Want It Bad (20 page)

“I’m sorry,” he said. “What did I do? Was it too intense? Did I hurt you?”

Carla felt like crying. She reached behind her, pulled out the butt plug, dropped it on the floor and stared at it, disgusted with herself.

“I have to go.”

“Carla…”

He reached for her shoulder, and she shrugged him off, heading for the door.

“Carla, I’m sorry…”

She left the dungeon of pleasure, ignoring Harry as he bumped against her calves, and walked down the hall.

“Carla, this is only a game. We were play acting. If I went too far, I apologize. Really.”

He caught her shoulder and she turned. Jake looked desperate, devastated.

“Don’t call me,” Carla forced herself to say. Her whole body was shaking, and the tears ran down her face. “We’re done.”

“Carla. Please. Let’s talk this through.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. This little…
thing
… we have going on here. It’s over. Now please respect my wishes and leave me alone.”

“Was I too rough?”

Jake’s eyes seemed misty.

What can I tell him?

No, Jake. You weren’t too rough.

You weren’t rough enough.

I wanted more. And I’m a horrible person for wanting more.

You took me to the limit, and made me lose control, and now I’m so frightened I can’t even think.

“Goodbye, Jake.”

Carla managed to run home before the sobs overtook her.

Jake didn’t call, even though Carla checked her cell phone every ten minutes.

Of course, she had explicitly ordered him not to. And when she’d said the words, she’d meant them.

I still mean what I said. Don’t I?

So what is my problem?

She just wanted to forget everything that had happened, wanted to return to her old self, the self she knew and liked, the self who was a good lawyer and a good person and not a perverted sex fiend.

Easier said than done.

Janet didn’t return until tomorrow night, which meant Carla had a day and a half to second guess and third guess and fourth guess herself and her actions. Until she could dish with her best friend, she needed to take her mind off things. To do something mindless and common.

Carla wandered to her laptop and wound up surfing Google. But she didn’t search for bondage or masochism sites.

She searched for yarn.

Can’t get more average and boring than yarn.

The
Good Yarning Seattle
shop was open for business until the evening on Sunday, so she threw on jeans and a sweater and went off to buy some banality.

Walking into the store brought back memories of Carla’s youth, when her parents were still together. Mom would take her to the local hobby shop and stock up on supplies. Then she’d sit in her mother’s lap and watch TV as she made sweaters or doggy coats or comforters, while Dad read the paper and smoked a pipe. It was all so goddamn Apple Pie American Family that it made
The Brady Bunch
look like deviant communists.

There were aisles and aisles of color, and Carla was unsure where to start. So she approached the clerk at the information counter, plump, somewhat frumpy young woman wearing a conservative sweater and long skirt.

“I want to start crocheting,” Carla told her.

“Why?” the clerk asked.

Carla hadn’t expected to defend herself. “I’m, uh, looking for a hobby. My mother used to crochet.”

“You probably want to start with a scarf,” she said in a bored monotone.

“A scarf?”

“It’s an accessory you wear around your neck, to keep it warm.”

“I know what a scarf is.”

“Then why did you say
a scarf?
like I was speaking a foreign language?”

The yarn clerk had a bit of an attitude. Carla wondered if she should argue, and decided against it. This girl had a job in a yarn shop, and probably led a boring, common, uneventful life, which was exactly what Carla wanted.

The goal is to be more like this woman, not to argue with her.

“I’m sorry, I’ve just had a really challenging few days, and I want to learn to crochet to help me unwind.”

“You want to find your Zen meditative state in order to relax and forget your problems.”

“Exactly.”

“Why not try actual Zen? Mahayana Buddist philosophy?”

“Because,” Carla said, “I just want to fucking crochet. So what do I fucking need to start?”

Damn. Maybe I should look up Zen when I get home.

The clerk seemed unphased. “You’ll need a hook, some yarn, and a pattern.”

“Can you assist me in picking some out?”

“Of course. I’m here to help.”

She took Carla through the aisles, helping her select the proper hook to go with the yarn she picked out, along with a simple scarf pattern and a DVD titled
Crocheting And You
which featured women of various ages and ethnicities on the cover who looked so excited that Carla wondered if they all weren’t stuffed with vibrators.

“We have a one week refund policy, but if you unroll the yarn it’s non-refundable.”

“I don’t expect to return it.”

“Just saying. If your scarf winds up looking retarded, you can’t take it back.”

“That’s not right.”

“That’s our policy.”

“No. Using the word
retarded
. It’s offensive to people with special needs.”

“You do know that
retarded
is an adjective meaning impeded, hindered, or delayed developmentally? As in you didn’t finish your scarf, because the process was retarded.”

Oops.
“Right. Of course. I knew that.”

“I’m just telling you this beforehand, rather than have you think we were niggardly with our return policies.”

“Excuse me?”

“Niggardly. Stingy. Miserly.”

“Right.”

“Maybe you should crochet yourself a dictionary.”

“You know, you’re kind of sassy for a woman who works in a hobby shop.”

“This is just my day job. Have a nice afternoon.”

Carla spent the evening tangling her fingers in yarn, listening to the blandest music she could find, and watching the red marks on her belly fade and disappear.

The DVD was worthless. The only thing more boring than crocheting itself was watching a movie of other people crocheting.

In a way, Carla envied them. She wanted to get lost in this activity, and only found herself getting more and more frustrated. She did manage to make half a scarf; a crooked thing that truly looked retarded.

Maybe I’ll give it to Janet.

Monday at work was rote, and she managed to keep busy without thinking constantly about being tied up, fucked by a machine, waxed, butt plugged, forced to orgasm. She also managed to limit the fantasies about Jake kissing her to only once every ten minutes.

Finally evening rolled around, and Carla and Janet bellied up to their favorite after-work bar.

“I want to know everything, slut,” Janet said, holding up her Cosmo for a toast. “Every porntastic detail.”

Carla raised her Manhattan and launched into a blow-by-blow. When she got to the running out part, Janet just stared at her.

“Janet? Earth to Janet? Did you just have a stroke? Blink your good eye if that’s a yes.”

Carla’s friend shook her head. “I’m at a loss for words.”

Not good.
“You’re never at a loss for words. You popped out of your mother complaining that it was too cramped in there.”

“You’re telling the truth? About everything?”

“Yes.”

“You really don’t remember him putting in the butt plug?”

Carla shook her head. “He snuck it in. But I was really out of it. After like ten orgasms in a row, I wasn’t paying much attention to details.”

“A guy sticking a hunk of rubber up your shitter is a detail most people would recall.”

“It all kind of blended together. I think I might have been begging him to do it at one point.”

“Begging him to stick something up your ass?”

“That, or begging him for something larger. It’s a big blur.”

Carla’s cheeks flushed nearly as hot as they’d been when it happened. She took a sip of cocktail, then held her cool fingers to her face, waiting for Janet to say something outrageous and funny and way over the top. Something that would make Carla feel better.

“That is seriously fucked-up,” Janet said.

“Huh?”

“You are like the biggest freak I’ve ever heard of. They have shock sites on the Internet devoted to crazy shit like you just did. Two girls one cup. Lemon party. Goatse. Cake farts. Brass clown.”

For a moment, Carla had the urge to spring from her bar stool and run for the door.

My god.

Even Janet thinks I’m a freak.

I AM a freak.

“Why in the hell did you leave?” Janet demanded.

Carla wasn’t ready for the question, and it took a few seconds to recalibrate. “What?”

“I mean, that sounds fucking awesome! You had an experience most women would kill their children for. I want to have children, just so I could kill them to do what you did. Why would you run out?”

“Because it’s—”

“Amazing.”

“No, it’s—”

“Fantastic.”

“Janet, will you let me fin—”

“Incredible.”

“Janet, what I did, it’s just not right.”

Janet grabbed Carla’s tote and began to rifle through it.

“What are you doing?” Carla said.

“I’m looking for your crack pipe. Because you have got to be effed up on the coco puffs to say something that stupid.”

Carla took her purse back. “I’m not on crack.”

“Spoken like a true crack addict. Denial is the first stage. What the fuck is this?” Janet pulled out the crochet project Carla had been working on.

“I was making a scarf.”

Janet stretched it out, and it looked like a crooked fence.

“Jesus. You suck.”

“It’s my first try.”

“Were you loaded? Were you drunk crocheting? Is this a CUI I’m looking at?”

Carla took it back. “I’ll have you know the scarf was going to be for you.”

“Why? Do I have a neck like the Elephant Man? Do you know how retarded this looks?”

“I know. Delayed. Hindered?”

“Hindered? It looks like it was made by a blind special needs child with full body palsy and the IQ of a lima bean. How long did this take you? If you say more than two minutes I don’t think we can be friends anymore.”

It had taken six hours, but Carla kept that to herself. “Can you please be serious? For once? I had a… a … I had an experience that I don’t understand and I need your support here.”

Janet found a pack of Tic-Tacs in Carla’s purse and emptied half the box into her mouth. “I’m here to support you, ho. I’ll support you like a good bra. One that doesn’t dig into your back fat or abrade the nips.”

“So what the hell is wrong with me?”

Janet shrugged. “What about human sexuality is right or wrong? You’re both consenting adults. You were enjoying it.”

“I… I don’t know if he was.”

“What do you mean? He’s a guy. Of course he was.”

Carla shook her head. “You didn’t see his face.”

“Why? What did his face look like? Besides covered with your girl juice.”

“Shocked. Stunned. Probably repulsed, I don’t know. I just wanted to get out of there.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why? I crossed a line. I totally lost control.”

“Which means he’s good at his job.”

Carla shook her head. She should have known Janet wouldn’t get it. Not when it came to this.

“This isn’t who I am, Janet.”

“Maybe it is.”

“Don’t say that.”

“So, you want to be whipped. So what? You want clamps on your nipples and a plug up the bung hole. You want to suck cock while strapped to a fucking machine. Why are any of those things worse than wanting to have vanilla sex in the missionary position?”

“Because they’re… perverted.”

“Perverted is what makes them fun. Did I tell you about the time I blew two guys at once? The MSF?”

“Mouth sword fighting. Yes, several times.”

“Stretched my cheeks out so much I looked like a squirrel hoarding nuts. But it was awesome. By the time they both came my face looked like a glazed donut.”

“Now I can’t ever go to Krispy Kreme again, and I love Krispy Kreme. Thanks for that.”

“They’re fattening, and you’re welcome. Did you know semen has zero carbs? Why didn’t Dr. Atkins mention that? Be a lot more fun to lose weight that way.”

Carla put her head in her hands. “You’re not helping.”

“You need to embrace your inner pervert, if that’s what you really want.”

“I don’t know what I really want.”

“Of course you do. That’s the problem.”

Carla stared into her almost untouched drink, swirling the cherry around with her little straw.

“Listen,” Janet said. “There are enough people out there eager to judge others. I say fuck ’em. Or don’t fuck ’em, because they probably don’t have any fun. So you’re into kinky sex. Own it and enjoy it. Unless there’s something more you’re not telling me.”

“Something more?”

“About Jake?”

Carla fought the urge to fidget. “What about him?”

“Why are you so worried about him being shocked?”

“I… I’m not.”

“Are you falling for him?”

“That’s ridiculous,” Carla said. “I paid him, and he…”

“You paid him and laid him?”

“Exactly. Only not as reciprocal.”

“Pay him and he ties you up and tortures the orgasms out of you?”

Carla nodded.

“Sounds delicious,” Janet said, throwing back the rest of her Cosmo as if downing a shot. “Maybe you just need some cock, Carla. To go along with the whipping and the candle wax. Maybe that’s what’s bugging you is that he won’t give you his. Ever think of that?”

Think of it? If I closed my eyes, I could picture Jake’s stiff shaft right now. The one I was not allowed to touch.

“Maybe you’re right,” Carla said out loud.

“So find some.”

“That’s not me, Janet.”

“How hard is it? You’re hot. You’ve got a pussy. That’s all you need. Love him and leave him, use him and lose him, mount him and discount him.” Janet slid off her bar stool and grabbed her bag. “We all deserve a good time. Am I right?”