Jakantha by Amiel Rossin

Jake drove his convertible Mustang up Highway 1, the Pacific Ocean stretching into oblivion on his left, his girlfriend Samantha sitting far to his right, as if she planned to throw the door open and roll onto the blacktop at any moment.  They were on their way to a little B&B that Sam had discovered online (one Yelp reviewer called it ‘kitschy but tolerable’), and although neither of them said so out loud, they both knew that if this weekend was a disaster, their relationship would never recover.

Things had started off like a fairy tale.  Like From Justin to Kelly or Glitter or the remake of Swept Away.  But now Jake and Samantha (or Jakantha as they were sometimes known) were standing on the precipice of a sheer drop to Splitsville.  Jake couldn’t bear the thought.  His Facebook friends would say they were sorry, sad face, luv sux, oh poo.  His real friends would say they told him so.  “Always knew Sam was trouble,” they’d say.  “Always knew it wouldn’t last.”  Jake envisioned himself sitting in a dark corner of his bedroom, halfway through his third bottle of Strawberry Hill, listening to Leona Naess sing ‘Ballerina’ over and over again.  He had already downloaded the song.  Just in case.

As Big Sur stretched out ahead of them, Jake thought of the day when he and Sam first met.  It was at a Sears just outside Hemet.   Jake had been in the women’s’ department looking for a birthday gift for his sister, when he and Sam caught each other’s eyes.  She was wearing a stunning red dress, having just returned from a cocktail party where she’d eaten pigs in a blanket for the first time.  Jake (a foodie) had laughed.  God, it was the first time he’d laughed in years.  They talked, they flirted, people stared.  Jake didn’t care.  He swept Samantha off her feet that night, and they’d never looked back.

Until now.

Jake was all for trying new things in the bedroom, but what Sam had asked of him was, at best, startling.  She wanted Jake to hit her.  Not a smack on the tush, but a punch in the face.  Jake refused at first, but when Samantha burst into tears and said that Jake must think she’s a freak, he couldn’t deny her.  And so it began.  The first night he gave her a black eye, the next night a broken nose, the next night — well, let’s just say it was bad.  Jake had no idea what Sam was telling her doctor and her boss, but they must have been damn good stories cuz those guys fell for it real easy.

And then one night over dinner, Sam had a look on her face that Jake had never seen before.  It was a ‘come hither’ look, rolled up in a sinister look, as if a crazy sexy idea was brewing in Sam’s head.  And crazy it was.

Samantha wanted Jake to break her fingers.

Jake had spit up his wine, thinking she must be joking, but when Sam got to her feet and Jake saw that she was already holding a meat hammer, he knew this was as far from a joke as you can get.  Jake downed four glasses of wine before he worked up the courage to break all five fingers on Sam’s right hand.  She screamed after the first one.  But the next three only made her wince.  And the last one made her giggle, then orgasm.  While Jake was throwing up on the floor over what he’d done, Sam was shrieking in ecstasy.

“Now cut them off,” Sam said.

Jake had looked at her with regurgitated pasta sliding down his chin.  “What?”

“My fingers.  They’re useless now.  You need to cut them off.”

“They’ll heal.  There’s an urgent care clinic just down — ”

“They’ll never be the same.  Please, Jake.  If you don’t, someone else will.”

She was threatening him.  Goddammit she was threatening him.  But the choice between losing Samantha or cutting off her fingers was an easy one.

“I’ll do it,” Jake said.  “But…let’s sleep on it, ok?  Take some time to think it over?”

Sam went to the kitchen drawer and rifled through the knives.  But when she turned around, she was holding a dessert spoon.

Jake threw up again.

The next morning, Jake watched Samantha sleep.  A tight bandage had been secured to the stringy stubs where her fingers used to be.  And there was a smile — a contented smile on her face.  And Jake knew this wouldn’t be the end of her “special” requests.

It wasn’t.  As Jake drove his Mustang up the coast, he snuck a glance at Sam.  She wore dark sunglasses and her blonde hair was blowing in the wind.  She was laughing.  At what?  Jake had no idea.  He would say she was all teeth, but there were none left.  He’d say she looked like Marilyn Monroe in “Some Like it Hot,” but Marilyn had two arms and two legs.  Samantha had one of each.  And Jake, after all Sam had asked him to do and all he’d done — still thought she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.  He still wanted her.  Not a minute went by that he didn’t wonder how sick he was, if he needed psychiatric help, if he should be tossed into a padded cell.  But not a second went by that he wasn’t reminded of how deeply he loved Samantha.

Of course, if things didn’t go well at the B&B, it would be over.  Not just their relationship, but possibly Samantha herself.  Sam wanted Jake to take her to the edge of death, then bring her back at the last possible moment.  She’d told him in so many words (and as well as she could without any teeth) that if he chickened out, that would be it.  She would leave him.  Jake imagined her hopping away from him on one leg and flipping him off with her one middle finger.  Jake’s heart would implode.

“You’re not thinking of turning the car around, are you, Jake?”

Jake swallowed.  “I’m nervous is all.  Terrified actually.  But there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to make you happy.  I can’t lose you, I can’t.”

Sam kissed Jake on the cheek.  “I know,” she said, before reaching for the zipper on his jeans (thankfully it was her right arm he’d cut off; her left was perfectly capable).  And it was at that very moment that a police siren startled them both.

“Shit.”  Jake watched the patrol car getting closer.  “Shit, shit, shit.”

“Sweetie, relax.  Pull over, keep your hands on the wheel, and act normal.”

“Normal?  What about you?”

“You think he’s never seen a cripple before?  If anything, you’ll get off with a warning.”

“You have fresh cuts on your face!”

“Tell him I fell.  I’m clumsy on one leg.  Now pull over before he calls for backup and we end up on the local news.”

Jake carefully crossed to the shoulder and stopped his car.  He turned it off, rolled down his window, and kept his hands firmly on the steering wheel.  The officer took an excruciating amount of time to approach the Mustang, and sweat began to moisten Jake’s forehead.

The officer leaned close to Jake’s window.  “Sir, do you know why I pulled you over?”

“I was doing 80 in a 65, I know,” Jake spat.  “But everyone was doing it, officer, everyone.”

The policeman leaned closer.  He looked Samantha up and down.  “What the hell happened to her?”

“She told me to do it!” Jake screamed.  “She made me do everything!  I was coerced!  Please, you have to believe me, I didn’t want to, but I had no choice!”

The officer stared back at Jake.  “She made you take the carpool lane?”

“Wh — what?”

“The doll.  The dime-store mannequin with one leg.  You blaming her?”

Jake looked at Sam.  She smiled and shrugged.

The officer chuckled as he wrote up a citation.  “Wait’ll the guys hear about this.  Here you go, champ.  Occupancy violation.  I guess that’s got two meanings in your case.”

The officer laughed his way back to his car.

“You had no choice, huh?  You were coerced?”  said Sam.  “I made you do it?”

“I’m sorry.  I panicked.  I thought I was going to — ”

“Jail?  For what?  The most they can get you for is shoplifting from a fucking Sears.”  Sam sat back and shook her head.  “When we get to the B&B, sneak me in the back.  When we leave, we can go out the front door together.”

“How?”  I don’t want anyone gawking at you.  Laughing at you.  You saw how he –”

“By the time this weekend’s over, I’ll be small enough to fit in your suitcase.”

Sam grinned as she opened Jake’s pants and pulled out his cock.

It was amazing how her stroke felt so much like his own.

 

Amiel Rossin

Banner Image: Pixabay.com

5 thoughts on “Jakantha by Amiel Rossin

  1. This gives credence to what I’ve always thought goes on in the carpool lane. I find this well done and funny in an extremely creepy sort of way. The way I look at it, if people weren’t mostly mentally, um, unique, there’d be little to write about.
    L.A.

    Like

  2. The first play I ever wrote was about a psychiatrist in love with a beautiful mannequin he stole from a shop window. My psychiatrist would have understood Jake and perhaps helped him. Anyway, this is one hellova read. Best wishes, June

    Like

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