Thursday, July 02, 2009

Houdini, Eat Your Heart Out.

Category: Issue 15

Houdini Eat Your Heart Out.

Dressed in his usual attire of leather jacket and wrap around shades, his black hair gelled and fashioned into vicious spikes, Brad Jones looked extremely handsome. He slouched against the bar of our local pub, and as I ordered drinks, he gave me a stare that started in the region of my chest and slid slowly down to my ankles.

‘Fancy a drink tomorrow?’ he said, in his customary laconic manner.

I blushed and managed to stammer out an acceptance. On legs that had turned to dish-rags I hurried back to my friends. ‘I got a date with Brad.’ I blurted out the news in an excited squeak.

Brad’s, former girlfriend gave a snuffle that was somewhere between a laugh and a cough. Not sure what the noise meant, and not wanting to lose a friend I said as casually as possible. ‘Is it okay with you if I date him, Eva?’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘Fine by me, I was glad to get rid of him. He’s soooo into himself!’

‘I’m not surprised, he’s friggin’ gorgeous.’

‘So he might be. But he loves himself, is one selfish bastard,’ here she lowered her voice ‘ and he’s weird.’

Reasoning that he’d probably dumped her, I discounted all her remarks as sour grapes. I think Eva considerers herself quite a catch. With her long blonde hair, oversized boobs, and short skirts, she does turn heads, but with her mouth going like an express train and nothing much coming out of it of interest, she tends to go through quite a large amount of boyfriends.

I shrug. ‘I might give him a try. There’s nothing to lose, is there?’

She picks at her lashes and rolls a glob of dry mascara between her fingers. ‘Suit yourself. But I’m telling you he’s weird.’

‘All your ex boyfriends are weird.’ laughed one of the other girls. The conversation drifted to the idiosyncrasies of the male gender. I half listened and held my excitement close.

The following night Brad picked me up and we travelled in his second-hand sports to a pub on the other side of town. The place smelled of stale bodies and beer. Packed shoulder to shoulder in a crowd that yelled to be heard above heavy rock music, there was little chance of conversation. By the end of the evening I’d had too much to drink and just drunk enough to end up in the bedroom.

With a cursory bow to a protest I muttered. ‘I don’t usually do this on a first date.’

‘Whatever,’ he said, slipping his hand inside my bra and tweaking a nipple.

Our union only lasted a few moments and was over before I really got going. With foreplay at a minimum, he jiggled around on top of me, gasped, and then rolled on his back, with what appeared to be a smile of accomplishment. By then I was sober enough to realise the date hadn’t come up to expectation. Although disappointed, I reasoned we were both nervous as it was our first night together.

Not wanting to belittle his performance, I murmured. ‘Mmmm that was good.’

He waved a deprecating hand, lit a cigarette blew a few smoke rings at the ceiling. I was silently admiring the elegance of his slim fingers, and breathing in the fragrance of his cologne, when he stubbed the cigarette out in my jewellery box, and slid under the duvet. Mixed together with a twinge of displeasure at the thought of ash covered jewellery, I experienced a little thrill of anticipation. I wasn’t sure of his exact intention as his head slithered from view, but whatever it was I was sure I’d enjoy it.

The clock on the dresser ticked away the minutes as the bed clothes humped up and down like a caterpillar crawling across a twig. I waited patiently for some contact, a stroke, a kiss, but nothing.

‘Er, is something wrong?’ I said, my voice sounded timid.

A few muffled grunts and groans issued through the thickness of the duvet, but I couldn’t quite catch the words. The bedclothes became still and curiosity overcame reluctance to urge him to get on with it.  I lifted the edge of the covers to see what the delay could be, and to my astonishment the bed was empty. I searched the apartment, apart from his clothes, which were still on the floor, he had gone.
I couldn’t imagine he would just leave without seeing I was all right, er, I mean, sexually speaking.

I sat on the kitchen stool, drank tea and puzzled where he had gone without his clothes. Too tired to stay awake any longer, I trudged back to the bedroom to find his clothes had vanished too, which made me wonder about the security of my apartment.

The following week Bradley strutted his stuff across the floor of the public house where I was spending an evening with girlfriends.

‘Hi, darlin’’ he said and gave the other girls the once over. ‘How’s about tomorrow?’ His eyes slid back to me.

I gave him what I thought was a disapproving frown. ‘Where’d you get to last week?’

He ignored the frown and showed a set of perfect teeth. ‘Oh yeah that – there was something I’d to do – it was important so…’ He spread his hands and gave me a look that was so appealing I decided to give him a second chance. 


The evening started well. He took me to a restaurant. The meal perfect, and the conversation, although it was all about him, flowed effortlessly.

When we arrived back at my apartment I was mellow. Good food and wine had that effect on me. ‘Do you want to come up for coffee?’

He gave a leer. ‘Coffee, huh?’

Blood rushed to my cheeks. ‘Unless you want another drink?’

He didn’t answer he was already taking the stairs two at a time and I hurried after him. In the kitchen I stood at the counter and made coffee while listening to him talk.

‘I got this big deal coming off; I’ll be rolling in it. Course, I tried to explain it in simple terms to management, but they couldn’t see how it worked. They’re all thick as friggin’ planks, so I’m going it alone,’ he said.

He looked so macho balanced on the small kitchen stool, waving his arms, and looking so earnest, that I couldn’t help but take his hand and lead him to the bedroom. Second time is always better I thought. 

Brad shed his clothes in double quick time, and with no foreplay, leapt on top of me. Sixty seconds later he rolled off. It was over, and I lay stunned that it could have happened twice.

Minutes later there came movement by my side and I turned, the pillow was empty, with only a faint dent where his head had rested. Once again he’d disappeared, and in the faint light filtering through the window I saw the caterpillar in motion, making small hillocks and depressions under the bed clothes. This time, determined to solve the mystery, I reached stealthily for the bedside lamp, switched it on, and in one quick flip, stripped the duvet from the bed. The sight of Brad Jones as he disappeared smoothly up his own ass was awesome. I watched with a mixture of fascination and disgust until all that remained, quivering at the foot of the bed, was something that resembled a distressed, pink, rubber band. With a shudder I flicked it off the sheet with the tip of my finger. The ring circled across the floor, stopped and leaned drunkenly against Brad’s discarded clothes. The whole episode was so bizarre I was numb with disbelief. But it wasn’t until a hand struggled from the centre of the ring, extended two fingers and dragged the clothes inside that I mercifully passed into unconsciousness. 


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