I never wanted this to happen. It was all supposed to be just fantasy, a game. I never thought she would take it out of the realm, but here I am. I can’t imagine what I am going to say, or how my voice is going to sound. If it’s as shaky as the rest of me, I fear I’ll be completely incoherent. In an instinct of self-preservation, I try to separate.

I stroll to the next stool and glance over at Wynter. As cool as ice, she exhales a plume of smoke towards the dim lamp above her head, then fixes her gaze on me. After a moment, I move along.

I slip past the more obvious non-candidates, and finally come to the end of the bar. Seated here is a young man, alone apparently, and in a sudden ego-surge I almost hope she hasn’t noticed him. He is undeniably attractive, but threatening more so because of the confident air he seems to exude. Glancing downwards I notice the Harley boots. Fuck, that’ll probably seal the deal. Knowing the answer already, I hesitantly shoot Wynter a sideways peek. Maybe the gods are smiling and she’s preoccupied for the moment. Anticipating this improbability, I side-step and partially block Harley-boy from view.

But Wynter hasn’t missed a thing. And more to the point, she has even apparently noticed my feeble attempt at sabotage. A stern look and and a stabbing pointed finger and my fate is sealed.

God, I love her. Almost territorially now- I don’t know if I can go through with this. But what can I do? I myself introduced this fantasy into our relationship as a lark (which in retrospect she took to quite effortlessly), and I alone am ultimately responsible for our more recent pitiful attempts at lovemaking. Wynter would increasingly chide me about finding a more adept lover if i couldn’t handle the load, which would simultaneously turn me on yet tug at my more innately held insecurities- the latter of which more and more put a fairly consistent downer on my ability to rise to the occasion. It was almost as if she had wrestled my own little fantasy away from me and made it her own, causing me to re-evaluate. Suddenly it wasn’t a dirty little turn-on, but an increasingly viable option for her. With my own sense of welI-being subverted, I tried to stifle the fantasy as time wore on, both in my own mind and in her bawdy talk, but it was too late. Like I said, it had become hers. Last night was Wynter’s final straw, the gauntlet tossed, and the cycle completed. My fantasy had not only completely abandoned me for her, but had turned on me as well- I couldn’t function as long as it seemed its own breathing entity, taunting me now whereas before it served as an aid. And here I stood now, actually prepared to humiliate myself perhaps beyond my ability to withstand it, while playing nicely to the relatively recently acquired whims of my unyielding and fanciful girlfriend. The audacity of it all was undoubtedly the peak of any such fantasy along these lines, with the reality of it being as horrid and emotionally danger-fraught as one might imagine. Regardless, I was preparing to see it through. The bottom-line was that I loved her that much, and i could not imagine life without her. And admittedly, part of me was still hoping for some odd turn at redemption.

Feeling more squeamish by the moment I somehow force my body to move forward, and before I fully realize it I have taken the empty stool next to Harley. Then, with an even greater muster of force, I turn my head towards him. The thought pops in my head that this little exchange-to-be may very well end with a fist in my face, and it actually helps me conjure up a tactful introductory proposition. Simultaneously, Harley glances over and offers a non-committal nod in my direction.

“Hey, your name isn’t Joe, is it?” I squeeze out, hopeful the fairly grating din of the bar has sufficiently muffled the uneasy quaver in my voice. I feel like I am now balancing on the edge of a teetering precipice with a most unfathomable bottom, and the only lifeline I can currently cling to is how this stranger opts to receive me. I have officially embarked on the action part of my mission, and it is, as feared, nearly overwhelming. The man next to me peers into my face, either ready to embrace or refute I cannot yet comprehend, but the sudden anxiety surge has made the point almost completely irrelevant, and I am rocked with an all-encompassing urge to flee this ridiculous scene.

Inconceivably (and perhaps just as ridiculously), the man slowly offers a smile. My footing finds a slight hold in it.

“Jack,” he replies.

Immediately I begin nodding like an idiot, trying to ingratiate myself. I even manage to plaster on a deceptively easy-going smile. “Ah…” I surmise, attempting to show knowledge of some superior thing. With purpose I then glance in Wynter’s general direction. “Silly…she thought she knew you…”

At this, Jack (as I know now him) does exactly as I would figure- namely turning his head to see to whom I am referring. Funnily enough though, I do note that his demeanor is not as mine would have been had our roles been reversed; had the same declaration been made to me I would have undoubtedly tensed up noticeably whilst making a steady fearful scan of the room in search of my predator. Jack, on the other hand, looked as cool and demure as he had when I had first noticed him, and I knew that I had probably found quite an apt fit for Wynter. He looked as confident in himself as I knew she was.

Looking over myself at Wynter I see her smile in our general direction. A closer study and I see she is smiling completely at him. When I turn back I see he is mirroring it with one of his own- he’s all teeth. He then shifts his eyes onto me like a lurking cat.

“That her?”

Turning away to look at Wynter again, I hesitantly confirm. “Uh…yeah, that’s her.”

Maintaining the grin, Jack spins on his barstool and guzzles the rest of his draft. He then orders two more, presumably to take one over to my girlfriend (which I’m assuming he doesn’t yet know- how could he?). Without thinking I relay to him that I’ll take care of it, internally grateful that this part of our interlude has come to its end. It’s not like I want to become overly-friendly with the guy- my immediate future is looking quite awkward and uncomfortable enough, thank you very little. He smiles again, and a moment later the stool beside me is empty. Too unnerved to do anything but fish for my wallet, I barely register that the hot shot did not even thank me.

Perhaps he’ll be thanking me later. A creep of nausea rolls over me when I imagine a scene where I will be required to thank him. Aggressively, I push the notion from my mind.

After tending to my drink-paying-for duties at the bar, I hoist the two mugs and swerve around to scope the developments. I see he has already seated himself next to Wynter. That didn’t take long. And already she is touching his arm in some playful discourse or another…

Seeing that, suddenly I want nothing more than to drive the closest blunt object straight through this guy’s skull. Oh, the nerve of this fuck…

The entire affront seethes in me for several moments, until the acknowledgment of my own hand tips me back towards resignation. And besides, there’s at least a fair chance that Wynter will not be able to go through with this, and our night will end in laughter at how crazy the whole idea was. The hardest part will probably be how she decides to dump this poor sucker at some point.

Yeah. I’d say more than a fair chance.

Glancing away from them nonetheless, I steadily make my way towards their secluded table. It really is secluded too, the corner they lounge in is most certainly darker and seemingly isolated from the connected engagement of the barroom’s layout. I hadn’t particularly noticed that when I had left Wynter there moments earlier. On my approach the parameters creep me out a little, and my threadbare composure slips a bit along with it. Close enough now to hear Wynter’s voice, the floating tidbit I catch threatens to unravel me further.

“…so, is that what he told you?”

At this I pause in my step, and as one they turn to look at me. Her face is one of expectation, but of what return I do not know; shooting a look his way and I catch nothing but smug pearly whites again- surmise it to say that the two looks together effectively take me from the confines of being on the inside to definitively casting me out to the role of uncertain (and potentially unwanted) outsider. In fact, at that moment, if Wynter had turned away from me again I can say with relative assurance that I may have taken the gesture as confirmation to slink away and leave them be. Perhaps sensing this, Wynter reels me in.

“Oh goody…our drinks are here!” she exclaims with her normal exuberance. Wynter always has had somewhat of a childlike appreciation of things, and it’s been one of the many aspects of her personality that so endears her to my heart. Seeing it on display here makes me suddenly ache to do nothing but take her home and away from all the bad people- like the guy sitting dangerously close to her, for example- and protect her from this most unjust and cruel world. And then in her next breath, perhaps again sensing my conflicting vibe, Wynter puts such frivolous and ideological notions straight to rest. The statement though is not addressed to me.

“Well, he may be slow, but at least he’s stupid too…”

At this, Jack turns away and laughs, and Wynter joins him. With my face swiftly ablaze, I cast a glance to the floor.

“Let’s go, let’s go…hope you’re not waiting for a tip,” she rejoins. Her direction puts me right into my standard mode (one of obsequious compliance), and I hastily bring the two beers to their table. The embarrassment of performing my submissive nature keeps the glow in my cheeks through the initiation, and I can barely bring myself to look at my girlfriend, much less the man heartily chuckling at the display. I can’t help but to think that he hasn’t seen nothing yet, even as part of me wishes that he would just keel over dead already.

“Dude…” he exhales condescendingly, setting our roles into granite. “I mean… dude…”

Practically strangling the two mug handles with my fists I set them down on the table before they spill. Yeah, dude. I know. Believe me, I know like a motherfucker dude.

Shit, you know what? I’m out. I can’t do this, it’s too much. This right here is just a mere trickle before the shitstorm, and my insides are already brewing something fierce. A ripple or two away from being swept up in rage and furious contempt. Partially aimed square at this cool jockey right here, but the core of it igniting my own psyche in a quick burn of self-disgust. I’m all bundled nerves- frayed and exposed, taut, extremely raw. The wrong word, hell even the right one, is gonna snap me. Snap me. And I’ll be no more.

I don’t know who I’ll be.

Wynter is watching me closely now, I can feel her. I almost don’t care. There are words that will be spoken soon, there will be directions. There will be more revelation. Further disclosure. It has to be. There is a strange man sitting alongside the woman I now feel that I would kill for, and he will be game. I know this. But I am the conductor. I am the engineer. I have designed all the plans, and orchestrated the train-wreck. All aboard, motherfuckers, conductor says All Aboard. Ticket sir? Yes sir, your ticket is in your pants, very good sir, that will do fine. Sit back now, enjoy. No, you won’t feel a thing sir, smooth as silk. I crash alone.

The moment is ebbed, frozen. There are lights behind, bathing me, urging me forward, but I cannot move. And Wynter is still vigilantly watching and waiting. What is she waiting for? Some signal from me? A visible crack in my exterior? I can’t imagine what story my face tells, but it’s gotta be a grim one. This is agony this, and she must know it. I look at her now.

She is smiling. Smiling.

And then I am in it. There is love there, and I am in it like that. Nurturing, caring love. Understanding. There are other flecks in her smile, namely mischief and bemusement, but they are both softened and tempered. It’s that love. Bring me home, baby, please.

“Brendan…”

I need that love, it’s the good stuff, it makes me. I can handle anything with it as armor.

“Brendan…”

Yes baby, I’m here, right in front of you. I hear you. I know you want me to take you home. We’ll do that. We’ll do whatever you want. Say my name again. I like that. I like it when you do that.

“Brendan!”

And then I feel it, a little burst, a little sharpness. A small turnover in my stomach. The man seated beside her says ‘oooh’ in some rendition of sympathy, then follows up with ‘baby’. Then he snorts. But I don’t look at him, I keep straight ahead, basking in the love of my girl, whose face has gotten determined and purposeful. Suddenly, there is an emptiness again, a disconnect- that is until Wynter swings her booted foot back up and kicks me square in the nuts again, harder this time. It is enough to make me grunt a little. In fact, it is potent enough to bend my whole form at the knees, my balance centered and supported by the boot still stuck in my crotch. Were she to move again at that moment I would undoubtedly buckle to the floor, but she keeps it firm.

“Do NOT embarrass me in front of Jack, Brendan,” Wynter hisses into my face, our eyes meeting as I slump towards her. “If you cannot handle this, then get the fuck out of here now. But when I address you, you answer me. Immediately. You do understand that much.”

She pauses for reciprocation. Her lips have not reappeared after being drawn tightly into a grimace. I study it as I speak, my focal point.

“Yyyyes Ma’am…I understand, I apologize…”

The pain caused by the groin kick flutters a bit in the background, but for the most part the urge to settle into my submission covers everything in a soft haze. This is a place I know, a place I long for- and for the moment, a place Wynter can lull me into to reach a desired end. With a commanding tone and a foot to my goods, she literally can set the tune to make this puppet dance on a string. Fittingly, she even begins to nudge her foot into my balls to the beat of the song currently playing in the background. Her full lips return with an accomplished smile, and I watch as her beautiful eyes turn from mine.

“Now…where were we…” Wynter says to Jack, her tongue snaking over her upper lip in a most provocatively kittenish manner…—

—”Better hurry,” Wynter calls back to me, her arm wrapped around Jack’s waist. “It’s showtime little boy!”

Goose-stepping my way through the motley street crowd, I draw as close behind them as I dare. Wynter peeks back at me again, casually (lovingly?) resting her head on Jack’s shoulder.

“Get us a cab.”

I utter a near inaudible yet perfectly robotic ‘Yes Ma’am’ before practically launching myself into the street to hail one. At the moment there is no traffic to speak of, and standing there peering anxiously for the next taxi to swing by I get a chance to feel self-conscious and silly again. A sudden bark of laughter from behind intensifies the feeling, and my vision grows fuzzy and narrow, almost tunnel-like. I’m on stage again, and I hate it. I can feel them staring at me, pointing and laughing. Ridiculing. Look, everyone, look at the worthless man! Everyone, come see the worthless man! Have you EVER seen anything so ridiculous?

I hear Jack laugh. My neck bristles. I don’t think I have ever stood so rigidly in my life. And though my need to know wants to turn around and look, it is the equivalent of turning to gape into the maw of hell. It will swallow me up and kill me.

A voice floats over. An instruction. They ARE watching.

“Raise your arm like I taught you!”

Wynter does this herself when there are no cabs coming, so that one may see her at a distance, or so others will not intrude on her territory. I never do it. Always thought it was unnecessary. I can remember jibing her about it clearly enough.

Nonetheless, instantly my arm shoots up and out.

Simultaneously, they both laugh.

An ice-cold chill bolts up my spine. Suddenly, the dread surfaces, beyond palpable- its own life-form now. It is sitting square atop my shoulder, encouraging. It wants to slap my face, and make me obey. It has no scruples, this dread, it merely wants entertainment. It will stop at nothing. It has domain for now. Heretofore:

“Jump up and down- they’ll see you better!”

The Dread dances wickedly, confirming itself with a roundhouse across the chin. I knew it would win out eventually, it was only a matter of time. I can’t bring myself to move, however.

Complete silence behind me now. A void, an utter cacophony of absolutely fucking nothing. I feel like I am sinking. Or maybe I just wish I were.

Wynter speaks: “Um, you did hear that, didn’t you? And you’re not jumping up and down, why?”

Deliberately, I peer into the distance, willing for a cab to appear on the horizon. In return for my hopes, I get another slap to the face. Nothing out there, nothing coming. Nothing but emptiness for you, my friend.

Wynter speaks again. “I don’t think we’re going anywhere til you start making with the jumps there. Clearly there is a need for jumping on your part…”

Her voice is so supple, reassuring despite its connotation. It nearly makes me comply on its own, until she follows up.

“I think you need to tell him again, Jack.”

I brace myself, waiting to hear his voice again. My defiance is superficial, window-dressing on a most malleable will, but it is front and center now to try and absorb this latest blow.

And for his part, Jack is perhaps more clever and intuitive than I could have supposed for a man in his position. He cuts right to the heart.

“Yeah…” he addresses me clearly and assuredly. “I suppose you don’t have to jump and down like an idiot- in fact, I could really care less. But the only way that you are going to get into the same cab as us is if you do everything that you can do to make that cab appear…and from what I have learned from living in this wonderful city, cabs do look for jumpers. They tend to hone in better, some kind of sensory thing for them. It’s a fact, trust me…”

Wynter’s undercurrent of giggling runs through Jack’s declaration. He pauses to join her in  a snicker.

“Now…” Jack quickly rejoins. “Like I said, cab gets here quick, you get in with us. If it takes too long, you find your own way home, pal.”

And there it was. He had threatened me with not allowing me to observe my girlfriend being unfaithful to me. And she had played right along. The brass of it put the onus right on me. No more insinuations, as unsubtle as they may have been. It was another chance to bow out, but I knew as well as they did that the option had realistically disappeared the moment Jack had sat down next to Wynter. Though this was an obstacle, physically deferring to his whims now, it was in actuality a mere formality. Like I said, I knew it would win out. That he would win out.

I jump a little.

Surprisingly enough, there is no discernible reaction from behind me. Maybe they’re doing their damnedest to stifle themselves, but another thought creeps through my mind. Perhaps they, both Wynter and Jack, are themselves caught in the early stages of something more than they had anticipated, and are just taking in all the newly unraveling possibilities in their minds. There’s certainly no road map for what’s being undertaken here (least I didn’t have one), but maybe seeing me act the complete fool for him for the first time got some more tumblers clicking.

“Do it again…” Wynter says to me, almost dreamily.

And I want to. Kind of. It’s mostly the resistance to the pain that makes it hurt so- for it to be tolerable I need to make it a part of me. The walls can come down, and then anything that follows is possible. I jump again.

“Again,” Jack states, evenly.

I do. From there, Wynter tells me to keep doing it, and swiftly I am in constant motion, up and down like a pogo stick. There is no laughter from behind, though I am sure that they are undoubtedly pleased with themselves. And coincidentally enough, a cab swerves over a moment later. I am absurdly pleased myself. Promptly, I reach out and open the door, then stand aside to let them in first.

Assuming I ride in front I make to close the door behind them. A disparaging vision crosses my mind of the cab speeding off before I have the chance to get in, and I glance at Wynter’s face for some quirk or gesture of reassurance. She reads me like a book.

“Yes, there’s room, silly,” she affirms. “Come on, come on, let’s go.”

I hastily crawl in beside her. “Thank you, Ma’am, thank you.”

Wynter smiles- deviously. “You are most welcome. Though I wouldn’t get comfy being all kinds of upright.” She leaves me with the vague notion.

“Seventy-seventh and First, please.”

And the cab lurches off. Glancing sideways I note Wynter’s hand has already swiftly disappeared in the folds of Jack’s lap, and my eyes peel to try and decipher the precise goings-on. The implication of the sudden and lurid intimacy catches me off guard, and immediately I feel a woozy spin in my head. Despite it I cannot bring myself to look away.

Wynter briskly reels around to regard me. “Yes? Something I can help you with maybe?” The annoyance in her voice sounds genuine enough, and reflexively I cast my glance to the floor.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am, I was just…”

She cuts me off, mocking me. “I was just, I was just…god…” She follows up, half under her breath- “…remind me why you’re here again…”

I maintain my floor-stare, even as the shame burns my ears. I briefly wonder what it would feel like to have the car behind us plow over me after I’ve tossed myself out the cab door.

“I have a good idea,” Wynter then expounds. “Since I can tell already that you’re going to have trouble behaving respectfully like an adult, perhaps it’s time I started to treat you a little less like one. Look at me.”

With effort, I swivel my neck up and look into her face. The look of disgust there bores right through me.

“Get on the floor. Now.”

Though it seems illogical, I do as she instructs. Taking a quick fearful glance towards the driver, I slump into the valley between front and back, knees drawn up tightly to my chest. Gazing back up towards Wynter I see she still looks annoyed.

“Not that way…idiot…”

More shame, near overload at this point. I do take some solace in the fact that Jack has remained a non-participatory observer through the mini-ordeal- it’s something. He probably just wants me to do my puppy tricks as quickly as I can so that he can go about the business of getting into my girlfriend’s pants. Doing it in front of her loser pussy boyfriend may just be a bonus to brag about to his buds. One for the books, as it were.

Wynter hunches over, addressing me as if I were a small child. “Now, what I want you to do is take your legs, and stretch them aaaaalllll the way down to here, mkay? Can you do that?” I do as she says, even as my stretch takes me uncomfortably close to Jack’s legs. I arrange myself so that I do not touch him. “Good, good. Now, a little further, further so that your head is resting right here in front of me. Right here. Good. I want your head right here on the dirty floor where it belongs. It is dirty down there, isn’t it?”

This gets Jack’s attention and he laughs.

I look up at my goddess. “Yes Ma’am, it is very dirty down here, thank you.”

Wynter smiles. “Yes, you do love your dirt, don’t you. Your filth…” She turns from me to seemingly confide in her accomplice. “…well, other people’s filth, actually.”

Jack hiccups a snort. Wynter turns her lovely face back down to me, eyes twinkling, face aglow.

“So now that you are right where you belong, right in the muck where no self-respecting human being would ever get close to, much less lay in, I now expect you to be quiet for the duration. I do not want to hear a peep. And keep your eyes…” she shifts a bit to accommodate herself. “…right here.”

I am now staring at the impending sole of her boot. She again shifts around for a seemingly maximum comfort level, dragging her left foot across the brim of my forehead in the process until she has satisfactorily wiped enough to settle in.

…to be continued… or not.