Fluorescent lights flicker overhead as I slide my timecard through the ancient punch clock. Another shift done, another handful of dollars to my name. The store's night sounds, humming refrigerators, buzzing lights, the gentle hiss of the soda fountain, have become my life's soundtrack.
"Alright, I'm out," I tell Anne as she settles behind the register, her college textbook already open beside the till. Her blonde hair is pulled into a tight bun, dark circles under her eyes betraying the struggle of balancing education with minimum wage survival.
"Goodnight, Dan," she replies without looking up from her homework.
"Night," I mutter, pushing through the staff door into the cool night air.
The word "cuck" echoes through my mind like a ricocheting bullet. Holly's voice, sharp and accusatory in her car today. "That makes you a cuck, you know that, right?" The question follows me as I start toward the street.
'Do I like the fact that my girlfriend is a prostitute?'
The truth is, I don't know how I feel about it. My emotions are a tangled mess I can't unravel, jealousy twisting through my gut while something darker and more confusing pulses beneath it.
A part of me hates sharing Emily. Hates knowing other men touch her, pay for her time, experience the same intimacy I treasure. That hatred burns cold in my chest, making it hard to breathe sometimes when I think about it too deeply.
But there's this other feeling that makes no sense, a strange, electric thrill that races through me when I imagine her with someone else. The pain in my heart somehow transforms, making it beat faster in a way that hurts but... almost hurts good? Like pressing on a bruise just to feel the ache.
Maybe I'm broken? Maybe years of loneliness have rewired something fundamental inside me. Normal guys would probably walk away, but I…
A car horn beeps, yanking me from the spiral of my thoughts. I look up to see Emily's sedan idling in the Quick Mart parking lot, her silhouette visible through the driver's side window. My heart does that familiar stutter-step it always does when I see her unexpectedly.
She rolls down the window as I approach, her smile visible even in the dim glow of the parking lot lights.
"You're all done?" I ask, glancing at my phone. 12:04 AM.
"Yeah, I finished a little bit early. Figured I'd come pick you up."
I slide into the passenger seat, unable to stop the smile spreading across my face. She's still wearing that stunning black dress from earlier, but it looks hastily thrown back on now, slightly askew at the neckline. Her white hair, so carefully styled before she left, is now disheveled, loose strands escaping from what remains of her elegant updo.
"Hi," she says softly, reaching across to squeeze my hand.
"Hi yourself," I reply, my eyes drinking in the sight of her. There's something raw and beautiful about her like this, makeup slightly smudged, perfection undone. "How was your... appointment?"
Emily's smile falters, and she glances away, her fingers sliding from mine.
"We don't need to discuss all that," she says quietly, adjusting her dress strap with practiced nonchalance. "How about you? How was work tonight?"
"Good," I shrug, settling back into the passenger seat as she pulls out of the parking lot. "Just another day of stocking energy drinks and selling lottery tickets to people who can't afford them."
"That's good," she murmurs, her eyes fixed on the road ahead.
We fall into comfortable silence as the car glides through empty streets. The streetlights cast rhythmic patterns across her face, illuminating her profile in flashes of amber. Even disheveled, she's breathtaking.
Emily glances at me, her expression softening. "You looked deep in thought when I pulled up. Standing there in the parking lot, a million miles away."
"Yeah," I admit. "I guess I was."
"What were you thinking about?" She keeps her voice casual, but I can hear the genuine curiosity beneath it.
Heat creeps up my neck as I consider lying, making up something mundane about work schedules or bills. But this thing between us only works with honesty, however uncomfortable.
"Holly drove me to work today," I confess, studying my hands. "She, uh... she called me a cuck."
Emily's sharp intake of breath cuts through the quiet car interior. Her knuckles whiten on the steering wheel.
"She said what?" The dangerous edge in her voice makes me look up.
"It's fine," I say quickly, though it's clearly not. "I mean, technically she's not wrong."
Emily pulls the car over abruptly, tires crunching on gravel as we come to rest at the curb. She kills the engine and turns to face me fully, her blue eyes blazing in the dim light.
"No, it is absolutely not fine," she says, each word precise and controlled. "My daughter has no right to speak to you that way. None."
I shift uncomfortably under her intense gaze. "Emily, seriously, it's okay. She was just trying to get a rise out of me."
"And did she?" Emily asks, her voice softer now, almost vulnerable. "Get a rise out of you?"
I sigh, feeling the conversation drifting away from what I was actually processing in the parking lot. "It's not about being upset," I say finally. "I wasn't thinking about whether Holly's words hurt me or not."
Emily tilts her head, confusion crossing her features. "Then what were you thinking about?
"I was thinking about how..." The words catch in my throat, embarrassment burning through me. "How my heart beats faster when I imagine you with other men. It's confusing as hell, but it's there."
Emily's eyes widen slightly, a knowing smile slowly spreading across her lips. "I noticed something earlier today," she says, her voice dropping to that intimate tone that makes my skin tingle. "When I was taking care of you before I left? When we started talking about my appointment tonight, you got harder in my hand."
The memory sends heat rushing through me. "Yeah, but..." I look away, staring out the passenger window at the empty sidewalk. "Cucks are losers, right?"
Emily's hand finds my chin, gently but firmly turning my face back toward hers. Her eyes lock with mine, intense and unwavering.
"Listen to me," she says, each word deliberate. "Nothing you do or want will ever make me think you're a loser, Danny. Not ever."
Her free hand slides across my thigh, finding its way to my crotch. Even through my uniform pants, her touch sends electricity through my body. She rubs me slowly, deliberately, watching my face as I harden beneath her palm.
"If this is something you want to explore," she continues, her voice a husky whisper, "we can. We can talk about it, figure out what parts excite you." Her fingers trace the outline of my growing erection. "Or if you want to never bring it up again, we can do that, too, baby. Whatever makes you comfortable."
I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. "I don't understand why it turns me on," I admit. "Shouldn't I be jealous? Shouldn't I hate it?"
Emily's fingers trace a teasing circle on my thigh as she considers me, her professional smile softening into something more genuine.
"What do you think of when you think of cucks?" she asks, tilting her head. Her white hair catches the dim streetlight filtering through the car window.
I flush, feeling exposed. "I don't know. Like in hentai, I guess? Some pathetic loser watching his wife get fucked from outside the bedroom, jerking off and crying while she moans for another guy."
Emily laughs, the sound warm and free of judgment. "I'm not really familiar with hentai beyond what clients occasionally request, but no, that's not what it's like at all." Her hand slides higher up my thigh. "Usually it's more like the wife will go out, get fucked, and then come home to her husband, who reclaims her. There's something primal about it, marking your territory after someone else has been there."
My breath catches as her words sink in. The mental image forms before I can stop it, Emily returning to me after being with another man, her body still carrying traces of someone else's touch.
"How does it feel," she whispers, leaning closer until her lips brush my ear, "to think about fucking me after I put in a hard night's work?"
I close my eyes, letting myself really consider the question. My cock throbs beneath her palm, answering before my brain can catch up. The jealousy is still there, a cold knot in my stomach, but it's tangled up with something hotter, darker, more urgent.
"Exciting," I admit, the word barely audible even in the quiet car.
Emily's smile widens, her eyes sparkling with understanding. "That's what I thought." She shifts in her seat, her dress riding up slightly to reveal more of her thighs. "You know what I was thinking about tonight, with my client?"
My heart hammers against my ribs. "What?"
"Coming home to you." Her hand moves from my thigh to cup my face. "The whole time, I was thinking about how I'd be returning to my sweet boy who loves me exactly as I am."
Something fierce and protective surges through me. I lean across the center console and capture her mouth with mine, tasting her expensive lipstick and something else, the faint trace of mint, as if she'd brushed her teeth before picking me up.
When we break apart, Emily's breathing is as ragged as mine. "Let's go home," she breathes against my lips. "I want you to reclaim me properly."
I exhale slowly, my heartbeat pounding in my ears like a war drum. The air between us feels charged, heavy with possibility and something darker that I'm only beginning to understand about myself.
"Alright."