Mafia Desire (Erotica)

I woke up the next day on the sofa in John’s apartment with the worst hangover I’d had in a long time. I thanked him for giving me a place to crash and caught a ride back to the bar for my car before work.

Work was an entertaining affair. Nothing beats working in a music store when you are hungover. The loud music was not my friend that day. I cursed that I’d never learned Spanish as I attempted to alphabetize the selection of Latin CDs, when my phone vibrated.

Another image. I’d forgotten all about the previous one all morning because I had felt like death was using a jackhammer on my brain. I may never drink again, I lied to myself, as I opened the image. The side of a thigh was visible in the image, lying in a bed with a sheet covering part of it, exposing the long, smooth leg from just above the knee all the way up to the stomach. The owner of the leg was clearly nude, despite there being no nudity in the photo. That didn’t mean it wasn’t sexy as hell, it’s sole purpose being to show me that she was naked in bed. My little sister was being a tease! I was immediately turned on and ducked into the back room to adjust myself before I encountered a customer.

“You are killing me, you know.” I sent.

“Good.” I had to smile at her answer. This was a different side of my sister than I had ever seen. I had thought about her plenty, in a sexual sense. But learning this side of her personality was new and intriguing in a way that I hadn’t really stopped to consider previously. All that aside, I was dying for her to come home. This only made it worse.

* * *Please check at N/ôvel(D)rama.Org.

I leaned against the darkroom wall and watched as Megan lifted the photo from the water bath with her tongs. She clipped the photo up next some others to dry on the line of wire that stretched across that part of the room. She grabbed the next photo from the bath and repeated the process a few more times before she noticed I was there.

“Oh, hey you.” She smiled, and came over to give me a quick hug.

“Hey” I replied, “how it coming along?”

“Pretty good. Come check em out.” I followed her over the the line and looked at the drying photographs.

“These are nice, Meg. Very cool.” I pointed at one in particular that I thought was a great one. “Especially this one.”

“Thanks.” She replied.

“So what’s up? Your text was pretty vague.” She asked.

I had been dreading this part. We weren’t really dating, but I didn’t feel like I should just break off the sexual aspect of our friendship with no explanation.

“I just wanted to apologize. I haven’t been around much lately and I hadn’t really given you an explanation either. I met someone, and it feels kind of serious.”

“I get it. It’s cool.” She replied. It wasn’t exactly a cold reply, but she didn’t sound too happy about it either.

“I felt like I should tell you. I mean, I know we weren’t exclusive or anything, but I didn’t want to just not come over anymore and leave you wondering.”

“You’re right. We weren’t dating. It’s fine. We’re friends that used to fuck sometimes. Don’t make it bigger than it is.” She said dismissively.

“Alright, alright. So we’re good?” I surrendered.

“Yes, we’re fine.” Megan rolled her eyes at me, then smiled a little. “Now, if you’re done trying to be all noble with my feelings and shit, will you come over here and help me decide which one of these prints you think I should use?”

Clearly, she didn’t have much of an emotional investment in me as I had worried she did. Or if she did, she was certainly not willing to admit it. Either way, I had tried to be honest and not hurt her feelings. I walked over to look over the stack of prints she had motioned toward.

“Sure, let’s see what you got.”

About an hour later, it felt like most of the awkwardness of our conversation had passed and I felt like we might be okay. Maybe even capable of settling into a friendship without benefits. I honestly did like Megan as a person, and didn’t want to lose her as a friend if it could be helped. But I also knew that things tended to be more complicated than people liked to admit once someone whipped out their dick. And Megan was one of the least complicated things involving my dick these days.

In the end, she had settled on the prints she wanted to use for the show, including many of my choices. She signed a couple of prints that I’d really liked and handed them to me for my personal collection. I thanked her and slipped them in one of my sketchbooks so that they wouldn’t get torn up until I could get them home to store properly.

As I went to leave the darkroom to head back to the house, she called after me.

“Hey?”

“Yeah?” I turned back toward her. She had slung her bag over her shoulder and was pulling her silly ass beret back on. I’d mocked her for that beret more than once, much to her annoyance. Such a cliche.

“Don’t be a stranger. I mean it. We’re seriously okay. It’s not like I don’t care about you. It’s just not that… “together” kind of thing, you know? So don’t avoid me, alright?” She sounded genuinely concerned as she reached for her camera bag.

“I’ll be around. No worries. I wouldn’t have come talk to you about this if I didn’t give a shit about you either, you know.” I smiled.

“I know. Thanks for the help with the prints. I’ll see you at the show Friday.” She grinned.

“Yep. I would say that I’d be the suicidal looking guy in the corner, but it’s an art show. There’s bound to be a dozen of them.”

“Whatever, smart ass. It’s gonna be a blast. You just don’t want to admit it.”

* * *

Every couple of days Amy sent another photo. Never anything actually nude. But all sexy, suggestive, and inviting. Never showing her face, or anything that would give a clue as to who took the photos. She was cautious, I had to give her credit for that. The last photo, sent two days before she was to come home, was of her hips, wearing a tiny pair of black panties. A piece of hotel stationary lay on her stomach with the words “Wish You Were Here” written on it, along with an arrow pointing down at her crotch. That one made my cock stand up and pay attention for damned sure. She pretty much had me around her finger by now, but I wasn’t going to tell her as much. The photos she sent were having exactly the effect that I suspected she was going for. I was missing her tremendously already, and now I was feeling like I was losing my mind with desire on top of that. Not that I minded.

But the airlines and the weather could not have cared less about my desires. The day Amy was supposed to come back, a bad storm caused severe flight delays at one of her connections and she messaged me that she would be stuck at a layover and not be back in time for my show. I acted like I was not as bothered by it as I was for her sake, but I was really looking forward to her being there with me. I kept myself busy as hell building frames for the paintings I’d be showing to keep my mind off of the fact that she wouldn’t be there. Truthfully, I was more disappointed that I wouldn’t get to see her for another day, but it wasn’t like I could change that.

* * *

The night of the show, I was a jittery bundle of nerves. I had no use for these things, but it was good exposure. I walked through the exhibit, checking out everyone’s work. Megan had some great photographs and mixed media on display. We shared a brief hug, and she told me how excited she was that I was in the show with her. I told her she looked great in her vintage red dress, which earned me a smile. All in all, it was less awkward talking to her than I thought it would be. There was some decent work on display. A few of the local artists were really good. Many of them were better than I was, in my opinion. I hung out by my section for the most part, feeling totally out of place. I was dressed in nice slacks and a gray tailored shirt with a black tie. I was not one for dressing up. Left to my own devices, I would have turned up in a shirt for some band and pair of khakis. I looked at my paintings, framed and properly lit on the wall. It was the first time in a long while that I actually felt like an artist. I was proud of the pieces I had on display.

My friend, John, walked up and handed me a beer. “At least they have hooch.”

“Well, there is that.” I laughed.

“Dude, you think highly of your stuff, eh?” He motioned to the price tags on the paintings. I’d picked prices almost arbitrarily, and purposely priced them higher than I felt that they were worth. Mostly as a joke on some of the other artists. Most of the artists priced their stuff to sell, as they didn’t have another source of income, believing that they could make a living once they had their degree. There was a world full of people out there with degrees in art that couldn’t find a job. I really didn’t care much if any of mine sold or not.

“What? You mean to tell me you think this isn’t worth $1500?” I pointed at the painting Megan had thought was erotic. “The artist needs the money for his drug habit. Heroin ain’t cheap, bitch.”

“I thought that was why he gave blow jobs in the alley.”

“That’s just for the gas money.”

“Ah. I wondered how you were getting home tonight.” We both chuckled.

John turned toward the front of the gallery and suddenly mumbled “Holy crap.”

“Hmm?” I asked, turning toward him.

“Your sister is looking hot, dude,” He said motioning toward the entrance. “No offense.”

I looked toward the front of the gallery and saw my parents walking in, followed by Amy. She was wearing an elegant, tight black dress with matching heels, small pearl earrings and a string of pearls around her slender, gorgeous neck. Her long, dark hair pulled up in a ponytail that cascaded down one shoulder. An electric blue stripe of hair cut through the dark ponytail. Her make up was flawless and accentuated her features beautifully. With the dress and the pearls, she reminded me a little of Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Not that I’d ever seen the movie, but I’d seen images of Hepburn from that film a thousand times. I didn’t recall Hepburn’s dress looking like it was painted on, either. Amy was absolutely stunning. My heart knotted at the sight of her and I completely forgot to breathe. I hadn’t seen her since the night before she left for Rome and it was all I could do to keep myself from running to greet her.