Nancy

 

“I need to tie you up,” I say, trailing my hand along his arm as he watches TV. “That way I can keep an eye on you.”

 

“Tie me up?” He laughs. “Really? I’ve never been tied up before, Nancy. I’ve never been the type. I’m always the dominant one, you know? I reckon I’d feel damn vulnerable tied up like that.”

 

“That’s the point.” I lean in, kissing his neck. “You’d be the vulnerable one instead of me.”

 

“Are you serious?” He turns to me, looking sexy as all hell in his tight-fitting T-shirt, his muscles bulging, his light green eyes looking up and down my body. “Do you actually wanna do this? I’ve gotta be honest, I reckon I’d feel a little awkward about it. With any other woman I’d say no and that’d be that. But maybe we can try it. Maybe we can see how it goes.”

 

“I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

 

“Ha!” He covers his mouth, shaking his head. “Sorry, pretty lady, but I reckon my life’s gonna involve doing stuff I’m not completely comfortable with for a while. I reckon that’s the whole point. I was comfortable outlawing and hurting people and walking out on you and running from every good thing in my life. It’s the good stuff that makes me uncomfortable, so maybe that isn’t such a bad thing.”

 

“Is that a yes?”

 

“That’s a hell, yes.”

 

He grabs my neck and pulls me close to him, kissing me firmly. I grab his shoulders and kiss him back, pressing close to him, wanting to be closer every second, wanting to be so close that we fuse and become one person. Before I fall too far into the moment, though, I lean back and slap him on the chest.

 

“Get in the bedroom, mister. I’m in charge today.”

 

He jumps to his feet and snaps a salute. “Yes, ma’am!”

 

I follow him, waiting as he lies on the bed and spreads his arms and legs. “Goddamn,” he says. “This feels weird.”

 

“We don’t have to . . .”

 

“I want to,” he says. “I’m curious now. I want to try it.”

 

“You might want to get undressed first . . .”

 

“You’re a fuckin’ pervert.” He stands up. “I’ll show you mine if—”

 

He doesn’t need to finish. I want to be naked for him. Being naked for him makes me feel sexier than I ever have before, the way his eyes roam over my body like it’s the beautiful surface of a lush countryside. I yank off my clothes and stand there, arms at my sides, breasts pushed out. He strips quickly, his cock already rock-hard for me.

 

“Okay, now lie down.”

 

He lies on the bed, arms and legs spread. I take the curtain ropes, and then two ropes from bathrobes, and tie his wrists and ankles to each corner of the bed. I know he could break out if he really wanted to. He’s so strong, he could break the whole bed if he wanted to. But that’s part of the thrill. He’s submitting to me in his mind as well as his body: his soul, even.

 

“Okay.” I climb onto the bed next to him. “Close your eyes. You’re mine now.”

 

He does as I ask, and then I place my face against his chest, kissing, licking, moving down the hard pack of muscle on his belly, feeling every ridge with my lips. It’s like kissing an ancient boulder, something that has existed for thousands of years, something timeless and powerful. My heart flutters, my cheeks flooding with warmth, my lips tingling as I kiss those immense muscles. I kiss all the way down to his cock, so hard that it tWolves like a racehorse eager to get out of the block.

 

I bring my hand to it slowly, touching the tip, and then stroke it up and down in big movements, pumping it hard. I kiss the tip, and then open my mouth and take it in, and then force my face down to his balls, listening to his gasps and grunts, using them as fuel to drive me on. I suck him for a few minutes, savoring every moan of pleasure, and then sit up and straddle him, my pussy less than an inch from his cock.

 

“Keep your eyes closed,” I say, placing my hands on his pectorals.

 

I take his cock and sit down, his cock sliding inside of me. And then I sit back up, smiling to myself as he groans in frustration.

 

“Don’t make me break out of these ropes now,” he says.

 

“You’d do that to me?” I say sweetly, stroking his cock. “You’d really ruin my fun like that?”

 

“You’re a sexy little bitch,” he mutters, breathing heavier and heavier the more I stroke him. “You’re a psychopathic maniac.”

 

“Careful, Fink.” I sit back, this time all the way, laying all my weight on his cock, sliding down the length of him until my ass is pressed against his balls. I take a long breath, savoring the moment of his cock pressing against my pussy lips, opening me up. I dig my fingernails into his chest and tWolf from side to side, grinding my sweet spot against the tip of him.

 

“Oh, fuck,” he moans.

 

“Oh, fuck,” I agree.

 

Using his chest as a grip, I bounce up and down on his cock, bouncing like crazy, my breasts bobbing up and down and my hair whipping and my fingernails scratching lines of blood into Fink’s chest. Fink opens his eyes, staring at my breasts, and shifts his hips as much he can in the bindings, thrusting up inside of me. I bounce up and down, driving downward with my hips, in complete control of the angle of his cock, making minor adjustments as I ride the pleasure.

 

Then Fink growls and tugs his arms, snapping the ropes in half and bringing his hands to my breasts. “Fuck,” he growls. “Fuck, fuck, you feel too fuckin’ good. You feel fuckin’ perfect.”

 

He leans up and I wrap my arms around his shoulders, our chests pressed together, me riding him faster and faster, bucking atop him, completely lost to the world now. I keep thinking: this is the father of my child. Over and over, and the thought only adds to the pleasure. He’s here, we’re together, we’re close. I grab his back, running my hands up and down the muscled texture, and then drive down even harder. He’s not fucking me and I’m not fucking him; we’re fucking each other.

 

The orgasm develops strangely inside of me. It feels as though it comes from my hands, pressed against his muscles, like the power of his muscles transfers to my hands, up my arms, and then down into my pussy, where it grows larger and larger, engulfing me entirely. Distantly, I know this must not be the case. But it feels like that, and the feeling is sweeter and more intense than any orgasm I’ve felt before. I ride the feeling, Fink’s muscles driving my orgasm around me, powering it, growing it, until my pussy is so tight I can hardly stand it.

 

I drive down on him one final time, and then all hell breaks loose.

 

I lose control of myself, falling forward as though I’ve been hit in the back. I kiss Fink on the lips, on the cheek, wherever my kisses land as the orgasm explodes inside of me. It trembles and shakes, vibrating my pussy on his cock, my lips going tight and loose as squirting pleasure empties over his hard cock, sliding down the length of it and making his balls wet. I bite my lip, too hard, blood dripping down my chin and into his body. I tilt my hips one way and then the other, riding the pleasure, gripping onto his muscles, feeling the firmness of them, the safety of them. They are muscles which seem to tell me that everything will be all right one day, everything will work out in the end, muscles which bring protection, love, dedication. All of that rolled into one orgasm, one orgasm which stretches my capacity for pleasure far past anything I have felt before, one orgasm which pushes me past the merely pleasurable into the truly euphoric. My mind and body floods with love and pleasure, and then I collapse when it’s over, panting at the unbelievable size of the release.

 

Fink comes soon after, sucking on my nipples so hard it hurts, and then lies back, panting just as heavily as me. I slide off him and lie next to him, resting my head against his chest, listening to his frantic heartbeat.

 

“Damn,” he says.

 

“You cheated.” I kiss him on the cheek. “You were supposed to stay tied up.”

 

“Can you blame me? How’s anyone gonna stay tied up when you’re bouncing all over the place like that?”

 

“What’s the time?” I ask.

 

He leans up and looks at the digital clock. “Six.”

 

“Let’s have a nap for a while,” I say. “We’ll order some food later.”

 

“That sounds good to me.” He scratches my scalp lightly, tickling me. “I’m not going anywhere. I guess having me tied up is insurance, eh?”

 

“That’s one way of looking at it.”

 

I sleep deeply, waking once or twice to make sure that Fink is still there, and then holding onto him all the tighter when I see that he is. We wake around nine o’clock.

 

I sit up, rubbing sleep from my eyes. “Hungry?” I ask.

 

Fink unties his ankles. “Starving. You got a laptop, or do you call?”

 

“I’ve got a laptop. Hang on.” I push some clothes off a chair, revealing my laptop. I hand it to him.

 

“Pizza?” he asks.

 

“Whatever you want. I’m not too fussy.”

 

“Pizza, then.” He orders, closes the laptop, and then the apartment buzzer goes off. “I’ve heard of fast service, but damn.”

 

“I’ll go and see who it is.”

 

I know who it is the second I press the intercom button. I’ve heard Dad’s drunken breathing too many times not to know who it is. I wait, wishing I could just tell him to go away, wishing I had that in me. But after everything, I still can’t find that grit. He’s still my dad, even if it makes me angry, even if it makes me hateful. If he says anything mean or cruel to me, however, he’s done. A second chance, I reflect. Mom said she lost count of how many second chances she’d given Dad. I’m the same. It’s probably in the hundreds.

 

“Nancy?” he says, finally.

 

“I’m here.”

 

“Can I come up?”

 

“You’re drunk,” I say.

 

“Yes.” He doesn’t sound arrogant like he usually does when he’s drunk. He sounds tired, defeated. “I am. But I’m not here to hurt you or upset you. I just want to talk to you one last time.”

 

“One last time?” I snap. “What’re you talking about?”

 

He laughs, and then coughs. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt myself. I didn’t mean that. Can I just come up? Please?”

 

“Fine, but you should know that Fink is here. I don’t want you freaking out about that.”

 

“I have no problem with Fink. That’s all over now. I just want to speak to you.”

 

I press the button to open the door, and then throw on some pajamas and a bathrobe. Fink gets dressed in his jeans and a T-shirt and stands in the doorway, watching silently. I open the door to Dad’s knock and lead him to the couch. His cheeks tremble. His eyes are bloodshot, but not in rage like drink usually makes him. This is sadness. He drops heavily onto the couch and looks up at the ceiling.

 

“I need to say this now so—well, just so it’s said. I need you to know that I’ve called up a rehabilitation place and they’re going to let me in. It’s a long program, the longest they have, I think. One year. One year with no contact with the outside world for the first three months. One year to try and get my life in order. One year to prove that I can be a better man. I wanted to tell you in person because I think—Nancy, oh, God—” He wipes tears from his eyes. “You got the short straw with me. Your mom, I caused that lady hell, but you were just a kid. You didn’t deserve to grow up like that—” He collapses forward, bringing his head to his knees and weeping uncontrollably. I place my hand on his back, whispering soothing words, but it does no good. He’s a wreck. It’s like all the pain he’s caused over the years has turned inward, devouring him.

 

After five minutes or so, I lean close to him and whisper, “You’re going to make it right, Dad. Don’t cry now. Save your strength. You can make it right.”

 

“Do you really believe that?” he mumbles.

 

I don’t. That’s the truth. I don’t really believe it at all. But I’ve also never seen him cry like this. It’s scary to see a man like Dad, a man who was always strong, whatever else he was, break down like this. “Yes,” I lie. “I believe it. You can do it, Dad. I know you can. I promise you can.”

 

When that doesn’t work, Fink kneels down so that he’s staring into Dad’s eyes. “Listen to me,” he says. “And look at me.” Dad raises his head, staring into Fink’s stern face. “You’ve made some mistakes in your life, maybe some mistakes so bad you don’t think there’s any way of clawing your way back, so you might as well keep on going, keep on makin’ the same mistakes because, fuck it, what’ve you got to lose? But there’s always a way back. You see, most folks are different to you and me. Most folks are good people. They’ll forgive, and what’s even crazier, they’ll forget. You’re not young, but you’re not old, either. You can claw your way back, but you have to be strong. You have to be a man. You have to fight.”

 

That gets through to Dad. He wipes his eyes and stands up straight, adjusting his jacket. “I’ll fight,” he says. “I’ll prove it to you, Nancy. You don’t have to take my word for it.”

 

I follow him to the door. He stands there, looking uncertain, and then opens his arms. “A hug for your old man?”

 

I hug him; it’s the first time since I was a little girl, as far as I can remember. It’s awkward, and doesn’t feel completely right, but it’s a start. He leaves, stomping down the hallway with drunken steps.

 

“Thank you,” I say to Fink. “That was really helpful.”

 

“I don’t know if I was talking to him or myself,” Fink admits. “But if I did some good, then that’s all right.”

 

“You did,” I assure him. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive him, but I want him to get better.”

 

“Sometimes people fall into a rut that lasts for years,” Fink says. “I reckon half the fellas at in the club are in a rut. They were strapped for cash or couldn’t control their tempers and so they joined a place that made them big and important, and then maybe they wanted to get out but they couldn’t, ’cause the life had them. And next year and next year . . . until decades have gone by and they haven’t done shit. I never thought I’d say this, Nancy, but sometimes not fighting is the brave thing to do. Hell, I’m fighting some inner war so I don’t have to fight for real. Who the fuck would’ve guessed that?”

 

“What will you do now?” I ask. “Will you be my house husband?”

 

He laughs, shaking his head. “I’d be dead within a year if I did that. No, I reckon I’ll find a job as a mechanic wherever we end up. Plus, I’ve got some cash saved.”

 

“How much?” I ask.

 

He whispers it to me.

 

It’s a large sum, enough to put a deposit on a house with change.

 

“Aren’t you a little squirrel, stowing your nuts?”

 

“I’ve been called many things in my life, but a squirrel ain’t one of them.”

 

The apartment buzzer sounds. I jump to my feet and go to the intercom, praying for pizza and not Dad.

 

A few minutes later, Fink and I are watching TV and feasting on two large pizzas. If this isn’t home, I don’t know what is.