Roger buried his face beneath his pillow, staring up into nothing as the muffling mass smothered his cheeks - reminiscent of how Layla’s body had done just hours ago. He could still feel her body against him in his mind; that suffocating succour…
Any minute now he expected to hear his mother pick up the phone from downstairs and have a hushed conversation but, true to her word thus far, Layla hadn’t spoken a single one to her.
Not that that was his main concern, of course. He had never felt so unbearably embarrassed in his entire life. His secret infatuation with Layla, hidden for all of these years, had just been revealed in the most humiliating way possible. Worse, his feelings for her had been utterly crushed by the devastating simplicity with which they had been dismissed. The utter lack of reciprocation, that cooing voice and sickeningly sweet maternal smile… the worst part was he knew she had meant it so endearingly.
It was clear to him that she saw Roger as nothing more than a silly young boy with a hopeless crush, and he was sure she would never see him as anything else. He felt his stomach groan as it knotted and tightened once more at the memory of her pitying him with that same sickly-sweet patronising kindness one would show an upset child.
His phone buzzed in the dark of his room, harsh artificial light pressing in at the periphery of his vision and making him wince. He hadn’t said a word to Layla since he’d left her house - by now she might be wondering why she hadn’t gotten a single hormone-induced awkward text.
Roger couldn’t bring himself to look, his throat tightening around a sudden lump that had appeared there. He wouldn’t look. He simply couldn’t take it.
He grabbed his phone a few moments later in a fit of anxiety. The message, it transpired as he read it, was not from Layla at all. A shuddering sigh of relief escaped him at that small mercy.
“Hello! Are you struggling to find love? Is there someone in this world who is special to you but doesn’t feel the same way? Text YES to 698008 for more.”
It was a scam. Of course it was a scam. It would link him to a porn site or a dating site that was just one big phishing scam. If he clicked the link he’d be signed up to a dozen mailing lists and his personal data would be shared with a hundred different unlicensed brokers.
Therefore it demonstrated just how low he felt that he replied to it.
For a while nothing happened. Maybe their automated system was just inundated by gullible lonely guys like him. He huffed, at least unlike them he knew it was a scam.
Bing! A reply.
“66 Gardenhose Lane.” The text read simply. “Knock twice.”
He promoted it in his mind from obvious scam to an obvious criminal enterprise and tossed his phone aside, pressing his face into his hands. His chest felt hollow and his fingers numb. He’d spent the day curling into himself, rewinding the day’s events over and over in his mind, trying to see past his own role in it but merely feeling the shame and guilt twist deeper with each replay.
Layla’s delightfully amused and belittling coos reverberated through his skull like a boxer’s fists, his self loathing burning hotter than his cheeks and ears. As he did so, not too far away, the glassy eyes of the teddy bear she’d gifted him reflected every movement and caught every ragged breath.
As the lights in her bedroom turned on, illuminating the grassy gap between his home and hers, Roger hid behind his pillow once more; not wanting to be taunted with the image of her beauty in his deepest moment of despair.
Yet that was a hopeless task. First one eye then the other peeked over his fluffy blindfold. He couldn’t help but stare with longing, especially as he now knew it would never be sated.
His fingers gripped the pillow tighter as she came into full view, her form silhouetted against the warm glow of the light through the night air, making her seem almost unreal. She stretched luxuriously, as unaware of his gaze as ever.
Slowly, painfully so, as she sat on her bed in a perfectly transparent sheer pink negligee… she began to massage her massive breasts in her hands.
Roger could have wept.
Clinging to his pillow for comfort he watched as the most beautiful woman in the world to him demonstrated with utter clarity the very heavenly delights he would never get to partake of.
Trapped between agony and ecstasy he felt his heart hardening. Her nipples rolled between her fingers as she leaned back, lips parting in silent pleasure. As soon as her fingers began to trail in a telltale way down her abundant stomach, though, he threw his head to the side. He couldn’t watch any more, couldn’t let the universe tease him with something he would never have.
He lifted his teddy bear, staring up into it. This was how she saw him. Roger would only ever be the young boy next door in her eyes, and there was nothing he could do to change that.
Unless…
66 Gardenhose Lane. Knock twice.
Grabbing his phone, he threw on some clothes and stormed out into the night, letting the cool air bite his shoulders as he hunched them against the woes of the world.
*****
Layla waited, watching until she was sure he had left. She didn’t stop touching herself, after all she hadn’t put on the show entirely for his benefit. Indeed, having planted the seed in him so many years ago she was more amorous than ever to see her plan slowly budding to fruition. Biting her lip Layla could only watch with glee as his bedroom door closed behind him, and the shuffling form of young Roger slinked off into the night.
She reclined luxuriously on her massive bed, allowing her fingers to curl delightfully within herself as she allowed herself to imagine just what she had in store for him. Everything was going according to plan. She’d start slow, as any good Mother would. She’d teach him, and Roger would be her good little boy…
Yes. Layla liked the sound of that.
*****
The wind bit at his cheeks. It was just cold enough to make his nose run and sting his ears as he trudged on, always at a slight angle bent into the wind. Fairly quickly he regretted the choice not to take at least a windbreaker, but he was far too dejected and stubborn to turn back now. He shoved his hands into his pockets despondently, shoulders thrust up as high as they could go to guard him from the wind as best he could as he made his way between small islands of streetlight in an ocean of darkness. Each gust carried damp grass, wet pavement and the slight burn of the cold in his nose - loneliness distilled down into a sensory bouquet.
His steps scuffed the sidewalk, making tiny sprays as droplets flicked from his soles ahead of him, each heavier than the last. The weight of his disappointment sat on his shoulders and clung to his ankles like chains.
Impotently he kicked a soda can that had slowly begun to accumulate rainwater, the heft of it sailing into the gutter with a hollow thump.
“Auntie Layla will make it all better”.
That patronizing coo haunted him, twisting in his gut. It wasn’t just shame, it was hotter than that.
Frustration.
Frustration at her for dismissing him so out of hand, with himself for still wanting her and not being able to accept reality. He clenched his jaw until his teeth ached and didn’t stop even then.
He wanted her to see him not as some shy boy with a childhood crush, but for the man he was. He wanted her to see someone who would worship the ground she walked on and memorize every curve of her body like scripture.
The worst part of all was that deep down, whether he wanted to admit it to himself or not, he loved it when she spoke to him that way.
As he waxed his thoughts through the mechanical steps he took into the night, his frustration boiled away into resolve. If he was going to prove himself to her, to himself, to the universe at large that he wasn’t just a blushing virgin to be coddled, then he had to do something about it.
It hadn’t been his intention, at least not overtly, but he’d begun to steer himself towards the address, his subconscious had hitched a ride on the feelings bubbling from his stomach, and with each step he’d grown more determined and his path had grown more and more manifestly deliberate.
An old, painted metal street sign with black lettering hung from a nearby brick wall. It was rusted, but legible still.
“Gardenhose Lane.”
He stared up at it for some time. The irony wasn’t lost on him - that in wanting to prove himself a man he was responding to some spam text like a gullible horny teenager clicking on a pop-up ad. Roger hesitated, meditating on things. On some level he had just wanted to prove to himself he could walk here if he wanted to, and now he had; no need to take things any further.
As he made his way along the pavement, following the brick wall on his left, he couldn’t see much of anything. There was no break in the brickwork, no numbers or anything else for that matter. The opposite side of the street was just as opaque, in fact, endless brickwork without a window or door.
Maybe this was just one big prank. He half expected someone to rush out at him with a smart phone’s flashlight obnoxiously pointed into his face as some latest viral trend was carried out with him as the victim.
“This guy came to the middle of nowhere looking for true love!” He could practically see the shocked, open faced content creator on the thumbnail, and him sullenly and dejectedly looking back at the camera with all hope having long since faded.
He turned back, ready to go home. What was he really trying to accomplish here? What did he expect to prove? To gain?
Stunned, he stopped dead in his tracks. He was suddenly standing next to an old, green oak door with a wine-bottle stained glass panelled window, emerging from the seamless brickwork. Ornate, wrought iron numbering emblazoned “66”.
How had he not seen the door before?
The rain lashed at him now, swiftly encouraging him to assume he’d just missed it somehow. He was very decidedly wet by this point and if he lingered much longer that would progress to him being soaked. Had he really walked all this way to not at least find out what was inside?
His fingers hovered, trembling mid air between himself and the black iron door handle. Trembling not from the cold but the vehement debate within him. One warned him this was rock bottom - responding to some spam text and walking through the rain for what? To wind up standing in the street outside some mysterious door looking like a fool, at best about to learn this was some elaborate prank and at worst… Well, that didn’t bear thinking about.
But what if? Another voice growled, telling him he had nothing left to lose. Maybe fate had led him here for a reason. Maybe there was something more to this all than just his adolescent fantasies.
Rain dripped from his hair now and down to his collar, icy rivulets making their way down into his clothes and tracing cool fingers along his spine… as if urging him inside.
He reached for the door, yet it opened before he could touch the handle, sending a chill through him. A moment later a blast of warm air from within hit him with such force that he had to blink to get his vision back.
With one last dejected look back down the street, he peered through sputtering rain.
“You know that road. You know exactly where it ends.” He thought to himself. “Right back where you started.”
He entered, not noticing the door closing on its own behind him.