Not His Type

I then called my agent and asked for the use of his cabin. We'd done this before so the request didn't surprise J.C. but he told me I was crazy to want to go there at this time of the year. When I told him I was thinking of cleaning up my act and needed a place to think, he didn't say more. It was only partly a lie.

I left alone. It was really hard, without any alcohol or a warm body, none of the usual crutches. The cabin was well-furnished and well-stocked. It stood all by its lonesome surrounded by deep woods and there was a small town several miles downhill. I did a lot of walking in those two days. I'd been here often enough to have favorite spots. I visited them all, sometimes lingering for hours.

The morning of my birthday, J.C. called. Could I pick up a package for him from the town's post office? It needed a signature and I could bring it with me when I returned, which was in two days time. I reminded him I was one of his top models, not an errand boy and he told me neither of those translated to diva which made me laugh. Frankly I was glad of the activity. The drive would take the edge off my restlessness and a visit to the one bar the town boasted would slake my thirst for some company, if not for alcohol.

There was no package. I figured there'd been some mistake, then took myself off to the bar. The company wasn't ideal consisting mostly of old men with old tales but after two days on my own, I was willing to make compromises. I listened to what the good old days had been like before the country had gone to the dogs, was told off for 'sassing' them but when I left several hours later, they slapped me on the back and told me to be sure to come by the next day.

In sight of the cabin, I saw J.C.'s huge gas-guzzler and John's SUV parked side by side. Ryan's car stood further back. I laughed, shaking my head and felt a rush of gratitude. Who really wants to spend their birthday all by themselves?

I could smell the food as I got out. John appeared at the window and he rolled his eyes at me through the glass. I pushed open the door, a smart remark on my tongue which died instantly as I took in the scene.

"Mattttttt!" Ryan moaned. "Why are you back? You aren't supposed to be back!" He held some streamers in his hands and more party decorations hung haphazardly from the walls.

"Uncle Matt!" Eric threw himself against me yelling, almost beside himself with excitement. "We brought cake!"

"Eric!" Michele said sharply. She grinned at me, her face tired but cheerful as always. "Sorry, you weren't supposed to know that until later."

I just gaped, completely speechless. Not just John and Ryan and JC as I'd thought. But others too. Michele with Eric, Pete, who winked at me cheekily, fellow models Guy and Travis, Shawn from the club. More people than I'd have thought, more than I'd have expected, all looking very pleased with themselves. This explained the separate cars.

"We were so sure the bar would occupy you for hours," John was saying.

"Who would have guessed you meant it when you said no more drinking," JC said.

He sounded half-reproachful as if he'd taken it personally that my surprise party had fallen flat. And meanwhile Eric was still running in excited circles around me.

As if compelled, my eyes met Mark's where he stood leaning against the kitchen door, watching me. I knew where he'd been all the time, had felt it as if I had developed a sixth sense for him. I tried hard to keep my face impassive but I had the feeling he, more than anyone else in the room, knew how close I really was to losing my composure.

"Alright," he called out lazily. "Might as well get the party started since the birthday boy is here."

As if he'd broken through the confusion that had fallen at my unexpected arrival, everyone rushed forward with hugs and wishes.

Eventually it settled down a bit. Ryan led me to the kitchen table as everyone else settled down through-out the cabin to enjoy themselves.

"What on earth were you thinking, going off by yourself for your birthday?" he scolded. "I was never more shocked when JC told me."

He busied himself with heating what looked like some of his delicious pasta sauce. "Every year you throw a party..."

Only because I was afraid no-one else would remember or care. Better not to test the relationships one had at all.

"....and then this year, you take off...lying to us...."

Ok, so I had abandonment issues. The fear of somehow being unlovable was a monster in the darkness of my life. The sting of rejection with me was the sharp edge of a knife.

"And if Mark hadn't suggested surprising you...."

My head shot around towards Mark. He'd suggested this whole thing?

He'd been standing at the end of the kitchen counter getting a salad going. He met my gaze blandly. My eyes slid away, back to Ryan.

".....we'd never have known you were on your own!" He placed the ladle down on the counter with more force than was perhaps necessary.

"Which should have told you all something," I pointed out.

"Hmph."

He did look quite hurt though so I leaned over and hugged him clumsily across the counter top.

"Sorry," I said quietly.

He hmphed again, then looked out at the den over my shoulder before glancing at me a little anxiously. "I'm sorry not everyone could be here, I know it's not what you're used to...."

Really now!

I stared down at my hands. "This is perfect," I interrupted somewhat gruffly.

When John called out for Ryan, I was left alone with Mark.

"Thank you," I said abruptly. He nodded wordlessly.

"Where's the big meeting?"

"I don't really care." He sounded exasperated. With me, I supposed and shut up.

While he and Ryan dealt with the food, I sat back watching everyone else. Shawn was coaxing Eric out of his shell with magic tricks while Michele watched from nearby and Pete was making eyes at Travis.

John came back in and now stood next to me. "We'll have a real party when we get back into town," he said as his gaze followed mine.

I looked at him. "You just miss the strippers."

He laughed. "Ain't that a fact!" he said. Then still looking out at the rest of the room, he asked quietly, "You alright?"

"I'm horny."

"Of course you are." We grinned at each other. I saw him hesitate.

"You'd tell us if something was..."

"Don't be a pain in the ass," I interrupted, touching his arm lightly for a brief second.

He grinned again. "Yeah, yeah."

Nothing more was needed.

They never did get around to decorating the rest of the room and no-one had remembered to be bring the music. We ate a mixture of very sweet, calorie-rich party food and food that could easily be dinner. I opened my gifts, except the ones that might take a little explaining to a 7 year old boy, as communicated to me by frantic hand motions and much movement of eyes. The cake came last. Everything was backwards, we had ended up wearing the streamers on our person, there was not a stripper in sight. I hadn't lied, it was perfect.

When Eric collapsed right in the middle of the carpet several hours later completely exhausted, I lay down next to him staring at the ceiling and listening to the lazy buzz of voices around me.

My view was suddenly obscured by Mark's head. Upside down, he silently offered me a hand. I didn't want to take it, I had avoided him as much as one could in a cabin in the middle of a party. I followed him out of the living room.

He led the way to a little covered basket in the bedroom, away from the others. No bows or anything on the handle, which confirmed my ideas of him. There was small whimpering sounds coming from inside.

"I hate animals," I said instantly.

He uncovered it, exposing a white ball of fur roughly the size of my palm. Picking it up, he pressed the now wiggling ball up against my chest.

"Forget it," I warned.

"Her name is snowflake."

"You named my cat?" I exclaimed indignantly. I took her but only so she'd stop licking my chin.

I looked at Mark, cradling Snow in my arms. So he liked me now? I worried about why. I hadn't given him any reason.

Sex was a good reason, sex kept people coming back. But he didn't want sex which showed he didn't like me THAT WAY, just SOME WAY which was totally fine because I didn't really want him to like me in ANY way.

And yet he went giving me cats and surprise birthday parties. I couldn't understand it. He was turning me upside down.

Back home, Snow got her own bed and little fluffy pillows and when at night she insisted on crashing mine instead, I grumbled. Not because I minded, it was the principle of the thing. But I had to admit it was nice to have a tiny warm purring body snuggling next to me that demanded nothing of me. It struck me then that Mark was more dangerous than I'd guessed. He'd read me well enough to fill needs I didn't know I had.

He called the next morning and asked me if I wanted to go see some friend slash client's studio. A richie-rich type with numerous business interests, as many stock investments and a nervous breakdown in the not-so-distant past, he now devoted his hours to reminding himself and other people about the importance of having fun.

His preferred medium was clay and it wasn't so much a studio as it was a STUDIO, as I found out when we got there the next afternoon. Ridiculously spacious, it wasn't at all pretentious which it easily could have been. The numbers on the rosa-blanca.ru were likewise ridiculously low. The place was unexpected in every way. Greg the artist was warm, gregarious and enthusiastic. And barefoot. It was that kind of place.

The work itself was fun and vivid, not self-important at all which is what I'd grown to expect most art to be. In fact, there was a whole table off to one side which had clay for patrons to play around with.

And it was there that Mark dragged me to. Several people were already sitting on the ground on raised cushions, foot high tables in front of them working their hands and imagination.

"This is ridiculous, it's a waste of my time" I complained.

Inwardly though I was already thinking of things to make. The empire state building? A town? Maybe some sort of phallic symbol, to piss him off.

He ignored me, seating himself on one of the cushions in a far corner and starting to roll some clay between his palms. I followed suit, feeling the clay in my hands with a sense of childish exhilaration, mind teeming with ideas as I grew more and more absorbed.

My first several attempts were all elaborate but I quickly figured out that it was much harder than I had thought to work in detail of the kind I had in mind. Soon I was just messing around, making lots of nothings but enjoying myself hugely anyway.

The ache in my neck and back had gotten too severe to ignore any more. I looked up with a grimace, putting the lump of clay I was shaping back down on the table.

"What..?" I stared in shock.

The whole place was empty. Through the window in front of me I could see the sun lowering in the far horizon. I swung my head and my eyes found Mark sitting on a chair several feet away, just watching me. His elbows rested on his knees as he leaned forward, fingers of both hands loosely interlocked. All alone.

"Where..?" I looked at him blankly.

"I told Greg I'd lock up," he said simply.

That was it, that was his whole explanation. I had sat, for hours apparently, playing with clay while everyone around me left and he watched me for who knows how long, and that was all he had to say about it.

"What is that?" he asked, gesturing towards the clay I'd just put down with a slight tilt of his head.

"Nothing," I said, mad.

I didn't like the idea that he'd sat there watching me. Not one bit.

How long had he been doing it? Why hadn't I noticed? I looked at him uneasily, even a little bit afraid. What had he seen? What had I been in that time when I hadn't been paying attention?

I felt foolish and annoyed and off-balance with all that had happened, with what was happening and now couldn't wait to escape this room, his watching eyes, my bits of clay nothings.

"What did you make?" he persisted.

"I told you," I said and even to my own ears I sounded peeved. "They're all... just... nothing."

He nodded once then stood up, one long smooth movement.

I got up too, heading towards him, preoccupied with my thoughts. So when he grabbed me, it took me completely by surprise. More so when he kissed me. He kissed me as if he'd been waiting for this moment all his life and now that it was finally here he was going to make every second count.

Too confused to react or participate in the kiss, I stood and let it happen. Let him part my lips with his tongue, let him slide it deep in my mouth, let him suck all the oxygen out of my lungs while I stood there shaking and unsure.

When he finally drew back, I could only stare at his unreadable face, unable to form a single coherent sentence or even thought. Then he took me home. We didn't talk at all. I stared out the car window, he hummed snatches of love songs. How dare he kiss me like that over some stupid clay but not for sex? How dare he buy me a cat, when I wasn't even his type? I briefly considered picking a fight, but went back to ignoring him.

He didn't come in and I didn't ask.

The next night I went to the club, got hold of the first guy that caught my eye and dragged him off to the rest-room. He was nice-looking in a bookish sort of way and eager but none of it mattered. I clutched at him desperately, hands and mouth all over him while he gasped and groaned and quickly became overwhelmed.

Several heated moments later I stopped, leaning my forehead against his neck, listening to him take dragging breaths. I felt nothing. None of that escape that sex usually gave me, the feeling of getting out of my head and getting lost in my body that I could always count on, no matter who I was with or where I was.

I couldn't understand it, couldn't understand this not-feeling nor my desperation for this quick meaningless coupling with this near-stranger in a restroom in cramped quarters and awful lighting.

I looked at his face, one I had seen so many times before in this very club but had never encouraged despite his hopeful glances.

This one's not your type either.

The thought drifted across my mind like grey smoke.

I sank down on my knees and finished him off, amid pangs of guilt and despair, determined to make at least him feel good, this man who had followed me into the restroom, whom I'd gotten so worked up, who was not at all my type.

When he finally stopped trembling, I let him slide out of my mouth, getting to my feet.

"Buy you a drink, good-looking?"

His mouth fell open. "But...but...you..."

"Another time."

Doe-brown eyes looked at me, their expression puzzled and hurt. He knew my reputation, he knew my style. This wasn't it.

I put my arm around him, holding him close and easing him out of the cramped stall, whispering "You were so sweet," in his ear, a sort of reassurance. I meant it too. He blushed, a little tongue-tied and more than a little confused as we headed back to the bar.

I bought him a drink, stayed long enough for a few sips then headed to the booth where Mark, John and Ryan were seated. I had noticed Mark right away as we returned from the restroom, even if I'd not given a sign and now I slid into the only empty space next to him, keeping my distance and my greetings general. They'd evidently arrived some little while ago since they were all nursing drinks. I didn't look at Mark.

"Having fun?" he asked and he couldn't have sounded more polite.

"Yes," I said, still carefully keeping my eyes from him.

"Since when do you buy your tricks drinks?" John demanded.

I had the sudden urge to kill him. I shrugged instead.

Beside me, Mark said softly "He must have been very good."

I stiffened.

Ryan was laughing. "Or else Mr.Hotshot was for once pretty bad," he said.

I gazed into my drink, keeping my silence, miserable without quite knowing why. Ryan and John went off to dance.

"So," Mark said and there was a definite bite in his voice now, "was he good?"

"Yes," I said defiantly, finally looking at him. "Very good. And I'm going to take him home with me."

He stared at me intently and suddenly I saw his shoulders relax. "No, you won't," he said softly.

He stood up then and held his hand out for mine. "Come on," he said.

I should have said no. I should have taken the opportunity to score a major point. Instead I went.

Inside his house, he kissed me. He held my hips and rubbed himself against me repeatedly. Unlike the kiss which was slow and soft, the way he ground himself against me was not.

I never made desperate, out of control noises. Never. Now I heard myself whimpering and bit my lip to make myself stop.

He led me into the bedroom, kissing me all the way. Whatever I was afraid of was gone, lost in the maelstrom of sensations; here was something I understood and was good at. I clung to him desperately.

He undressed the both of us very neatly. I rolled my eyes, couldn't help it and he grinned at me.

It turned me on to see him, nothing hiding his skin. He watched me like I was playing with clay again. Somehow that turned me on even more. It was an intoxicating feeling, this lack of pressure to be the best in bed, to be the focus for once instead of doing the focusing. I let him enjoy me. I'd never been passive before.

When he finally rolled on top of me with intent, I stiffened.

"Top only?" he quizzed. "Ok," and that quickly he was rolling back on his back, waiting for me.

I was stunned by his easy acceptance. My stomach churned.

"No," I whispered, "I want..." I fell silent.

He propped his head up on one hand watching me assessingly before reaching out to slide the other hand down my face in a feather-soft caress.

"Ok, let's try this," he whispered back, as if he knew exactly what a big step this was.

He sat up and positioned me over his lap, holding me over him so I could ride him. I was enormously grateful. One didn't feel quite so vulnerable this way.

He let me set the pace as I worked him into me a little at a time, kissing me and running his hands all over my body, teasing to distract me. About halfway in, his long slightly curved dick hit my spot. Pleasure exploded through me and my legs gave way and as I collapsed completely onto him, I felt his entire length enter me.

"Fuck!" I gasped. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

"In a minute," he said but his eyes were troubled as he held himself very still and didn't breathe too deeply.

For a few minutes there was silence while my brain tried to decide whether to focus on the intense pain or the mind-numbing pleasure that I knew hovered underneath.

I looked into his face where his eye-brows were bunched together above his eyes. "It's ok now," I told him so the frown would leave.

He sighed. "Stop trying to win approval all the time. We wait."

I glared at him. We waited.

Not long afterwards it really did get ok. I wiggled a tiny bit cautiously then groaned. He stiffened.

"Stop, you idiot. Only when you're ready."

I tried to look at his face through the dancing spots pleasure had put in my eyes. Finally I got my tongue to move. "Fuck me!"

The bastard waited to make completely sure before following my instruction. He fucked me, moving me over him and it was the most fantastic I have ever felt in my life. I wanted it to never end. Caught up in our mutual pleasure, everything else forgotten, he rolled me onto my back. I barely noticed. Well, except the part where he started a frenzied rhythm.

When it was all over, I was half-surprised that everything still looked the same. Surely this thing that had just happened, that had joined me with this man as I had never been connected to anyone before would have caused a discernible change outside me as it had inside me.