"Why do you keep coming back here?" She asked, her long hair splayed across my shoulder, one leg tossed across mine.

That was the question that made me stop coming back. Before then, before that question, I hadn't really thought about it.

We're not responsible for what we know when we don't know that we know it. Up until that moment, I was content to lie between coarse sheets, under a threadbare blanket, on flat, shapeless pillows, in a smoky, stuffy studio apartment in downtown L.A. I didn't expect much from her, just a good time. I didn't think she expected anything more from me than the same.

But when a girl starts asking questions-simple ones, then more complicated ones, because let's face it, simple questions lead to more complicated questions-that's the time to start paying attention. Complicated questions lead to difficult conversations, which lead to me becoming aware of things I don't want to know, and saying things I don't want to say. I don't like questions.

I met her... does it really matter where or when?Okay, whatever. I met her at a party, about a year ago. Neighborhood thing. Not my neighborhood, a downtown LA neighborhood. My intern twisted my arm, roped me into this... thing. I ended up singing at some sorority house and getting some guys laid that night, but that's a whole different story.

Afterwards, we hung out at my intern's place. Drank some beers, shot some pool in his living room, which was really just one of three oddly shaped, even more oddly sized rooms in a rundown brick building on a busy downtown street. It was the kind of place that young guys think is cool because they're out on their own for the first time and it's all they can afford. You know what I'm talking about-shag carpeting, cigarette smoke stained walls and closed off rooms with built-in shelves caked with multiple layers of thick white paint flaking off of the surface. All of this for a mere two grand a month! It's a steal-for the landlord.

I'm no snob or anything, don't get me wrong. I've partied in some dives in my time but I usually try not to hang out in dank apartments with very little lighting, wall decorations that consist of stolen street signs and Playmate of the Month posters, the most uncomfortable Goodwill edition brown plaid furniture a person can cart home on top of a Toyota Tercel and the biggest, most technologically advanced TV/computer room imaginable, complete with a vast DVD collection and at least two video game consoles. At least they had their priorities straight.

These guys seemed cool, though and as long as you're cool, I'll hang out and drink your beer, no problem. The scene was manageable. Just... these kids were young.

Like, ridiculously young. By the time I was their age, I'd seen the world so many times over I couldn't count. I was a millionaire, stacks of cash in the bank and no time to spend it. Cars parked in a driveway that wasn't mine. I didn't even have time to look for a place. I crashed on a buddy's couch and called it home one month a year. Life was crazy, but it was all I knew. I loved it until I knew a different life existed. And then I wanted that life.

I'd had a few beers, a couple of shots. I wasn't out of my mind, but I knew driving home would take some effort if I didn't cut myself off, so I downed the last of my beer, set the bottle next to the other empties and decided I was done for the night. I kicked back, settled into the couch, decided to watch the action.

There were girls everywhere, spilling out of every open door and more coming. Hot girls. Young girls. Girls that were young but not hot but if you were drunk, it didn't matter.

This one girl... I caught her eyeing me. She played like she wasn't, but she was. I know the signs; I see them all the time. Usually all I have to do is stare and I catch her. Get her attention. Smile for a few seconds and then look away, like I'm shy. Works every time. So I try this on her and... lo and behold, here she comes.

She's a hot little thing; you know how I like them. Thin but nice body, something to hang on to with no leftovers. Cute face, something exotic about her. She looked different than the other girls because she was dressed simply-a tank top and a short skirt. The other girls may as well have been wearing tiaras and evening gowns. So overdressed and over done. It doesn't take all that, ladies.

Anyway, the nice simple girl came on over. Took the seat next to me. Crossed a leg-I guess to let me know she thought her legs were nice enough to be showing off. And they were.

"What's up?" she said. All cool and shit, but her voice was quivering. She's revving herself up here. I know the type. I see the signs.

"Not too much," I said, throwing her a bone. Her eyes lit up like Christmas. She flashed a smile at me, two rows of pearly whites in a mouth big enough for my-well, I won't get too crass, but you know where I'm going.  "You know them?" I pointed to the gentlemen throwing the party that night.

"We hang out here and there. They invited me over, said they had a special guest I might like." She winked. "I guess you're him?"

"I hope so, otherwise there's someone way more important here." She laughed again, loud and obnoxious. It wasn't that funny of a joke.

I let my eyes wander around the room, taking in more of the scene. From the looks of it, most people are little sauced. They're loud, words slurring in unimportant arguments like how some show called How I Met Your Mother is going to end, or which dude on Big Bang Theory is the smart guy and which is the douche. I have no idea what they're arguing about, but watching them is entertaining.

"So how do these guys luck out with you at their party?" She asked me, interrupting my entertainment, nodding in the direction of the same dudes.

"One of them is my intern. He did me a favor. I repaid it. No big deal. Then he said there'd be some drinks and food so stop on by. Here I am."

"Drinking and eating."

"Like a regular person."

"So you're a regular person?"

"I hope so, otherwise... wait, I told that joke already." She laughed again, but more subdued, this time. We're back on track. "So what's your name?"

"Jessica."

"Jessica. Nice to meet you." I stuck out my hand to shake hers. She took it. "I'm JC."

"I know."

"Special guest, regular person."

"So do you slum around here often? Downtown LA doesn't seem like your pace."

"Really? What's my pace?"

She pondered for a moment before laying out the most obvious answers. "West Hollywood. Beverly Hills. Malibu."

I shuddered at the thought of the other end of the Sunset Strip. Totally not my scene. "I hate Beverly Hills. I live in West Hollywood. Gotta leave home sometimes. Malibu's like paradise... you don't appreciate how peaceful and tranquil it is if you live there."

She laughed, dipping her head so her chin sat in the palm of her hand. "You're funny."

"I'm funny? What do you mean? Funny how?"

"Just funny," she answered, shrugging one shoulder. One of her earrings, big silver hoops, swung back and forth, catching the overhead light. "You're kind of deep. But not really. Fake deep."

"Fake... what? I'm not trying to be deep. I'm just... you asked me a question."

"I know. That's why you're funny."

I shook my head. "I don't get it."

"I don't think you're supposed to. You're unintentionally funny."

"Okay." I yawned without meaning to. I guess the beer was taking hold of me. I definitely needed to cut it off.

"Did you just yawn? It's not even nine. You're a party animal."

"Hey man, it's been a long day. I've been up like... all day."

"All day since noon? I was just going to offer to sneak you out of here. We could go get some coffee."

I was interested. I didn't want to hurt my host's feelings but I was subtly searching for ways to skip out without being noticed. Both of them, my intern and his friend or roommate or platonic soul mate, whatever... they were perched by the door, sitting guard. Like no one could leave until they'd had a sufficiently good time. I had a feeling the definition of good time involved more things than I was willing to risk being photographed doing.

"So how would you do that? Get me out of here?"

She nodded toward some room behind us, on the other side of the wall. "There's a back door, that way. Goes out into the alley behind the building. We could... sneak off and grab some coffee."

I stood up and grabbed my jacket. "Lead the way."

I followed her down a hallway, through the tiniest kitchen I've ever seen, more like the corner of a room, and out a rickety side door that shook when she opened it. Just as she said, it led to a cold, dark alley.

"Follow me," she said, grabbing my hand and leading me into the darkness.

"I'm not gonna get murdered am I?"

"Yeah I hit on guys at parties and bring them out here and kill them. You're the fourth one this week."

"Well, I'm kind of important. You'll never get away with it."

"Nah, I heard you're a regular guy."

She led me through the alley for a minute or so. In the distance I saw lights and cars zipping past. "What street is that, up there?"

"La Brea."

"Oh." I paused, which made her pause. "Actually, I think I'm parked the other way..."

"I'll get you there," she said, tugging my hand and pulling me forward. How this little girl and her little hand pulled me down that alley, I don't even know. "I promised you coffee. Can't drive if you're yawning."

She cut through an opening that I didn't realize was there, opened a door that seemed random but I guess it wasn't, and then climbed a short flight of dimly lit steps.

"Okay, this is getting weird. I'm very attached to my kidneys. Both of them. And they're not really in very good condition."

"I don't want your kidneys," she said, laughing. We walked through a door and then another, through what looked like the lobby of a building, as if the bank of mailboxes along one wall was any clue, then down another hallway. She stopped at a door marked 12, pulled a key from a pocket and turned it in the lock.

"Uh..."

"I'm safe, relax. I have a French press. I'll make you a cup of coffee and I'll walk you to your car. Half hour, promise."

She opened the door and walked in, holding it open for me. The look on her face said, Get in here, dumbass, so...I stepped inside her apartment. The door shut behind me and I'll be honest, I felt a little bit trapped.

Her apartment was cool. A studio, kind of all in one room thing. The kind of place I would have liked to have in my younger days-a spot to hang my hat and set up a keyboard. She disappeared around a corner, where I heard water running. She yelled, over the water, for me to make myself at home.

One side of the room was the living room, I guess. She had a futon couch, one of those fancier ones with the thick mattress on it. On the other side of the room, not even five paces away, was a queen size bed, neatly made. I could see her entire apartment, save closets and bathroom, from the front door.

"Sit down. Chill out," she said, coming out of what I guess was the kitchen and plopping herself on the couch, one leg tucked under her. She patted the empty space next to her. I sat down, close but not too close. Near enough to not hurt her feelings. Far enough to jump up and run if things got a little crazy.

Or creepy. Because let's be honest, I've fucked some really cool fans but I've also met some Grade A creepy chicks. I had my eye on her.

"The coffee will be done in a sec. The press is working...hear it?"

She shut up for a second so I could hear the faint sounds of bubbling and sighing from around the corner. I nodded, pretending to be interested and impressed by coffee making.

"So what favor did that guy do for you that you had to come to his lame house party to repay him? Must have been a pretty big favor."

"Oh... well, going to the party wasn't repaying the favor. He did some things for me at work, on his own time. Instead of taking payment for it, he asked if I would come sing a song to some girls at a sorority. It was no big deal."

"That was pretty nice of you. That kind of shit must get irritating."

"What? Getting asked to sing?"

"For free. Just because you used to be famous. Or... still are... or whatever." She actually blushed because she thought she flubbed. Honey, I don't give a shit about my fame.

Anyway, it doesn't happen as often as people think it does. Not anymore. "It's nice to do something good every once in awhile. Wouldn't you agree?"

She frowned and rolled her eyes, sitting back against the cushion. "I guess if you're you. If you're me, it leads to people having their hands out all the time for something nice. You know what I mean?"

It must suck being a girl. "Well, now they're negotiating me singing at a wedding, so..."

She frowned, rearing back. "Oh, fuck no!"

I laughed at her, surprised by her emotional response to something solely on my shoulders. "We'll see," I said.

The scent of a bold roast was beginning to fill the air. "How's that coffee coming?"

She hopped up and disappeared around the corner again. I took my jacket off while she was gone and laid it next to me. She reappeared with two mugs full to the brim of steaming hot, dark as night liquid. I took one from her and brought it to my lips, taking a small sip of aromatic brew.

"Do you take sugar or cream?"

"Usually," I answered. "But when I experience something new, I like to consume it in it's natural state, as it's intended to be consumed."  She laughed so hard she almost spilled her coffee on herself.  "Was I being funny, unintentionally again?"

"Yeah. You're so serious about shit like coffee. But those dudes totally used you to get pussy and you don't even care. Do you even realize that?"

I wrapped my hands around the mug, grinning into it. A couple of those guys disappeared early on, tugging blushing, giggling, halfway drunk girls behind them. "Oh, don't think I don't know that. I'm aware. But you're right. I don't really care about that."

"Does shit like that get you pussy?"

I was pretty sure I was blushing. I don't usually talk sex with women I just met, who just helped me escape from a boring party where I was almost drunk, dragged me through a dark alley and sat me on their couch and served me coffee. It just doesn't happen often enough to get comfortable with it.

"Sex, drugs, rock and roll," is what came to mind. I sipped more hot, hot, bitter coffee. "Okay, I think I need a little sugar."

She got up to grab a canister of sugar-- silver like you'd see at a restaurant--and a spoon.  I doctored up my coffee and handed them back to her. When she got up to deliver them back to the kitchen, I finally took a long look around her place.

She was organized and seemed to have an interior decorator's eye - just little touches here and there. A couple of bookcases packed to the gills. The usual smattering of grinning, half drunk Girls Night Out photos taken at local bars or even Vegas set next to tame, silver framed bland family photos that look like they were taken at the mall.  The throw pillows on the couch matched the rust colored spread on the bed, that matched the chevron design in the rug and the striped drapes. She had a nice eye for color coordination, quirky shape combinations and kitschy prints on the wall. An array of candles sat on a set of wooden TV trays covered in doilies, but it looked nice. Real cozy.  

"This is a pretty cool apartment. Just enough space. You use it well."

She beamed, looking proud that I thought enough of her place to compliment it. "Thanks. I've been here for awhile. Keeps me from collecting a bunch of shit... easy to pack up and just go if I need to."

"Do you uh... do you go to school with them? The guys that threw the party?"

She snickered. "I know I don't look that young."

"Well, hey, I don't know."

"No. I only know those guys because they live down the street. We have friends in common, I guess. I work at a nightclub. I'm more nocturnal. I like to be out when the moon rises."

"One of those types, huh?"

"One of what types? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing bad. Just one of those night owl types."

"You're not a night owl? I thought all musicians were. Because that's when you play gigs?"

I shook my head. I hadn't ‘played a gig' since 2004. "Not unless I have to be. Which isn't often. I make my own hours, so I choose to go to bed at a decent hour, most nights."

"Hunh. You learn something new every day."

"Yeah, you can't get your lessons on how musicians work from these guys chewing on a guitar pic, wearing a Megadeth t-shirt and hanging out at clubs when they should be in a studio."

"Well...maybe I'll learn some lessons from the cutie sitting in my living room."

She smiled as she tipped her mug up to her lips. Her eyes, kind of grey, kind of blue, looked smoky over the rim of that cup, through the steam coming off of the coffee. I told myself to concentrate on finishing my coffee so I could get out of her apartment and not do what I was trying to avoid thinking about doing.

But it wasn't working. The coffee made me warm and a little sweaty. Her face was pink with the rush of heat and all I could really think about was feeling her hot little body up against mine.

I shouldn't. I mean, I know I really shouldn't. One of these days, this kind of shit is going to blow up in my face. But it hasn't, so far...

"So how long have you lived out here?"

"In LA?" Her mug rested on her knee, one hand wrapped around the width while her eyes rolled up toward the ceiling. She sucked in her lips-plump, pouty, pink lips, and hummed while she thought. "About eight years, I guess? I came out here when I was eighteen. Fresh out of high school. I'm twenty six now."

"Twenty six. Wow."

"Wow? What's wow about? Too old? Too young?"

"Not... not too...anything. I'm just remembering that age."

And subtracting her age from my age and trying to figure out if it would be creepy if I fucked her. I'd all but decided it was going to happen if she was up for it. "So are you working tonight?"

She caught my drift, if I wasn't mistaken. Her expression changed. No longer nice girl offering coffee to a tired former pop star, she was looking me up and down, focusing on the lump plastered up against my thigh, mentally measuring me, I'm sure. Gauging if I would be a good time or not.

By the way... I'm a good time.

"Not until eleven," she said, running thin fingers through her hair, pulling it to one side. It was long, kind of wavy, and framed one of her breasts perfectly. "How's the coffee?" she asked, her voice soft, quiet now "Are you... awake?"

"Definitely. And warm."

She laughed, eyeing my attire for the evening. "You're wearing jeans, boots, a long sleeved shirt and a jacket. You know you live in LA right?"

"Yea, it's LA, so people always have the a/c set on Alaskan tundra."

I couldn't help but laugh with her. She had an infectious, contagious, throaty, sexy chuckle that grabbed hold of my balls and just wouldn't quit. And I didn't want it to.

"I'm always cold. Just because I live in LA doesn't mean I can dress like that all the time."  I pointed at her ensemble, admiring the two round orbs that seemed to be popping out of the top of her tank. It was olive green and looked nice against her dark tan.

"Actually, yes it does. That's why people live in LA, so they can get up and put on something like a tank top and shorts and some sandals."

"I guess." I shrugged and downed the rest of my now cooled coffee. "That was pretty good, with some sugar. Thanks a lot."

She took the mug from me and set it on the floor, then set hers down as well. I pretty much figured it was do or die time and was about to make my move.

Next thing I know, this girl had me pinned underneath her. She sat on me, straddling me, looping her arms around my neck, her face mere inches from mine, her long hair brushing over the backs of my hands, which grabbed onto her waist she climbed aboard. I didn't know what else to do with them.

I felt her warmth pressing into me. Up against me. Fuck, this girl was hot.

"Hope you don't mind coffee breath."

I shook my head. "Not at all, sweet thing."

"Good. So how does this work?"

I knew what she meant, but I needed her to say the words. No ambiguity. "How does what work?"

"Sex," she answered, plainly. "With you. How do we make this happen?"

I laughed, feeling my cheeks heat up, feeling my dick come to life underneath her. "You're pretty much there. All you have to be is willing." Then I added, "And discreet. My mom is on the Internet. I can't be showing up on Perez Hilton with that ‘random LA woman says she fucked JC Chasez and his dick is crooked'  kind of bullshit."

One eyebrow lifted and she almost laughed before she stopped herself. She seemed amused, though, when she asked, "Well, is your dick crooked?"

"If we have a deal, you're about to find out."

"Deal," she said, then she smiled and whispered, "And deal." And then her lips were on mine... soft and full and wet. Her tongue pried my mouth open and when I started playing with her, sucking her into my mouth and swirling around her tongue with mine, she let out this moan and pressed herself up against me. Jesus, that about killed me.

I couldn't stop my hands from roaming her. She had on so few articles of clothing; there was nothing but a playground of skin, anyway. I gripped her thighs while she held my face in her hands and kissed me like I was a long lost lover. I worked my hands up until I was under her skirt, a loose khaki material stretched across her thighs.

I pushed it up until it rolled up above her waist and when I roamed further, I found full, round ass cheeks and the thin band of thong panties. She wasn't protesting, so I kept going, slipping a finger between the silky fabric of her panties and the soft skin underneath. I felt a downy patch of hair and, further south, her swollen, warm, wet center.

God, she was hot. Like, literally hot to the touch. I stroked her a few times, up and down, around and around. She squealed with her tongue in my mouth and squirmed in my lap.

I like sounds. Moans and groans and sighs and dirty talk--all hot. Her laugh and her voice and those two moans and squeals already had me rock hard and straining against the zipper of my jeans. I should have worn some jockeys, because that shit kind of hurt.

Who knew I'd run into a hot chick that left the imprint of a zipper on my dick?

"Hey, hey, hey," I said, tipping my head back so my mouth was out of reach. I had to break the kiss off, so I could breathe, for one. And for two so I could make a suggestion.

"What?" She whimpered. "You're not stopping are you? I'm on the pill. And I have condoms if you don't have one. I don't want your kid. I just want to fuck you."

I just love a girl who's honest and forthcoming about what she wants. That shit is fucking sexy.

"And I want to fuck you," I assured her. "But not on your couch."

I nodded pointedly toward that big ass bed behind us. She grinned, then backed up until she was standing up again. I kind of missed her being on my lap.

She moved five steps over, shedding clothes as she went. Tank top, bra, skirt, thong. In seconds, she was naked and crawled up on top of the bed. I started pulling off clothes while I watched her but I got distracted by her tits and her nipples and her belly button and, last but definitely not least, a perfectly manicured landing strip.

"Let me help." She got up on her knees and reached for me, pulling me forward by the band of my jeans, deftly undoing the fly and shoving them down my legs. My dick sprang out, ripe and ready, reaching toward the sky. "Sit down," she said, patting the bed next to her. "You gotta take your boots off."

I took her suggestion and sat, then started loosening the laces on my boots. Why did I wear these fucking things today? Any other day, I'd wear sneaks or loafers or flip flops. I choose today to wear these combat boots?

She snaked a hand in between my body and my arms and wrapped a hand around my dick. Her grip was tight and her hand was warm while she stroked. The faster she pumped, the harder I worked. I finally got the laces untied and kicked off one shoe and then the other. Off came the shirt I was wearing and I was naked too, except for my socks. I wasn't wasting time taking them off.

"You sure you want to do this?"

"Willing and discreet," she said, moving herself back and up higher on the bed. I caught a couple glimpses of her-those full pink lips. Slick, shiny wet. For me. Fuck yes.

I guess being nice does get me pussy.

"You mentioned that you have condoms."

She pointed to a door I hadn't even noticed, which was closed. "Second drawer on the left. Grab the package that isn't opened, just to be safe."

I started to wonder how often she did this-met a random guy, brought him back to her place, fucked him... and then what?

I wasn't going to ask questions.  Instead, I got up and went into the bathroom and grabbed the unopened package of condoms.  I tried not to notice the almost empty package lying next to it.

I opened the package, pulled out two thin envelopes and dropped the others back in the drawer. All the new ones and old ones were intermingled now. I almost laughed to myself. ‘Fuck you, next guy'.

When I got back to the bed, she was posed so seductively... that is to say with her arms tucked under her head and her legs spread. "Someone's ready," I said, ripping one of the packages open and fishing out the thin layer of latex. I gripped the tip with one hand and rolled it down with the other.

She watched, mesmerized. Then said, "So...I have to be to work at eleven."

I laughed and lay next to her, then rolled on top of her. "So quit fuckin' around and fuck you?"

"Please," she said, laughing with me, accepting the heft of my weight on top of hers. "Also I was hoping that afterward, if I walk you to your car, you'll give me a ride. It's not far, but we'll have more time if I don't have to walk."

Without any amount of ceremony, I positioned myself and slid inside, slipping right in, deep on the first stroke. She was tight, gripping me on all sides in gushy warmth, which made it effortless.

"Sure," I said, as casually as I could, while pulling back and pushing into her again. Holy.... Fuck.... "It's the least I can do to thank you for the coffee."

I felt her legs wrap around me, her ankles locking around my back and pulling me deeper into her. I watched her eyelids flutter and her throat clench and the pallor of her skin change from a deep, dark tan to a pinkish, flushed hue. I heard the air catch in her lungs, at the back of her throat, making her breathing shallow. Pants, not breaths.

"The sex..." Her head rocked back and her mouth flew open as she sucked in a breath. "Oh my God, don't stop."

"I don't plan to. The sex is what?" I chuckled, watching her try to maintain control. I appeared to be cool and collected but really, I was about to blow. She was hot and wet and tight... so goddamn fucking tight. She must do kegels nonstop.

"The... the sex," she panted, trying again. "The sex... is to thank me for the coff--- FUCK!"

Her body clenched around me, gripping me tighter than I thought was possible. "You comin'?" 

"Yeah!"

She bucked up under me, essentially fucking me. I let her, enjoying the feeling of seismic waves rolling through her, milking me. Felt so good, and brought me closer to climax. I wanted her to finish first. I don't get a dude that comes before his girl, at least the first time. You gotta let her get hers before you get yours. That's the way.

That's the way you get more pussy.

I bent my head to her neck and took a nice long lick, tasting the salt, feeling the clammy texture of sweat on skin. She shuddered, from head to toe, and sighed, nice and loud, rolling her head to the side so I had more access.  I took my time exploring her, moaning and licking and sucking, roaming her body with my hands, rolling one nipple between my fingers and resting inside her the whole time.

When she was done wheezing and groaning and oh my god, that was so fucking good, I caught her eyes, those smoky grey blues. "You okay?"

She grinned and nodded, slapping one hand over her eyes. I pulled it away. "Nuh uh. No hiding. You're an adult. Sex is fun. Right?"

"Yes," she said, breathing the word and dragging it out. "Yes. So much fun."

"You ready for me to come?"

I saw a spark in her eye. A little excitement. Aw shit. This girl. "Uh huh," she answered, her voice all throaty and raspy. It went straight to my dick.

I started moving again, this time in a gentle circular thrust, rubbing up against her, not pumping into her. Her eyes opened, big and wide and her mouth fell open in a little ‘O'. I loved seeing that look on girl's faces, especially when their eyes got glassy and then rolled back. Like hers did, just then.

"Good?" I whispered, bringing her back with a touch of my lips to hers.

"Mmmmmph!" She whimpered. "Good."

"You're good. You're gonna make me come in a second."

"Shit.... I'm gonna come with you."

I grabbed her hands, clasping them in mine and pinned them above her head. And kept grinding, thrusting, rubbing up against her, working with her body's natural rhythm, that movement she can't help but make to encourage me toward climax.

"You do what you gotta do, sweetheart, but I'm about to come. You feel so good, you sound so hot, you look so beautiful, enjoying yourself with me..."

I started to shake. My throat closed up and I felt a surge of heat whip through my body. I throbbed and pulsed and then....fuuuuuuuuuuuuck!

I came so hard my head rocked back and I grunted through clenched teeth. My body was moving, all on its own, pumping because it felt good, because it made that feeling, that blissful moment of pure ecstasy when your nerve endings are open and sensitive and aware, last as long as humanly possible.

But it never lasts as long as you want it to. It always ebbs away and a few moments later, we lay next to each other, gulping warm, smoggy, L.A. air.

She heaved a huge, loud sigh, rolled over and kissed my shoulder, then sat up. "That was awesome. Thank you. I gotta hit the showers. Can you still give me a ride?"

So businesslike. Matter of fact. So, yeah we just had sex, but I'm not all emotional about it. Gotta go to work now.

"Yeah, no problem." I watched her get up and go into the bathroom. Heard the shower turn on and some rustling before the door opened and her head popped out. "You wouldn't want to get in here with me, would you?"

I laughed like it was the funniest thing I'd heard all day. "Not if you want to get to work on time."

"Ah. Okay. Gotcha."  The door closed again and I heard her laughing behind it. A few minutes later, she pranced out, naked except for a towel around her hair.

"I'll just be a minute." She rifled through some drawers, pulling out articles of clothing. More thong panties, a tiny lace bra, another tank top and short skirt. We got dressed together, watching each other pull on clothes. I was mad at myself about those fucking boots. I had to waste time tightening the laces instead of watching her blow dry her hair.

"So..." I sat on the end of her bed and watched her wander around the small living space, collecting things and dropping them into a bag. I scratched my temple, ran my fingers through my short buzz cut. "I don't even really know your name..."

She glanced up at me, those smoky grey blues all quizzical. "Jessica. Remember?"

"No, I know that. Your uhm..."

"My last name? You want my last name? Why?"

I shrugged. "In case I wanted to call you or something."

She smiled.  "Like with Directory Assistance? Gonna dial up the operator and tell them to ring up Jessica Murphy on La Brea Drive?"

"Was I being funny again?"

"Unintentionally. Why don't you just ask for my number?"

"Can I have your number?"

"Why do you need my number?"

"This is why I didn't ask for your number."

We had a little standoff for a few seconds, smirking and smiling at each other. The post-sex dance was a little awkward for me. I wasn't used to being the one leaving... but I definitely wanted to see her again.

Okay, fuck her again.

"You're gonna be late for work," I finally said. She grabbed her bag and headed toward the front door and opened it, holding it open like she did when she let me in. I stepped out and she closed it behind me, locking it with a key.

We exited the main entrance, spilling out onto an empty sidewalk. Suddenly she stopped walking and faced me. Her bag was hung across her body, the strap running between her breasts... those gorgeous orbs I didn't get to spend nearly enough time on.

"I don't want this to get weird and I don't think you do either. I'm not into one night stands but I'm not looking for a boyfriend. Are we on the same wavelength?"

I swallowed, blinked, nodded. This girl was reading me like an open book.

"So let's just... leave it open ended. I had fun with you and I'd be cool with doing it again if you want."

She unzipped the bag and pulled a card out of a pocket. Jessica Murphy, it read, with two numbers and an email address underneath.

"All the ways you can reach me. I don't ignore people unless I don't want to fuck them anymore. If you call or email and I don't answer, I‘m done. Until then, I'll make time for you. Don't fuck randoms. Fuck me. Deal?"

I turned the card over in my hand, feeling the thick linen, the raised lettering of her name and numbers. She wasn't asking for money, or to be taken to dinner, or to be entertained. She wasn't even asking for friendship. Just sex.

No questions. I could deal.

I stuck out my hand and we shook on it. But she didn't let go, and dragged me down the street toward the parking garage where I'd parked.  "Now come on. I'm gonna be late for work.

That's how it went, for a whole year. I even had a girlfriend for a couple of months of that time, but I couldn't give up Jessica. She was too good to give up. And I didn't have to impress her or entertain her. She wasn't looking for anything more than what I was giving. Or so I thought.

So when we were laying in her bed, watching the dust in the air float through the beams of the setting sun shining around the curtains, and she asked me why I kept coming, I decided, right then and there, that I was going to stop.

Stop calling and emailing. Stop coming to her. Stop going to my Pussy Dealer and getting some when I needed it.

Us, our... arrangement. It was so emotionless and businesslike. I made an appointment, like a chiropractor. I even called it an adjustment. She was always available, always ready, and always really good.

And she didn't ask questions. Not until that day, at least. She was so nonchalant and casual about it, too.  She didn't even look at me when she asked. That's how I knew.

She was feeling me out. Asking questions. Simple questions that could lead to complicated questions that lead to conversations I don't want to have, that reveal things I don't want to know. Things I don't want to be responsible for knowing.

"Because you keep answering the phone," I said in response. I got up, leaving her in the bed, and started getting dressed. I didn't look at her. I couldn't.

Don't make me say it. You don't want me. I can't love you the right way.

***************

Two weeks later, she hadn't called like I figured she would. I thought she'd try again, if she really had feelings for me. Maybe she'd fight for me, make me feel like it would be worth it. Maybe I wouldn't hurt her. Maybe her feelings for me wouldn't be a waste. Maybe she'd be different.

I'd said I wasn't going to, but I went back on my promise to stop calling her and dialed her up. I was looking forward to hearing her voice, that sexy chuckle come across the line and grab me by the balls. Plus, I was due for an adjustment.

"The number you have reached has been disconnected or is no longer in service. If you feel you've reached this recording in error, please check the number and try your call again."

 Shit.

I picked up the phone again, dialed another number. Maybe I could catch her at work, or leave a message for her to call me. 

"Blue Note, can I help you?"

"Uh, yeah. Is uhm. Is Jessica Murphy there? Or will she be there?"

"Jess? You lookin' for Jess?" The guy paused for a moment, then sounded like he was shouting at someone just out of range. When he came back to the phone, he sounded more than a little irritated "Yeah Jess hasn't been here for a couple weeks. She just up and quit one night. Ain't seen her since, left me in a real bind, too. You hear from her, you tell her to call me."

Fuck.

Emails bounced back. I sent a couple. No dice.

Her apartment, number 12 in the brick building on La Brea, was vacant.

"You lookin' for a little bachelor pad?" The Super asked me, while we were standing in the middle of the empty room that used to be her home. Gone were the bookcases, the chevron print carpet, the striped curtains, the candles, the French Press and silver sugar canister. All of it gone, the space a mere shell that seemed empty without her.

"Nice little spot," he said. "Girl that was here just up and left. Sucks ‘cause she'd been here for a few years."  

I turned around and walked out of the building, back to my car and got in. And sat there.

Goddammit!

I punched the steering wheel so hard the horn went off.

All I said was that she kept answering the phone. That's why I kept coming. That was the truth.

I should be happy, right? I didn't want to answer any questions, simple or complex.

Didn't want to have conversations, become aware of things I didn't want to know.

Didn't want to be responsible for things that might come up during conversations. That was exactly what I needed, another nice girl that couldn't help how she felt and wouldn't understand that I can't love her the way she wants me to.

That didn't mean I didn't love her at all. She never even gave me the chance to fuck it up.

Maybe that was the point of running away.

I started the car and pulled away, headed back to West Hollywood. My kind of scene.

I was done slumming it in downtown LA.