5 ~ Noah

Her feet are propped up on the hearth right beside my shoulder. They’re hidden by lime-green socks with BAD and GIRL written on the soles. I imagine her kneeling on the bed, wearing only the socks, advertising how wicked she can be.

I’m thankful for her questions because I can kill my rising lust with thoughts of Diana.

“I’m serious,” I say. “I had one relationship, with a woman named Diana. I managed to keep it going for nearly two years before she’d finally had enough of me canceling dates at the last minute, or having to leave midway through important functions because I was on call. The final straw was some big fancy fundraiser her family was involved in. They were wealthy Texans, oil money. Last minute, I was called to the hospital to cover for a couple of sick colleagues. Diana told me if I went to the hospital instead of the fundraiser, we were finished. Apparently I was on some final warning notice, which to me, sounds like a pretty weird way to run a relationship. By the end of that shift, I felt this enormous sense of relief. I think her parents probably did, too. They had much grander ideas for a future son-in-law than what I had to offer.”

“Sounds like a lucky escape. No other girlfriends?”

“Nothing serious,” I say, honestly.

“On your side, maybe. I bet those casual dates were madly in love with you.”

“I’m not that easy to love.”

Steffi frowns. “What makes you think that?”

“You have to get to know someone first. I didn’t have spare time for relationships. Work was demanding, and outside of that, I had other things.”

“The gym,” Steffi says, rolling her eyes.

“Hey, don’t knock it. That gym kept this guy fit.”

“Where’s your phone,” she says, looking around.

“What do you want my phone for?”

“I want to see how many gym selfies you’ve taken posing beside the bench press. Oh, and those locker room ones where you’re shirtless, and you stand with a fist-grip on a towel that’s held way too low on your hip. I’ll find your social media accounts. I bet you have little inspirational messages followed by about twenty hash-tags like #YouOnlyGetOneBody #KaleSmoothieOrdered #HealthStyle #IGotTheV.

I can’t stop laughing. “You couldn’t be further from the truth,” I tell her.

Any time I spend on social media is taken up by writing smut, and O-Zone. Two things whose future I need to make a decision about. I don’t need the money, and maybe I’m kidding myself that all those women need another private chat room in their lives, but I can’t simply close it down. I wonder about making some of the long-term members moderators and gradually easing myself out of it.

“Do you seriously expect me to believe you’ve been celibate since this Diana woman?”

“There’s been nothing serious. A few casual relationships that were never going anywhere.” Her lips are pressed together as if she’s trying to hide a smile. I run the tip of my finger over the contours of her foot, and she jerks it away, a little shiver running through her. “Still ticklish?” I ask.

“Still,” she says, putting her foot back down on the hearth.

“Any truth in these socks?”

A crease forms between her eyes, and she cocks her head. “What do you mean?”

“Bad, girl,” I say, tapping the words.

She laughs. “I’d forgotten these were my bad-girl socks. I’ve got them in three colors.”

“Interesting. Do the colors depict any specific level of deprivation?” How easily we could slip into flirting territory.

“Sure. Green is an earthy, outdoors badness. My hot-pink ones are kind of sweet-bad, and the burnt-orange socks, well they’re fiery-bad. You don’t want to meet them.”

“You could be wrong. I think I’d like to meet them a lot.” In fact, right now, wrestling with being awake in a foreign time zone, well fed and full of wine, I think I’d like to meet those orange socks immediately.

She flicks her hand, dismissively. “I was just being silly,” she says.

“You’re pulling back. That’s not the Steffi I know.”

She glances at me, then shifts her focus to the fire. “The Steffi you know was sixteen with a smart mouth, and a desire to be as fast and as strong as the boys.”

“That’s true. I liked her, but I have to say, I like Steffi at twenty-three even more. Want to tell me about her?”

“She’s had some life experience, I guess. She’s focused on her work, and keeping fit, and….”

“And, what?”

She shrugs, keeping her eyes on the dwindling flames.

I wrap my hand around her foot, rubbing my thumb over the contour of the arch to her heel, and back to her toes again. She tenses for a moment, then relaxes. With the point of my thumb I trace the word ‘BAD’ across her sole.

Steffi draws a noisy breath. “And, basically, men are kind of disappointing. It’s probably me. I’m not saying they’re monsters, or assholes, or anything like that. Just disappointing. Work is mentally challenging, and I love getting outdoors and physically testing myself. I have good friends.” She gives me a bright smile. “I’m happy.”

“But the man thing is a fail, so not completely happy.”

“Pfft. I don’t need a man to complete me. Anyway, sex is overrated.”

“I’d have to disagree with you on that point.”

“Of course, because you’re a man. It’s different for you.”

“Why would it be different for me?”

“You know. Wham, bam, jam it somewhere warm and welcoming and it’s pretty much satisfaction guaranteed.”

Do not laugh. “Sure, there are guys like that, but there are also a hell of a lot of us out there who take a woman’s pleasure very seriously.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been out with him, too. Nothing like a guy who’s just about rubbed you raw but still won’t let up because you haven’t—”

Her hand flies across her mouth.

“Because you haven’t, what?”

She’s embarrassed, which is probably the first time I’ve seen Steffi that way.

“It’s nothing. I’ve had too much to drink. Forget I said anything.”

I pull her foot down onto my lap and keep rubbing it. She lies back on the floor, stretches her arms over her head, and stares at the ceiling. I wish she hadn’t done that because I can’t look at her face when her breasts are forced up like that. And her fucking nipples are hard, which I have to ignore when I don’t want to.

“Technically, Steffi, you haven’t said anything. Is there something you want to get off your chest?”

“Nope. Everything’s fine.” She lifts her head and smiles at me. “Truly. I’m good. And thanks for the foot rub, it feels great.”

“All part of the service.” I’m disappointed she doesn’t want to talk any further, although it’s easy to guess why. “Listen. You’re going to be fine. You just haven’t found someone compatible,” I say, sounding like a doctor, because even though I’d like to prove to her that sex is definitely not overrated, I’ve got to remember that I didn’t return to Queenstown to complicate my life, or hers. And fucking Steffi would be one big complication.

“You think?” she says softly.

“Yeah, I do. Like everything else in life, sex can be complicated. Look at all those sports you’re so accomplished. A lot of people would find cycling down a narrow trail covered in loose schist, with a two-hundred-foot sheer drop on one side, fucking difficult. Yet you don’t even blink.”

“That’s not a good analogy, Noah. Sex should be like eating. It’s a normal thing to do.”

“Okay, that’s fair. But eating’s only pleasurable if you like the taste of the food. If it’s something you don’t like the taste of, you’re not going to enjoy it.”

“Fair enough. But I’ve stopped looking. It’s humiliating.” Her bottom lip folds into her mouth, and her focus shifts to the wall at her left.

“You’re making me sad. You’re a very sexy woman, Steffi. I mean, hell, look at you. You’ve got a body most women would kill for, and most men, too.”

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t work the way it’s supposed to.” She props herself up on her elbows, takes a big slug of wine and wipes her mouth. “I didn’t need that. I’ve had too much to drink already. And I want you to promise me you haven’t heard anything I’ve said tonight.”

“I heard.”

“We were talking as brother and sister. No, wait, we’re not that. We were talking as doctor and patient. What I mean is, I want you to forget whatever it is you thought you heard. Am I drunk?” She pulls her foot away from me and rocks to her feet. “My foot says thank you. “

“I haven’t finished, I only did one.”

“Shhh.” She puts her finger to her lips in this really cute, and slightly drunk way. “I’ll use that as an excuse for why I can’t walk straight.”

I stand, too. “How do you get to your apartment?”

“The side path. Why? Are you planning on a nocturnal visit? Going to show me what your bedside manners are like?”

She is drunk. “No, but I’m going to make sure you get into your apartment without breaking your ankle.”

“Sweet. But I’m fine. I can do that path blindfolded.”

“When sober, I don’t doubt it. Come on, show me the way.” I take her elbow because I like touching her. She’s steady enough on her feet, but there’s no harm making sure she gets to bed safely.

Her apartment’s great. It’s small, but decorated with an eclectic collection of armchairs and a sofa, from various vintages, modernized with some wildly colored rugs and cushions. One wall is completely covered with framed photos which I’d like a closer look at some other time. Right now, I have to get Steffi to bed.

She disappears into the bathroom and I pour her a large glass of water. When she reappears minutes later, she’s wearing a T-shirt and her Bad Girl socks. Even though I try not to look at her legs, I do, because they’re stunning. Toned, creamy skin. She probably could have been a dancer if adventure sports hadn’t called to her. My dick aches, oblivious to the fact that we’re here in a support role, not for sex. My eyes snap back to her face. She’s caught me watching and her smile is coy when I deserve a harsh word.

“Drink this glass of water. Have you got Tylenol, or something similar? Line them up on your bedside table for first thing in the morning.”

“Yeah, thanks, Doc.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m good. Go and get some sleep. You’re fully booked tomorrow.” She takes a long drink of water and places the glass on the table. Our eyes lock and I step towards her. I can smell the mint from her toothpaste, and I want to kiss her mouth until the mint has gone and it’s Steffi I’m tasting. But, there are all those reasons I shouldn’t, and she’s had too much to drink. So, I kiss the top of her head.

“Sweet dreams, Steffi. See you at breakfast.”

“You, too, Noah. Thanks for walking me home.”

I can still hear her giggling when I close her door.

Back in the house I clear away the wine bottle and glasses and get myself into bed. Compared to where I’ve lived for the past seven years I’m struck by how dark and quiet it is. There’s little light pollution from the small town below us, and no noise. No yelling, or sirens, car horns, car audio bass beats, or screeching tires. I consider playing some music to break the deafening silence because I don’t know if I can sleep when it’s this quiet.

If I close my eyes, all I can see is Steffi in her T-shirt and socks. I should be exhausted but I’ve gone beyond the point of sleep and I’m wide awake again. I’ve got to get Steffi out of my head so that my hard dick can stop begging for her attention.

My laptop’s on the bedside table so I grab that. If I’m awake, I might as well make use of my time and outline a new Doctor O story. One more, I think. I’ll publish one more, and then I’ll walk away from it.

I’m making rough notes when I recall there was something specific the ’gasm-girls had asked for, so I log in to O-Zone to access my saved posts. The first thing I notice is the little green spot beside Zer-O’s name which tells me she’s logged in, too.