Page 17 of On Your Knees

Why did I dream that? Where did it come from?

I feel the images at the edge of my mind, but I don’t let them fully form. I’m not ready to look at them.

Eventually, as minutes drag to hours, my thoughts lose shape and clarity, turning into a restless buzz that prevents me from getting back to sleep. I lie there, half dozing, until the sun pierces through the broken blinds into my eyes. Then I get up and shower.

The shower is so small that there’s barely room for me to reach between my legs and wash, but I do have a paranoia about being dirty. I think that’s why I suddenly freaked out yesterday about not having shaved. I know that hair isn’t unclean, but at the last second, that’s how I imagined it looking.

But it seems strange that it even occurred to me when I’ve never shaved down there. I feel like there are things suddenly popping up in my mind as though they’re familiar to me when they’re not.

Shaving.

Having a collar around my neck.

Having a hand around my cock.

Maybe it’s from things I’ve seen in the past. I mean, I have watched porn. I’ve tried to be normal. I’ve tried to feel the things that I’m supposed to feel.

In the cramped shower, I touch my dick experimentally, but it just feels like my hand touching my dick. Even on the rare occasions that I jack off, that’s basically what it feels like. I don’t picture anything. I just stroke until I come. It doesn’t feel bad, but it doesn’t feel good either, not like people say it’s supposed to. It’s more like relief, and then I feel kind of depressed. That’s why I don’t do it unless I have to.

I’m well aware that there’s something wrong with me. Sexually. My body doesn’t work right.

But last night…

What the hell was that?

I turn off the water because it’s already cold. I towel off then shave in front of the tiny, cracked mirror. As always, I’m surprised by my reflection. I can see, objectively, that I’m not ugly. I’m not… gross.

Why the hell did I say that to him? Why did that have to bubble up?

You’re beautiful.

I blink, looking at my face like it’s not mine. Like it’s just a face that someone else might be looking at. Like he’s looking at it.

I see it, just for a second.

I take my comb and scrape my hair back like I had it the other night when I was trying to hide how scruffy it is, the night I met him. But something about trying to see it makes me lose the image. I scramble my hair and walk away.

* * *

I’m sitting on the steps of my apartment building when the black Mercedes pulls up at 3:58. My heart thumps.

I take a deep breath and walk down the steps. The driver, Patrick, is typing on his phone, so I’m hoping I can get to the door before he’s done. He’s out in a flash, however, and striding around the rear of the car. My face heats as he opens the door for me. With his neatly trimmed dark hair, gray at the temples, his stern, handsome face, and the sharp black suit covering a tall, powerful body, he’s very intimidating.

“You don’t have to do that,” I mumble, not bothering to project my voice when I know he’ll ignore my protest just like he did yesterday. As expected, all I get is stony silence. I drop into the seat, and he closes the door, leaving me sitting there with my face flaming from embarrassment.

It makes me uncomfortable even when Ethan does things for me, but he’s so forceful about it that I feel like he actually wants to. But Patrick’s cold. He must hate having to drive me around.

Last night, he picked up food for me too. I didn’t know that’s what was happening until he handed me a paper bag that smelled like heaven. I didn’t know how to react, so I think I just stared.

I still can’t believe Ethan ordered food for me, expensive food, from an Italian restaurant. That must have been what he was doing when he was on his phone after the session. I thought he was upset with me, but he wasn’t. He was, however, upset about something. He got really intense.

The ride to Ethan’s building takes about 45 minutes, which I spend combing through my memory of yesterday. I mostly manage to avoid thinking about my dream. It doesn’t feel believable in the daylight. I would never have a dream like that. I would certainly never act like that.

It’s impossible, so it fades.

As the car pulls into the parking garage, my heart gives a heavy thump. Yesterday, I was just nervous. Today, I’m nervous and… I don’t know. Something I’m not used to. It’s a hot, almost dizzy feeling.

“Do you want me to go up with you?” Patrick asks in his blunt way. Yesterday, he rode the elevator with me then pointed me toward Ethan’s door.