What the hell am I doing? I’m in no state to drive this fucking car. But more disturbingly, I’m driving to him? Where are those marbles rolling again? They are all over the fucking shop.

Whaaat? The ‘rebel one’ stares back at me from the passenger seat, nonchalantly playing with her cobalt hair, throwing her feet on the dashboard. We’re playing it safe, meeting him in public, aren’t we? What can go wrong?

Like a hundred million things.

Yeah, it might be the worst mistake but it could turn out to be the best thing this year or at least this month. Honestly, what can possibly happen?

For a start, you can cause an accident, you idiot!

A million conflicting thoughts race in my head like one of those trippy clips of sixteen-lane motorways at night with flashing neon lights. Speeding, taking over recklessly, every single driver is a psychopath racer-wannabe ego on coke. What’s another set of wheels in that equation?

Concentrate on the road. Like that actual road. The one in front of you. Can you even see it? This one is one of the smarter voices. Unfortunately she’s sitting on the back seat and no one ever pays any attention to her.

Yet another one next to her just laughs hysterically. This ain’t lookin good.

The real me, the one behind the wheel is oh-so-chill. I know these roads, I’ve driven them thousands of times when I had a good friend living on that side of town. She still lives there. I just don’t see her anymore. Because of circumstances. Because of the husband. Hold on, are they even married? I know he proposed after like twenty years. But have they actually gotten married? If they have - I wasn’t invited. But I don’t think they have. He’s using you, girl!

And who are you to judge? The one you are meeting is using you. We all know that. Why did he even resurface after all these weeks? It feels awfully crowded in this car here.

Sometimes I need to be used, the blue-haired freak on the passenger seat points out throwing a chewing gum into her mouth.

Right. That’s settled then I suppose. We all hate this one. The one with the reckless stupid smirk and demon-lord eyes.

Yup. I’m using him just as much. I’m giving him a chance because the others have been ‘naughty’. Which one of these loons even came up with that word? ‘Naughty?’ No, they haven’t been ‘naughty’ they’ve been proper idiotic knobheads.

Right. So, we need a new one. Simple as that. If she sticks that gum anywhere in the car, she won’t need this guy to mistreat her – I'll strangle her myself. With the strands of that stupid blue hair.

Yeah. But. This guy?

Whatever.

***

“I’m here. White Toyota SUV.”

“Yes, I can see you. Meet you at the entrance.”

This is awkward. Always is.

He only sent me three lousy pictures. That’s all I’ve seen of him. But that doesn’t matter. To get into my mind one doesn’t necessarily need “looks”. To snake into my soul, one needs words. And he has plenty of those. More than enough. Enough to have seen me stuffing my fingers into my panties on a number of occasions.

But let’s concentrate on the present. Where is he? What does he look like exactly? I have looked at those pictures this morning. On one of them, he was on holiday with palm trees, fancy buildings and sunshine in the background. He smiled unnaturally. It didn’t suit him. The second one was a close-up of his face. Who even takes such an unflattering close-up picture of their face? He seemed a bit cross-eyed on that one. It was a really stupid picture. The third one was the only decent one. He had very short hair, maybe a bit too short for my liking. He probably clipped it himself with a number one blade. But he looked ok, normal, average. I hope he looks more like the one in the third picture.

Oh, there he is. Actually, he looks much better. Those eyes coming alive and that filthy crimson mouth. No photo could do them justice.

I still play it arctic. “I’d like to point out that I’m here against my better judgment,” I rumble as he awkwardly hugs me while I stay frozen clutching my handbag. I don’t like feeling vulnerable.

“But you are here,” is all he says while he leads me inside and orders the coffee of my choice.

As we settle at a tiny table, a warm feeling spreads inside me. It might just be the first sips of coffee, I tell myself. But of course, that’s a lie. I like the way he’s measuring me up. It makes me snuggly inside. It makes me forget where we are. I could sit here and be the bullseye for the poisoned darts of his dark eyes. And just be comfortable. Then again, I might just still be tripping.

“So what made you come eventually?” His familiar voice wakes me from my daze. I liked his voice in the few voice messages he sent me. He sounded like a well-articulated fairy tale. I know that his tone can take me places. And I crave to be in those places.

“Hm, yeah you are just lucky.” I continue my frosty approach. “I’m still trying to figure out whether I like you or not.”

“Is it because I’ve said no to a threesome with your husband?”

Fuck I’ve completely forgotten about that. “No.”

He flashes a twitchy grimace at me that makes me believe he doesn’t believe me. So he continues. “He blocked me on your couple’s account for no reason. We started off on the wrong foot and it’s not my fault.”

“We have discussed that before. And, no, that’s not the reason.”

“Then you need to tell me exactly why are you so unsure about me.” He folds his arms waiting for a lengthy explanation.

“Because something makes me think we are not on the same wavelength.”

He raises an eyebrow urging me to continue.

So continue, I do. “You ask too many questions. You request too many things. You... You think I’m submissive when I’m not. Or at least not your kind of submissive.”

“Yet, something made you drive here.”

“Maybe just curiosity. We had some fun conversations.” Pages and pages of it. I’ve read most of it again this morning. “But then you just disappeared.”

“You were busy.”

Ok, I admit, I haven’t read all the chat history, not the end. So I’m not sure what exactly happened. Why did we stop talking? “Maybe I just want to make sure we are not for each other.” So I can either forget you or... Well, give in.

“Or maybe because you like me calling you a ‘little shit’.”

I try to keep a straight face but he’s watching me like the cat watches the mouse. One wrong move, one wrong word and I’ll know it. I’m sure he caught that little twitch on the side of my eye. “Yeah, maybe.” I surrender to the lava flow spreading in my veins. This time, I’m certain it’s not the coffee.

“Should we grab these drinks and continue this somewhere else?”

I force myself against the hardwood back of the uncomfortable chair. “No.” Not that easy.

“Kat.” I always liked how he used my name. Just there. Just like that. Nothing else. I always imagined how he pronounced it with the up-and-down tidal wave of disapproval. But in real life it’s much better than I ever imagined. His tone blows at my reluctance like wind shear making this plane veer off the runway fast and the passengers are screaming for their lives. And just then, there, when I’m already soft and mellow and willing and easy, he adds, “You don’t have to pretend with me.” I hate how easily he can read me. Even though I still believe that I’m like no one he has ever met before.

“Pretend what? I’m not pretending anything.” I’m so solid, so walled up outside, while inside I’m butter left out on a hot summer day.

“We both know you’re not this good girl. We both know why you are here.” He lays soft fingers on the top of his coffee cup, but instead of lifting it to his mouth, he just drums his index finger against the plastic lid. Just a small involuntary gesture but it fascinates me. I wish I was better at reading body language. I might just have to order a book on it to add to the other 645 books I gave up half way.

I zoom into his eyes. I drink his words. I want nothing more than him to continue. I know my eyes are begging him to continue. And I hate them for it.

I sip my coffee and only offer a barely audible “Hmm.” But even that is too much because it reminds me of what he told me this morning when I sent him a short video of my husband playing with me. He said he loved those little sounds I made. And they were nothing. I know he’s capable of bringing much more out of me. Safe to say, that’s probably the real reason why I’m here. And I don’t even want to remember how he said I had a 'proper filthy slut accent'. Whatever that is.

“I’m only here because I wanted to see if you were real. I don’t like people wasting my time. I find it suss, that we didn’t talk for weeks then all of a sudden you message me again.” Who is buying this bullshit?

“No.” That’s all he reacts, his fingers drumming on the metal tabletop now. And we stare at each other in a cold war of silence. In a war of half-spoken sentences.

I don’t want to ask but I will ask anyway. “No what?”

“You drove nearly an hour, from the other side of the city. You want more than a coffee. You told me about your husband not understanding your needs.”

“Did I?”

“Yes, you told me earlier. When you showed me that cable whip you just got.”

“Stupid me.”

He smiles at me, a smile that I’d do a lot of reckless, stupid things for. Things I will likely regret at least a little bit, after. Or a lot. I know his kind.

“We both know you are coming home with me. So can we drop this bullshit, please? I want you. I watched those videos you’ve sent me dozens of times, the ones with the guy with that terrible accent.” That’s M. And I happen to love his accent. He leans across the table and lowers his voice. “I’m dying to be the one fucking your throat like that now.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuuuuck. I’m so losing this battle, the war, my kingdom, my sanity. That butter is cascading out of me fast. Ground yourself, silly slut!

“I still don’t trust you.”

“But you want to. Just fucking stop this, ok? Find a way. I'd do anything to earn your trust.”

Again that silence. So loud that it drums in my chest. At least I now know, we are both desperate. That makes me feel a little less... Less what?

A needy fuck. That’s what he called me a few weeks ago.

“I have two conditions: You give me the address, which I will obviously send to my husband, I’ll take my car. And you won’t tie me up. Not this time.”

“Sure. That’s all very reasonable and pretty smart.”

“Thank you.”

We raise from our seats simultaneously as he whispers into my ear while grabbing hold of my elbow, “Did I say you were smart? No, that’s not what I said. You are a dumb fuck. Or at least you like to be treated like one. Right?”

I nearly spit out the cappuccino that I’d finished long minutes ago.

“Is that how you flirt with everyone?”

“No. Obviously. Just you. Just you,” he repeats in a tone that makes my whole body break out with goosebumps. And I stupidly copy his address from the messenger app into my gps.

“Let’s go.”

***

It’s still crowded in the car on the short journey. But now they are all silent. The blue-haired one fidgets with her black crystal bangles. Her pussy is a hot mess of anticipation. She’s the one who wants this the most, she’s the one who will provoke him. Who will tell him, ‘more’, ‘harder’, At some point she will tell him something outrageous just so she can have a slap across her stupid face. She looks me in the eye and nods a ‘Yup, so what?’. The one with the reckless smirk is already fingering herself.  She will also have a field day with this guy. I catch a glimpse of the smart one behind me shaking her head in the mirror. Nothing she’d ever say would stop the rest of us.

Me? I just try to concentrate on the road. I’m just curious more than anything of where this is going to lead. Those two wildlings need a day out. It’s an exhausting job, a daily struggle trying to figure out how to satisfy them without letting them turn our life into an apocalypse.