Page 53 of Below the Shadow of the City

With one hand already down the front of my underwear I queue up the file I’m looking for. Human porn doesn’t do it for me anymore, my celebrity crushes fall flat. One thing seems to always work without fail.

“Hi Sigrid…”

The audio file plays and the first three syllables have me soaked and swollen. I’m already primed to begin with, I can’t stop thinking about him and I was pacing my apartment like a damn cat in heat before throwing myself onto the bed and touching myself while imagining his body atop of mine, him inside me, and his words that drive me over the edge.

CHAPTER 22

SATURDAY, LATE OCTOBER

The basement is cold, mildewy, and has horrendous lighting. It’s no place for a proper date. We both have limited time tonight, heading off to separate Halloween parties in separate realms.

Truthfully, I’m amazed that no one has come down here and found us, we’ve grown far less cautious about being discovered. This god-awful laundry room serves as a third place, somewhere in between our two disparate existences. Maybe only he and I even use the laundry room to begin with, or it’s just a magical space our collective yearning conjured up.

I’d told him about Margo’s party, I’d even invited him on the off chance he thought he could pull off his appearance as an intricate Halloween costume, but he was adamant about not coming. And I certainly wouldn’t force it. Instead I had snapped a picture of my stupid pun costume, Snow Walter White, and sent it to him when I was giving it a test run the other day.

The princess dress is doing something for me.

The hat, sunglasses, and faux mustache, not as much.

Sorry. You’re committing to the full package or nothing.

Maybe the dress will make an appearance, or maybe the hat, sunglasses, and mustache will.

Guess you’ll have to take the risk.

Happily.

Ready for whatever comes my way, Heisenberg.

We’re catching glimpses of one another in between our independent lives. We’re doing that thing real couples do, finding fleeting moments to spend together because we can’t spend more time away from the other.

Right before we were planning to meet, I received a stiff mirror picture of him wearing a white button down shirt with three black circles stuck on the left side. He’d grown more accustomed to sending me selfies and mirror pics, usually at my insistence. If he mentioned an article of clothing, a unique place, or anything else that warranted a follow up photo, I typically asked for one.

In the photo he sent, a tuft of deep brown fur crests over the top of the opened buttons, and the way his forearms flex in the rolled up sleeves send a flurry of sparks to my core. Three black paper circles are pinned to his left side. Nothing close to the self-proclaimed “sexy” costumes peddled to men willing to wear tight spandex with their abs out, but probably the hottest Halloween fit I’ve seen in a good minute. The sparks between my legs fizzle out and a twinge of FOMO wraps itself around my heart.

Three hole punch Maddox, really?

You couldn’t think of anything more creative?

I’m not a Halloween guy!

Consider me actually shocked.

I hate the whole dressing up thing.

Love the parties.

Especially love the themed drinks and free candy.

I just can’t believe I’m finding out a literal monster is the most boring guy at a Halloween party.

I wouldn’t say MOST boring.

One of my buddies has worn the same “this is my Halloween costume” shirt for the last five years. And he’s an incubus!

You’re friends with a sex demon?

Since ninth grade.