Memoirs of a s*x Toy

Chapter One-1

Chapter One

My memoir begins twenty years earlier …

Nothing but boxes, everywhere I looked. Charlie spent two hours traipsing the stairs between the parking lot and my second floor room in Mr. Dwyer’s boarding house, hauling the worldly possessions I’d so hastily packed and placing the boxes in ordered rows, each with the packing label facing out so I could easily see what was inside. My room at Dad’s house was now empty of everything but the bed and the broken-down dresser. I didn’t expect I’d be back.

I don’t blame Charlie for splitting as soon as his van was empty, and at the time, I was kind of glad he left me on my own rather than dragging out the sad goodbye to my youth. Still, the sight of all those boxes was so intimidating, I would have loved if he’d stayed long enough to share a pizza and open the first one. If I could do that much on my first night at college, just open one box and start the process of re-ordering my life, it would have made the rest of the move so much easier. Now without him, I was stymied by the stacks of boxes, feeling so intimidated that I couldn’t begin to sort through what I knew would be a miserable mess once the tape was ripped back. At least unpacked, my stuff was neat, probably as tidy as it would ever be. Once this Pandora’s Box of nightmares opened, there would be no turning back, nothing to bring order to chaos, and no way to stuff it all away and forget. I would never be up to the task. Mom called me a natural born slob, which was why I’d spent my high school years with my Dad.

I remained in my blue funk until I was suddenly forced to turn my attention elsewhere.

“Hey there, neighbor! I’m Denny.”

The cheerful voice interrupted the gloomy forecast of my life, and I looked behind me to the door from where the voice originated. I jumped back with alarm—maybe I thought this stranger could read my thoughts. Then shaking off the surprise, I strode forward and shook his hand.

“Hi. I’m Chelsea.”

It seemed impossible not to smile given the man’s sunny disposition. Denny was obviously quite a charmer and his big beaming smile had knocked the sadness from me in with one swift shove.

“You know, you are beautiful,” he went on. He hadn’t let go of my hand, so I was forced to confront him from just a mere foot away. I could feel his energy almost bowl me over. But then again, I didn’t particularly want him to leave. I was blushing, trying frantically for something to say, but he beat me to it. “A freshman, right?”

I had to laugh. “You mean I look like one?” I stared down at my slouchy layered clothes, wondering what about my style would suggest my year in school.

“Pretty much. But trust me, it’s not the clothes that give you away.”

“I see. I’ll bet you’re not a freshman?”

“Nope. I’m a grad student. Upstairs. There’s three of us. Maximus is an assistant professor working on his PhD and Caulfield…I really don’t know what he’s up to now. But we got the whole darn floor. You ever need anything, you just knock.”

“Thanks. Sure.” I was too amazed to say more, though there was no doubt that the laid-back and cheerful Denny made me want to laugh, cry, scream and giggle all at once. The profusion of emotion he raised in me was astounding, a welcome release from all my pent-up tensions.

“Say, how about tomorrow night—there’s a little party, beginning of the school year sort of thing? You should join us.”

This left me completely flustered. “Oh, I don’t know…” I gazed back over my shoulder at the boxes, chagrinned. “I-I’m sure it would be fun, but I have a lot to do.”

“Aw, c’mon. This isn’t high school, and it’s not mom’s house.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “No one to tell you what to do. Besides the real work doesn’t begin until classes start next week. So, if you’re in the mood, the beer’s free.”

I was so nervous, all I could do was stand there and blush for the next few interminable seconds, then stumble through my reply. “Sure. Right. Thanks for the invite, and for stopping by.”

“You haven’t seen the last of me.” He gave my blushing body another once-over, then dropped my hand, flashed another toothy grin and turning, took the third floor stairs two at a time, the hardwood thundering under his weight.

Damn he was hot! No doubt about that. Cocky, self-assured and very doable, as my gossipy high school friends would say. His disheveled sandy-colored hair made him look as carefree as his broad smile would suggest. Looking back at the task awaiting my attention, what I really wanted to do was climb that third floor staircase and spend a few hours with my new housemate—if I could dare sound that chummy to call him that.

Already I could hear my sane self unleash an emphatic caution. Get a grip, Chelsea! It didn’t mince words. And it was right. My first day, my first hours in my new home. I had no business leaping to any conclusions. Dumb idea. Still, I knew that wouldn’t stop me. My impulsive streak is a mile wide—my mother would often say, very tersely. And she was right. I long ago concluded that the impulsive streak was my weapon to fend off that straightjacket of propriety she would insist I wear any time we shared the same space. We could become matching images of decorum if I gave in to her—which I was not about to do. As far as I knew I’d managed to prevent that from happening.

It pleased me knowing she’d have a fit if she discovered that I’d opted out of dorm life, preferring to live in an off campus boarding house for my freshman year. But I would never tell her anything that personal. This was Dad’s and my little secret.

At eleven o’clock the next evening, the head-banging rock and roll blaring from upstairs was beginning its third hour. I wondered if it would ever end. Anytime in the previous two hours I could have walked up the stairs to Denny’s apartment and joined the party, but I’d chickened out every time I got the urge. The thought of entering a room full of strangers was enough to have my knees knocking with panicked fear. If I didn’t pee my panties, I’m sure my tongue would have twisted into a knot if I tried to say a word. No, crashing the party was not an option. I must have come to this sensible conclusion at least a hundred times since all the uproar began.

However, just as I slipped out my door to toss a bag of trash in the dumpster, I literally ran right into Mr. Hottie as he was carrying up a sack of groceries.

“Oops! I’m sorry!” I cried. We were both knocked off balance, though Denny came up laughing, sporting another grin.

“Heck no, I’m the one that’s sorry,” he countered. “Shoulda been looking where I was going.”

“No big deal.” I smiled blushingly, like that was all I could think to do, then I ripped off a cheery, “Nice to see you,” as I moved toward the stairs with my bag of trash. Before I could take the first stair, however, Denny pulled the bag from my hand and was halfway down the staircase before I realized what he was doing. “You don’t have to do that!” I called after him.

“I know,” he shot back. A rattling sound followed then a moment later, he was back on the second floor, grabbing for his sack of beer. “You know, you need to get your little ass up here and meet some people.”

Confronted with the dilemma that had been messing with me all night, all I could do was stare at him with a blank expression.

“Aw right, so I’ve got you tongue-tied,” he laughed, “just come on up.” Then he lowered his shifty eyebrows. “And I won’t take no for an answer.”

Still speechless, I followed his tight ass with my eyes as he ascended the staircase. When he abruptly turned around on the landing, I quickly tried to duck out of sight, only to hear:

“Hey, I saw that, Chelsea. Trust me, if you’re not up here in sixty seconds, I’ll come down and drag you out.”

It must have been five minutes, not sixty seconds before I made my way up the stairs. First, I needed to stop blushing, then I needed to change from my torn jeans and stained t-shirt. That’s not to say I dressed up. But I did manage to find in one opened box a fresh tank top and short denim skirt that looked cleaned and pressed enough to wear out. I hurriedly brushed my teeth and ran a comb through my hair with unexpected swiftness; any minute, I expected Denny to come crashing through the door to ‘drag me out’.

Either his threat was empty, or he got diverted from his plans to roust me from my apartment. His sixty second deadline was long past by the time I was ready.

However, my adrenalin was still running high enough to keep me moving all the way up that dreaded staircase. Sometimes I think back and wonder how my life would be different if I had let my fears close me in that night. I could have locked the door and refused to answer, turned away from Denny’s exuberant come-on and ignored all the s****l innuendo I could feel coming from his sexy eyes. I might have done that; it certainly wouldn’t have been out of character. But I didn’t. The thrill behind Denny’s stern invitation kept me moving me forward until I closed my apartment door behind me.

When I finally knocked on Denny’s door, I had calmed some. I certainly wasn’t backing out, even though this could be the most foolish thing I’d ever done. I could already feel a wave of embarrassment rushing up through my body and I caught myself silently praying that no one would hear my knock. My prayer must have gotten lost on its way to the Almighty. Suddenly the door swung wide and a barrage of noise, coupled with the strong smells of smoke and beer practically bowled me over. I stood frozen waiting for some kind of customary greeting, but there was no one there. I took a few baby steps forward until I was just beyond the door, and looked frantically for Denny amongst the bodies crowded into the apartment.

“You must be Denny’s date,” someone finally acknowledged me. A second later, the door clicked shut and I felt a warm hand on my back. Its steadying force was all that kept me from rapidly running back from where I came.

I jerked around, then stepped back, blushing profusely at the man before me. Although his hand had disengaged, I could still feel its heat in the small of my back. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry, why?” The man was smiling, but that did little to ease my nerves. I found myself staring into the most intense pair of eyes I’d ever seen. The darkness in them wounded me right from the start, though I really didn’t understand that at the time. The stranger stood maybe five-eleven, the solid, muscled sort that spent hours in a gym. More impressive than his body was the image of the mad-poet that immediately flashed inside my head—maybe it was just the wild locks of untamed hair that forced that conclusion. Even so, I could see him at work, his mental focus concentrated and almost explosive. Thoughts of him running his hand through his hair in frustration, or pounding a keyboard, or pacing his apartment so deep in thought that it would take an act of God to penetrate the barrier—all this flashed through my mind in those intervening seconds as he waited for me to speak.

I had no answer for his question, so a weak, “Denny invited me,” had to do for the moment.

“Yes, I know,” he said. “Come on in, grab a beer, whatever you like you’ll find in the kitchen.” He motioned to the far side of the large room. “By the way, I’m Maximus. It’s really my place. I keep Denny around for the company—and the music. He plays a mean set of drums.”

By the time I woke to reality after that brief fugue, Maximus had moved elsewhere, disappearing into the shadows for all I knew, which left me standing by myself looking for Denny through a thick haze of smoke. The pungent smell of pot drew me deeper into the room. Perhaps just a few deep breaths and my anxiety would ease, and yet despite all the efforts to calm myself, my fears clung to me like a gnarled vine. I wanted to blend in and be part of the party rather than stick out like the freshman who dared join this more sophisticated crowd. When I finally got up the nerve to move, I stepped tentatively into the apartment and wandered through the unknown crowd of people, enduring puzzled stares and a few weak smiles, until I finally arrived in the kitchen where Denny was opening beer cans and handing them out to his friends.