Jack in the Box
JESS C SCOTT
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JACK IN THE BOX
Published by Jess C Scott / jessINK, Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2011 by Jess C Scott.
Cover Image © 2010 by ascafon from Tel Aviv.
Jess: http://www.jesscscott.com
ascafon: http://www.flickr.com/people/ascafon/
Disclaimer: This is a work of factual fiction; not a light/casual read. Author's note: All characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or older.
Summary: A sensuous business acquaintance breaks Drea’s stale fixation with her first love, Jack.
Notes:
Tone of this story = plot > porn (via an epistolary and ‘sexual-astrological’ perspective). Jess will mostly likely add this to her second erotic short story collection [FULL anthology likely to include ince$t (BANNED!), bd$m, and interracial material (eBook + print editions)].
P.S. Grammatical and other inconsistencies are due to artistic license.
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For my friends, readers/customers, enemies, fellow Venus Scorpios,
and “Nir”
—thank you.
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Jack in the Box
[Intro]
“I’ll call you back.”
Deep down, Drea knew what that meant. She could still hear Jack Chin’s voice, the smooth vocals she’d never forgotten, even though she hadn’t heard his voice in years.
Drea felt like her own existence was being denied, the more Jack denied his. He was “dragging her down” with him—she’d heard it in one of his song lyrics anyway.
The girl in her was yearning to be treated as a woman.
Because Jack was the first “lover,” who brought out her sexual feelings—he was the first person she associated erotic sensations and feelings with. Everytime she read, viewed, or imagined something of a sexual nature, it would invariably be tied to him.
She wandered around, both physically and mentally, feeling a complete sense of displacement. It was June 2010; Andrea Sng had gone away to Adelaide, Australia, in 2008, to further her studies. She was going to be visiting Singapore for a few days in June, before heading back to Adelaide for her final year.
I. Past
Drea had gotten so used to Jack’s randomness and mood-swingy, borderline bipolar ways, that it was something she’d become utterly familiar and comfortable with.
i really did love you, at the time
maybe somewhere along the way
you did too
Andrea remembered the lines from a recent email she’d sent to Jack. He started it, after all, back when they were ten years old, thirteen years ago. She still had the note, which had begun to yellow with age, somewhere in the home she’d grown up in. It was a handwritten note where boy-giddy-headed Jack had professed his undying love, long before Drea had known what love really was.
the one I’d pledge my virginity to
Another line she’d confessed, in another long, ardent email she’d recently fired off to Jack.
He never gave any answers. Did Drea shock him too much, or too little? Had he lost interest, overnight? Why still entertain her phone calls or online messages, then?
She was a Virgo, while he was a Libra, born just 9 days later than her. Both loved beautiful things: good looking people, art, anything that was eye candy to them.
She wasn’t sure if Virgos and Libras were a good match. But her Aries ascendant made her physically attracted to Libra types, an attraction that tended to be two-way.
[2008]
Just before Drea left for Adelaide, she and Jack had met at a mutual friend’s wedding. Their blood was fluid and electric underneath the sharp, formal attire their bodies were covered in. Drea could hardly keep her eyes off Jack, six feet tall and lean, but impressively broad-shouldered.
They each went home alone, that night, but proceeded to swap a series of explicit photos and webcam clips, online. Anyone would have admired their photographs—both had dark hair and dark eyes—Drea’s svelte figure and porcelain complexion, versus Jack’s toned physique and healthy tan. He was shy with sharing his photos, even though they were artistic and high-quality shots. No manscaping for me, he’d typed in a chat message to Drea. Still, his dick didn’t resemble a Planet of the Apes costume. She liked him au naturale, with the sweaty sheen over his six-foot-tall nude body.
Previously, Drea hadn’t even been very aware or knowledgeable of the construction and aesthetics of their respective anatomies.
[Early 2010]
Drea had a record of Jack’s online screen names. She had scribbled the ever-changing screen names down in one of her spiral notebooks, as she had observed over the months. She’d recorded the cryptic messages out of morbid curiosity at first, before piecing together Jack’s elusiveness and erratic behavior.
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(Jack’s MSN Screen Names / from mid 2008 to early 2010)
- Why.
- i’ll be there for you | to grow old with you
- seriously, be serious
- a blind leading another
- operation resurrection
- dead inside. soon to be on the outside.
- the ghost of my past.
- i’m sick of technology. why don’t you just get on top of me.
- sing with me.
- I’m still in ♥. It takes 2 to make things.
- Yellow.
- igoogled50pagesandcouldn’tfindmysong.
- you know I’m such a fool for you
- I love you. You complete me.
- I will follow you into the dark.
- come on, jack.
- What becomes of the brokenhearted, whose love has now departed.
- Jack – the failure.
- Jack – fog.
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Drea had taken such pains to be delicate and careful, with her interactions with him. She thought he had lost his mind. She cared more for him than she cared for herself. She didn’t want to jar his sensitive nature.
When she touched herself in the dark, with her hands running over her breasts, she still wished he was there…she still wished she could hug him and not let go for a long time. She’d long for his hands on her body. Long ago, when they’d explored each other a little bit, her breasts were still young and budding. Now they were plumper. She wanted his hands on them.
She knew he must feel Something, whether it was love or lust, or something in between. She did too. So in the words of one of the songs on his playlist: what the hell are we waiting for?
His rebuffs were the only thing she’d gotten in return, thus far.
She’d once asked, in a chat message:
Why didn’t you just say something?
Jack replied:
I don’t know. I just couldn’t.
Drea had asked him that question, in late 2009, when she finally figured that she had something to do with his screen names and MP3 playlist. His indifferent answer infuriated her to no end, because it was true that he really “didn’t know” the answer.
Drea had also recorded some excerpts from his old emails, from 2006, when they were just friends—close friends and confidantes, nothing more.
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