It's been another long, customer-forsaken day at Mushnik & Son, the florist I work at on Skid Row, New York. Every day is much the same and to be honest, I'm not surprised. The people who live in this part of the city have no money to speak of, myself included, and can bearly afford food let alone a pretty floral arrangement. The shop window is hardly appealing, with it's wilting roses and glum gladioli. Seymour, my friend and co-worker, tries his best to keep the plants looking fresh and healthy but it's hard to replace anything that's looking a bit sorry for itself, when the shop doesn't make enough money to buy in any new stock or supplies. It's a vicious circle this place... a downward spiral to who knows where.
Seymour turns the sign on the door to 'CLOSED', then begins to sweep the floor for the hundreth time today as Mr Mushnik, our boss and the shop's owner, cashes up. Except there is nothing to cash up, so he locks the register, grabs his hat and with a sigh bids us goodnight. Seymour looks up briefly to return the farewell, before going back to his intent sweeping. He seems to be avoiding catching my eye today, I think because he's worrying about the bright purple and green bruise he saw around my wrist earlier. I tried to hide it with the largest bracelet I own but he caught sight of it as I was helping him clean up a tray of seedlings he'd dropped. He looked at me at that moment, his brown puppy dog eyes were full of sadness and concern but he couldn't quite bring himself to say anything. It was as if he didn't want any confirmation of the fact that anyone would deliberately do that to me, least of all my own boyfriend.
To be honest, I wouldn't have known what to tell him if he had plucked up the courage to ask me how it happened. Admitting that your boyfriend restrains you so tightly whilst you're having sex that you think your wrists might actually break... well, that's not an easy thing to confess. I barely want to admit it to myself and it's certainly not the kind of thing you tell... well, anyone really. I've never known this to happen to anyone else and people just don't talk about what happens behind closed doors. So I don't either. I wouldn't want people to get the wrong impression of me...
I finally break away from the daydream I've been stuck in for most of the day, take my purse and jacket from the back room and head for the door. As I reach for the door handle, Seymour puts a gentle hand on my shoulder but it makes me jump out of my skin.
"S-sorry Audrey... I d-didn't mean to scare you," he stutters. As if he could ever scare me - he's the gentlest, sweetest man I've ever met.
I turn to face him, feeling a little silly for being so jumpy. "Goodnight Seymour," I say quietly, almost a whisper. He takes my breath away sometimes and I have no idea why. I smile at him, hold eye contact with him for longer than I probably should, then open the door and step out onto Skid Row. I hear the bell ring behind me as Seymour closes the door. Without looking back, I know that he's still standing there, watching me walk across the street towards my apartment block.
I'm just about to climb the steps to the entrance of my apartment building when I suddenly feel a cold, leather-clad hand grasp the back of my neck. I freeze on the spot and my heart begins to pound in my chest. "An' where d'ya think you're goin'?" A deep, dark voice growls in my ear. I say nothing, too stunned to be able to conjure up a response and instead, gasp like a fish out of water. The hand at the back of my neck guides me away from the steps and down the street. Seymour is probably still watching, wondering what's going on and whether he should intervene. Eventually we come to a stop, next to a large black and chrome motorcycle that's parked up by the curb. My guide releases his grip and barks, "Get on." He brushes past me, swings a leg over the motorcycle and starts it up. I just have time to perch precariously on the back behind him and put my arms around his waist before we pull away at breakneck speed. I close my eyes tightly, my face pressed up against the back of his cold leather biker jacket, clinging on for dear life and praying that I make it home in one piece tonight. The wind whips through my hair and I struggle to catch my breath. I want to ask where we're going but he wouldn't hear me and he probably wouldn't tell me.
After what seems like a terrifying eternity, I'm taken by surprise as the motorcycle swings out to the left, then comes to an abrupt stop. Before I dare to open my eyes I know we've pulled into an alley - the deafening sound of the grumbling engine reverberating around us gives it away. I release my hold and jump off the bike, so he can also get off. I quickly try to pull down my dress which has ridden up around my thighs to a distasteful level and smooth out my hair, which probably looks like I've been pulled through a hedge backwards. The man in the leathers kills the ignition and the alley falls silent. He climbs off the bike, runs a gloved hand through his jet black, greased back hair and unzips his jacket. His heavy biker boots make his footsteps sound like gunshots as he starts towards me. He begins to remove his gloves, one finger at a time, as he backs me into a dark corner. There are no lights in this alleyway. It's just about possible to make out a fire escape, water glistening on the uneven ground, rats scuttling by and his dark form bearing down on me. Why here, I wonder to myself sadly. Why not at my apartment where it would've been at least clean, dry and warm? Because that's not the way he likes it, I remind myself.
I sense him right in front of me, there but very nearly not. Goosebumps prickle the back of my neck and a shudder runs through me. I can feel him smile... He likes the effect he has on me. His breath, cool and mint fresh, makes the hair on my head tremble. I'm cold... I can't control the shivers that begin to take hold of my body and my teeth start to chatter, despite trying my best to clench my jaw firmly shut. I suddenly feel his warm face against mine, as he brushes my hair aside and yanks off one of my gold clip-on earrings. With dismay I hear it clatter to the floor. Another one lost... And then he's biting at the spot where the earring had been. Not nibbling, biting. Hard. I don't know what he's getting from that but it hurts. I can feel blood rushing into my face, my earlobe growing hot. I don't think he's drawn blood but any longer and he will... Finally he gives up and runs his nose along my jawline, breathing in my stale perfume. His hands are a fraction away from touching my breasts but after hovering indecisively, he refuses to give in and instead leans over me, propping himself up with his fists on the wall behind me, legs spread. It's like I'm in a human cage. I couldn't escape even if I wanted to. I can feel the tension, like static electricity between us, as he decides upon his next move.
He's taking his time... normally he's already forcing himself upon me, but he seems hesitant tonight. I take a chance and reach out for him. I can't get out of this, so I might as well try and swing the situation to my advantage... surprise him into allowing me some control. It could backfire in an instant but I'm willing to take the risk if it means not walking into work with another black eye in the morning. I slide my hands inside his jacket which masks his crisp white dentist's unfiorm and around his hips, gently pulling him towards me. He's warm... if only he would just hold me and protect me from the cold gusts of wind that are turning my extremities into blocks of ice. He's a little taller than me, even when I'm in my heels, so I have to stretch up to meet his mouth. Our lips touch but he doesn't respond... I start to kiss him a little more forcefully, trying to encourage him to return the care that I'm showing him. It's no good... He's not having it. Now that I've started, I'm too scared to stop in case it gives him an opportunity to knock the wind out of me. I trail kisses across his cheek and nuzzle his neck. I'm trying to make him understand that I do love him, that nothing that's happened before needs to matter but his cold exterior is impenetrable. I hold him close and listen to him breathing heavily in my ear... Is he mad? Is he turned on? I can't tell and I begin to panic.
I smooth a hand downwards and between us, feeling for any sign that he's pleased I've made this move. He's still leaning over me, fists almost ingrained in the brick wall behind and I am most definitely trapped. He takes another step in towards me, pressing himself into my hand. That's good... that means I haven't upset him. Yet. I stroke him a little but it's difficult to feel anything with all of this leather between us. Another spark of bravery and I make a move to undo his belt buckle, followed by the button and zipper on his pants. Taking a deep breath and still holding him close to me with my other arm, I slip my hand inside his pants. Of course, he's not wearing any underwear, he likes the feel of the leather too much... I find and enclose my hand around his manhood which is hot and rigid. He twitches a little and breathes in through his teeth before I've even done anything, as if he's trying to prevent himself from enjoying it, but this just prompts me to try and make sure he does. I start to massage his length firmly but with care, holding my head against his chest, listening to his heart begin to race. As I work him a little faster he begins to shudder, but before I can finish him off he slams me back against the wall with a powerful blow to my chest. It literally forces the air out of my lungs and my head collides with the brickwork behind me. I loose my vision and hearing for a few seconds but when they return, his large hand is still pressing into my chest. I've gone too far...
We stay this way for a few seconds longer, I avoid his gaze for as long as I can but eventually I have to look him in the eye. His dark eyes are glaring at me from under his heavy brow, a strand of black hair has slipped loose and is quivering as he struggles to regain his composure. I try to hold back the tears that are flooding my eyes and clench my jaw, my mouth in a miserable downturn. We stare at eachother. And then he does something odd... He removes his hand from my chest and strokes my cheek gently. I'm so confused... Maybe he didn't mean to do that? He takes me by the shoulders, palms outstretched as if he is unsure of what to do with me. He runs his hands across my chest and cups my breasts, kneading them from the outside of my dress and push-up bra. As I gulp back my sobs, I try to savour the one thing he's done so far tonight that has made me feel good. I close my eyes and hang my throbbing head forward, my face almost in his hair. I can smell the grease... it's not unpleasant. He continues to run his hands down my body, squeazing and pinching. Nothing he does is ever completely pain free but I'm becoming numb to it these days... This is as enjoyable as it gets. His hands reach the hem of my black dress which has rucked up a little. He pushes it up further, so that he can remove my underwear, letting it fall to my feet. I feel so exposed. And lifeless. Once again he's in control of me and I am at his dispoal. If only he knew he didn't have to go that far... that I would, in fact, do anything he wanted without question.
He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out... what is that? Handcuffs?! Another surprise. I daren't ask where or how he managed to get those and I don't want to know what he's planning on using them for. In one swift move he cuffs one of my wrists, yanking my arm across to the fire escape, then grabs my other wrist and secures me to it. As he closes in on me, I begin to fret about what would happen if the police caught us... Would I get arrested? Would they think I was a prostitute? I'd never be able to go back to my job at the shop... And what would Seymour say, if he could see me like this!? But those thoughts are forced out of my mind as I feel his hand between my legs. He's gentle now but only because it'll make it easier for him. He's not doing this for me...
He strokes, rubs and tickles, encouraging me to open up. His other hand slips inside the front of my dress and he toys with my nipple, making it involuntarily hard. I feel myself grow wet as he dips his fingers inside me. I wish I could stop myself from reacting like this but I'm not in control of my body anymore. He backs off a little so he can free himself from his pants, taking his still-hard manhood in his hand, then approaches me. I am almost dangling from the fire escape, unable to do anything but turn my head away. I feel him slide his member around my entrance, attempting to lubricate himself. He roughly grabs my face with his free hand and turns my aching head so I am face to face with him as he slides into me. As I look into his eyes I wonder what is going on in that head of his. I wish I knew. I wish I knew how to make him happy.
When he can't force himself into me any further, he withdraws almost completely before ramming himself back into place. My arms are already beginning to ache and I know the pain will only get worse as I support the both of us. He begins to fall into a rhythm, thrusting into me hard and deep. I try to think of something else, to take myself away from this moment but he won't break eye contact with me and he will know if my mind's not on the job. I stare at him, at his snarling face, grunting as he keeps hammering himself into me. Oh how I wish you were someone else. He hits a spot inside of me and that, at least, feels wonderful. I cling on to the feeling and let it build, as he picks up pace. Finally he is lost in his own sensations, shuddering as he nears his climax. I close my eyes and I think of other things. Flowers. Plants. Somewhere that's green. Seymour... I imagine Seymour is making love to me. My muscles begin to contract and I can feel myself closing tightly around him, wanting more. The tingling sensation begins and starts to spread throughout my body like a brand new pulse. I can't breathe... I want to hold on to this moment...
And then it's over. I feel him leak into me. I remember where I am and who I'm with. The pain in my arms brings me back to reality but my hands are numb. I open my eyes and I'm face to face with him again. He's breathless but has a smirk on his face. I think he's satisfied. He pulls out of me, does up his pants and belt, then begins to strut away like the cock of the walk. I'm left, still hanging, dripping. So unladylike. I finally pluck up the courage to say something, "Come back!" It's not what I really wanted to say at all but I can't go anywhere without him. He turns, rolling his eyes and marches back to release me.
Once free of the handcuffs I rub my wrists in turn, attempting to bring some feeling back. "Pick up your underwear you dirty slut!" I should've known that was coming... I scoop up the scrap of material from the ground and my discarded purse, then totter down the alley after him. He starts the motorcycle and as soon as I'm on, we take off back through the city. It doesn't take long for us to get back to Skid Row but the rain has started to pour and I am soaked through. As I finally head for home, looking no better than the bums who reside outside my apartment block, he catches me again before I reach the steps. A heavy gloved hand on my shoulder, turns me to face him. I wonder what more he could possibly want from me. He leans in and kisses me gently on the cheek, then whispers the threat in my ear, "Same time tomorrow?" I give him a weak smile and retreat hastily up the steps the doors. I give one last look over my shoulder as I fish my key from my purse. He's just standing there, watching my every move, a sick smile on his face. For a moment I forget what's just happened and I smile back at him. It's much easier to forgive and forget, to look at my life through rose tinted glasses. It's easier to pretend that this is the man of my dreams, who will some day take me away from this dump. This is my boyfriend. Orin Scrivello, DDS.
When I reach the safety of my apartment, I cautiously peer out of the window to check Orin has gone. And then I spot a glimmer of light and movement across the street at Mushnik & Son. Seymour is still there, standing at the door with broom in hand, looking straight back at me.