The Geography of Pluto by Christopher DiRaddo

Author:Christopher DiRaddo
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cormorant Books
Published: 2014-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

I woke up startled and confused. My body was sore in a way it could only be from sex. The muscles pulled, the knees red; the results of pushing and pulling and twisting around another person’s body in a fit of indulgence. My face felt tight and raw, and in the mirror I became reacquainted with the battle scars of lovemaking — superficial bruises and red scrapes up and down the nape of my neck. The mere caress of my hand against the battered skin sent shivers down my spine, the lingering aftershocks of a powerful explosion. Immediately hard, I took my cock from my briefs and thought about the sex the night before. It took no time to get me off, one or two minutes, and soon I was back in my own body, catching my breath and cleaning up the puddles pooling at the edge of the sink.

Is it our history together that makes this so intense? I wondered. This proximity to him and the powerful memories it evokes that made this climax, and the one last night, so overwhelming? It was comforting to think this erotic knowledge of Max was information I had not lost, but merely forgotten, and that suddenly its brilliance was at my fingertips again.

Yet, in the coldness that followed, in the long empty drip, there was the worry that something wasn’t right, an unwelcome warning of the dangers of unsafe sex and the things left unspoken. I knew if Max and I were to pick up where we had left off I would need to be more careful — about everything.

Embarrassed about the state of my body, I called in sick to work. I ate breakfast, read the paper, and went back to bed for a couple of hours. I awoke again, shortly before noon, and figured I’d take advantage of the unexpected day off. Perhaps I would go to the museum, or go shopping? A part of me wanted to call Max and see what he was up to. But that would be too quick, I thought. Best let this thing take its time.

EMERGING FROM THE SHOWER, EXAMINING once more the booty marks in the mirror, I heard the phone ring. Thinking it might be Max — but knowing it wasn’t — I ran nude from the bathroom to answer it.

I readied my sick voice, in case it was the school. “Hullo?”

“Will? Hi, it’s James!”

“James?” I spat out, the frog in my throat gone. “James from Adonis, James?”

“Yes, that’s the one,” he laughed.

How did he get my number? I was the one who had taken his and thrown it away. “Wow,” I said, puzzled and dripping on the cold tile of my kitchen. “I’m sorry if I sound surprised, but I didn’t think I’d be hearing from you.”

“Yes, well, I’m sorry about that. I was so drunk the night we met I couldn’t find your number anywhere in my pockets. I guess I must have lost it. And then I was worried I had given you the wrong number, or it was illegible or something.

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