In the Dark of Night

My sister knocked on the door. I jumped and turned around.

'Shit, sorry, I was lost in my own world,' I replied.

'No surprise there,' she said. 'You must be writing again.'

'I am, a bit,' I agreed. 'I'm also pondering a little mystery I've found myself involved in.'

'Do tell,' she said.

'A woman comes around every Friday night for sex. I've never seen her face, because she never lets me turn the lights on.'

Annette laughed. 'That's even worse than the porn you used to write when you were a teenager. I still remember you saving all your stories as desktop icons on the home computer. You'd think that someone of your generation would have been a little less stupid.'

I ignored the rather embarrassing anecdote.

'Let's say it's true,' I said.

'Righty-o,' Annette was amused. 'And how did you meet this woman?'

'She just showed up one night. She knocked on the door, told me to turn the light out, and offered me sex.'

'What lunatic would agree to have sex with a complete stranger who knocked on the door and offered up unsolicited sexual relations?'

'A man.'

'A man? Good grief. You'd be looking for a special sort of specimen, Daz. I think most men would have enough common sense to realise that any woman coming to them with that sort of offer has either major mental health issues, or is planning on engaging in some sort of criminal activity.'

'What if I said she was perfectly normal?'

'I'd say you were dreaming.'

Without thinking, I stared down at the strands of blonde hair in my hand. Annette followed my gaze. She walked over, grabbed my wrist and stared at the hair.

'Holy shit Darren,' she swore, plucking out a few strands. She held them up in the sunlight. 'Please tell me this is some elaborate prank.'

I shook my head. 'It's not, but you can't tell anyone.'

'I'm not even sure what's happening here!'

'Me neither. A girl comes around and has sex with me. She won't let me turn on the light. She won't tell me her real name.'

'She came around last night?'

I nodded. 'Yep.'

'And you had sex with her?'

'Yep.'

'With a condom?'

'She's on the pill.'

'Oh my God.' She dropped the strands of Alice's hair back onto the bed. 'I'm related to a fucking idiot.'

'Really?' I joked. 'Who?'

Annette shook her head at me, absolutely flabbergasted at what she's just heard. 'What the fuck is going on out here? Your friend has a severely depressed wife. You're having unprotected sex with a strange, blonde woman who won't let you see her face while living in a fucking toilet block with bare concrete floors. This place is crazy.'

'They have good moonshine.'

She patted my shoulder. 'Suddenly I don't feel so bad about growing up in Logan.'

'So, uh, why do you think this girl won't tell me who she really is?'

'I, uh... I'm honestly lost. I'm still waiting for you to start laughing and telling me it's just a joke, or some weird storyline you've come up with.'

'No. Annette, seriously, this is actually happening.'

'And now you like her.'

'She's seen me naked and hasn't laughed.'

'She hasn't seen you naked,' Annette corrected. 'Wait... never mind. I don't actually want to know what you've been doing with her. I've read your pornographic tales. You have some 'interesting', shall we say, ideas running through your head.'

The front door to the house opened and Annette and I heard Carver walk in and call out.

'We're just in my room,' I said. 'Come in.'

Carver laughed. 'Is that how you do it in Logan? I knew there was a reason you weren't chasing any of the local girls.'

Annette nodded her head in the direction of the blonde strands of hair scattered across my bed.

'No,' I whispered. 'Don't tell him.'

~~~~~~~~~

It was fucking boring not seeing Alice, though she was good enough to email me a few times. I sent her a picture of me in clothes and one without. She responded with 'sexy!' but didn't send me any more photos of her. She said she was busy, but couldn't wait to see me again.

I couldn't wait to see her again, either. After a boring weekend at home wishing I was at my weekender screwing Alice, I took a week off work. My tax return had arrived and I'd received a few thousand dollars, most of which I planned on spending on my house.

For the first few days I just cleaned up all of the odds and ends that Carver had told me would go some way to preventing a raging bushfire quickly spreading and destroying everything I owned. I thought that was pretty good motivation to get my arse into gear.

Towards the end of the week, I finished the last little bits of touch up paint on my house. I still had to do the trims but didn't have any paint, so on Friday morning I went into Warwick to buy some. As I was paying, my card split in two. It had been on it's death knell for a few weeks but I'd been hoping it would kind of hold on until some undetermined point in the future where presumably I'd have the motivation to call my bank and sort the matter out.

'Payment went through,' the check-out assistant said. 'Lucky last one, aye?'

'Yeah, I'll say,' I agreed.

I took my paint, masking tape and paintbrushes out to my Subaru. Most people have the good sense to have various credit and key cards. Not me. I had one savings account to which I had no keycard access and which currently contained two thousand four hundred dollars, an everyday account which was linked to the broken card and contained thirty-one hundred, and a wallet which contained two dollars and fifteen cents. The latter was most certainly not going to get me through the next couple of days, nor would it pay for the fuel I'd need to travel back to Logan.

Alice was due to come around that night and I was so happy at the prospect of seeing her again that the broken card barely made me skip a beat. I drove to the local branch of my bank, parked my car and walked inside. It was by now nine-thirty am and there were quite a few customers waiting in line.

The bloke standing in front of me was from the Brewer's Club, and when he saw me, we exchanged polite greetings. He asked me how my attempts at making beer were faring.

'Not bad,' I said. 'I made some back home a few weeks ago and I bought a few bottles with me this week.'

'If you've brewed it at home, you've made it with a different water source to the rest of us.'

'I suppose so,' I agreed. 'You reckon that'd make much of a difference?'

'We'll find out tonight.'

Neither of us knew anything about brewing beer, not really, but we enjoyed bullshitting and pretending we did.

The queue inched forward. I waved good-bye to my fellow brewer as he was called up to a window, then waited my turn. I still wasn't the slightest bit perturbed by the interruption to my morning. If anything, it was nice to be out and about, talking to actual people rather than indulging my usual talking-to-myself habit.

A teller finished dealing with a customer and called me up. I walked over, broken keycard in hand, and smiled apologetically at the woman. I recognised her; she'd dealt with me when I purchased my weekender. As it had been a cash purchase, and my savings account was also with this bank, she'd helped me fill out the ridiculous amount of forms needed to authorise the payment. She was a pretty lady, with a face full of expertly applied make-up which almost covered a birthmark on her cheek. It was a distinctive birthmark, pink and probably half the size of a five dollar note, but it didn't detract from her looks. Some people wear their flaws well.

'Hey,' I said. 'I broke my keycard and I have two dollars and fifteen cents cash. Can I organise a new card and possibly withdraw some money?'

She stared at me with an expression I couldn't interpret. Maybe she thought I was an idiot. Who only carries two dollars cash?

'I have ID,' I added. 'My driver's license, Medicare card, and a few loyalty cards, as well as the broken card. That's enough, right?'

She managed to compose herself. 'Of course.'

I handed my card over. 'Could I get two hundred out please? I need to get petrol. I don't live out here I only stay out here on weekends.'

'Yes, yes, I...' she was incredibly nervous. 'Yes, and I can organise a new card for you. It'll be sent to your regular address. It'll take up to five days, so if you need money before then, just pop into a branch.'

Her voice. I knew it. My eyes widened. I stared at her, taking in the plump figure, big tits and blonde hair. I read her name tag. Kirsten. I stared at her nails, cut short and painted dark, no doubt to hide the ravage a weekend's work on the farm had caused.

My mystery blonde visitor was none other than a cute blonde bank teller.

She knew I'd recognised her, I could see it in her eyes. I knew and she knew, and it was fucking horrible not because she wasn't what I expected, because she was fucking gorgeous, but because she was terrified and that just stuck at my heart like a knife.

'Hi,' I said, as gently and non-threateningly as I could. 'Jesus. So this is how you knew me.'

She nodded quickly. Her hands were shaking. 'Please don't say anything.'

'No, no, I won't,' I replied quickly. 'Alice... Kirsten... I'm sorry.'

Kirsten shook her head, her eyes still wide with fear. 'Please... just... I'll get you your money and organise a new card.'

She bent her head down and tapped away at her computer. As a matter of diligence rather than necessity she checked my ID against the system before handing me my cash. Her hands were still shaking.

'You'll be sent a survey in the next twenty-four hours,' she whispered. 'About my performance...'

'...yeah,' I agreed. 'We talked about this last time, how fucked up it is that everything is monitored these days, how customers are pestered by banks, and how tellers worry about giving customers bad news in case they're rated badly. It's shitty, isn't it? Don't worry. You're perfect. Don't worry about anything.'

She handed me the money and returned my cards. As I stuffed them into my wallet, I saw her touch her face, right where the birthmark was. God, it just fucked with me, seeing her so worried. The birthmark was nothing, nothing at all.

'I'll see you tonight, hey?' I asked. 'If you want, I'll turn out the lights. But I don't want to. I didn't want to at the beginning, and I definitely don't want to now.'

Kirsten didn't respond.

I left the bank with my heart in a vice and my stomach turning.

~~~~~~~~~~

Alice - Kirsten - didn't show up that night. I waited until one o'clock in the morning before going to bed, and it was well past two before I actually fell asleep.

I'd emailed her shortly after leaving the bank for unintentionally identifying her but she hadn't responded. I suppose that's when I first realised she probably wasn't going to come around, but I'd held out hope. I thought that perhaps after she got over the shock, she'd be able to laugh at the situation.

I'd emailed her again late in the afternoon asking if she was still coming around. I jokingly told her the council toilet was now looking even less like public facilities after the trim had been painted. All I needed was a garden out the front and it'd look distinctly cottage-y.

Again, Kirsten hadn't responded. I'd cleaned up the inside of my house, showered, shaved off a week's worth of beard, and went to the Brewer's Club meeting only briefly. I was home by nine. Dressed nicely, the way you'd dress for a woman you wanted to impress, by twenty past.

After she failed to either appear or respond to an email, I sent her a third. It was twelve o'clock at night when I sent it.

Hi Kirsten, just wanted to make sure you're alright and nothing bad has happened. If you just want me to disappear out of your life I'll be disappointed but I also understand. I'd just appreciate if you could talk to me about why it matters so much that your identity was a mystery to me. I'm really confused by this whole matter. I just want some closure.

Probably not my finest literary effort, but there it was.

Honestly, I was a bit fucking miffed. I hadn't broken my word. I hadn't tried to identify her. I hadn't gone around blabbing that I was screwing her. If she didn't want to see me again, that was her choice, but I felt she owed me at least some indication of her intentions.

The weekend passed. There was nothing. It was almost as if I meant nothing to her except as an anonymous root, and I couldn't help but wonder if that was all she'd ever wanted. It was me who had decided he wanted something else.

~~~~~~~~~

Annette had lunch with me that week.

'Where are we up to with our mystery blonde?' she asked.

'I accidentally found out who she was, she freaked out, and she's stopped coming around.'

'Accidentally, or accidentally-on-purpose?'

'Accidentally.'

Annette stirred her coffee. She always drank coffee, even when it was the middle of fucking summer. 'What's she like? Cute?'

'I thought so. Blonde, chubby, big tits, lots of make-up.'

'How much make-up?'

'Tons. She has a birthmark on her face, though, and I reckon she's probably trying to hide it.'

'Poor girl. I always felt sorry for people who have obvious disfigurements. You'd be surprised at how much it can impact on their lives. How old is she?'

'I'd say somewhere in her mid-twenties.'

'If she hadn't had sex with you, would you have been interested in her?' Annett asked. 'Would you have asked her out to dinner?'

'Probably not. Too young and she looks fairly high maintenance. I doubt she is, but she looks it, y'know?'

'Someone six years younger than you is too young for you?'

'Not necessarily, but she seems to be. She's very...' I struggled to find the words, without revealing more than I wanted to. 'Inexperienced in certain aspects of life.'

'Sex? Relationships?'

'Let's say 'both'.'

Annette stared at me thoughtfully.

'What?' I asked.

'Let's go back to basics,' she said. 'Why'd she pick you? What's so special about you that you were the one she propositioned? If we're to be frank, you're not ugly, but you're not handsome. You don't have money. You aren't slick and sophisticated. You dress well, but presumably not in the style she's accustomed to men dressing in.'

'I just assumed it was because I was an out of towner and wouldn't recognise her.'

'There's a raceway in Warwick, and they hold rodeos. Plenty of blokes would be coming into town from wherever it is they came from. Between cars and horses you'd imagine there would be a good mix of city and country, so if 'city' was her preferred demographic she wouldn't struggle to find someone from an urban background. And if she's reasonably attractive and can make eye contact, you've got to assume that at least one of these men would have tried his luck with her.'

'You're forgetting that she's paranoid about someone finding out. I think it was important to her that she came to me, not the other way around.'

'Are you confident she's not married? Maybe to someone who's not meeting her sexual needs, but is otherwise giving her what she wants?'

'She's not married.' I pushed my food around my plate. 'And we'd met before, briefly, when I bought my house. We'd chatted a few times.'

'You didn't mention that.'

'Sorry, my bad.'

'Did you get on well?'

'Yeah, no bad. She was friendly.'

Annette was intrigued. 'I'd love to know what was through her mind.'

'Me too, but I don't reckon she's going to tell me. She's either scared, pissed off, or both. Carver's happy, though. He texted me this morning. Said to say thanks to you, because there was an hour or two last night where his wife seemed significantly happier.'

'Mm, I'm glad. Poor woman.'

We ate our lunch.

As we were leaving, Annette said the nicest thing to me she'd said in years.

'Her loss if she doesn't want to be with you.'

~~~~~~~~

I felt better for my conversation with Annette. I licked my wounds, wrote three thousand words on my latest story and faffed around on home brewing forums for longer than I care to admit. Okay, let's be frank; I wanted to have the best home brewed beer. I knew I couldn't beat the mad farmer at his whiskey game, but beer was his weakness and I wanted to exploit that.

Yes, I know, sad, sad, but we all have a competitive streak buried somewhere within us.

At ten o'clock I was wondering if was horny or not and checking my email. To my utter surprise, there was an email from Kirsten.

I read through it quickly. The contents weren't just surprising, they were flabbergasting. Confusing. Enlightening, too, but mostly I was just left with a sense of 'Oh fuck, what have I done?'

Her email read;

Hi Darren

I'm sorry for not coming around on Friday night, and not responding to your emails. I panicked when you came into the bank and recognised me. I was only ever going to go around to your house once. I just wanted to lose my virginity. Now I have no fucking idea what you want, and no idea what to do next, and I'm sorry. Really, really sorry. Also, I'm worried you might feel obligated about dating me because of the birthmark. I know it's hard to ignore.

Kirsten

I closed out of my inbox, put my phone on the bedside table, turned out the light and stared at the ceiling in the darkness. I felt all kinds of shit. Poor bloody woman. All she'd wanted was a single, sexual experience, and I'd lined her up for weeks of it, and been pretty damn... Oh, what was the word? Perverse? Pushy?... with my desires. Then I'd started having feelings for her. Messy. Really messy.

After an hour of tossing and turning, cursing and regretting how I'd treated her, I responded to her email.

Hi Kirsten

Thanks for getting in touch. I had no idea you were a virgin; had I known, I would have done the right thing and sent you on your way that first night. I have a bit of an issue with separating sex - particularly when it occurs on several occasions - from emotion. You don't need that bullshit, not if you were just after sex. I know I was pushy and quite inappropriate at times.

I'm grossly embarrassed and ashamed. Thank-you for your good grace in responding to me, and please rest easy in the knowledge that I will never breathe a word of this to anyone.

Best wishes,

Darren

Again, not the best of literary efforts.

~~~~~~~~

Kirsten emailed me at ten past seven the following morning.

I liked you, too. That's part of why I panicked! I was trying very hard to keep it just to sex.

It was twelve past seven when I saw the message, and quarter past when I responded.

Kristen, you don't have to keep it to sex!! You're beautiful, sexy, great fun to be with and you make me laugh. It's also kinda hot that a bank teller can also get her hands dirty on a dairy farm.

Kristen emailed me back straight away.

Hah, if you heard me whine about my nails getting messed up you wouldn't say that! I'm getting them fixed today - Dad is footing the bill because he feels guilty :) Or maybe he's just sick of me whinging.

I decided to take a risk.

Can I see them? Maybe if I were to pick you up and take you out for dinner?

Kristen took four, long hours to respond.

How about I come to your house, where you normally live? I'd rather not have an entire community watch me fumble through my first date in three years.

If that's what she wanted, I was more than happy with that.

~~~~~~~~~~~

There was an accident between Kirsten's house and mine, and it was eight thirty when she finally arrived. She was nervous and flustered, I was much the same.

But fuck, she was beautiful. Blue jeans, a black long-sleeved top that was off the shoulder and exposed a lot of cleavage, no jewellery other than earrings and light make-up.