Chapter 4

I never saw Tamara again. She didn’t respond to my one text congratulating her. After thinking about it, that probably wasn’t what she wanted from me.

Mother pouted. Dad had actually laughed in public. It was like she’d never known the man, and she blamed me. In a bizarre form of punishment, she started wearing lipstick. It was blatant. She applied a deep red pigment to her cumulus lips, weekdays while Father was at work.

One day, her father caught her wearing it. I was given twenty dollars (to see a movie), excused from the house, and locked out. The only thing I wanted to watch was what happened between them. I put my ear against every curtained window. From the bathroom, I heard sharp blows against flesh. I didn’t hear mother cry out. She must have been gagged. I was out of sight enough to risk masturbating. My cum sprayed against aluminum siding. Her father was still whacking mother as my dick shrank back to out-of-the-way size. I realized then that Grandpa hadn’t said a word. It wasn’t as if he had been gagged. My imagination said that he had built a psychic link to emotionally abuse Mom while he beat her. My imagination made me want to paint the house siding again.

It was a ridiculous thought, in so many ways, but I enjoyed every minute of it. Actually, from the time I first heard them, to when mother’s dad stopped her punishment, less than five minutes passed. I returned two hours later. Mother’s lipstick looked fresher than ever. She wiped it off before Father returned. The next morning, her deep red lips cradled my cock between them and rocked, in my mind. My dreamy wank soaked three tissues.

I learned early that getting off by myself was the best way to deal with seemingly constant sexual arousal. Once I’d cum, my mind could be rational for a few hours. I could be the power I hoped to become. Desire is the downfall of domination, until you learn to harness it. I was still learning, and it was a lesson made harder, after Dad had gone to work, when mother deliberately waited for me to wander by the kitchen before she picked up her lipstick and slowly stroked that oxygenated blood across her lips.

I took the auto sales job. It paid minimum wage plus commission. My percentage was probably half of what the other sales staff earned. It would be short term and wouldn’t pay enough for a year of textbooks. But it would get me out of the house for the summer.

“No, I want the young guy.” Said a blond in a blue tube dress covering her, neck to ankles. It was as if a sunlit sky had tracked me down. Her naked arms were bronze like her face that was framed with a 70’s fluffed, golden mane. Said speaker twisted in her woven silk skin, away from the point salesman, my boss, and slinked up to where I stood like a cardboard poster child for suicide prevention.

“Gina sent me.” The sparkle in her eyes hinted something between crocodile and supernova. The energy inside this woman, maybe 30, crackled louder than the florescent lights flooding the latest model cars destined to a junkyard in five years. Maybe it was the sound of her skin stoking static into her dress. In darkness, she would have lit up like a Van De Graaff generator.

“Well, Mmm-“

“Miss,” She interrupted – her smirk intact. “Corrin.”

“Miss Corrin, how may I help you?” I took a deep breath. Gina, huh. I decided she wanted to break me. I also decided this woman probably would.

“Sell me car to me.” Her eyes, a hair higher than my own, suggested a gargoyle’s disapproval. She waved a naked arm as if in a breeze and teetered. The ax fell to her right. “That one.”

“I can sell that to you.” I didn’t look. I was new to the showroom, but the beast she wanted was unforgettable, an ex-military vehicle converted to commercial standards. “But you’ll be back in a week, returning it.”

“I don’t mind the loss. What will I buy when I return?”

“The family sedan, in gray.”

“I hate gray.”

“Only the gray model has premium leather.”

“I’ll get leather from a third party, for my pick.” Miss Corrin was ready to dismiss me. Her eyes withered from boredom. I didn’t care as much about hers as I did about the eyes my boss drilled me with. I had to sell this woman for all she was worth.

“They won’t cheat you as much as I can.”

Everyone in the room heard a pamphlet drop.

Miss Corrin dripped, blond dye to green toenail polish. “Where do I sign?”

“I’ll phone our financer.” I didn’t dare leave the woman or even her fixed gaze. I had to voice dial, to keep from glancing at the screen.

“Helen, here.”

“I have a customer ready to write a check. Bring the sale slip for the Lurch floor model. She’s willing to pay 128 thousand.”

Maxed out, the Lurch XL Extreme, carried to your doorstep by vestal virgins, cost 114k brand spanking new. This floor model had languished for seven months, with nine hundred test miles on it (mostly from staff joyrides).

Helen’s high heels were M-80s exploding across the floor tiles, until she reached the showroom. She clicked up to us and presented Miss Corrin with a clipboard. “We’ll fill out your information, later.” She took a picture of the customer’s drivers license. She accepted the signed check. Helen clicked out of the room.

“What a dreary, little old lady.” Miss Corrin turned to examine her purchase.

“I’m sorry. I can’t sell this to you.” I pulled the paperwork from Miss Corrin’s hand and tore it in half. “We are a fine team of professionals here. I can’t accept abuse against one my mates.” Halves swooped to the floor.

“Allow me, Mis-” My boss launched himself between us.

But she had already turned away. “See that that boy gets a bonus.” Her sensible sandals shuffled off like a blues 45 in a Wurlitzer.

My boss gave half a syllable of firing me. “Yyyy.”

“I’ll leave now.” I exited quickly.

My walk home was interrupted. An Italian job that put the Lurch’s price into a toy catalog, passed me, huffing its pipes. Its soft tires ground against asphalt. The carbon fiber body thrust a gull wing door up.