The Welder
The Welder is probably a wonderful, chaste, naive, angelic man, dedicated to a life of hard work and charity. He probably tithes 10% of his earnings to the Methodist church and takes stray cats in off of the street, feeding them baby formula with an eyedropper.
Or, he doesn't even know how to read. But none of that matters. Because I don't know him like that, because I've only just seen what he looks like. I see how tired he is after a day of welding. Which I'm not even sure is his profession, I've just attributed it to him based on his dress, and the sexy idea of working with fire and metal. I've seen how he gets on the train and collapses into a seat, immediately closing his eyes, gripping his green hard hat in his hands and exposing his cheek, which very often has a dark smudge of dirt or oil on it. When I see him, I try to sit near him on the train, pretending to read. But I'm not reading. I'm watching him sleep. I'm watching his shoulder, his thick fingers, the cut of his jaw. He does't know it. But I'm watching.
I think if I see him again, I may approach him. My being married makes it safe to do things like this. Flirting is a joy when you know it doesn't have to go anywhere. I may go up to him and say,
"Hi," of course, as a simple opener. He'll look at me, confused and tired, but I'll be able to see that he's intrigued.
"Hi," he'll say back, screwing up his eyebrows a little bit. "Do I know you?"
"No, no," I'll answer. "I've just seen you down here a couple of times and I wanted to let you know that I just think you're gorgeous."
He'll look around then for candid cameras or cops or whathaveyou. I'll have confused him a tad, but when his eyes return to mine, his face looks very different, and his voice is a little smoother.
"Is that so? You stare at me when I'm down here?" He'll say. And I'll get a little shiver in my neck just looking at him, because all of the sudden, he won't look so tired anymore. And he'll look a lot taller than I'd originally thought, and more 'construction worker'-ish. He'll seem so much bigger and stronger than me, and I'll feel so tiny standing next to him. I'll swallow audibly and smile, trying to keep it safe and innocent. I'll have to actually tip my head to look UP at him.
"I can't help it. I giggle like a school girl when I see you. You're just so...cute."
It'll sound stupid -- to both of us. The train will still be a stop or two away and he'll pick up my left hand and examine it.
"You're married," he'll say, frowning at me. It's a frown of disappointment in my behavior more than disappointment that I'm married.
"Yeah, I know. I just wanted to give you a compliment," I'll say and he'll throw me an evil grin.
"I don't think that's what you wanted to give me at all, was it?" He'll glance down the train tunnel and see that it still isn't coming. I'll take one step backwards, slightly regretting that I ever brought it up. When he sees me moving away, he'll grab my elbow and pull me close to him, so that his lips are right near my ear. I'll start sweating. "I think you've been doing more than just thinking I'm cute. I think you've been thinking very naughty thoughts about me, haven't you?"
I won't say anything, just nod, and he'll laugh at me quietly. "You've been thinking about me fucking you, haven't you? Even when your husband is fucking you, you're thinking about me." He'll squeeze my arm a bit, just to hold me closer to him. I'll be able to hear the train finally approaching, but he doesn't move. "How many times have you thought about that?"
"I...I don't know."
"Not so forward with your compliments, now, eh?" He'll still be smiling. He'll still be quiet. There will still be something about him that won't scare me at all. "So what do you really want, you horny, married slut?"My mouth will go dry and I'll turn my eyes up to him. "Look at you, blushing." The train will roar closer but still he won't move. He'll just walk me towards the wall, away from the platform. "We're not going to get on that train, angelface."
The waiting passengers will push onto the crowded cars and I'll just watch them go, feeling slightly nauseated with fear, but also very excited, trembling, loving the unknown, the spontaneity, the danger. I can smell him, the leather of his jacket, something like metal, something like dirt. He doesn't smell bad, but I can tell he's been working, and not on a computer like I have all day, but with tools and fire and fresh air.
"What are we doing?" I'll ask quietly, my cheek nearly resting against his chest. Because I'm not struggling with him, no one will be suspicious of our activities, in fact, someone will look over and smile as if we're reunited lovers.
"Well, what do you want? I can pull you into the stairwell, go up under your skirt and nail you right here in front of everyone, in this dirty, loud subway station."
"No thank you," I'll stutter.
"Then let's wait here for the next train," he'll say slowly, looking around at the newly developing crowd. "We'll get on it together, and we'll sit in the last row of seats. You'll sit by the window, and keep quiet like a good little slut and we'll ride up to my apartment, OK?"
Without even realizing it, I'll nod and he'll smile at me. It will be a relief to see his face brighten. "You won't talk to me or anyone else on the train, and you won't cross your legs. Put your hair in a ponytail for me, tight, so I can see your neck."
I'll nod at him again. When we hear the train rumbling from one stop away, he'll start walking towards the platform, but stop and turn to me, holding a finger up to make sure I'm listening.
"You know you can trust me, right? I'm not going to kill you. We're just going to have some fun. You'll be safe with me."
"I know," I'll say, even though I won't really sure of it.
"OK then. Let's go. I promise I'll have you home by eight o'clock. I have to work tomorrow."
I'll look at my watch and realize that it's only 3:10.
We'll sit on the train, which is crowded but not packed, like rush hour. I'll sit by the window, like he requested, and quickly sweep my hair up into a tight ponytail, exposing the back of my neck to him. He doesn't say or do anything about it, just stares straight ahead. His hand is on my knee, or actually just slightly above it, his pinky underneath the hem of my skirt. What an interesting couple we'll make; I'll be wearing all black, stockings, leather shoes, a neat hairstyle, make up. I'll look like the ultimate business woman with her caveman lover. I'll notice a girl standing by the doors of the train, staring at the Welder and smile to myself. She doesn't know that I'll be naked in bed with him probably within the hour. I clear my throat and shift a little in my seat with anticipation, feeling increasingly warmer. The train will jostle and his leather jacketed arm will brush against mine and I'll resist the urge to rest my head against his shoulder. After one or two stops, he'll turn and look down at me.
"I remember you," he'll say quietly, almost soothingly. "I remember seeing this girl start giggling when she looked at me and I thought you were making fun of me. But I remembered thinking that you were beautiful, out of my league." I'll roll my eyes, not having been given permission to talk. "And then I saw you again, and you giggled again. It had been a long time. But your face lit up, too. Like you were happy to see me. You never noticed that I was staring at you, too." I won't tell him that I HAD. He won't say anything more, just start staring straight ahead again, but I'll feel my cheeks get hot.
When the train stops, only blocks from where I live, he'll grab my hand and pull me silently from the train, walking quickly down the stairs and out into the street. I'll feel almost like a kid behind him, stumbling forward, unable to keep up with his rapid pace. I look at each building and wonder if it's his, but he won't say anything, just walk and walk and walk. Finally, we'll reach a tree lined street with old brick buildings and he'll fumble in his pocket for some keys. When we get up to the front door he holds his hand over the names on the buzzer and grins at me.
"Let's keep it all a secret, what do you say?"
I'll nod, ready to do whatever he asks. My stomach is tightening into deep, throbbing knots. I can barely breathe. We'll walk up one flight of stairs and into a spacious but dark apartment. The floors are hardwood, the windows covered in heavy curtains. He'll take his jacket and sweatshirt off and stand in front of me with dirty jeans and a gray t-shirt on. Once again, I'll be overcome with giggles and smiles at how attractive he is. I'll feel like a third grader and instead of being stern and silent, he'll just shake his head at me and smile.
"You're a strange girl." His smile will be unlike any other I've seen, radiant and wide. It will make me feel very safe even though I'm scared. "Take your coat off, leave your bag here." I'll do what he says and he'll walk in front of me, barefoot, simply assuming I'm following. When we get to the living room he'll point to the middle of the floor. "Stand there," he'll say, and I'll do it. He'll walk around me then and stare at every part of me. He'll run his hand down my arm, and along the back of my neck. I'll lick my lips, sure that he's just about to crush me in a kiss, but he doesn't. He'll step away and cross his arms. "Strip."
"What?" I'll say, simply because it will have startled me.
"Strip. Everything, that sweater, skirt, stockings, shoes. I want you naked. But you can leave the necklace on. And your wedding ring of course." He'll laugh at the expression of guilt that spreads across my face. Some people are better at humiliation than others. I strip, feeling sick to my stomach at what I'm doing, avoiding his gaze, staring at his feet that have a little bit of hair on the tops of them. He won't like it. "Look at me when you're doing it. I want to see you," he'll say in barely a whisper. I'll look at him then, feeling myself frowning, feeling dirty and horrible about myself and what I'm doing. He won't smile at me. He won't say anything reassuring, he'll just let me stew in guilt for a while. When I stand there naked, just my silver necklace and my gold ring, he'll step forward and kick the clothes aside. I'll suck in my stomach instinctively. "Don't do that. That's silly." He'll put a hand on my belly with his fingers splayed out wide. "Relax. Your teeth are rattling." I'll nod in reply and he'll step away again. "OK, kneel." I'll do it, resting back on my heels, my hands folded across my thighs, a pose I've learned from yoga. He'll stand in front of me and grab my ponytail, pulling my head backwards. "Don't move. Wait for me here, just like this."
He'll disappear without
another word and I'll marvel at how dark a room can be in the middle of the
day. I turn my head towards the sounds I hear. Opening and closing doors,
shuffling feet, running water. I'll look down at my wedding ring and nearly
cry, wishing I could take it off, but knowing that even if I did, there would
still be a pale indentation where it used to be. I'll glance around the room
and admire the two desolate, abstract works of art on the walls. The decor
won't be what you'd expect from a construction worker. There will be a floor
to ceiling bookshelf, a complex stereo system, a mirror, purple and green
candles in strange shapes and a very comfortable looking black couch.
He'll come back a
half an hour later, his wet hair slicked back away from his now shiny clean
face, no shirt on, just loose black pants. I'll realize why he makes me giggle.
Because he's a god. He's perfect. He's chiseled and smooth and well muscled
and beautiful. I'll look at the ground.
"You're a good
girl, aren't you? Good at following rules? You can answer."
"Yes." I'll wonder if I have to call him sir, or master or something, but he doesn't offer it.
"What else are you good at?" He'll say in a low, growling voice.
I'll feel bold for a second, and sexy and alluring. I'll look up at him and
grin.
"A lot of things,"
I'll whisper. He'll crouch in front of me, one hand stroking my cheek, his
eyes boring into me and say,
"You know what I really think, kitten? I think you talk a very big game. I think you want to be good at a lot of things. I think you'd like to be a naughty slut, but you're not. I think you'd like to go out and fuck with abandon...but you're a good girl and you behave yourself. In fact, I think that really just being here with me, you're sort of nervous about it. Right?"
"You're right,"
I'll say, and surprisingly, he'll kiss my forehead. His fingers will trail
along my jaw line and he'll smile at me.
"That's O.K.
I like you to be nervous. It's honest. And it looks good on you, your cheeks
all pink, your lip trembling." I'll look down and he'll lift my chin
to look at him. "I'll take care of you."
"What if I want
you to stop?"
"You don't," he'll say immediately.
"But what if I do?"
He'll kneel down
on the floor with me then, facing me, his knees touching mine. His big, thick
hands will take hold of my face, framing my jaw bone, his thumbs on the soft
part of my cheeks, his longest fingers nearly wrapping to the back of my neck.
And then he'll kiss me on the mouth for the first time, so deeply and with
such power and passion that against my better judgement, I'll whine at him
like an animal. His kiss will be so expert, his lips perfectly pressed against
mine. I'll feel like I'm going to fall backwards, so I rest on my palms, on
the floor behind my back. His tongue will be warm and smooth and soft, twisting
and slipping over mine, and he'll break the kiss with a little bite on my
bottom lip.
"Then you tell me to stop. And I will. You can trust me. I brought you here to have fun. I brought you here to give you a taste of what you want. You want to be my slut, don't you?"
I'll nod without thinking. He'll kiss me again, but his hands will move from my face to my shoulders, down the length of my arms, and he'll grip my wrists tightly and hold them together behind my back. He'll pin them to the floor and push me backwards, kissing me harder, his lips trailing down to my chin, the soft part underneath my jaw, the hollow at the base of my throat. He'll growl against my skin, he'll sound like he's preparing to tear me apart. He'll devour me with kisses, sucking at my nipples, nibbling at the white, rarely exposed flesh of my stomach, the soft skin of my inner thighs. I'll close my eyes and throw my head backwards to just be in the dark and feel what he's doing. His tongue will tickle at the wetness between my legs and I'll shiver.
It will be much different from the feeling that I get from my husband. His lips will be different, his technique will be different. I'll make a noise of approval and he'll look up and grin at me.
"You like that, whore?" The words will come out as breathy, hot puffs of lust against my skin. I'll dig my heels into the floor and not answer him. He'll pull away and rest back on his heels again. His breathing will be the only sound in the room.
"Why did you
stop?" I'll ask. His hands will be on his hips, chest heaving with anticipation.
He'll flick his head back, clearing a dark lock of hair from his eyes. "Are
we moving to the bedroom?" I'll ask huskily. He'll just laugh.
"No my dear. That's one room you'll never see. That's reserved for me and my girlfriend, who I love very much. We cuddle together in there, sleep in each other's arms. If you don't mind, I'll fuck you out here on the floor, like the whore you are."
He'll put a fingertip
on my ankle and draw it up the inside of my leg, making me spread them a little
further instinctually.
"Oh, you're anxious, aren’t you? You're a horny little bitch, aren't you?" He'll hiss. I won't answer him. I'll know that he doesn't want me to answer. When his fingers reach my knee, he'll bend my leg and lift it, tickling and kissing the bottom of my foot. He'll drag his warm tongue over my toes and to the top of my foot, he'll kiss my ankle, then let my knee bend so that my foot brushes across the thick bulge in his pants. I'll smile a bit with pride, knowing I've excited him. All the while, his tongue will be working up my leg and then he'll place a tender kiss on my pelvic bone, where it bumps out of the skin. I'll unconsciously arch my back, trying to urge his kisses to move lower. I'll come just short of begging for him to lick me. He'll know. He'll tease me. "What is it you want from me you little saint? Come on, tell me."
I'll stare back at him, hesitant to say anything. He'll return to kissing my feet, moving further and further away from the heat between my legs. I'll let out a whine. "No no, my girl. You have to say it. You have to tell me what you want. I want to hear you say dirty words. What do you want?" He'll grin at me. He'll hover over me. He'll realize that I've always talked a big game and that it embarrasses me to talk that way. I'll whine at him. I'll beg with my eyes, but he'll just shake his head at me. I'll feel the heat from his skin.
"Come on, slut. Beg me for it. Tell me what you want and I'll give it to you. I'll give it to you so hard you'll cry. Come on, two little words and I'll make you come so hard you won't know what hit you."
"Please,"
I'll choke out, arching my back just to feel his skin against mine. He'll
brush his lips across my forehead, down over my nose. He'll flick his tongue
out across my lips and I'll try to kiss him back but he'll pull away.
"Say it."
"I want you,"
I'll say, and he'll just shake his head.
"Not good enough,
bitch. Tell me more." While he speaks, he'll spread my legs and place
himself gently between them. Only inches will separate us. His thick, muscular
arms will be on either side of my chest, pinning me in place. I'll widen my
eyes at him, give him a smile, but he won't budge. I'm going to have to say
it. "Come on," he'll whisper one more time. I'll huff out a sigh
and say,
"I want you to fuck my pussy with that big, hard cock."
He'll crush his lips
against mine, kissing me harder than I could imagine, and thrust himself into
me in one deep stroke, holding me still with one hand on the back of my neck
and the other gripping my side. He'll groan his approval into my ear and slowly
drive into me over and over again, grinding my back into the cold, hardwood
floor, pulling at my hair to make me look him in the eye.
"What a good fuck you are you tight, fucking slut." The baseness of his words, the way he thinks of me will make me even hotter and I'll feel my stomach start to knot up and warm through. I'll feel my thighs begin to quiver and my cheeks flush. "Are you going to come for me slut? I want to hear you scream for me. Let it go, baby. Come on, let me hear it." He'll fuck me harder and harder, and I'll know that he's as hot as I am. I'll know that his toughness is betrayed by the urgency in his face. He's going to come for ME, too. I'll throw my arms around his neck and pull him on top of me, to feel the full weight of him on me, his skin against mine. He'll jam his tongue into my mouth and moan against my lips. The first thundering wave of my orgasm will make me shudder, my jaw will drop. A sound I've rarely made will escape me, an animal in death throes, a harsh intake and exhale of breath, a cry, a whine. I'll dig into his back with my fingernails and he'll strain and stiffen on top of me, bucking against me with one final thrust, then collapse on top of me, heaving with breath, kissing my shoulder, sucking at the skin.
I'll stare at the ceiling in my recovery, running my fingers through his short, dark hair, feeling the warmth of his scalp. He'll pull himself off of me and walk out of the room, leaving me on the floor, still twitching slightly from the power of my climax. I'll turn onto my side and rest my head on my arm, curling my legs in slightly, closing my eyes. He'll leave me alone for some time. I'll hear footsteps and doors, water again, a struck match, but I won't move from the floor. My mind will drift in and out of consciousness, I'll wonder if the whole thing was in my head, I'll wonder how drastically my life will change after this very moment, I'll wonder if I'm pregnant by a stranger.
His foot will touch
my back.
"Slut," he'll say, and I'll turn to see him in the black pants again, holding a beer in one hand and a red silk robe in the other. "Get up."
I'll stand immediately
and he'll kiss me on the forehead and hold out the robe. "Put this on.
I'm filling the tub for you. We'll clean you up before you go home."
He'll take my hand then, lacing his fingers into mine like a teenager at prom,
and walk me through the apartment. "Do you want a drink?"
I'll shake my head
at him. "No thank you."
"Why are you
whispering?" He'll ask. "Are you scared?"
"I don't think
so," I'll say. He'll wrap his hand around my elbow and guide me toward
the bathroom which will be filled with steam and the smell of mountains and
pine. Outdoors. Nature. He'll have candles in the window sill and on the edge
of the sink and the corners of the tub.
"Here you go,
sweetie. A nice hot bath for you." He'll smile widely and peel my robe
down off of my shoulders. "What?" He'll say. "You still look
scared."
I'll shrug and get
into the tub, relishing the perfect temperature of the water and thickness
of the bubbles. The Welder will kneel on the floor, filling a bowl
with water and pouring it over my head. When I reach for the washcloth, he'll
take my wrist in his hand gently, but firmly enough to make me drop it.
"What?"
I'll ask.
"I want to do it for you," he'll say, wringing water from the cloth. "That's all over now. I don't really think you're a slut. I know you're a good girl."
I'll just look at him and blink, amazed at the relief that washes over me, like the tub water itself. He'll hold out each of my arms and wash them, each finger, my palms. He'll scrub warm bubbles over my shoulders and back, between my breasts, down my stomach. When my skin is pink and clean he'll wash my hair, massaging a fruity smelling shampoo deep into my scalp while I close my eyes and rest.
"Good girl,"
he'll repeat, then he'll stand and grab a giant white towel. "Come on
then, I'll dry you off." He'll rub me in the towel, both of his arms
around me, his chest against my back.
When I'm dry, he'll
give me the red robe back and lead me to the living room.
"Get dressed,"
he'll say, pointing to the pile of clothes near the couch, then he'll shuffle
out of the room lazily. I'll dress myself and sit quietly on his black leather
couch, staring around the room, looking, I think, for a picture of his girlfriend.
He'll come back with a beer and hand it to me. "Calmed down yet?"
"I'm fine,"
I'll say. He'll run his fingers through my wet hair and for a minute I'll
consider jumping him all over again, but resist. He'll lean in and kiss me
very softly on the mouth, stroking my cheek. It will be very different than
before, like a different man.
"You're fun,"
he'll say, smiling. "I like to play with you. I can't believe how brave
you are, to approach a total stranger and tell him you think he's hot."
"People do that
all the time," I'll say.
"Not to me.
Especially not someone like you. A drunk chick at a bar, maybe, but you?"
"I was just
trying to...make your day I guess."
He'll laugh out loud then. "You sure did. Ready to go home?" I'll nod and stand up, feeling outside of my own body...feeling like a different girl. He'll rest a hand on my back to guide me to the door. Before I leave he'll push me against the door frame gently and kiss me hard on the mouth. "If you ever want to be my little slut again, just come find me at the el stop, OK? I get off work at 2:30." I'll nod again and leave, wondering if I will ever find him again.
And when I get home, my husband will be there. He'll be waiting, wondering what I've been doing.
"Did you go to the gym?" He'll ask. I'll start crying. I'll feel like dying. I'll see how concerned he is for my well being. I'll see how he's sitting in his favorite chair, wearing his favorite t-shirt and our dog is curled at his feet. I'll see that he's watching the Cubs game and I've already missed three innings.
"No," I'll say. Before I can stop myself, I'll tell him the whole story, from beginning to end, starting with "Do you remember that Welder I told you about?"
He'll stare at me in disbelief when I've finished. I'll be crumpled into a heap at his feet, knowing that my stupidity has lost me everything.
"He told you at the end that you weren't a slut?" He'll ask. I'll look up at him and nod. He'll pick me up off the floor and kiss my forehead, hugging me to him, rocking me almost. I won't understand. "He didn't hurt you?" I'll shake my head no. "Do you think you want to see him again?"
"I don't know."
"I can't do what he did," he'll say to me. "I can't treat you how he did, even though sometimes that's what you need. If you promise to be safe with him. If you promise that he'll be your only lover, then you can see him again. But I want to know about it every time. Do you promise?" I'll nod at him vehemently and he'll say, "Don't worry, cutie. I still love you. I'm just glad you're home," and we'll watch the end of the game.
Well...I DID say it was a fantasy, after all.