Sadie is feeling low. She’s tired and fuzzy after a weekend of rosé and cheap cigarettes. Spiralling in a Monday shame cycle, she waits impatiently to meet her gal pal Kate for their first monthly book club meeting.
She tickles the idea of calling her old pal, Sid. It’s been two, maybe three weeks since he last took her to bed. Maybe he could fuck her out of this rut. He’s done it before; he could surely do it again. Sid had a livelihood about him – curious and charming, like a busser at The Keg. Seriously, The Keg? She thinks to herself. Her phone buzzes in her pocket.
Kate: On my way bb. 5 min prob.
Sadie: KK, looking at macaroon towers in Le Dolci. Mmmm! Meet u here.
She resists the urge to text something dirty to Sid. She dabbles over what she’d text: “Let’s fuck to Lauryn Hill? Ex-Factor please.” But he was probably busy. Doing something. Doing someone. Jerking off to golf or Blue Jays or whatever. She didn’t mind him – his attention to finger work was flexible and heavy handed. She stopped herself. Don’t do it. She points to the orange mountain of macaroons in the glass display to distract herself.
“How much is a mango macaroon tower?” she asks the cashier. Sadie didn’t really care to know the price, but still. There was time to kill. Plus, it felt hilarious to say the words out loud: MANGO MACAROON TOWERS. MANGO MACAROON TOWERS. She repeats these words in her head. She feels insane.
Wearing a loose-flowing black dress from her shift at the salon, Kate arrives just in time. She locks up her bicycle, making a silly face at Sadie through the window. Laughing in a summer daze, the two women exchange a montage of short stories about broken door locks, idiot landlords, and awkward ex-lookalikes in Metro while jaywalking across Queen Street to enter the book store.
Fuck it. Sadie would forget about Sid altogether; instead, she lingers on the genre-bending memoir of Maggie Nelson, the author of this month’s book club. If Sid wasn’t a good distraction, Argonauts was. Queer family making, modern romance, and complexities outside of her own.
The seating area inside Type Books is warm from afternoon sunlight. Against Sadie’s neck, the sun light feels romantic. Sitting on a stool in the corner between Popular Fiction and Fantasy, Sadie catches eyes with someone she’s never seen before. He’s striking, with dark features to compliment his darker eyes. Sadie smiles at him rather forcefully. It feels nice to pretend be nice for once. Distraction in full force – focus impossible – she listens quietly during the meeting while peaking over to watch the man. Minutes into the circle jerk of introductions, Sadie’s thoughts drift elsewhere. The afternoon is punctated by refreshments and a group discussion of “Hmm,” “AH HA!” “I completely agree,” and “Building on what so-and-so said…”
A hairy feminist in her twenties rudely interrupts another woman, “Yeah, you see, I think it’s more than that. It’s about the illusion of normalcy. An act of pretending. Faking a stereotype of familiar.” Sadie is lost. She can’t concentrate for shit right now. There are too many things she needs to wrestle with in her head, like groceries, Sid’s cock, pay day, the mosquito bite on her leg, and the sunburn stinging her ass.
Between the talking heads of women, the man of Sadie’s interest exits into a backroom, closing the door behind him in the far corner near the Philosophy section. He works here? He doesn’t appear again until the Q&A starts, quarter past the hour. Women chatting in clusters of twos and threes quickly digress to dinner plans, vintage flea markets and eager updates about expensive home renovations.
When the meeting disperses, Sadie stands beside Kate, who has taken an interest in a writer named Christine with frizzy red hair and a face indented by piercings. Kate interrupts the red head mid-way through her story about the latest VICE documentary she watched about drug lords having sex with goats in America.
“Wowza!” Kate says, “Sorry ladies, I’ve got to run. Cocktails at Cold Tea on Saturday?”
“Obviously! I’ll see you there. 8ish?” Hugs and kisses follow. Sadie stays behind, nodding her head as someone rants on-and-on about her side project, “…exploring, like, the boundaries of naked OCAD students in public places. You know?” While she pretends to listen, Sadie builds up the confidence she conjures with alcohol every Saturday night, waiting for the perfect moment to introduce herself to the obscure man who re-appears from the far side of the room. Will he fuck me like Sid does? She pleads with herself to find out.
Goodbyes turn stale in a group of left over bookworms. Sadie approaches the man, playfully grabbing his arm from behind.
He turns around. “Hi! Can I help you find anything?”
“Nah.” she flirtatiously replies.
“I’m Lucian. Nice to meet you.” He says. Sadie watches his mouth stretch into a smirk, but she doesn’t listen to anything he says. Not really. She doesn’t care for small talk. She’s interested in the details. His hands belong to a landscaper; strong, calloused with fingernails bitten down like a child’s. Lucian’s eyes are much darker than hers. He stands a few inches taller than her against the towering book shelf of thrillers. His skin, a shade of the Caribbean sand, he could be 32, maybe 35 if she wasn’t the absolute worst at guessing ages. It doesn’t matter. He’s 101 in her mind, and today she is nothing but a horny 16-year-old who’s past her parents’ curfew. And she needs this. Fuck Monday. Fuck mango macaroon towers. Fuck lousy landlords. Fuck alarm clocks. She recycles a roster of weird supressed thoughts of nonsense. Snapping out of her gaze, he mentions the backroom of the bookstore. (“Yes! Please. I really want to get a copy of that book.”) Calmly, he leads her to a door in the backroom, and she follows like a lost hitchhiker in a horror movie. Staring at the tiny black hairs on back of his neck, his bold shoulders peak at the edges of his soft grey t-shirt. Ben Sherman? Club Monaco? She looks closely. He’s handsome, in a boyish way, even from the back. Am I leading this, or is he? Whatever. It didn’t matter.
Sadie hadn’t been fucked in over a month. I really NEED this. I DESERVE this. Wants and needs aside, she felt compelled to conquer Lucian in a way Sid had ravished her weeks prior. It felt insane, risky and remarkable. From behind, she tugged his t-shirt, scaling her hand through the underside of his dark blue Levis. A fingertip or two pushed under his back pocket. He turned around, his cheeks flustered in a teenage hue of red. He opened the back door, revealing a cozy hideout of new book releases, cardboard boxes, staff schedules and an old wooden desk. A light crept from behind a corner of a pile of books, shining bright against a paper trail of notes and invoices on the desk. The door shuts behind Sadie. Forcefully, Lucian pulls up her skirt up; a classic cut designed for lift-off with the slightest bit of wind between her legs. She squirms at the touch of his cold hand up her thigh.
The dynamic takes an unexpected turn when Lucian takes the lead and Sadie lets him. She feels rage as he quickly matures from what she thought was 32 to 49 with the heavy grip of his hand cupping her sunburnt ass. Sadie forgets what underwear she’s wearing. Polka dots? Sheer nudes? It’s Monday after all. Am I even wearing underwear? I’ll find out when my panties hit the floor, I guess. Between her legs, his hand comes to life and her body flexes as she grips the soft skin over his shoulders. He’s stronger than she first sized him up to be. Impressive and firm, with soft lips that had suddenly found their way to her neck. Against the edge of the table, near a towering stack of second-hand self-help books, he places her ass down. He licks her earlobe softly, his mouth moist with a summertime heat.
“Take off your dress.” He orders. Sadie listens and lets him take off her dress for her instead. She stands still, her heart thumping with anticipation as he unzips, pulls and de-clasps her outfit that now feels invisible. Lucian stops for a moment to marvel at Sadie’s body in the dim light. Perched against the table, she relaxes and her legs spread for the taking. It’s silent. Weird. But she doesn’t mind it. Stare at me. She thinks to herself. Stare at me for as long as you fucking want. And Lucian does.
She slowly unzips the fly of his jeans with her hand that quivers with nerves, awaiting the warm bundle of fuck that will land into her palm in a matter of seconds. His cock is hard, sturdy, with no start or end. She’s quick to explore, feeling the moist underside of his shaft. Meanwhile, he holds her neck. A soft grasp under her jawline. It tickles as his grip grows stronger and his cock becomes fuelled by a heartbeat of its own. He takes off his shirt and throws it on the ground. The moment is escalated as she unclasps his belt. She’s impressed with herself for doing so much with one hand. I’m a one-handed magician, God damnit! Between her thighs he is forceful, stretching her legs apart into a position she imagined her friends mastering in advanced yoga.
Breathing faster in rhythm, she feels the thick touch of his fingers inside of her as she repositions herself closer to his torso. She wants his fingers to disappear into her cunt like a vacuum. And she moves her body as close as she can get without letting him fall into her completely. Suddenly, his head submerges below her neckline to greet her nipples, now perked into the sky like two soft serve ice cream cones about to melt. Biting, he stares upward directly into her eyes. He looks childish, like a dumb little boy, and she pushes his head below her belly button and into her slit. He’s diligent as his tongue navigates into the crevices of her labia. Sadie raises her legs into the air with her dirty white converse still on. She can’t help but moan a little as he lifts himself back up to exchange a warm swirl of her clit into her mouth. His spit and her cum taste sweet together.
“Lie on the table.” Sadie whispers. The power is suspended in this moment. She doesn’t mind playing different roles, but she wants to destroy him and eat him alive. Carefully lying on the desk, he moves his fingers deeper into Sadie’s fig. She climbs on top of him, face to face, but refuses to kiss him. He moves his face upward towards hers, pleading for it with his big fat moist lips. She doesn’t let him. It’s a game. You can have what I give you. Like electricity, his hand enters into a sweet spot that turns her body into a baby without bones. He flips her over on her back, and positions his legs over her tits so his cock is in her face.
He’s steady as he holds her arms against the desk so she is unable to move. Gently, his hand forces her mouth open. His shaft slips into the back of her throat. She remembers to breathe, but then forgets. She closes her eyes while he stares down at her. What a bastard. He watches her, to measure her capacity. “Is this how you like it, Sadie?” he says. She can’t speak. Her eyes water. She’s out of breath, and she’s fuelled by fear – wetter than ever.
Minutes go by in what feels like a black out. He doesn’t cum – not yet. She’s exhausted and he’s careful not to hurt her. He gently touches her hair, not to rattle her confidence. She’s angry. Pissed off by the fury in her mouth that’s doubled in size. She can breathe again. He climbs off her body to grab his pants on the floor. Watching him closely, he clutches his wallet from his pocket while she re-plays the feeling of his glazed tip on her thumb. Sadie looks at him while he unravels the condom upward onto his fully erect cock. Why did he bring a condom to a book club meeting? She sort of laughs to herself, before he pulls her to the ground.
Her copy of Maggie Nelson has fallen to the floor. He places the entirety of his weight on top of her – it’s crushing, almost unbearable – but the pleasure between her legs is fucking spectacular. If she could pause this moment and replay it every single god damn night of the year, she would. The moment is shattered as he slowly enters her. The width of his cock is breathing life into her cunt like the metamorphosis of a butterfly. Her legs fly into the air, his hands gripping tightly to her ankles as he towers over her, staring into her eyes, pounding into her as their sweat blends together.
There is no idea of time. Minutes, seconds, days, months. This fuck is in a time warp. Am I on Earth 2.0? Sadie feels herself breathing, as if she’s drowning, gasping for air. Lucian bites her nipple, hard. It stings. But the pain is complimentary to the thrashing pulse inside of her. She’s about to orgasm and she imagines cumming all over his face.
Her body is stiff for a moment, before a warm river of her swelling cunt is released, flowing down her inner thigh. Relaxed, she spreads her arms out, as if floating blissfully in the middle of a lake. His thrusting is energetic, but her body has retired from the wave of her orgasm. Lucian’s face is red against the caramel tone of his skin. He’s determined. And with his chest beating on top of hers, he places himself on top of her breasts with a last thump of semen topping her up for the finale. For a moment, Sadie remembers what it feels like to stretch her toes; she feels heat in her fingertips and the relaxing calm of her heartbeat. Her body is heavy again and she remembers where she is.
The sweat on Lucian’s face has turned cold against her stomach. Sadie takes a moment to close her eyes. She doesn’t know what else to say, so she says exactly what’s on her mind, “Well, it was really nice to meet you, Lucian.”
He smiles, “My name isn’t Lucian, silly. It’s Lucas.”