The Virgin Duet
“You’re not taking this seriously. It’s a real fear. My father was so obsessed with my mother he killed her. Aren’t you scared I might do the same?”
“No,” I answer, simply because I’m not. He would never hurt a hair on my head. The idea is utterly ridiculous.
“You should be. I’ve fought this unexplainable craving I have for you from the beginning. I saw where it was leading. Haven’t you wondered why I’ve never so much as kissed someone before you? Because I couldn’t let myself be like my father. I couldn’t allow myself to become obsessed with something that way. But you pulled me in and you didn’t even have to try. You were just you, and I was mesmerized by everything that that you did. Just being near you was the first time I’ve ever truly felt alive. I couldn’t let you go, and now here I am, becoming the one thing I fought my whole life not to be.”
“Do you want to kill me, Bray? Would you, if I tried to leave you?”
“You’re not leaving me, and I would never hurt you.”
“Then what does it matter? I know you wouldn’t hurt me, and I never want to leave. I love you, Bray. Can’t you see that? You make me whole. We’re perfect for each other. My chaos to your order. I only ran because I thought you could never love me. But in reality you loved me so much it scared you. Look at us trying to push each other away because we fear the other will reject us. When in fact it’s those things that draw us together.”
“You mean that?”
“Every word. Feel free to become totally, absolutely obsessed with me. In fact I encourage it,” I say, smiling and nodding my head. Who doesn’t want the man they love consumed by them?
“Marry me?”
“I’d do it right now if there was a priest in the room.”
He makes a move to get off the bed, but I wrap my arms and legs around him and hold him to me. “First, do the thing where you give me so orgasms that I can’t move.”
I see him think about something for a second and then he looks down at me and smiles. “I’ve just cleared my to-do list for today. The only thing on my agenda is making my Tinkerbell glow.”
I let out a giggle and he buries his face in my neck, kissing me sweetly. One day I’m going to ask him about his nickname for me.
BRAY
Ten years later
I close the front door and I feel a wicked smile spread across my face. Our son Peter was picked up for his week-long summer camp, and now my fairy and I have the house to ourselves.
We moved to the suburbs just before having Peter. The penthouse was wonderful, but we decided we wanted as normal a life as possible for our little boy. We bought a house with a backyard big enough for ten kids to play in, but unfortunately Tink and I couldn’t have any more children. Dr. Long told us repeatedly what a miracle Peter is. Tink’s little body could only carry him to thirty weeks before she started bleeding and I nearly lost both of them. After his birth she had to have an emergency hysterectomy, so getting her pregnant again wasn’t possible.
I think it was harder on me than it was on Tink. I want her to have everything she ever wanted, and if she wanted more kids, I would give them to her. I didn’t care if we had to adopt or use a surrogate, but she said she was happy with life just as it was.
Every day I look at her and our boy and I’m overwhelmed with how lucky I am. While I still have a small fear in the back of my mind over my level of obsession with her, I remind myself that I would never hurt her. There is a dark place in my head, and sometimes I want to go there, but then I remember how gentle and fragile my fairy is, and all I want to do is love her, and protect her.
“Oh, Tink,” I sing-song as I deadbolt the door and set the alarm. I went to the store earlier today so we are stocked with provisions for a week-long hideout. I don’t plan on taking one step out of this house, or allowing her to, for the next seven days. I don’t plan on wearing clothes either, so I touch the buttons on my shirt, planning on getting undressed now.
I hear something to my right and I look over, but see nothing. The intercom system lights up and I hear Tink’s giggle sound through the house. “Paging Mr. Vanilla,” she says in some awful made-up accent.
I roll my eyes at the name. She doesn’t call me that much anymore, but when she does it’s usually to annoy me and make me chase her. It works.
I go over to the intercom and hold down the button. “Is there a fairy loose in the house?”
“Oh yes, I believe she’s being extra naughty and throwing pixie dust everywhere. You should probably find her and spank her.”
“If she keeps calling me Vanilla, she’ll get that spanking.”
“Oh no, Vanilla! In that case, Vanilla, I’ll be sure to tell her not to say ‘Vanilla’. I’m sure she didn’t mean to, Vanilla. That’s so rude, right?”
“Tink,” I say on a growl.
“Good luck finding me,” she giggles and clicks off the intercom.
She thinks she’s clever, but I know exactly where she is. I unbutton my shirt as I walk up the stairs, dropping it as I go. When I get to the top, I remove my pants and shoes, so I’m just in my underwear.
I walk to our bedroom and I whistle a little tune as I go directly to our master closet. I can hear her giggles before I open the door and I can’t help but laugh too. She’s caught but she’s too bubbly to care.