My phone rings, vibrating against the bamboo side table. When I search for it, Max’s resting face brushes my arm. His chin hair is rough against my skin. My fingers fumble to find the phone’s lock button so I can stop its obnoxious sound before it wakes him. We are above the covers. Max is still in his jeans, unbuttoned and showing tight abdominal muscles that point towards his favourite appendage. He clearly has no boxers on.
I wriggle around on the sheets and then press my palm to his chest. I kiss his cheek. I want to be happy, but there is too much fear weighing me down. Fear of losing him. Of lies. Of deceit. I don’t know Max well enough to know whether I can believe him. That he didn’t sleep with her.
My fingers skate over the rugged bumps of his stomach and circle the little trail of hair that leads beneath his jeans. He should smell like man and sweat, but instead his scent is arousing. Hot. Max.
So even if he did sleep with her, his beautiful body is now mine. All mine. Perhaps I can believe that. I push my hand down the neat path of hair and fondle his penis and then his balls. He groans as his hips move up into my touch.
‘Cassidy.‘
Perhaps, I’m now the only girl who gets to touch him like this. I stoke him in his slumber. He expands, thickening and hardening, in my hand. He cups the back of his head. Wide biceps relax beside his face.
‘Take me out. I wanna feel your little tongue on my cock.’
And I hadn’t thought this through because I have no idea what to do now. I swallow hard. My body slides down the mattress before settling between his thighs. When I pull his long, thick erection out, it reaches up towards his navel and pulses with need.
I stroke him hard.
‘More,’ he growls as he grips the bedhead, his huge arms tightening with restraint. My belly flips around because I don’t know how to make him come with my hand – or mouth. I remember what Toni had said.
Drawing my fist up the full length of his shaft, I lick the underside of his penis. His hips move up into my hand and mouth. Wanting to please him, I slide my lips down as far as I can go, which isn’t far at all. At halfway down his thick shaft, the muscles at the back of my throat contract around him, causing him to let out a deep, longing groan. He starts to thrust up, his penis nearly sliding all the way down my throat. I gag and those muscles contract again, but he seems to like it, just groaning louder.
My breaths come in and out fast through my nose as he pumps up into my mouth. I lean back when it gets too much and lick him again. He’s just too big, but I love tasting him. Love how much he’s groaning.
Several minutes pass by as he lets me explore and taste him. He releases the bedhead and wraps his hand around mine, squeezing his erection tighter and thrusting into our joined fists. His abdominal muscles tighten, his breathing grows jagged and then ropes of cum land over my fist and shoot across my face – it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. My tongue runs along my lips, tasting the saltiness of his cum. I think I like it.
After I clean us both up – there was a lot – Max slowly slips back into slumber with a beautiful smoothness to his forehead and cheeks. It looks a lot like contentment.
The second time my phone buzzes, I collect it and stroll into Max’s shower. The screen flashes with ‘Toni’. I turn the water on, but tilt the faucet away from me. Sliding down the wall until my bum hits the tiles, I hold the phone to my ear.
I wriggle my toes in the water and answer, ‘Yes, Toni?’
‘I just wanted to wish-‘ he pauses. ‘Are you in the shower?’
‘Yes.’ I kick my legs in the water pooling around my body. ‘I’ve got to get warm and clean for tonight.’
He chuckles. ‘You’ll never be clean again.’
I grip the phone. ‘What?’
‘I dunno. Just sounds like something I would say.’
I relax. ‘Okay.’
He smacks his lips and hums. ‘You’re short. . . Why are you short.’
‘I was born this way.’
‘Mentally challenged, not vertically challenged, darlin. Why are you short?
‘I’m fine.’ I lift my knees up and envelop my legs, resting a cheek on them. ‘I’ve got a big day.’
‘Yes. Aurora’s pre-wedding dinner. The crowd will hush. The men will get boners. It’s Cassidy Slater in a leotard, twirling her fanny around.’
I scoff. ‘Do you have any respect for what I do?’
He pauses. ‘Yes. You’re my queen. You know this. . . You are short. What’s going on?’
I breathe in deeply and exhale even stronger. ‘Max has told me he can be monogamous. . . for me.’
‘So. . .’ He hesitates. ‘Just. Believe. Him.’
My jaw drops. ‘What? So not what I’d expected you to say.’
‘You wanna be with him, darl-‘
‘I mean, I used muzzles, straitjackets, and chastity belt analogies, but you just say’ -I shrug, feigning his nonchalance- ‘believe him. . . Who are you?’ For a moment, there is silence, and I shuffle my bum on the slippery tiles. ‘Toni?’
‘Braidy has a past. He wasn’t completely out until me. That’s a big thing. Coming out is like going through puberty again. It’s an emotional roller coaster. It’s not good being the test dummy, but I just have to try because if I don’t, I’ll never know if we could have been something. If I chicken out, I’ll never know. Heartbreak might be better than regret. That’s what I’ve decided anyway.’
I smile against the speaker. ‘Thank you.’
‘Don’t tell anyone I’m nice, okay? I’m a Mean Girl!’
I swallow. ‘Max has a lot of secrets, ya know?’
‘We all do, Golden Girl.’
‘I think his might be worse.’
He’s quiet again. ‘Let’s be honest. Do you actually care?’
‘No. I wish I did though.’
We share a long, surprisingly genuine and heartfelt discussion, though not without the occasional drips and drabs of satire and innuendos. However, there are secrets I don’t share with him. I don’t mention Victoria. I don’t mention Butch.
After hanging up and wrapping myself in a towel, I ring my hair out and twist it down my shoulder so that the water drops fall onto the rim of the towel.
Max stays fast asleep as I wander across his bedroom towards the door. I stop to gaze at him in all his glory. Above the covers. Half-naked.
My Max.
I move towards him and lean over, touching my lips softly to his forehead.
As I turn to leave, I notice his bedside table drawer is ajar. I hold my breath when I see the nose of a black gun poking out from within. My eyes widen and my attention is immediately drawn to Max, who hasn’t moved a muscle, and then back to the bedside table. I’m still holding my breath as I pull the drawer out a few more centimetres to reveal the entire black pistol.
It’s illegal to own a handgun in Australia.
I don’t know what the laws are in Bali.
Looking at it though, I remember what my mum had once told me: ‘Everyone is made up of little contradictory pieces and you should never judge another person’s decisions because you don’t know the pieces they have to choose from.’
A thief is a criminal until he’s stealing to feed his kin. A neglectful mother is a bad mother until she is working two jobs to give her children the best opportunities. A gun is terrifying until it’s what’s keeping you safe, and then you’re terrified without it.
Some of us have a lot of contradictory pieces. Some less.
Guns have been banned in Australia since before I was born, so seeing one casually placed beside the bed I sleep in. . . This just got real.
My heart vibrates as I turn to watch Max sleep again. I don’t know much about his pieces, but I know he has a lot of them. And they all have weight.
Slowly, I push the drawer shut.
After getting dressed, I head out to meet the musicians that will be accompanying me tonight at the show.
For most of the day, I rehearse in the luxury Balinese dining club, which is set up not unlike an intimate restaurant with long, banquet-style tables running parallel to a beautiful lily pond. On the other side of the pond is a stage. The orchestra is on a lower level, but I’m going to move from the stage through the musicians as part of a sequence. I’ve written choreography myself many times; however, I’ve never had an intimate audience of fifty, inclusive of Max Butcher, Jimmy Storm, and Legend Luca ‘The Butcher’ Butcher – whatever that means.
And Victoria. . .
My pulse races through my neck as I practise my steps. This is all just a bit much for me to take on alone. I wish I was dancing someone else’s choreography because then it wouldn’t feel so personal. This mini ballet is about promises. It’s about choosing to love unconditionally.
At 7:00 p.m. the club begins to fill with Aurora’s and Clay’s stunningly dressed families and friends. I can hear shrill feminine laughter and the clinking of glasses from behind the stage. The musicians and I are waiting in a small room. While they warm up out of sequence and independently – violins and flutes whistling different scales – I adjust my white veil and tutu. I’d designed them myself for this occasion. I never – ever – wear my hair down when I dance because the line of my neck needs to be seen in union with the lines of my décolletage and arm. However, tonight my ballet bun is a little loose and romantic. It’s a little wild, a little flustered.
As I’m wrapping up my toes, a sudden silence descends. I tense, nerves fluttering in my stomach like they do every time I’m about to perform. Breaking the quiet, Jimmy’s voice booms through the microphone.
“Sarò breve, caro e breve! Clay Butcher, ha statu sempri patti ra me famiglia. Tomorrow that becomes legal under God. Thank you all for joining us in this union and enjoy tonight’s entertainment.’
My hands tremble as I finish lacing up my pointe shoes. The musicians begin to move into position and the conductor nods at me. I’m up and jiggling in place, flicking my hands and stretching my body. I clear my mind as the violins start. Mood lighting illuminates the stage. My breathing is slow and controlled. The guests are silent. Beads of sweat run down my brow and over my chest. I hear my musical cue and I’m quickly en pointe, moving across the stage like drops of water from a fountain – quick and weightless.
The performance begins with curiosity. Naivety. It’s sweet and quirky. The girl matures throughout the sequence, learning fast. It then quickly picks up as she falls in love. It’s at this stage, while in a dizzying spell of euphoria, I complete Aurora’s twenty-five fouettés, my eyes always finding Max between each spin.
