Chapter 3

We stopped driving pretty late, in a small town whose name I don’t remember. After putting our stuff in the motel room, we walked across the street to a restaurant and bar called Stuart’s. I was wearing my mask, of course, so I wouldn’t be able to eat there, but we all needed to unwind. Lucas and Stacy had meals while I just looked at the menu planning what I would order to-go.

It was a nice stop, though. They had a karaoke machine, and a non-stop line to sing. Some people were really good: there was a woman in some sort of work jumpsuit who hit all the notes in an Ariana Grande song. Some people were bad, like the guy who butchered “Sweet Home Alabama”.

There was this one girl - about Lucas’ age - that sang three times. She was obviously a local favorite, because the cheers for her were always the loudest. She sang pretty well, but she really knew how to work a stage. She was always prancing around and smiling at the crowd, and twirling her skirt just a little too high. Absolutely everyone in the place with a penis adored her, my brother included. She really made it look fun.

Then Stacy went up. She sang the really old punk song, “Anarchy in the UK.” The patrons gave her token applause, but the song clearly didn’t sit well with them. Then, after some prodding, Lucas went up and sang the Beatles’ “Ticket to Ride”. Lucas had always been a quiet kid: I was amazed by his display of confidence. Maybe learning Aikido had matured him, or maybe it was something that Angie had brought out in him. Either way, it was nice to see that from my brother. I think the flirty local girl even winked at him.

I would have loved to take a turn myself. I just kept thinking of more and more songs that I wanted to sing. But of course, singing was impossible with the mask on, and I definitely didn’t dare taking it off in the restaurant, having seen all the dangerous things on the menu. Anyway, I figured it was better not to attract attention, since people were already staring and whispering about me. I think Lucas might have read my mind, because at one point he hugged me out of nowhere.

Back at the Motel I ate while Lucas typed goofy lovestruck messages on his tablet, and Stacy teased him. Then it was lights-out, with Stacy and me in one double bed, and Lucas in the other.

I guess I fell asleep pretty quickly, but I think it was just a few minutes later that Stacy shook me awake. She put her finger over her lips and then pointed at Lucas’ bed. She was grinning scandalously. I shifted my position discretely and looked over to see a tent-pole made of sheets centered on my brother’s crotch, and movement underneath. The light was very dim, and there was no sound, but it was perfectly obvious that Lucas was jacking off.

Stacy clearly thought this was the bawdiest thing ever. She whispered in my ear, “What do you think he’s thinking about?” A number of ideas went through my head: Angie, the flirty karaoke girl, random Internet porn. But then I made my choice by pointing to Stacy’s chest. She rubbed her nipple with a fingertip as an acknowledgement.

I know it was wrong, but I kept watching as my brother played with himself - even though I couldn’t really see anything. Pretty soon Lucas’ breathing became audible, and the thumping monster under his sheets moved faster. And then he was still. He shifted onto his side and, I guess, fell asleep.

Stacy pulled my face back in her direction. She looked puzzled, but I had no idea what she was thinking. She whispered in my ear: “What about the jizz?” I shrugged. She whispered again, “Doesn’t he need to clean up? Is he just sleeping in it?” I shrugged harder, closed my eyes and tried to get back to sleep.

Try as I might, I couldn’t get back to sleep. Trapped in bed alone with my thoughts, I kept wallowing in how unfair it was that I couldn’t do normal things like eat in a restaurant or sing karaoke. I’m a good singer, damn it! I had been making all of these stupid accommodations for a year and a half: a year and a half of being stared at and talked about, or being asked personal questions by strangers, or just staying home while everyone else had all the fun. The risks really weren’t that high around strangers: none of them would know how to deliberately turn me into a sex monster. And it’s not like people walk around with bottles of vanilla extract everywhere.

After I don’t know how long, I got out of bed, pulled on a dress, and headed back to the restaurant. I left my mask and my phone behind. The crowds had thinned out a lot, so the DJ was just playing regular music in between patrons’ acts. A petrified little girl was singing a Disney song with her mom when I showed up. The crowd gave them warm applause.

I was really nervous when my turn came up, but fuck it, I was going to do this. I picked “Call Me Maybe” because it’s a fun song and it kind of fit how I was feeling. After a couple verses I was feeling pretty good about my performance. I experimented with some hip bumps and twirls, but they didn’t feel right, so I stuck to just swaying and singing. Enough people were watching, and enough people clapped at the end, that I felt my performance was a success.

As I left the stage and looked for a place to sit down, a guy approached me. “Every man in the place would like to buy you a drink right now,” he said. “I hope you’ll let me be the one who does.”

He was college age, with semi-curly black hair that reminded me of Superman. He was tall and built, too, and his eyes were fantastically blue. He handed me a tall icy glass with a fizzing black liquid

“What is it?” I asked, trying not to offend him.

“It’s just Diet Coke,” he said. “But I’ll get you anything you’d like.”

“Just Diet Coke?” I asked, “Nothing in it?” When I heard myself say it, I figured he must think I was accusing him of trying to drug me. “I have allergies,” I hastily added.

The boy’s name was Hal. We sat in a booth and I sipped at the Diet Coke while we talked. He was just passing through town, too.

He played football for his college, so that was interesting. And he had been injured in high school, too, so we shared stories about physical therapy. I asked him what he knew about engineering students, but he said he didn’t know any. Somewhere in there he made a crack about gymnastics not being a real sport, so I had to call him out on that. “Give me your hand,” I told him.

I ran my palm across his. “Feel those calluses? Tell me which one of us is more athletic, Mr. Soft Hands!”

“All right,” he said, taking off his jacket. “But have you got these?” He curled his arm and showed me a pretty impressive bicep.

“Well, no,” I said. “But I bet you can’t do this!” I got up from the booth and made sure I had Hal’s attention. Standing on one leg, I lifted my other knee up near my chest, and then extended it until my foot was far above my head. With a little steadying from my hand, my legs formed a perfectly straight line. My dress bunched awkwardly, but I was still wearing my pajama shorts underneath, so whatever glimpses the other diners might have caught weren’t anything too scandalous. I held the pose and smiled an I know what you’re thinking smile at Hal before returning to the booth.

Hal laughed. “Okay, truce. I take back what I said about gymnastics,” he said.

Look, I recognize when a guy is on the prowl, hoping to get lucky. And I suppose I was putting out a few “maybe” signals. Back in my full-on slut days, before I understood my condition and before I understood why I behaved the way I did, Hal was definitely the sort of guy I would have gone home with. Maybe he wasn’t someone I would have wanted as a boyfriend, but I wasn’t even sure of that - I’d never really had one before.

Anyway, that was all moot. These days I was a good girl - a decent girl. Sure, I flirted a little, but I certainly didn’t fuck strangers in unfamiliar towns without anyone knowing where I’ve gone. Certainly not willingly. But, you know, accidents happen.

Hal stood up and grabbed our empty glasses. “Another Diet Coke?” He asked.

“Please,” I said appreciatively. I added, “Maybe with some flavored syrup? Surprise me.”

My heart raced as I waited for the outcome of my Russian Roulette game. I didn’t have to drink it, I told myself. This was a choice I was making, I forced myself to admit, and not an accident. Then I stuffed that voice deep down where it wouldn’t bother me again.

One sip was all it took. The Vanilla Coke flipped a switch in my primal brain, and suddenly I was the hunter and he was the prey. Hal didn’t even get a chance to sit back down. “Do you think we could go back to your motel?” I asked softly. It was my seduction voice.

I clutched Hal’s arm as we walked across the street to the motel. My obsession was in full force: my body was itching for sex. I thought about him naked on top of me, all muscles. I thought about him sliding in and out of my pussy. I thought about screaming in orgasm. The compulsion doesn’t feel bad as long as I know I’m making progress - as long as I know it’ll happen soon. It consumed my whole attention, but there was a sort of delicious anticipation to it. In the last few steps up to the door, I had my hand on his crotch.

There was another guy in the room when we entered. “Hey Jerry - I’m going to need you to give me the room for a while,” Hal said.