Don't Talk About Mickey

12 - Hair of the Dog

It was dark—too dark to even see my surroundings. Mickey had my hand in his as he pulled me out of his bedroom, and led me into what I assumed was the bathroom. He flipped a switch and the light above us flickered on, making my eyes go blurred for a moment. I tried to rub them with the palms of my hands, but Mickey took ahold of my wrists and placed my arms around his neck.

I'd forgotten that we were both completely naked until his fingers easily skimmed down my stomach. My skin grew tight under his touch. His soft lips pressed against my neck.

He backed me against the counter, forcing his body against mine. I felt his shaft instantly grow hard against my belly. The urge to wrap my hand around it consumed me, and I did hesitate to do it.

Mickey hissed as I started to stroke. Internally, I knew this was the exact thing that I had wanted to avoid, but I also wanted to make him feel the way he made me feel. I wanted to do things for him. Naughty things.

Mickey bunched my hair in his fist as I quickened my pace and gently kissed him on the lips. Before I even knew it, he had my legs hoisted around his waist and was carrying me over to the shower. He reached behind my back and turned the knob. The first thing I felt was the stinging pressure of icy cold water, and goose bumps formed all over my body. My nipples hardened against his chest. He mischievously smiled as if it were all part of his plan, then lifted my chin with his forefinger and placed a soft kiss against my lips.

Soon the water started to warm, and I was able to relax in his arms. But I had intended to finish what I had started. My hand neatly slid in between us and stroked him, once again. He had me against the tile wall and rested his arms on both sides of me. He was losing his strength the more I rubbed, but he made sure his body weight kept me from slipping.

He groaned against my lips, and ground his shaft into my hand. I kind of liked it. I liked being in control, and giving him the pleasure. I liked that I had him weak and defenseless if I touched him just the right way.

"If you don't stop now, I'm going to come all over you," Mickey said in panting breaths, just as he pulled back from the kiss.

I should've been repulsed by what he said, but I didn't. I stroked even faster.

With one big jerk of his hips and a loud moan from his mouth, I felt his warm seed splatter against my stomach and a sly smile slid across my face. His body trembled as I continued to gently rub, knowing he was extremely sensitive.

I loosened the grip of my legs and planted my feet on the bathtub floor. Mickey backed away so that I could let the water wash his come off. He watched me as I stood in the stream of hot water and tilted my head back. I loved scalding hot showers.

I soon felt Mickey's chest pressed against my back and his hands reaching around to caress my breasts. I rested the back of my head against his shoulder, and he took that opportunity to run the tip of his tongue up my neck to my earlobe. His fingers flicked against my perk nipples and I let out a sigh.

Mickey lightly chuckled, then turned me around in his arms and forced his mouth hard against mine.  

**

I lay in bed, wondering what my mother was going to say to me when I got home. It was morning already. My curfew was at one AM and I still hadn't even called to tell her that I was going to stay out late. What the hell was she going to think when I came through the door looking like I had sex, took a shower, and had sex again?

I didn't even want to think about it. I put my hand against my forehead as if it would make the headache go away, but only made it worse.

 Mickey was asleep next to me. I didn't know how I should've woke him and told him goodbye, but I had a bad feeling that it was going to be completely awkward.

The weird thing was that it already was awkward. I still couldn't figure out why this even happened. Why did Mickey show up out of nowhere at the studio? Why did he want me to come to his apartment so badly? He surely didn't want to just sleep with me, did he?

I started to grab my clothes from the floor as quickly and quietly as I could. Mickey didn't stir, but I kept my eye on him as I dressed myself. I half-expected his eyes to jerk open but he lay there peacefully as his chest steadily rose and fell. Once I had my shorts zipped and buttoned, I skimmed the room to make sure I wasn't leaving anything, and then snuck through the door on my tiptoes.

My keys were laying on the coffee table, and the money still scattered on the floor. I picked up the green bills, stacking them neatly next to my keys, and then went to an end table by the couch to search the drawer for something to write him a note with. But when I opened it, I found something I hadn't expected, even though I should've.

Handy furry handcuffs, lotions, oils, condoms, and restraints. No pens, no paper. Just sex toys. It was his equipment for his work.

I held back a scoff as I closed the drawer and headed towards the end table on the other side of the couch, only to find the same stuff. I dug around and managed to find a pen, but no paper whatsoever. If he didn't have any in the living room, I knew he had to something somewhere, whether it was a paper lunch bag or a sticky note.

The only other place I could think of was the kitchen, so I scurried to the doorway. The counters were incredibly spotless as if the had been untouched. There were no dirty dishes and no food left out. The white paint on the cabinets was almost blinding. This was an unusually clean kitchen, even for a germophobe.

I started on the drawers only to find them completely empty. I went through each and every single one of them and there was nothing. No traces of silver wear, cooking utensils, or any kind of shit people put in their kitchen. The cabinets were hollow, as well. I was beginning to wonder if he really liked takeout... but there was no trashcan.

I started to feel like I wasn't looking for paper anymore, but was looking for anything that gave me indication that this guy was actually living here. I found myself opening the fridge that had no food whatsoever. There wasn't a cold burst of air, and the light didn't even turn on. It was unplugged. And for some odd reason, I gave the freezer the benefit of the doubt, but I did find something when I opened it.

A stack of what looked like business cards. Reaching in and grabbing them, I noticed there were four different cards, each with a different name and number. There was a Ben Wheeler, a Colin Jones, a Jake Calhoun, and last but not least, a Mickey Foster.

They were all prostitutes, and I had no doubt in my mind that they used this place to bring their clients. A feeling of emptiness crept up in my stomach, but I didn't blame it on hunger.

What the hell was I doing here?

I quickly jostled a sentence on the back of one of the business cards and ran out of the kitchen. Grabbing my keys and throwing the note down on the table, I made my way to the front door. But as I placed my hand on the knob, Mickey's voice stopped me dead in my tracks.

"Where are you going?"

****

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