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An Erotic Tale, Told in Several Volumes, by Nick Faraway, or: /u/YourFavoriteEscape Author’s Note: (What follows is a bit of an indulgence on my behalf. Feel free to skip down to the first chapter if you aren’t interested in reading about the craft of writing or my thoughts on the paradoxical nature of erotic fiction.) If ever there was a medium unfit to convey the raw, carnal expression that is sexuality, literature would be it. In contrast, consider photography, film and or even music; each of those are more capable than the written word of capturing the ecstasy of sex. They can capture it viscerally, with immediacy. But there’s simply no sequence of well-chosen words that could be equally as arousing as experiencing what those words were intended to evoke. This is the paradoxical nature I’m talking about. Now, with that all in mind, I’d like to make a case for why I even bothered writing this story, if it’s true that I believe erotica is a flawed genre. Well, I do happen to believe that the written word is the best medium for taking us inside the mind of a character; giving us the chance to experience their thoughts the same way we experience our own: as just a voice speaking to us inside our heads. This creates a far more intimate bond with the character and their motivations, I think. With this story, I intend to explore the mental landscapes of two very different characters, then create an emotional triangle between them and the reader. I also wanted to create a strong sense of tone and theme (with enough literary things to chew on after reading, if you're the type); characters that are both specific and identifiable; and, last but not least, I wanted to make you feel a little less lonely on a Winter night (or a Summer night, I suppose; when-ever it is you've found me, dear reader). I do hope you come back for more and please, please leave your feed-back below. Any spelling or format corrections will be greatly appreciated. And you will be able to find links to the following volumes in the comments, when they are ready. Thank you for reading! Volume One: 'Sonder' "n. The realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk." [via dictionaryofobscuresorrows.com] 1. A Taxi to No-Where (December 3rd, 9:43 PM) I buried my hands deep into the pockets off my jeans, then clenched my fingers into two tingling fists and looked up at the night sky, preying the time might pass faster. The mountains on the horizon were already too dark to distinguish from the black sky behind them. The stars were faint, too, barely visible, as if they were on dimmer-switches. I tried to keep watch for my taxi, but it was too hard to see down the dark street. The only light came from the tall lamp-posts; looking up into the thick snow fall, those street-lights looked like floating orbs. That image, combined with the pleasantly muffled sound of Christmas carollers coming from somewhere near-by, should have been an irresistible recipe for pure Holiday wonder; but I felt anything but that, to be honest. I felt cold. Utterly alone. What am I even doing?, I asked myself, kicking the toes of my heavy boots at the fresh snow. Why the fuck am I waiting out in the cold for a taxi?– When I know I don’t have any-where to go… I thought about having a cigarette while I waited, but it wouldn’t be worth it to expose my hands to the chill any longer than necessary. But then, I reconsidered: I’ll be cold not matter what I do, but at least this way maybe time will pass a little quicker. A number of taxis passed me, but none of them pulled up beside the curb when I raised my hand to signal for them. As my cigarette burned down to the filter, I tried to think of somewhere I wanted to go… A bar, maybe? The movies? A cafe? Each idea seemed empty and hollowed-out of its potential. I glanced over my shoulder and saw the apartment-building I lived in out-lined against the black sky behind it. The balconies were occupied by barbecues, hibernating under thick sheets of snow, but no people. I looked back down the dim street for my taxi, then seeing nothing, I turned my head over my shoulder again. Should I walk back?, I wondered, feeling anxious. Through several of the windows, I spotted TV’s emitting fluorescent images into otherwise darkened rooms; a couple laying beside each other in bed, both reading by the light of their bed-side lamps; an elderly man leaning out of his bathroom window, smoking just like I was. Sonder, I thought. It was a word I’d just recently learned, while surfing online – not a real word, mind you, but it was the perfect one to describe how I was feeling in that moment. Sonder… I took a last drag from my cigarette, then tossed it down onto the snow beneath me, where it hissed for a second before being extinguished by my boot. The realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—an epic story that continues invisibly around you. Turning away from the apartment-building, I began to wander absently down the side-walk. Fuck it, I thought. *I’ll tell the taxi-driver to take me downtown – or at least in that direction – then I’ll figure it all out from there. * I looked up and saw two head-lights swell under the flurry of snow-flakes, growing bigger as they drew nearer; they blossomed, like flowers made of light, then exploded into a million glittering threads of refraction. I blinked against the glare, then saw that the cab had begun to crawl down the street, as if the driver were straining to spot his passenger through the blankets of falling snow. I stepped forward, holding one quivering hand up into the air, half expecting the cab to drive right past me... The taxi continued to crawl down the road, steady and slow. I raised my hand a little higher, forcing my stiff fingers to stretch out; a little like jazz-hands, it occurred to me. The cab pulled to a stop. I shifted my back-pack higher up onto my shoulders, then ran toward the cab's back-seat, feeling a whip made of icicles lash against my face. My blue fingers wrapped around the yellow door-handle and I tore it open, practically leaping inside in a single bound. The warmth inside the taxi hit my face first, smothering it like a pillow. Already, my hands were tingling from the change in temperature and my toes had started to throb. The driver must have had the heater cranked, and in that moment, I loved them for it. The cab was one of the van-types you’d usually see near the airport. Perfect for lots of suit-cases, I guess, but not the kind of cab you’d expect in the suburbs late at night. I made good use of the extra-room by stretching out my snow-caked boots and placing my back-pack on the row of seats opposite me. "Are you Nick?" The voice belonged to a woman; it was slightly smokey, raspy even. I looked up. A set of big, amber eyes met mine through the rear-view mirror and I found myself at a loss for words. "I have to make sure I picked up the right person", she said, patiently. "Yes, I’m Nick. Sorry for ripping the door off like that, but it’s murder out there." My voice stuttered a little; the warmth inside the cab had not yet melted the ice off my vocal-cords. "I bet", she chuckled. I’ve never had a woman as my cab driver before, I thought, realizing what a cliché that was a moment later. Like something out of a soft-core porn. The type they make in Italy, strictly for bored and unimaginative house-wives. "Why don’t you come sit up front?", she said. "It’s warmer up here, closer to the heaters." Her head turned over her shoulder, just slightly, giving me a glimpse of the side of her face; inky black skin, evenly toned: the exact opposite of snow. "I won’t bite, sweetie. C'mon..." 2. The Opposite of Snow (9:58 PM) Hair-dressers, cab-drivers, dentists… In my experience, they all seem to want conversation from you, as if it were a second form of payment for their services. Rarely do I feel more uncomfortable than when I'm answering their questions, always trying awkwardly to dodge any real substantive conversation. I avoid this chitter-chatter whenever possible, by staying quiet and keeping entirely to myself. I don’t know what did it that night – maybe it was the way those amber eyes narrowed on me, maybe it was the raspy way she kept said sweetie – but I found myself climbing back out of the cab, into the cold, then hopping into the passenger’s seat, instead. "So hey", I said, instinctively raising my hands from my lap toward the heaters on the dash-board. "How’s your night been going so far?" In exchange for my warmer position, I felt like I owed her at least a little conversation, even if I’d much rather stare quietly out the window at the falling snow, watching it the way a toddler watched a screen-saver. "I’m good", she said. "Finishing my shift in the hour, so I’m a happy-camper." I took a moment to look away from the life-giving heaters and take her in. She wore a red Winter jacket, unzipped, with grumpy lip-stick that matched. Her hair stood up on end, like a mushroom-cloud; it was jet black, with wisps of grey. If I had to guess her age, I would have said forty, maybe forty-five. Now… Where am I taking you to, sweetie?" "Honestly, I don’t know…" I expected her to react to that, to scold me for wasting her time, but instead, she simply waited for me to continue, her expression maintaining completely placid. After a second of thinking to my-self, I replied: "I was hoping you could take me toward downtown – that general area – then maybe, when we get closer, I’ll think of a bar or something I’d like to go to." "Sure", she said, pulling away from the curb. "We’ll cruise." Sensing no real exasperation from her, I settled back into my seat and wiggled my frosty toes inside my boots, attempting to spread the warmth to them. "Are you running away from something, honey? Is this your great escape?" She was looking side-ways at me, now; playful, with an underlinging note of suspicion. "It’s strange to not know where you want to go, is all." "No. Well, I guess. But I’m not running from anything literal, like the police, or something like that. Just the Winter blues, I suppose. I know that sounds silly…" "Not at all." She took a deep breath, her amber eyes darting over to me briefly, lingering. The was something about that look that tingled: it had an energy to it, a sense of over-awareness. Since our conversation had begun, there had been a growing lump in my throat. I couldn’t exactly say why I felt nervous, but it occurred to me for the first time that she might be feeling it, too. It’s like back in Biology class, I remembered. When I was paired with one of the girls for a project, there was always that tension. The boy/girl tension, only… Why am I feeling that now? "I know the feeling", , she continued. "I get it every year, like clock-work. And always a couple weeks before Christmas." She glanced at me again, smiling; this time the look felt more casual, but not completely absent of that tension. Why am I getting turned on? She’s… so much older than I am… She’d probably pull over and throw me out of her cab if she had any idea what I was thinking right now… Then, I realized I had gotten lost in my own thoughts. She was still talking: "I blame all of damn jingles on the radio and all the commercials about family." She paused to yawn, holding her milky black palm against her mouth delicately. "Do you have any family in town?" "No", I answered. "They’re back home. I’m just here for the University. What about you?– Do you have any family in town?" I realized that if I had been sitting in a hair-dresser’s chair, I’d have probably lied about my family and said they were in town for the sake of an easier narrative. I could hear myself do it: Oh yeah, big family, lots of celebrations, ahuh, eggnog, for sure. I just have zero desire to share my personal life with strangers, so most often, I simply tell them what I think they want to hear. But… Why didn’t I lie to her? Is it because I’m nervous? "Nope", she replied. "I don’t have much family. None that are living here in town." Another yawn – like a cat, I thought. "The radio has been shitting me all day. Fucking carols. Do you mind if I put a CD on? I thought I should ask befor–" "Go ahead", I said. "I’m okay with listening to just about anything." "Thanks." She opened the centre-console with one hand, fumbled blindly through it for the CD, then gave me a defeated glance. "Mind finding it in there for me? Blue case. Sorry sweetie, it’s full of junk, I know." There’s that word again, sweetie; it felt warm coming from here, like a surprise ray of light on a cloudy day. "Sure", I said, then began to rummage through the centre-console. Mints, spare receipt-pads, a library copy of ‘Fifty Shades of Gray’ (deep sigh), a few discarded candy-bar wrappers, a see-through blue CD-case, a brush, a set of– wait, that was it. I grabbed the CD-case, then closed the console. The label on it, written in bulky letters that didn’t entirely look feminine, read: "Christina’s Mix". I put the CD in the player, thinking to myself: so, it’s Christina, huh... Second Author’s Note: This is my second attempt at writing this particular serialized story. The first attempt lasted for many volumes, but eventually fizzled out. This time, I’m hoping to be able to give the tale the legs I always thought it deserved. If you are reading this for the second tim, I hope you found enough changes and little differences to make it worth your time. Going forward, expect a far few deviations from what you remember in volumes to come… And hey, if you were wondering what all that "Sonder" business was about, you should look up the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows on Youtube. If that is all you take away from this indulgently long post, then it'll be worth it. As always, your comments and feedback are indispensable. And lastly, thank you, dear reader! It’s always a pleasure when it comes to you. YourFavoriteEscape