Sex With My Bodyguard

In the past, I have always tried to do what's right. I was my parents' favorite child, their perfect little angel who would do everything to make them smile. The model student who never broke the rules in terms of homework completion or curfew observance.

Why would I want to start a fight? I had the ideal life, after all. Your dream home, complete with acreage to roam and a great climbing tree in the front yard, is waiting for you on this quiet, secluded neighborhood. They were the ideal parents: rigorous yet affectionate, and never, ever at odds with one another. The ideal circle of private school mates since kindergarten. Even the ideal male companion, who is kind, thoughtful, and courteous at all times.

Once I turned sixteen, everything changed.

A wet night. The arc was excessively steep. Front glass illuminated by blinding headlights.

After the vehicle accident that took the lives of my parents, I felt as if I awoke in a different universe. Where the opposites are true. What I fear most is a future without my family and friends. Exactly where I have zero resources.

Aside from David

A few days after the accident, he turned up. My parents made a stranger, an old army comrade of my dad's, my legal guardian, and I have no idea why. Perhaps they were caught completely off guard. In most cases, no.

I don't recall anything from that period since I was completely numb. Just that David paid little attention to me while he was preoccupied with the interminable arrangements for my parents' wakes and burial and, god, I don't even know. The fact that he was attractive enough to spark a thousand daydreams. Amidst my mourning and while shivering with a cold that has persisted to this day, I was nevertheless able to see it.

David sent me off to boarding school the day after my parents' deaths and has ignored me ever since.

Except when I get into trouble.

It was four years after that dreadful birthday that I finally found out how to catch his attention. A buddy of mine came up with the fantastic idea of taking a jet to Madeli for a long weekend of drinking and partying. Help me shake the specters associated with my birthday and move on. I was just eighteen and it was time for me to let go. Fun. The idea was ridiculous then, and it's still ridiculous today.

Have some fun if you have parents. People with enormous holes in their chests where love once resided aren't the ones who get to have all the fun.

I was bored out of my mind, so I made an effort to enjoy myself. It's far too entertaining. Too much booze. Too much sun. Overly many attractive Spanish guys with too friendly hands.

Okay, so I had emotions.

David came out of nowhere, all grim reaper-like, and took the man who was kissing his way up my stomach while I did body shots in a string bikini. Taking off his collared shirt, he stuffed my obnoxious, inebriated body into it and drove me back to school.

At that time, I had persuaded myself that he was not really so attractive, and that the whole thing had been a fabrication of my traumatized 16-year-old brain in response to the biggest tragedy of her life. My naiveté. That he was as attractive as I recalled, and even colder, was no surprise.

As a result, on my twentieth birthday, I did it once again. This is obviously a frat party, thus there will be costumes. My then-boyfriend had requested that I dress as skimpily as possible in a schoolgirl outfit. David frightened the guy so much that he nearly peed his pants, and then he drove me home in a safe manner. Again.

A custom was established. I gave up on trying to get an explanation from him about why he kept showing up. The one night of the year when he showed up unexpectedly became a kind of guidepost for me. Even if everything else in my life was falling apart, at least David would be there to make sure I didn't kill myself with alcohol on the one night of the year I hate myself the most.

So, when are we not talking about this?

Basically, I'm a pampered brat from a wealthy family. Inappropriately large sums of cash. One has an excessive number of phony pals. Way too many dudes are interested in me just for my physique, only to quickly lose interest once they see that I have flaws.

It's time for me to mature and tame my wild side. It's time to quit pining away for a guy who exists only as a ghost one night a year. I'll never really escape the night my parents died. What you've been through is etched into your very being. But it doesn't mean I have to wrap myself in the shackles of sadness and let it draw me down. No more.

I've been promising my therapist that I won't cut myself every year on my birthday to make sure I still bleed.

I'll do all the proper things afterwards.

This evening, though... It's my twenty-fifth birthday, and it starts at midnight. Nine years ago today, I lost my parents and was adopted. Those are certainly lucky numbers, and nobody can argue with me about that. The event will be one for the history books, I promise you that much. It was the best birthday I've ever had. One last attempt to find some kind of resolution.

After all, I am an old man now. For quite some time, that is.

It's no longer necessary for David to play the role of my rescuer. I'm not interested in it.

That which I really want is off-limits. For the last nine years, I've been an orphan, everything has gone wrong. In the nine years he's been my absentee guardian.

For one night only, I must have David. How else can I finally let go of the past? I can't be the only one who's noticed a sudden release of tension in the few times we've been together recently. I can't be the only one who's entertained steamy dreams about what we'd do if he ever lost control, can I?

I intend to find out tonight.

Smiling, I run a hand down the length of my dress. I have given a lot of thought to where to have this birthday party. Unlike when I turned twenty, this is neither a rave, crazy club, or especially intense home party. This birthday celebration has been the most reverent of my life.

The hotel bar is packed at such an early hour, and the clientele has bank balances that make my trust fund seem like chump cash. David will get more than raised eyebrows if he attempts to forcibly remove me from the premises.

That is, if he shows up at all.

A glass of scotch is placed in front of me, and I turn around on my barstool to get it. As I swirl it around in my glass, I can smell the pricey peat and admire its gorgeous color. Scotch is not a beverage I regularly partake in. There are too many memories, and even the pleasant ones are like a knife: a brief, euphoric respite followed by a searing agony. Indeed, even at this late hour.