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Chapter Two

The house of Grier was another Victorian home, barn red with decor somewhere between frugal farmer's wife and antiquarian. The dinner table would seat twelve but tonight was sitting two couples and Ryan, both couples were equally comfortably attired in beige clothing. That's me in ten years, Ryan thought. God help me. Is it true you paid cash for the house? What the hell are you doing in Wisconsin, Ryan? Hiding or running? The questions he was dreading. But they didn't call him on anything like he expected. Instead, they fed him and watched him like the polite stranger he was.

"I'll kill you, you asshole!" The girl screamed. "How dare you fucking touch me. No, no! Come back here, Eddie! You piece of shit, Eddie!" Her voice was an octave shy of shriek and it was coming from outside. A car door slammed, the engine revved and the tires squealed. Ryan jerked in his chair, certain the car might come through the wall. The front door banged open, and a teen girl crying her eyes out barged in, colliding with her mother. Everyone turned to witness the drama, Ryan almost choked on his peach cobbler. "Holly!" Gail grabbed her daughter by the elbow. "Don't touch me!" The girl clawed back like it was her mother that had been hitting her, if hitting was part of it. Ryan glimpsed the tears and the blood near her mouth, but not much. Before Gail could stand five feet by her daughter's chaotic madness, the girl turned to them, aware she was making a scene. Face gone red, blue denim jacket flapping, exposing the bulges. Her large breasts and her belly peeking from under her skin tight tee. Her entire life on display, Holly glared across the table and locked on Ryan with eyes large and green like spring leaves. "Who the fuck is that?" She said. "What's he looking at?" All he thought was, damn that girl's pregnant. "Holly, out." Gail pointed like a hunter for her dog. Ryan felt a snap of embarrassment for her, followed by shame. Gail wrestled her into the adjacent room, applying a mantra. "Holly, calm down. Holly... Calm down." He owed her one, in a way. The girl had taken the attention off of him. He felt relieved and run over. She had that effect on him from the first. Even in her tears, blonde hair flying, little Holly Grier, was to a degree, absolutely gorgeous.

The wife-less Ryan began cooking four-course meals and shared them with the dogs. He looked out the window and tried to time going to the mailbox with the neighbours comings and goings. He thought about Jo, the one that got away. Eventually he had to forget about her and move on, and he had, she was never coming back. He turned his imaginings onto Holly Grier, the expectant girl next door. A little blonde ball of blustery ignorance. Did she live at home? Did she have bruises from her fight with what's his name? The boyfriend, Teddy? Davie? What did she do with her days? Was she a student? College dropout? Was Teddy preparing to be the father?

Was he still fucking her?

Ryan's frustration deepened until he caved in and embarked on one last running attempt to get the job done himself. It had been weeks, even months(?) since he'd had any sort of release. His tall and beautiful Jo was out of his life, but there was the Internet and infinite titillation at his fingertips. None of the tacky videos could get much of a rise out of him, the 'naughty' schoolgirls in plaits didn't do anything for his libido. Ryan shut his eyes and parading in his mind was every girl and woman he'd ever seen naked, then it came to him. Holly. Riding him with such hip-flexing force that for a minute he forget he was alone bent over the tub in this strange small town in this huge strange house. He lost himself in her thighs and the dimples, her wetness wetting the length of him and he felt huge, enormous yet fully enveloped, just so fucking owned by this animal called woman, this being called Holly. Her voice heavy in his mind fantasy, almost male-like in her animalistic need, until she came, and he came with her there inside her, and here, now, in the bathroom.

Swearing off masturbation for the time being, Ryan undressed and climbed into the shower. At nearly forty, his sex-drive tired him, frightened to where it could lead him one day.