IFFY FICTION

“Is this you?”

He was holding the aging, framed photo in his powdery soft hands. The photo showed a lithe, bikini-clad girl of twenty-two standing on an unpronounceable Thai beach, arms outstretched, the sky and the Andaman Sea in the background. He ran a finger down the glass.

“Obviously.” She plucked it from his hands, glancing at it for a moment, before replacing it on the shelf. “Please don’t touch anything.”

“You look exactly the same.” He had the face of a puppy, hopeful and eager to please. Carol had chosen him for exactly this reason. His dirty blond hair was in a tight crew cut, his body molded and unmarred, his expression still hopeful. Not like Carol’s. At least not at the moment.

Withholding her natural snark, Carol grinned a thank you. “The bedroom is down the second hall and…”

“To the left. I saw it in the app notes.” He picked up his satchel from the leather sectional and began to walk toward the hall. “I’ll be waiting,” he said, deepening his voice and winking.

Carol stifled a gag. Is that really what I want?

Once he had disappeared from sight, she walked to the mantle, upon which sat a small, teak box, engraved with intertwined figures and indecipherable glyphs. She opened it with red tipped fingers, a knuckle cracking painfully. Her movements were measured and slow.

Carol pulled the vial from its silken bed. The cerulean liquid sloshed languorously inside as she pried off the stopper, carefully, carefully. 

The words began to recite themselves in her head automatically, as she tipped the serum into her mouth. When she felt its bitter sting drop on her tongue, she turned the vial upright, sealed it, and returned it to the box.  

He was already in her bed when she walked through her bedroom door. The down comforter was pulled neatly to the foot of the bed, and he had inserted himself between the Egyptian cotton sheets.

Hugo. That was how he had introduced himself, his mouth still fumbling around the lie. She always enjoyed guessing what their real names were. Small amusements kept her sane. This one looked like a Ben, or a Billy, or an Eddie. A dull, Midwestern, corn-fed kind of name.

He was puckering his lips slightly at her, eyes half-lidded, and down further, heartily erect.

Carol sighed. “Turn off that lamp, Hugo. I prefer the dark.”

Hugo leaned forward to protest. “But you’re so beautiful. I want to see you.”

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and counted to three before she spoke. The serum was coursing through her blood, waiting to be ignited, searching. When she opened her eyes, Hugo was surrounded in a blinding aura of yellow light radiating from his skin. Youth.

“I said I prefer the dark.”

Hugo shrugged and reached over to switch off the lamp.

Carol mounted him, and began the series of movements which had by then become rote. Hugo began to moan, and writhe, and perspire until the sheets were saturated. She watched his sightless eyes roll back in ecstacy, his illuminated face grimacing first in pleasure, then shifting to a prolonged wince. As the lusty incantation of her name became a plea to stop, and his hands began to push her away instead of digging into her shoulder blades, Carol squeezed her eyes shut and arched her back, trembling in the blissful culmination of the rite. As the final shudders racked her body, she looked down to see her own skin awash in golden light. 

Carol began to laugh. She pushed herself up from Hugo’s darkened body, his flaccid member hitting his groin with a wet slap.

“That was outstanding, Hugo. One of the best so far.” Stretching her nubile body across him, she flipped the lamp back on. 

“What did you do to me?” Hugh squinted against the light, attempting to push himself up from the bed. His muscles quaked violently, and he collapsed. “My whole body hurts,” he croaked.

Carol examined herself in the mirror, swivelling from side to side to take in every smooth angle and taut curve. “Oh, what’s the matter, Hugo? Can’t keep up?”

He slowly hefted himself into a standing position and hobbled around the bedroom, searching for his clothes. Carol began to help him to expedite the process. When he was finally dressed, she walked him out.

At the front door, Hugo stopped as if suddenly remembering something. “Did you, uh, already send the, uh…”

“I sent the payment on the app,” she said. His face was still his face, but grown slack and drawn, his broad shoulders stooping. “Don’t worry, I left a five-star rating,” she said, patting his cheek. “And a big tip.”

Photo by Ramez E. Nassif on Unsplash