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I do spend the next hour having some very dirty thoughts about her climbing me and riding me and commanding me to make her come around my cock. What we actually do is play with the kids and make play-dough, and that’s almost as good. When I finally have to drag myself away, I go with a kiss from Mel and a promise that I can come back and see her later.
***
Istill wake up alone. Something that never used to bother me and now feels like a great indignity. I roll over into the cold patch that should be hers and sigh. This really is the mate bond, isn’t it? I’m not crazy.
I’m staring into my morning coffee still trying to work it out when my phone rings. I grin.
“Mom, Dad! Hang on. Let me prop this up on something.”
I rest my phone on the side of my mug and adjust the screen so I can see the video. They look well. Dad’s right horn has been worn down and he wears a metal cap these days, but there are no cracks. Mom is a witch whose magic is focused through her textiles work and she’s always got a ball of yarn or a cross stitch or something in her hands. Today, she’s knitting a chunky pink and purple scarf with fat wooden needles.
“Hi, son. How are things? It’s been too long since last time we spoke.”
I nod and rub a hand over my face. Dad’s right. I should call them more often. Somehow they always seem to call me right when I need to speak to them, though. I’m sure Mom has something to do with that. “Yeah, not bad. I’ll be glad when the election’s over, though.”
“I bet.”
Mom pauses her knitting and lays a hand on Dad’s arm. “Jarra, is everything OK?”
“Yeah, well, not yet, but it will be. There’s actually something I need to ask you both.”
They share a worried look. I plow on. “You see, the campaign’s been really stressful and—”
“Oh, Jarra. We saw the news story.”
I stumble to a halt, tripping over my last few words at the look on Mom’s face. “The ... news ... story?” Oh. Fuck. I haven’t checked the news this morning. How could I not check the news this morning?
My phone buzzes and two messages come through at the same time. One from Stuart and the other from Mel. The notifications only pop up for a moment before they disappear behind the video call and I can’t read them.
“The hooker—”
Mom nudges Dad. “Zyphius, don’t call it that!”
Dad’s brow furrows. “Well what do they call themselves?”
Mom clears her throat. “Sex worker is the correct term these days.”
Oh fuck, no. Why am I having this conversation with my parents? I go straight into politician mode.
“Mom, Dad, I can assure you, the story was mistaken. Whatever you read, it’s just someone looking to sling mud before election day.”
Mom picks up her knitting again with a sniff. “There’s no need to lie to us, son. You’ve gotten far too good at lying to everyone else, but not to us, please.”
I open my mouth to double down, think better of it, and shake my head to clear my thoughts. “OK. Listen. Help me out. I haven’t read the story. What did it say?”
Mom gives a long-suffering sigh. “How about you just tell us if everything is OK?”
I let my head fall forward into my hands for a moment while my brain tries to flood my mind with all the possible scenarios that could have led to a story about me and a sex worker breaking today. It has to be Mel. I mean, she’s the only sex worker I’ve seen for months. How unfair, given she’s technically no longer my sex worker. I thought Monstrous Deals were more trustworthy than that about protecting client privacy.
Then a horrible thought occurs to me. I never asked her if she had other clients. I assumed. She said she wasn’t really a dominatrix and I just assumed.
I should have asked her. I didn’t even consider that me not paying her probably means she needs money. Isn’t that why she started in the first place?
I’m a prime idiot.
“Listen, I was seeing a sex worker,” I blurt.
Dad’s face goes red and Mom knits faster, her hands a blur.
