mouth. “I like being with you, Nick, and talking to you. I don’t expect you to commit. I don’t care who else you’re fucking. I just hope we can continue to have sex, and talk, and I want you to teach me magic. That’s all I want from you.” She stared at me directly, challenging me to say something to that.
I tucked myself away, realizing I had no argument. She was being honest. How many girls are honest like that? I realized I’d likely give her anything she asked, even my soul if she wanted it. If she wanted to learn magic, I would teach her. If she wanted to have wild, no-commitment sex where neither of us was monogamous, I could do that too. At least, I hoped I could.
“You know that Mr. Fernstermacher likely saw us just now,” I said.
She stroked my cheek with her fingertips. “You know, for the future ruler of hell, you’re awful prudish,” she said.
I laughed and started the car.
Vivian lived in a side-by-side family house on Baker’s Lane, which was pretty funny when I thought about it, since she was studying to be a pastry chef. As we cruised down the tree-lined, suburban-perfect street, passing the occasional Saturday morning garage sale, Vivian told me about her roommate Brittany, about the classes she took, and her schedule. We decided that Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday nights would be best to work on her magic. She didn’t work those evenings at the steakhouse and she had classes in the early morning. She was available Saturday and Sunday mornings as well, but the shop was busy on the weekend so that wouldn’t work for me. I would teach her at her apartment in an effort to avoid Morgana.
She then asked me some personal questions, mostly about sex, what I liked and didn’t like. I discovered that Vivian was very interested in the swinger lifestyle. She wanted to be in a solid relationship with someone she trusted, someone like me, but still be able to bring a third party in on occasion. She didn’t mind doing it with a girl, though that wasn’t her preference. She did want to see me do it with a guy. I think I was more embarrassed than she was. Sometimes the era I live in just boggles my mind.
She stopped talking when I slowed a few houses down from her place. There was a roadblock set up. I caught the flash of an ambulance up ahead, and a bad feeling seized me then, and apparently Vivian as well. She sat up straight and stared out of the windshield. “Fuck,” she said, softly. She unclipped her seatbelt, jerked open the passenger side, and slid out while the car was still rolling along the asphalt.
I immediately hit the brake. “Viv . . . ” I began, but she was already through the police blockade. I didn’t know what else to do, so I simply shut off the car in the middle of the street and got out. I jogged after Vivian, stopping only when I saw her standing before her yellow, vinyl-sided, side-by-side.
A half dozen police cars and two ambulances were clustered in the street, and neighbors from across the street and various yard sales were gathering like curious crows. The front door of the side-by-side was open and police from two counties were filtering in and out. I spotted the coroner’s car, then saw Deputy Branson taking a neighbor’s statement. The moment he saw me, he raised a radio to his mouth. A few seconds later, Ben stepped out of the house and headed toward us, not hurrying but determined. He wore his square mirrored Super Trooper shades, and his mouth was set in a severe all-business line under his mustache.
More cops emerged from the house, and a few from their cruisers parked somewhat randomly in the closed-off street. They too started toward us, as if to hem us in. As if we might bolt down the street when we had no idea what was going on. Vivian took my hand in hers. She was shaking.
Ben had reached us. He gave me a dismissive look before turning his full attention on Vivian. I didn’t let go of her hand, and I had to suppress
I tucked myself away, realizing I had no argument. She was being honest. How many girls are honest like that? I realized I’d likely give her anything she asked, even my soul if she wanted it. If she wanted to learn magic, I would teach her. If she wanted to have wild, no-commitment sex where neither of us was monogamous, I could do that too. At least, I hoped I could.
“You know that Mr. Fernstermacher likely saw us just now,” I said.
She stroked my cheek with her fingertips. “You know, for the future ruler of hell, you’re awful prudish,” she said.
I laughed and started the car.
Vivian lived in a side-by-side family house on Baker’s Lane, which was pretty funny when I thought about it, since she was studying to be a pastry chef. As we cruised down the tree-lined, suburban-perfect street, passing the occasional Saturday morning garage sale, Vivian told me about her roommate Brittany, about the classes she took, and her schedule. We decided that Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday nights would be best to work on her magic. She didn’t work those evenings at the steakhouse and she had classes in the early morning. She was available Saturday and Sunday mornings as well, but the shop was busy on the weekend so that wouldn’t work for me. I would teach her at her apartment in an effort to avoid Morgana.
She then asked me some personal questions, mostly about sex, what I liked and didn’t like. I discovered that Vivian was very interested in the swinger lifestyle. She wanted to be in a solid relationship with someone she trusted, someone like me, but still be able to bring a third party in on occasion. She didn’t mind doing it with a girl, though that wasn’t her preference. She did want to see me do it with a guy. I think I was more embarrassed than she was. Sometimes the era I live in just boggles my mind.
She stopped talking when I slowed a few houses down from her place. There was a roadblock set up. I caught the flash of an ambulance up ahead, and a bad feeling seized me then, and apparently Vivian as well. She sat up straight and stared out of the windshield. “Fuck,” she said, softly. She unclipped her seatbelt, jerked open the passenger side, and slid out while the car was still rolling along the asphalt.
I immediately hit the brake. “Viv . . . ” I began, but she was already through the police blockade. I didn’t know what else to do, so I simply shut off the car in the middle of the street and got out. I jogged after Vivian, stopping only when I saw her standing before her yellow, vinyl-sided, side-by-side.
A half dozen police cars and two ambulances were clustered in the street, and neighbors from across the street and various yard sales were gathering like curious crows. The front door of the side-by-side was open and police from two counties were filtering in and out. I spotted the coroner’s car, then saw Deputy Branson taking a neighbor’s statement. The moment he saw me, he raised a radio to his mouth. A few seconds later, Ben stepped out of the house and headed toward us, not hurrying but determined. He wore his square mirrored Super Trooper shades, and his mouth was set in a severe all-business line under his mustache.
More cops emerged from the house, and a few from their cruisers parked somewhat randomly in the closed-off street. They too started toward us, as if to hem us in. As if we might bolt down the street when we had no idea what was going on. Vivian took my hand in hers. She was shaking.
Ben had reached us. He gave me a dismissive look before turning his full attention on Vivian. I didn’t let go of her hand, and I had to suppress
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