Page 38 of Enemy
But for the first time in years, I feel truly alive, so I’m gonna take my chances.
Chapter 17
Road
Thesoftwoodyieldsto my knife, and another piece falls to the ground at my feet. The cats have already filled their bellies, and while most of them have left to roam, several others are enjoying the sun on pillows I laid out on my porch. It’s a peaceful morning, but since I’m seeing Clyde later, it only makes sense to add some finishing touches to the keychain I’m whittling for him.
It has the form of a stag, because that’s the beast he reminds me of whenever he stretches his toned body at the edge of the small lake where we’ve been meeting up for the past month. I’ve already carved two versions of this figurine, but since I wasn’t happy with any of them, I chose to make one featuring more detail, and it might be the one I’ll give him. I’m no artist, and even the best of my work isn’t something to write home about, but I want Clyde to carry something to remember me by, something he can safely handle when in the company of his club.
My own friends have been quick to note my frequent disappearances, but they let it go when I lean into the lie about there being a girl I’m into. Everyone takes it at face value, so every few days, I disappear for a couple of hours to indulge in a male body, and when I return, everyone pats me on the back as if I were off making babies.
A part of me worries that maybe I wasn’t even gay. That I’m simply broken and that I’ll grow bored of Clyde the same way I get bored of all my female conquests as soon as drugs and booze are out of my system. But being around him is somehow both peacefuland exciting, and I enjoy myself whether we’re making out in the sun, roasting meat over the fire, or getting each other off.
As horny as I am for him, my nuts aren’t bottomless, so we often end up entertaining ourselves between sex. Like that time we watched an action movie and couldn’t agree on how we’d handle the situation the hero was in. We ended up wrestling to put our methods to the test. I’m a little bigger, but the fucker is strong, I have to give him that. While our sparring was inconclusive because it ended in furious grinding, neither of us cared. Even though I often practice with my brothers, so everyone’s in shape if push came to shove, the mood is different with Clyde. Sex is always on the very edge of any interaction, like the right word on the tip of my tongue when I try to express myself to him.
I’ve never experienced such a frenzy of attraction before. It’s like I’m addicted to him. His smiles, his touch, when he winks at me, or when he makes those nervous moans he tries to hold in, only to always fail, uttering soft gasps in my ear. When I hold his sturdy body in my arms, I know he’s what I need. And later today, I’ll see him again.
It’s been four days since our last meeting, and the anticipation is starting to grate on me. Last time, he had me come at sunrise, to reveal that he planned tofishfor our breakfast. I’m not the patient kind, so while I did follow him onto the boat, keeping my hands to myself proved impossible. We almost landed in the cold water, along with his equipment, but it was worth it.
The fish didn’t taste half bad after the fucking.
Sometimes when I lie in my own bed at night, listening to the cats fighting, I do wonder how I managed to ignore our ten-year feud. Am I that horny? Is it the different sides of Clyde I’m seeing that affect me this way? And I don’t mean his ass, even though those dimples could make a man forget any wrongdoings. Maybe it’s because he’s such a safe option for this mutually beneficial exchange of pleasure? Not really. He’ll keep my secret, but choosing him for sex is as dangerous as it gets. So is it that he yields to me like a beautiful animal? It attracts me like snacks luring the cats in every morning. But just like with the felines, some days I wonder who’s in charge. Is it me, because he gives me head as if it’s his favorite pastime, or is Clyde holding the strings because I’m so desperate for his touch?
The more I think about him, the less I can focus on my carving, so I put it down and grab my phone, hoping for a scrap of sexting while I wait to see him. But what do I send? Something filthy? A picture of my cock, or chest? I want to tell him how Roostergot drunk last night and ended up dancing with two chickens in his arms, but that’s something that might not be as funny without the visuals.
Exhaling, I trace the nameSueon the screen. That’s how I disguise his real identity, in case someone sees an incoming message from him. The attached icon features a female body clad in a sparse bikini. I imagine photographing him later today and gathering the pictures in a secret folder, where I could keep them forever.
Will he eventually get bored of the secrecy and find someone whose dick he can suck without betraying his club? The phone creaks as I squeeze it, so I shake my head at my own idiocy and send Clyde a quick, [So horny not gonna jerkoff tho, savin my cum for yu]
At night, he answers fast, but daytime is very patchy. I can only hope he’s alone and available to answer. I’m not even self-conscious about my spelling anymore. Clyde teased me about it once, but I shot back that I only have one hand available when writing to him, and he’s never mentioned it again.
Just seeing that my message got read, and then the three dots of him writing makes my heart beat faster.
Clyde: [You might have to. Sorry. I wanted to see you, but something came up. It’s important, so I have to go. Don’t call.]
The pressure in my head grows so fast I feel as if my skull might crack, and my thumb goes for the green button… to press the red one before a connection can be established.
Instead, I rest my elbows on my knees and type, [Wat? Why? We can muv it to a bit late]
How am I supposed to waitanotherday? This is such bullshit. I have to get up and walk around my cabin, but it’s not helping. My eyes are glued to the screen, and this time my message hasn’t even been read. Does he really think he’s the only one to call the shots? What about me and whatIwant?
[When?] I write in frustration, feeling like a junkie begging for his next hit.
No answer.
I have to stop myself from throwing the phone at the wall. I wish I could shoot whoever’s cockblocking me today.
[Clyde?]
Thepingfrom my phone makes me salivate as if I’m a dog smelling sausage, but my shoulders fall when I see it’s from Suzie. I don’t know her that well, but all the members of our little community have my number if shit needs to be dealt with.
There’s a problem, because of course there is, but at least I’ll be too busy to dwell on the shafting Clyde’s delivered. One of the cats gets spooked when I shoot up so fast the chair drops, but I don’t check which one it is, just head down the path, past people’s homes, the canteen, the playhouse, and then even farther, to the very back of our settlement, to a fenced-off area most people can access only under supervision. Our clubhouse is a large cabin that used to house parents visiting their kids at the summer camp. Made of whole logs and regularly maintained, it’s a sight to behold despite the concrete barriers around the porch, put there for the unlikely event of an armed confrontation. Behind it stands a rock wall and sheds put there to divert the attention from the area no outsider can know about.
My boots thump against the dirt, creating clouds as I run toward the caves accessible through a rocky passage behind the clubhouse. Shouting echoes along the walls of the gorge, and I soon spot a group of people gathered at the mouth of the main cave. Of course. People are always fucking hungry for blood and drama, and stepping in would have put a stop to the fun. At least it keeps me, as the enforcer, important.
And I’m about to fuckingenforce, because I got a message about what this fight is over, and know the exact troublemaker who caused it.
I push through people warning me Parker has a knife, and while I take note of that, I’m not scared of a drunk with a blade. Though going by Suzie’s message, he might have also done drugs on the job.
