Celia Capace - Header - name

A Lick


Kat and I became close. Eventually, she revealed that her feelings for me were becoming stronger. She'd married twice although she'd always been bisexual. Her sexuality evolved to where she enjoyed sex with males yet was no longer able to get emotionally attached. With females, she slept with those she felt romantically inclined only. With girls, it wasn't just a fuck for her. She was telling me all this one night because she had another revelation for me.  She liked me, lots. 

“You saying you fancy me?”, I said. I was still a little confused. 

“I'm telling you, I think I'm seriously falling for you”. 

Wow. I had no idea.

If it's true one is able to choose their sexuality I'd have turned there and then. I felt honoured. She was this tall, high cheeked busty blonde with amazing green eyes. She was the most fascinating person I'd encountered. The more I'd gotten to know her the more I liked her. I wished I could return her feelings but I already knew it was impossible. I told her all this. 

“Does the thought revolt you?” she asked me. 

“Not at all. I've been hit on by more women than men, practically.  One woman even pushed me up against the wall and went in for the hard kiss.”

“How did that make you feel?”, she probed.

“Really awkward. I felt nothing”, I provided in reply, much to her disappointment.

“You're straight”, she sighed. “If you'd said it scared or revolted you there might have been some repression going on and I'd be in with a chance. If you were bored, I'm fucked. You're straight”. 

“Very straight, I'm afraid. A biker did that to me too, not long into our first encounter. It ended being one of my longest and happiest relationships. 


What can I say, an extreme cis male is my type. Males with a strong personality although not bad boys, for strong doesn't always mean good. I think it's because of my own strong personality as I can overwhelm if not kept in check. 

I need someone who can stand up to me, when warranted, or I can overtake. I'm not talking alpha males. The biker had no problem with his feminine side. What I mean by feminine is by being nurturing, not by dressing up or acting 'girly'.  That added to my attraction, greatly. 

At the start of my relationship with the outlaw (a term used for real bikers, for those not in the know), my illness caused some problems. Men are problem solvers by nature. Many a time male and female relationships suffer in the misunderstanding of women venting to their partner. Ladies, that's what girlfriends are for, not the boys. While we are sprouting what a horrible day we've had, only wanting sympathy and a shoulder, the male wiring focuses upon, “how do I fix this for her?  She must want me to help in some way otherwise why tell me all this?” So, we shouldn't get upset at what we perceive as extreme stupidity when they roll their sleeves up to show determination to rough up your boss, kill or maim perpetrator or perpetrators. “How soon and how much damage, honey?”

Whenever staying with him, the biker would pace if my Crohn’s was playing up. I would soon tell him to amuse himself as his pacing would make me feel guilty for being ill, which was of no help. There was nothing he could do. Sometimes he would sit next to me and rub my back.  He was always ready to comply and I have him to thank to this day as I discovered a back massage helped with some of my discomfort. He went out of his way at times. After waking from a Crohn’s needed nap while staying with him once, I smelled something cooking and told him so.  He enquired from the kitchen if the smell was making me nauseous, as per usual. I was hungry, for a change, and called out from the bedroom that I'd join him once I'd gathered my energy. He brought my meal to bed and proceeded to hand feed me. I was still very tired. He even got me a drink at the end, never letting me move. It was intimate and not at all awkward. I laid down falling back to sleep as he rubbed my back. 

Don't get me wrong, he was an outlaw. The biker in him was strong. We had many an argument though, in his defence, I could be the meaner of the two. I'd never get physical. What was the point? One heals eventually. Words can cause permanent damage and require much less stamina. Maximum results with minimum effort. 

Before I met him I had spent the previous three years voluntarily single due to an abusive relationship which I needed to heal from. I was at ease with him from the start as he made me comfortable about being myself.  The biker healed a lot in me that the previous relationship had damaged. 

He told me it was the bitch in me that really attracted him. He wasn't kidding. A big part of my grieving was the rage I held inside from my previous relationship. I would find myself taking it out, unfairly, on my partner in my current relationship. Thus the reason for my voluntary celibacy. The biker was a major force in helping me to heal, in a very round-about way. 

When I'd get mad at him in a reasonable or unreasonable way he'd egg me on because it turned him on.  “There she is. Yeah, give it to me”, he'd sincerely say with a smile. “You know how much I love the attitude. You really look hot when you go all Italian passion on me babe. Such a turn on!” He meant every word. 

Naturally the bitch bit back until I realised it was more evil not to. I'd do whatever it took to calm down. I'd count to a thousand, or read, and refuse to engage verbally unless it was to be passive aggressive. Every carefully chosen word used to wound said very calmly. “That'll teach him!”, I'd muse. 

I never walked away or went home after a quarrel. No fun when unable to see the fruits of one’s labour. Part of my calming was seeing his suffering. Yes, I can be horrible. I admit to it. I didn't realise he was exactly what I needed at the time and the best therapy ever. Once I'd calmed down, if my anger had been unreasonable, I'd feel bad and apologise. I still have a hot temper although I like to think I have more control with calming down due to him. Stress and any illness combined are not good therefore he was a big plus for my Crohn's. Of course make up sex was taken advantage of, though the biker would always lament the unfairness of it all. After all, it was the bitch he was wanting to bed. 


Kat and I grew even closer. She'd flirt with me constantly knowing it could never go further and always making me laugh in the process. My relationship with Kat was to end dramatically though. I arrived at work one day to discover a note from her telling me that things had escalated. I was not to make contact unless I heard from her first. I had some idea what that note meant and I didn't like it one iota. It made me extremely uneasy. I was to learn, rightly so. 

Kat and another sex worker sometimes went halves when buying their heroin as they shared the same dealer.  I never met him. He called himself Cash. Perfect name for a dealer, I figured. I knew the other girl though, who happened to work as a sex worker elsewhere.

There was a silly argument going on between the two over Kat owing fifty dollars.  I even comment to Kat how stupid it was. They were normally such good pals. She explains that what she really owed was a ‘lick’.  When one is out of gear (drugs) and money one can get a tiny amount of much needed drug, a ‘lick’, from a friend so that one can, hopefully, last till they can score again.  This is always returned as either money or gear. 

Every time the other girl was in this position herself, she'd call Kat and demand back the payment or ‘lick’.  It was always at the wrong time. Every time Kat tried to return the favour, the girl could not be found or reached. This was their dilemma. 

One night Kat can be heard cursing from another room. She is furious. She'd just gotten off a phone call from the other girl who was craving, again.  “That fucking junky bitch. Now she's accusing me of taking food out of her kids mouths. She knows me well. She pushed a button you don't push. I'm finishing this once and for all”. We spoke for the rest of the shift.  Kat didn't know what she was going to do. She just knew she was really pissed off. At the end of the night I wished her well and begged her not to do anything stupid. The next I know is what was written on the note. 

A short time passes and I received a text from the girl Kat owed that ‘lick’ to. I'm very wary as she knew how close we were.  Everyone did. The text says she is working in a new brothel and they were looking for managers. I text back that I was relieved to hear from her and I was getting worried (which was true). I tell her my current job wasn't great but better the devil you know. I thank her for thinking of me and wish her well. 

After a while get a sealed envelope left for me at work.  It contains a letter explaining what went down. Long story short, Kat, as well as her housemate, had been taken in for questioning by the police. The note claimed they were only released after 24 hours because they'd used each other as an alibi. The police refused to believe that only one person could do so much damage.  The girl kept claiming outright nobody else was involved and insisting adamantly it was Kat only. The letter contained how the damage was done and to what extent. The police kept insisting it must have been both of them as Kat’s house-mate already had an extensive police record. From the contents of the letter I knew the girl wasn't lying.

Again, I'm not condoning anyone’s behaviour.  The button previously pushed by Kat's friend evolved to where a line was crossed leading to a confrontation.  It's always best to choose one’s battles wisely, and sometimes it's wiser to just walk away from some battles. Foolish, foolish girl, and I'm not referring to Kat. The girl refused to back off even when confronted face-to-face, only resulting in adding fuel to the fire.  The letter ended with instructions to burn. I never heard from Kat again. 

If Kat had done the personal physical damage I'd read in that letter I was right to have been wary of that text sent to me by that girl. Kat thought she'd left a corpse behind though she'd truly not planned for it to go that far.  When she'd heard on the grape-vine the girl had survived she knew she was done for. I realised it would have been impossible for the other girl to currently have been employed and literally not physically capable of texting anyone in the time frame when the text was sent. There was no way she'd been the one to have sent that text. Why had it been sent to me and by whom? And for what purpose?  I have absolutely no idea. I only know, at the time, I was in the dark. I kind of wish I still was. 

I once heard the term “don't ever fuck with fuckers”. I always took it to mean there are certain people you just don't mess with. Though I could not return her affection for me I grew to care for Kat. She never pretended to be anything but who she truly was. I always knew she was the epitome of someone of that calibre.