Read Online Blasted by Kate Story - Free Book Online

hell was taking him so long? I rang the bell again, waiting for the wet plop of pigeon shit on my helmet, waiting for Clyde to come. Waiting. I hate waiting. What if the doorbell didn’t work?
    I rang it a third time and gave the door a couple of kicks.
    At once his long legs came into view on the stairs, and I was instantly embarrassed for betraying my impatience. All of that disappeared when he opened the door. I gazed up at him, and gazed some more, breath suddenly shallow, stomach churning, nipples trying to poke holes through my leather jacket.
    â€œCan I help you?” He looked blankly at this apparently mute person in a helmet on his doorstep.
    â€œIt’s me.” Braving the pigeon aloft, I took off my helmet and shook out my hair.
    He smiled. My knees went weak. “You came,” he whispered, then grabbed my hand and led me up. The stairwell smelled like the meat market, but from his open door drifted the scent of cheap incense. I stepped inside, suddenly shy. It was a real boy’s apartment. An old sofa, shelves full of books and CDs, a laptop with speakers and an i-Pod, his high-tech bicycle against a wall. Over the sofa, a largish black-and-white print of himself riding through water, spray like wings. This always blows me away, the frank self-adoration of these boys. It charms me.
    He strode ahead into a windowless kitchen. “Want some water?”
    â€œSure.” I shrugged out of my jacket and followed him.
    â€œDidn’t know you had a motorcycle,” he said, holding out a glass filled from the sink. I took the water but kept my leather jacket hanging shield-like between us, resting the helmet on my hip like a hollow baby.
    â€œWell – ” I gestured with the glass in an abbreviated toast, “I do.” Brilliant, Ruby.
    He looked amused. It occurred to me to wonder what a bike courier would think of bikers. I gulped down some water. He was looking down at me, but I didn’t want to meet his eyes so I looked around the room, which contained – besides the sink – a stove, a fridge, and a doorway into an even tinier room with a mattress on the floor. So the bedroom was in the back. I let the helmet and jacket drop to the floor and turned to face him. I opened my mouth to say something, I don’t know what, for in that second Clyde lunged toward me and was kissing me; my water splashed over us both in blessed coolness and the glass slipped to the floor. Somehow he hooked his arm between my legs and with surprising strength lifted me into the air. I twined around him. He carried me into the bedroom. I was utterly happy.
    He actually knew a woman’s body. He used fingers, tongue, wrapped his arms and legs around me, pushed me back and looked at me, laughed and, gently, bit. And he talked. I’d never been with anyone before who talked about what we were doing, what he felt (although I did go out with one guy who babbled nervously about his job whenever I went down on him). It scared me, and turned me on violently, and scared me again. When he came, though, I felt disappointed. He went interior, like I wasn’t there.
    Afterwards I felt sleepy. He kissed me, and I was happy again. Up close his Prince Charming looks collapsed into themselves; he looked like a happy tousled boy. I ran my hand through his hair and tugged on it hard, then ran my foot along his leg.
    â€œLook at the size of the feet on you,” I said. My accent came out strongly, surprising me. Tenderness did that to me, and rage: my heart-language. He registered the change, and we both laughed. This is okay, I thought. I can do this. I knew why Judith had warned me about him, but in fact, I told myself, this is good for me; I need to learn to live in the present. It wasn’t like I was in love with the guy.
    â€œI have to go,” he said. I kept the smile on my face, but my heart tightened. I made as if to sit up. He gently pushed me down. “Stay, have a nap if you