#13 Deep, deep down
I can’t believe he showed up. The first year we were together, I told him about my parents. It was in fact a bit like the conversation I just had with Thomas. I avoided Michel for a week, called him over for sex by the end of it, and I ended up telling him why I hadn’t been picking up my phone. Every year since, he allows me to deal with their death my own way, and he shows up the day after with my mother’s favorite flowers and a bottle of the scotch my dad used to drink every single Friday night. We get drunk and fuck, and I would tell him a new story about my parents in a rare moment of vulnerability. This year, I had an even harder time keeping myself from falling apart, because I knew Michel wouldn’t be there this time.
Guess I was wrong.
“Tracy,” he murmurs into my hair, rubbing my back.
“You came,” I say, pulling back to look up into those dark eyes I love so much. I haven’t seen him or talked to him in months, but it still feels like we broke up only yesterday.
“Of course I came,” he says like it’s the most logical thing in the world.
I pull his face down to mine and kiss him hard, but he pulls away the moment I slip my tongue into his mouth.
“You taste like him,” he says, wincing.
Oh God. I can still taste Thomas’ sperm on my tongue. This is messed up, even for me.
“Wanna come in?” I ask Michel, not sure what to do with him being here. Part of me wants to curl up against him and listen to him tell me about what the past couple of months without me have been like, but I know that I will fall back into our old pattern if I allow him to stay right now.
Besides, Thomas is in the living room right now, and he still smells like sex. So do I, for that matter.
“Your new boyfriend is probably waiting for you to get back in there,” Michel says, sounding bitter.
“Not my boyfriend,” I say quickly. “Just a friend.”
Michel looks skeptical. “A friend who’s been inside of you.”
“Yeah,” I reply with a shrug, knowing that lying won’t do me any good. “We’re friends-with-benefits.”
Michel searches my face and sighs. “I don’t know what to do about you, Trace. I’ve tried to move on, but no one does it for me. You’re still it for me. I can’t just forget about the past five years. I kept hoping you’d pick up your phone or show up at my place the way you normally do after we break things off, but you’re fucking someone else instead.”
“I needed things to be over,” I explain, hating how hurt he looks. “Plus… it’s been six months, Michel. I’ve got needs.”
“Needs I was always perfectly capable of taking care of.” Something flashes in his eyes and he grabs my ass, squeezing it tightly. “I miss you, Trace. Every single part of you, even the parts that infuriate me, like the fact that you’re incapable of letting anyone into your heart.”
“I’m not incapable of that,” I say, sounding defensive. “I love you.”
“Still?” he asks, taking my face in his hands and looking into my eyes with that intensity I know so well. “Even though it’s been six months and you’re with that hippie with the tats?”
“Still,” I confirm, even though I know I shouldn’t.
Michel steps away to shut the front door and pulls me with him to the living room. I immediately see that Thomas put the flowers in a vase and put two glasses out for the scotch. He is nowhere to be seen, and when I check my phone, I see that he sent me one single word a few minutes ago: bye.
Well, fuck. I lost Thomas.
I’m not sure how to feel about that. I’ve been telling myself he’s just a distraction, that I was only using him to get over Michel, but fact is that I’m not over Michel, not at all, and I’ve started to care about Thomas as well. He’s sweet, fun, sexy, and he doesn’t push me when I make it clear I don’t want him to. I was tempted to text him this week, which is foreign to me, and the moment I started feeling normal again, I called him and told him I missed him.
I never miss anyone. Aside from my parents, obviously. And Michel. And now… Thomas.
The bell rings again, and for a second I think it’s Thomas, but then I remember that we ordered pizza. I rush over to take the two large boxes from the delivery guy, who takes in my disheveled look and red robe with a smirk. I roll my eyes and shut the door on him.
“You hungry?” I ask, throwing the boxes down on the table.
“Always,” Michel says, pouring both of us a drink. He holds up his glass of scotch. “To your parents.”
“To Mom and Dad,” I agree, clinking my glass to his.
We both take a sip and I close my eyes for a moment, trying to center myself. I never knew my mother, and my father never talked about her much, but Uncle Greg has shown me pictures and told me stories. I’m nothing like her. From what I’ve heard, she was a sweet, compassionate, emotional woman, who cried over every little thing, and who had my dad wrapped around her little finger. Dad was her polar opposite in every single way, and I’m way more like him. Tough, unfeeling, and we get the job done even when the weight of the world is trying to crush us.
“They’d be proud of you,” Michel says, and I feel his hand on my leg, squeezing it. “I know I am.”
“Please, you think I’m a robot,” I spit out, opening my eyes to glare at him. “I bet you’re hoping today will be the day I start bawling my eyes out and let you be my hero.”
“You don’t need a hero, Trace,” he says with a small smile. “You just need to stop being so goddamn hard on yourself.”
I grab a box and flip it open, grabbing a slice of pizza. Michel does the same, and we eat in silence for a while, drinking our scotch in the meantime. I don’t even like scotch, but it reminds me of my father. I can still see him nursing his glass while watching a game on the big TV screen in the living room, yelling at the ref. I used to curl up on the couch with a book with a pillow propped against the armrest, my feet in his lap. We wouldn’t talk, just do our own thing, but it was comfortable, and it was what we did. Every single Friday night.
“I don’t think Dad would be proud of me,” I confess, surprising myself by speaking up.
“Why would you think that?” Michel asks, looking at me with a frown. “You’re strong, resilient, beautiful… You have a great job, your own apartment, you never even touched the money he left you, doing it all on your own, and you’re every bit the tough woman he wanted to you be. You don’t need no man.” He looks a little rueful when he says that. “I think your father would very much approve of who you are today, Tracy. But I also think he’d want you to be happy, and I don’t think you are. Not the way you could be.”
“The way I could be if I’d still be with you, you mean?” I ask, taking another bite of pizza.
Michel shrugs. “The way you could be if you would let yourself feel. If that brings you back to me, great, but that’s not what I mean. You know I only want what’s best for you, Trace.”
“If you knew what I’ve been doing the past month, you wouldn’t be here,” I say, knowing fully well that I’m trying to push him away again. The things he’s saying are hitting too close to home, bringing on a flood of memories from my childhood, my dad telling me to swallow my tears and that he’s proud of me. I don’t want to think about that, and Michel has a way of making me feel things I would rather keep buried.
“I already know who you’ve been doing,” Michel grunts, pouring himself another drink and topping mine off as well. “Have you been with him since we broke up?”
“Pretty much,” I confirm, both happy and sad to see that I’m hurting him. I’m such a horrible person, but I need him to leave and not come back. I’m no good for him, and he needs to stop pining over me.
“Does he get you off the way I used to?” Michel asks, shoving our empty pizza boxes aside and grabbing my legs to pull me to him. I expected him to want to leave, but instead he seems determined to remind me of how good we were together. “Does he know about your dirty little fantasies?”
“Yes,” I say, seeing the shock in his dark brown eyes. “He fucks me while we watch porn and he whispers dirty words in my ear, offering to find us another guy to join us, so they can fill up all my holes together.”
“Fucking hell, Tracy,” Michel groans, pulling me completely into his lap so I’m straddling him. He’s hard against me, and the look in his eyes tells me that as much as he hates it, he’s turned on so much already that there’s no turning back now.
“Sometimes I imagine you’re in bed with us, taking me from behind while he’s underneath me,” I confess, getting wet while I watch that scenario play out in my mind.
“Oh God,” Michel grunts, his fingers digging into my skin. “I missed your dirty mind so much, baby.”
“Have you been with anyone else?” I ask, a little scared of the answer.
“Yes,” he replies, looking a little guilty, even though I just told him about me and Thomas getting it on. “I’ve been on a few dates and I slept with two girls. But all I could think about was you.”
I know he wants to tell me that I think about him when I’m with Thomas, but that would be a lie. I do fantasize about the two of them penetrating me at the same time, but I only do that when I’m home alone. When I’m with Thomas, he takes my mind off Michel, which is the reason I started this whole thing with Thom in the first place. He invades all my senses and leaves no room for anyone or anything else.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” I say, even though I’m already grinding against him. “You should leave.”
“Yes,” Michel agrees, pulling me against his erection with a grunt. “I should.”
I’m in nothing but my robe, and the friction of his jeans against my pussy is too much to bear. He reaches between us to pull down his zipper. I help him free his erection, and sink down on him immediately, gasping when I feel his huge cock fill me up. I forgot how big he is. Thomas is well-endowed, but not like Michel. I remember how scared I was the first time I saw his cock at full attention, convinced he’d never fit inside of me.
“So tight,” Michel grunts, pushing my robe off my shoulder so I’m completely naked on top of him. “I missed you so much, baby. Please come back to me. Let’s try again.”
“No,” I reply immediately, even though my body is screaming yes. “We can’t. It won’t work.”
“It could,” he insists, his big hands holding me firmly while he guides up and down his huge cock. “We’re so good together, Trace. There’s no way that long-haired gangster feels this good when he’s inside of you.”
“Hmm,” I murmur, unable to form a coherent thought. I run my hands over his short black hair and then down to the scruff on his face. I missed this. I missed him. And he’s right, it’s not the same with Thomas. I’m keeping him at arm’s length even more than I used to do with Michel, and he’s letting me. Michel never allowed me to keep him out of my life the way Thomas does. He forced himself into it time and time again, which was one of the best and scary things about our relationship.
“My dirty little girl,” Michel grunts into my ear while one hand moves to my ass, a large finger probing my puckered little hole. “I can fill all your holes all on my own, baby. But if you want to imagine it’s another man’s dick, I’m okay with that.” He pushes in and I moan. His lips crash into mine, and he shoves his tongue in forcefully, my three holes now filled. He conquers all three of them like he owns me, and I come so hard that I feel tears making their way down my face.
Oh God, I’m crying.
I don’t cry. Not even during or after sex.
Michel comes with a feral grunt, holding me still while his cock twitches inside of me. His fingers dig into my skin and he bites my bottom lip, forcing another moan out of me. When he tastes the salt of my tears on his tongue, he pulls back to look at me, shock registering on his face.
“Are you crying?” he asks, wiping away my tears like he wants to make sure they’re truly there.
I’ve known him for five and a half years, but he’s never seen me cry before. Never.
“No,” I sniff, taking a deep breath to steady myself. “Of course not.”
“Baby,” he says softly, lifting me so his cock slips out, lowering me back onto his body so he can hold me. “It’s okay. Did I hurt you?”
“No,” I assure him. “Not at all. That was great.”
“But you’re crying,” he says, stroking my back.
“Nah, I’m good.” I pull back and smile at him, trying to convince myself just as much as him. “See? It was just the intensity of it all. No biggie.”
“What do you say?” he asks, pushing my hair out of my face. “Take me back, Trace. Please.”
“I need to think about it,” I say, and a huge smile breaks out across his face when he realizes I didn’t say no quite yet. Oh God, I’m setting both of us up for another heartbreak, aren’t I?
“Take your time,” Michel says, kissing me tenderly. “I can wait. I’ve been trying to move on for months now, and I can’t. You’re it for me. I want it all with you.”
My entire body tenses when he says that, reminding me of why we never worked in the past. Why we never will. I can’t give him what he wants. I can’t give him all.
“I won’t push you the way I used to,” he vows, his thumbs caressing my face in soft circular motions while he keeps his big hands on either side of my face. “I will take you the way you are, Trace.”
“Maybe,” I say vaguely, climbing off him and pulling my robe back around me. “I don’t know, Michel. I think you should go.”
He’s still fully dressed, his pants only far enough open so he could fuck me. Damn, I’m such a slut today. First Thomas, now Michel… What am I doing? What’s wrong with me?
“Can’t we talk?” Michel asks hopefully. “Drink some scotch, talk about your week?”
There it is already. He just promised me not to push me, and he’s already asking me to talk about the worst week of the year, wanting me to let him in. Why doesn’t he ever seem to get that I don’t want to let anyone in?
“Go,” I say, grabbing the pizza boxes to throw them in the trash. “We’ll talk later. Not now.”
“Okay,” he agrees, zipping back up. “Please pick up when I call you tomorrow, Tracy.”
“I will,” I promise, allowing him to kiss me one last time. “Bye, Michel.”
“Bye, Trace,” he murmurs against my lips, smiling. “It’s good to have you back.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I grumble, pushing him to the front door. “I need you to leave now.”
He complies, looking like he’s already won me back, even though I truly don’t know what the fuck to do about him.
The moment he’s gone, I sink down onto the couch. Snoopy and Pumpkin were hiding while we fucked – they’re good that way – but now they both jump onto the couch with me. Snoopy rubs up against my side, purring, while Pumpkin licks my face. I smile and put my arms around both of them. To my surprise, I feel tears pricking in my eyes, threatening to spill out. I can’t blame them on the sex this time, and the fact that I seem to be getting emotional scares the fuck out of me, so I shove all those feelings back where they belong. Deep, deep down, where I can’t feel them anymore.