Free Homing by Stephanie Domet Page B

“I’m okay.”
    Amanda pouted at him. “Your place?” he said, in a conciliatory tone.
    â€œYeah,” she said. “Looks like my roommates won’t be home for awhile,” she gestured to the blondes.
    â€œOkay,” Henry said. “So. Let’s go.” He put his hand on Amanda’s back, felt her muscles flutter under his fingers, remembered what hewas about. He steered her off the dance floor, to the door, and out to the street, where he gallantly opened the door of a waiting taxi and guided her inside. He climbed in next to her, put his arm around her shoulder, drew her close.
    â€œWhere to?” the cabbie asked. He had a long, dirty white beard and smelled of cabbage.
    â€œSeymour Street,” Amanda said, leaning her head on Henry’s shoulder.
    See, he thought, this is nice. This is nice, human interaction. This is what’s been missing from my life, he thought, this kind of nice, human interaction. He pressed his lips to Amanda’s hair, let his hand creep down to her breast, cupped it, lingered there. She brought her hand up to his, rested it, her fingers lining up with his.
    The cab lurched forward, flinging them toward the plastic shield that divided front seat from back. “Whoa, buddy,” Henry said, bracing himself against the shield, one arm still around Amanda. “You okay?” he said to her. She nodded.
    The cabbie grunted and gave the car a bit more gas. He drove with utterly straight arms; seat maximally pushed back, arms relentlessly straight, hands gripping the wheel rigidly at twelve and two. Henry looked at Amanda, rolled his eyes. She giggled and snuggled into him a little closer. He leaned down toward her till he could feel her breath on his face.
    â€œWhat do you think would happen if I kissed you?” he asked.
    She giggled again and said, “I don’t know.”
    â€œWant to find out?” he asked, lips just centimetres from hers.
    She nodded and her lips parted slightly. He pressed his to hers, extended his tongue, felt hers extend to meet him. As the cab raced through the streets of Halifax, Henry explored Amanda’s mouth with his own. He probed beneath her jacket, finding her breasts again, inside her shirt this time, squeezing, fondling, rubbing. She let her hand fall into his lap, where his cock sprang up to meet it. He wished she’d move her hand around a little, but it just sat there. Anyhow, it was more action than he’d had in months. When was the last time he’d had sex, even with Tina? He couldn’t remember, and was damned if he would try to start now. He pushed Tina out of his thoughts, kissed Amanda a little more vigorously, brought both handsto bear on her breasts. At last, they were at her house. He shoved a handful of money at the cabbie, pulled Amanda from the cab, kissed her long and hard right there in the middle of Seymour Street.
    â€œPatience, baby,” she said, pulling away from him and laughing. She dug through her jacket pockets for her keys. She pulled out a Mars Bar wrapper, a bus transfer, a handful of Kleenex, some quarters, her driver’s license, her student card. She did not, however, pull out her keys.
    â€œShit,” she said.
    â€œWhat’s that, love?” Henry asked.
    â€œForgot my fucking keys,” she said, patting herself all over again. “Shit goddamn.”
    â€œIsn’t there anyone home?” he asked. Then he remembered. The roommates were with Johnny Parker.
    â€œWe can go to my place,” Henry said doubtfully, picturing the mound of clothes on the bathroom floor, the dank sheets on the bed, the inhospitable, to say the least, kitchen. But if he kept the lights off, maybe it could work.
    But Amanda was having none of it. “No,” she said, “forget it. It’s not worth it.”
    â€œWhat?” Henry said, sure he must have misheard her. Sure it couldn’t have been as bad as it sounded. Turned