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Later, she’d go on to think of it as the greatest crashout she’d ever experienced.
It started with drinks at the bar with Venti and Marley, saying he could get fucked and that she was better off without him. They indulged her for several weeks of this, but eventually she started to feel like she was taking advantage of their friendship- nobody wants to listen to a woman claim independence from a man after being ghosted for too long. Especially not three tequilas in.
When that felt like she’d drained the well dry, she moved to drinking alone in her apartment. A bottle of decent vodka and some cran-raspberry juice had never failed Jody before, and it certainly did the job then. After one she was watching Escape from New York, after two she was turning it off because it reminded her of him. Three landed her with When Harry Met Sally and a fourth had her crying and gagging over the toilet in her bathroom. Harry left after sex with Sally, and Jody’s stomach had churned so violently that all four of those vodka crans were sacrificed to the porcelain gods.
Stupid stupid stupid.
She tries to call him, even though he hasn't answered her in any of the other times.
The number you have dialed is no longer in service.
If she hadn't already thrown up, she would have done it again.
She sleeps on the couch that night, has a horrendous headache the next day, and goes to several meetings with Gail. The vodka gets dumped down the drain because she can't do that again. She won't. She’d rather die.
It’s not too long after that she gets the call about Metalstorm. They want her to direct, and Jody doesn't think she's ever said yes to something so fast in her life. She had loved the original movie as a kid, and being given the gift of stepping into that universe is… it’s a dream. Her whole life is being made! It's terrifying, too, but that's what Hollywood is all about, facing fear. She tells all her loved ones, opens up a fresh new three ring binder for her notes, and starts scheduling meetings. She now has an army of people to direct, and a million choices to decide upon.
There's a person she wishes she could include, but his phone number is a mystery to her. Not that he would have ever picked up.
She wonders if it was her, if she was too clingy or emotional in the aftermath. Maybe she pushed too hard, or he hadn't liked her as much as it had seemed. Jody’s pretty personable, but there have been times she's been called rude, over familiar, aggressive. She knows she lacks a filter sometimes and the job often takes her over in a way people find grating. Maybe he's decided he didn't want to deal with someone like that, that he’d much rather have someone who he could come home to rather than someone who would sleep in the film lab to get a project completed.
She aches. She hates how she cannot shake him. It makes her angry and miserable in turns that he has burned a shadow of himself on her heart while seemingly having no side effects himself. It's not fair, and if she was even remotely capable, she would hate him.
In between prep for Metalstorm, she tries to think of ideas. Fixes. A cure to this hell of heartache that she just cannot escape. She goes on long hikes, she buys a fancy new sex toy, she treats herself to decadent desserts and goes out with friends. She deletes all her social media so that she cannot accidentally see his profiles show up anywhere, and she buries everything he ever gave her into a box that she shoves waaaay back into her closet. She does not go to the beach, and she does not drink novelty cocktails. She has shed more than enough tears over a man, thanks very much, and she's starting to mourn her dignity just as much as her relationship. Enough is enough! Time for the rebound phase.
She doesn't have time for this. She has to get over it, by any means necessary.
Jody redownloads Tinder.
There are some nice enough dates, a few moderate to wonderful orgasms. A lot more car blowjobs than she necessarily wanted to be doing at 34 but that's sort of what the dating market is like these days. Besides, she's not in this for true love, if she wanted that she would have– it's not worth thinking about.
She wipes cum off her lips and says no, it’s okay, he doesn't have to get her off.
She’s not entirely sure why. She's got this itch that she can't scratch and she only has so much time before she leaves for Australia. She wants to be focused in, not distracted, but Jody doesn't know what exactly she's trying to do. Well, she does.
The sex club is… well one of the faceless Tinder matches mentioned it.
She hadn't needed to pay the cover charge, which was sort of nice. Apparently men did.
Inside had been dim lights and private rooms, but for every private room there had been a wooden X with someone stretched across it. Others had been kissing on couches, half nude in recessed cubes against the wall, leather and chain and fully clothed patrons holding drinks around a bar.
Jody had found a series of stalls in one of the private rooms, locked herself inside one, flipped a little card to let people know someone was in there, and waited.
It didn't take long before someone entered the one beside her, a pair of long fingers poking through the hole in a way of greeting. It's a man, she can hear warm breathing and see pale hair on the knuckles as they slip back. It's the wrong shade of blonde, she thinks, but it makes her breath hitch all the same.
She hearts a belt buckle and the undoing of pants, a half hard cock comes through next.
“Just a second,” she says softly, voice deliberately husky. “I want to enjoy this.”
A low chuckle is her answer, and she pulls the worn, too big for her t-shirt out of her purse. She folds it over a few times and then ties it around her eyes, tugging it down over her nose so that the smell consumes her. Sweat and sandalwood and gasoline. Something musky and mouthwatering.
She can't see, which is what she wanted, so she feels along the wall until she touches soft skin, and wraps her hand around it. Experimental squeeze, tender strokes, feeling the muscle turn to iron. He's flushed and warm, growing hot under her fingers. Jody spits into her other hand and replaces it, slicking the anonymous man up so the slide comes easier. She swirls her other palm against the head, collecting his own slick to add to her saliva, and she can hear his breathing starting to grow more rapid, little grunts as he presses his hips into the other side of the wall.
Once he's fully hard- comparable size, too, Jody's not sure how she lucked out like this. He hasn't even ruined it by talking and revealing what he sounds like, which means she can truly let her imagination take over. Once he’s hard, Jody tilts her head down and breathes deep through her nose before swallowing his head down her throat.
It's sudden, she knows, and she fights the gag reflex as she swallows around him. He groans behind the wall and Jody reaches down into her underpants to press her fingers deep into her own folds, middle and ring rubbing up into herself.
She sucks him down, hungry for him. Breathes through her nose and imagines that they're in one of the trailers on Annihilation of Valor. That he has just been thrown 20 feet through the air and landed in the mud several times for a shot that will never show his face. He is haggard and beautiful and she is giving him a reward for such a long day with no appreciation.
Moaning against his cock, bobbing her head back and forth. Silk and steel and the sort of satisfying discomfort every time the head hits the back of her throat. There are tears in her eyes, but she's not choking or gagging so maybe it's from something else. She can feel his hands in her hair, a thumb on her cheek. She pulls his cock as far down her throat and swallows against the gag, hearing the way he gasps and swears and whimpers around the vice of her throat. Her pussy spasms against her hand, and she grinds her clit down onto her palm. Yes. Yes, that's it.
She pulls off for a moment to catch her breath, rubbing her face and cheek against the wet, twitching cock. Jody sighs against it. She can't see but she imagines it red and purple with want, twitching as little strands of precum and spit connect it to her tongue.
“Colt,” she breathes. “Oh, Colt.”
If the man thinks that's strange, he chooses not to say anything.
Jody takes a deep breath and stands up, tugging her clothes out of the way and turning around, one hand behind her to line the cock up with her dripping entrance. She hasn't been this wet in months, hasn't been this desperate for it in months. The itch is quieting, the anguish is abating.
She slides the head through her folds once, twice, and sinks him home.
“Hhhnn,” she groans, and hears a similar sound behind her. Whoever the man is-ColtColtColt-he gets the message, because he starts thrusting. She keeps trying to grind back into him, the stretch so good she has to bite her hand. It's everything. It's him.
It doesn't take long before she's shaking around him, an agonized cry emerging from Jody’s throat as she rides out the orgasm with him inside her.
“Will- will you cum inside me please?” She chokes out through the spasms.
“Fucking shit, girl,” he says, but Jody is lost in her own fantasy. Colt is fucking her in the trailer, telling her she's beautiful and letting her suck marks into his neck. Tonight they'll do donuts as the sun sets and fall asleep watching a movie on one of their couches. Tomorrow they’ll do it all over again.
The man grunts, shoves into her one more time, and cums. She feels the heat pool inside her in waves, and it's all she can do not to fall to her knees. In her mind it is Colt unloading inside her until she feels full and satisfied and luxurious.
Eventually it's over. He pulls out, and Jody sinks down the wall to crouch there, breathing in the smell of the shirt over her eyes and shaking a little. She feels cum dribble out of her, but makes no move to clean herself up. She's shaking and the fabric around her eyes is wet.
She imagines a warm pressure against her back, little kisses against her ear.
The man on the other side of the wall leaves.
Eventually Jody will leave too. She has a plane to be on tomorrow, and then there won't be any time to do anything at all about it.