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STUCK BY A DRUMMER
This short work in progress orginally appeared on the RIGHT STUFF message board. Here it is in free-flowing, easy to read format!!
Stuck by a Drummer- The Adventure Continues
I couldn't tell him. I couldn't risk him thinking I was a forgetful, absentminded star-fucker. So I remained silent but petrified during our post sex cuddle on the floor and fought back tears as Steve used my phone to call Pete and the rest of his entourage at the hotel and tell them that he was 'unavailable' until tomorrow night. Afterwards, Steve busied himself in the kitchen, whipping up an amazing omelet with diced zucchini and the cherry tomatoes I used for salads.
"I've been living with Pete for almost 20 years and you never saw such a fussy, picky eater," he said cheerily over the sizzle and hiss of the frying pan. "So trust me, babe, I know how to cook."
The omelets looked and smelled delicious but I was too absorbed in my inner dilemma to feel much anticipation. Steve kept chattering as he dug through my cupboards like he lived here, laying out plates, glasses, and utensils on the kitchen counter that doubled as a dining table.
"I take it you used to date that greasy haired ponce I escorted out? Points for your perception when you dumped him, KC. He's a useless rich boy fuck. Probably humps his houseboy and can't wipe his own arse without help from a team of valets. I know the type: given time, you'd have ended up his servant or his prisoner."
"Yes," I said weakly.
"Not me," he said confidently as he filled my glass with orange juice and his with orange juice plus vodka. "I don't feel like I'm entitled to anything. When you really think about it, no one is. You have to go for it, grab it, and once you get it...treat it right."
He grinned at me in a manner part bashful, part lecherous. He really had a nice smile: it lit up his pale features. I smiled back, but with less wattage.
"Now come on." He set the juice jug down, grabbed my arm, and pulled me onto my stool. He plunked down beside me and, without further ado, snatched up his fork and dug into his omelet. Worried as I was, I had to smile as I watched him; he was a fast and messy eater, spitting out food as he talked and wiping tabasco sauce from his mouth every other second.
"Holy shit, this is sooo good." He rolled his eyes in obvious enjoyment. "I don't mean to toot my own horn, but this is FUCKING delicious." After shoveling more bites in he suddenly clued in that I hadn't even picked up my fork yet.
"Hey, KC, what's wrong? Don't tell me your idea of a fulling meal is mineral water and lettuce leaves?"
"No."
"Shit, I thought you'd be STARVING after tonight's nonstop sex. How many times did we do it? Three? I don't even WANK that much."
"What then?"
The tears started flowing then. "Steve, we made a mistake."
Both concern and apprehension flooded his features. "I don't understand."
I started bawling in earnest then. Genuinely concerned by this point, Steve put his fork down on his plate and put his arm around me, drawing me close. The loving gesture made me cry harder and it took me awhile to get myself under control.
"Now," he said after the hysterics passed and I was able to speak again, "what's making you carry on like this? What mistake are you referring to?"
"Steve," I said shakily, "when we had last had sex we didn't use protection."
"No, we didn't," he sighed as he stroked my hair. "And I'm sorry- we both got carried away, you're right. But I can safely tell you that I was recently tested for AIDS and STDs and everything came back negative. I don't believe you have anything either, or you'd have told me the first time. So don't worry about it. Relax, and eat."
"Steve, condoms aren't only used for disease prevention."
"You mean contraception? Well, unless you forgot to take your last dose of the Pill, no worries there either."
"I'm not on the Pill," I whispered.
The aftermath to this bombshell was at least five minutes of dead silence, broken only by my muted sobbing. When Steve was able to speak again, he said slowly, "Now's a hell of a time for me to find this out."
"I'm sorry!!" I screamed. Blindly, impulsively, I made a dash for the bathroom. But in my haste, my foot hooked around the stool rung and I fell forward. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Steve spring to catch me, but before he could succeed, my forehead came down hard on the back of the oak rocking chair my grandmother had bought me as an apartment warming present. Steve lowering me to the floor and calling my name frantically was all I remembered before everything went black. |