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Saskia Day: A Short Story

Decent Essays
Mike is a little off from us, leaning back against the grill, his phone on in one hand, thumb swiping across the screen. As if sensing me watching him, he glances up, his stare hitting mine. Giving me a slow, lopsided smile, he winks. But it’s not sexy. Not in the least. It’s creepy and uncomfortable. I glance away. Ten minutes later, when The Mighty Storm ends their set, I decide to use the 4-7 minutes of switching instruments and setting the stage for Saskia Day’s next interval segment to take another potty break. I’ve imbibed about three glasses of bubbly fizz, and it’s been affecting my bladder rather than my sobriety. I’ve already made two bathroom trips. Turning in Noah’s arms, I gaze up into never-ending perfection. “I need to make…show more content…
The doors to the GMC open and two men in black hoodies jump out, moving toward me. I don’t wait. I turn and bolt to the back door, pound it with my fist, screaming for help. It screeches open, revealing the scary security guard who let us out. “Please, help me,” I cry helplessly. “They’re trying to take me. Please, help.” The man crosses his arms over his chest, arches his eyebrow. Too late, I realize he’s working with them. This, it’s all planned. His dark stare rises over my head, and he nods. Before I can begin to plead again, a big, course, calloused hand covers my mouth, a muscled arm bands around my middle, and then I’m lifted off the ground, and hauled away. My screams stifled, my struggles futile. When I’m finally released, set to sit, it’s in a car that smells like new leather. Frigid air-conditioning circulating a scent I’m all too familiar with. The car door slams, and I wince. “Click” goes the automatic lock. I’m in the back seat. My eyes flick to the driver. Fat neck, shiny head. On a deep inhale, I close my eyes and muster all the courage I can to look to the right of…show more content…
I like being at home. I like sweating. I like back-shots. I like blow-jobs. I like licking pussy. I like climaxing. I like fondling nipples. This? This kind of noise and music and new adult BS, I do not like. But this is what Lotty likes, so I do it for her. And I’ll do it for her every given day if that’s what she wants. Because giving her what she wants is what gives me pleasure. I could come just watching her laugh. How can I not marry her? The crowd is getting wilder, deafening, which is baffling, considering Saskia has been on the stage twice so far. I glance at Kiera, and her eyes—now ridiculously dreamy—are glued to the stage. Puzzled, I toss my gaze to the stage, too. And then I get it: Saskia Day’s husband is on stage. The same husband Lotty told me every woman—including herself—wants to sleep with. The overrated pretty boy is perched on a stool while Saskia dances around him, stopping every now and again to give him a lap dance, crooning lyrics that’re giving me a headache. That’s all. That’s. All. Yet the crowd is tearing the roof down. Jesus, I’m really too old for this shit. Muscles assesses our surroundings, the ground vibrating beneath our feet. “Boss, I’m thinking we
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