“We sure can. That’s no problem.”
Before he even has a chance to shut off the engine,
I’m out the door and looking up at the tower. The beat
of the blades is like a giant mechanical heart filling me
up with happiness. “Let’s go!” I call as I head up the
low rise.
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I hear the jingle of keys behind me and then Derrick
catches up and brushes past me to clang up the stairs first.
I follow, making as much racket as I can on the metal
grates just to entertain myself. There are twelve of them,
carrying us high above the foundation.
While he tries to find the right key, I turn and survey
the area. He’s right: I can just barely make out the highway from this elevated point. His truck definitely isn’t visible from any road. No one will catch us.
“Are you ready?” he asks as the lock slides open.
“I’m so ready.”
“Don’t touch anything. There’s a lot of voltage coming
through here.” And then he pulls the metal door wide.
I hold my arms out, hands and face raised to the sky in
triumph as he walks through the opening. I love getting
what I want. Then I collect myself and follow, stepping
right into the cool white beast.
The first thing I see are what look like banks of lock-
ers. “Grid inverters,” he says as we walk by them; then he
starts explaining that they convert the electricity generated by the spinning blades into some other kind of electricity
that can be sent to a central location, but all I can hear is the thrumming power.
“It’s so loud!” I say.
“Ear protection.” He reaches toward a shelf, but I’m
shaking my head.
“No, I like it!”
“Suit yourself.”
He walks me farther in, past the lockers, and I see a
control panel with lots of numbers on it. I’m disappointed
to find no spiral staircase winding up. There’s just a high ceiling. I point to a giant metal box. “What’s that thing?”
“Elevator.”
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Problem Child
“There’s an elevator?” I hurry toward it, but he shakes
his head at me. “It’s only safe to use when the turbine is
powered down.”
“Can you power it down, then? Take me to the top?”
“There’s no way. An alert will be sent to the main
station with my code if I stop it. Everything will be on
the record.”
“Awww. Please?” But I can see by the set of his jaw
that it’s not happening. I don’t want to beg for something
I won’t get, so I move on and wrap my hand around a
metal stairwell that climbs up the wall. Now I feel the
real pulse of the robot deep in my bones.
I wish I could look up and see the whole chilling
height of it, but the ladder disappears into an opening
in a platform only fifteen feet up. “Can we go there at
least?” I shout.
“We need climbing gear.”
“For that? It looks harmless. I bet you could catch me
if you stay right behind me.”
He cuts his eyes toward the door, then up the ladder.
His jaw isn’t set so firmly anymore.
“Come on,” I urge. “We’re all alone here. And I
promise to hold on tight, Derrick.”
We both know he’s thinking of his penis right now,
but he hesitates for one more valiant moment. “There’s
not much to see up there.”
“Oh, I bet we’ll still have fun.”
He shifts like I’m making him feel funny things, but
then he nods. “All right. But go slow and careful.”
“I definitely will.”
I climb just as slowly as I can make myself, glancing
down to smile at Derrick past my ass. He smiles back and
starts climbing too. Then I’m crawling out onto a gray
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metal floor before I pull myself to a standing position and tip my head back.
“Yes,” I hiss in delight. I can see up another thirty or
forty feet now, and I’m thrilled.
Derrick pops up and stands with a lot more skill than
I did, but I ignore that as I turn to take in the rest of the space. It’s not much. A few boxes of replacement parts,
maybe, plus a bunch of cables snaking up the walls. There’s a big hole for the elevator in the high platform above us,
but the area beyond it is dark.
I turn to smile my gratitude at Derrick. Now that
we’re on a level surface, I see that my estimation is right.
He’s about five-six or maybe a hair shorter, and he’s pretty fine-boned. Not ugly but not cute. Frankly, he’s just not
noticeable at all.
“So…,” he says, his cheeks reddening as he rubs his
hands together. “Do I get a thank-you for the tour?”
“A thank-you?” I ask as if I’m confused. “Of course!
Thank you so much. I’m having a great time.”
“Me too.” We smile at each other until his mouth
wobbles into a twist. “I thought maybe…” He pauses, too
self-conscious to say more, waiting for me to fill in the
blank. But I’m not the type of girl to get worried and try
to fix an uncomfortable silence, so I wait. And wait. Until he actually gestures to his groin with eyebrows raised.
I nearly burst out laughing, because it looks like he’s
politely offering me a seat on his penis. Poor Derrick.
He’s really not used to such a tawdry interaction, but he’s certainly willing to try.
And that’s when I see it. Not his penis, though it’s
there. What I see is the right way to play this. I’ve been
going for low-hanging fruit this whole time, and yes, I
do mean genitals. But I can have my fun and play it safe 160
Problem Child
for the sake of keeping Luke, and that will be a more
challenging form of excitement.
Maybe I don’t have to settle down completely. Maybe
I can have everything I want and not die of boredom.
Gasping over the noise of the turbine, I widen my
eyes. “Did you think … ? I mean … I don’t know what
to say, Derrick. I’m a good Baptist girl following Christ’s path. I’m saved! I can’t do … that … until I’m married.
It wouldn’t be right.”
“Huh?” he croaks.
“Derrick, don’t you believe in our Lord and Savior,
Jesus Christ?”
“Of course I do! Of course!”
“Whew. Then you totally understand.”
He touches the front of his pants, cupping his erec-
tion, puzzlement sliding into grief on his face. “What?”
When I see the shape of his bent fingers and the mass
behind it, my eyebrows fly high. Well. Now that he’s
outlining the whole thing, this is quite the surprise. And, to be fair, he isn’t being aggressive. I’ll give him that. He hasn’t even called me a bitch yet. He just looks a little
heartbroken. Poor guy, standing there politely with all
that enormous expectation.
“Well,” I offer with shy reluctance, “I guess I could
watch?”
“What?” That seems to be the only word he can force
out at this point as he’s trying to process his grief.
I’ll have to spell it out. “I could watch you masturbate,
Derrick. I mean, if you want me to.”
His lips part, jaw going slack before he shakes his head,
his brow creasing into a deep V between unremarkable
brown eyes. Another “What?” passes his lips.
“Would you want me to?”
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“I … I’ve never done that.”
“You’ve never jerked off? Color me surprised. My
mama always told me men had needs.”
“No, Not that. I mean…” His face is beet red now
but I can see his breath quickening. His eyelids growing
heavy. He squeezes himself through his slacks. “Of course
I’ve done that. Oh, Jesus Christ.”
“Exactly. I just can’t touch it, you know? I’d have to
tell Pastor McAllistor, and how could I live with that?
He’d think I was the worst kind of fallen woman. But if
you do it by yourself … You don’t think that would be
a huge sin, do you? It wouldn’t even be my sin, really.”
He’s positively panting now, his eyes sliding down my
body, and I realize I’ve pressed a hand between my own
legs. “You’ll watch me? Really?”
“Sure.”
That one tiny syllable is all it takes to set his hands
scrambling for his belt, the metal clinking as he works
frantically at the buckle. Once the belt gapes free, he drags the zipper open and shoves his Hanes briefs down and the
great white whale emerges. Okay, it’s ruddy pink and not
actually a whale, but it is a shockingly ferocious beast.
“Oh wow,” I cry.
“Yeah,” he groans. “Yeah, look at it.”
Gone is the slight, mild-mannered manager. As he
takes himself in hand, his mouth draws back into a slash
of lips and his body hunches, curving around his proud
prize. Lust has shaped him into a rutting werewolf, and
I love it.
“It’s so big!” I exclaim.
“Yeah. Look at it. Look. ”
This poor man walks through life every day being
disrespected, dismissed, barely seen at all by society, and 162
Problem Child
the whole time he has this glorious thing in his pants that he can’t show anyone. How utterly frustrating that must be.
I laugh in pure delight. “You really are huge,” I say,
figuring he deserves a little praise.
“Fuck yeah.” He’s positively snarling now, his eyes
cast down at his own show. “Look at it.” His gaze flicks
up every once in a while to be sure I’m watching, and I
definitely am. The turbine buzz surrounds my head as I
watch ol’ unnoticeable Derrick put on the best perfor-
mance of his life.
And I’m glad it’s a performance. I’m glad I’m not par-
ticipating. Not because I’d feel guilty, but because this is a new level of the game, and I’m winning it.
I’m also glad because, impressive as he is, Derrick
wouldn’t be a good lay at all. He’s all clumsy big-
dickedness, which is a problem a lot of well-endowed
men have. There’s that one great tool in their toolbox,
and they think their hammer trumps all other instruments
no matter what the job is.
“This is so hot,” he growls, rubbing himself rough and
fast, going right for the goal. No easing in, no subtlety,
no teasing. He’s probably afraid I’ll change my mind if
he gives me a moment to think. Another problem a lot
of men have during sex.
But a show is a show, and I’m worked up with sex and
power and the hum of electricity. I ease my back to the
metal wall, let the vibrations purr through me as I press
the heel of my hands to my jeans.
I got my giant robot, and I love getting what I want
so damn much.
I start to slide my hand down the front of my jeans
to get myself off, but when he sees me, Derrick bites out
a strangled, “Oh God,” and then it’s all over, Derrick
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painting a ridiculous splotchy mess all over the gray metal floor. “Oh God, oh God,” he chokes, his skinny body
in spasms, face a comical rictus, and my fingers haven’t
even reached their destination.
“Oh, Derrick,” I sigh in disappointment, drawing
my hand free. He definitely wouldn’t have been worth
the chafing if he was that out of control with his own
right hand. Yet another great decision on my part. I’m
killing it today.
Derrick is starting to come to his senses, returning to
reality from that place people go when they’re aroused
beyond all reason. The behavior makes perfect sense in
evolutionary terms. Sex is a weird, messy act with a likely outcome of saddling the participants with a needy creature that will be dependent on them for at least a dozen
years and could, in fact, result in the death of the female.
Of course we have to lose our damn minds to enjoy it.
That’s just good design.
But now Derrick’s sanity is returning, and he’s still
standing there with his pants and tighty-whities collapsed
around his knees, softening penis in hand and the sad
evidence of his expulsion at his feet. I even spot a dribble on his shoe.
“Uh,” he grunts as he starts to reach for his pants and
then pauses to stare at his soiled hand. He looks so hope-
Finally he reaches gingerly for his underwear and pulls
them up, then wipes his hand on the white cotton so that
he can pull his pants up without sullying them. This is
why Derrick is in management. He’s a problem-solver.
“Can we go up higher?” I ask as he buckles up.
“Excuse me?” he mutters.
“Can we climb a little higher now?”
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Problem Child
“No, it wouldn’t be safe.” He only glances at me before
looking sheepishly away. “Let me go down the ladder first
so I can spot you.” He starts toward the opening, then
stops short to gape at his little Pollock painting of semen.
He’s frozen again. Lost.
“That’ll dry right up,” I say. “No worries.”
A blush conquers his entire face, but he eases around
the mess he’s made and heads for the ladder.
Now I wish I recorded the whole thing. If he’d no-
ticed, would he have let me? Probably the idea would have
turned him on even more, but he’d have immediately
regretted it, and I’d hate to wrestle him for my phone.
He hasn’t even washed his hands yet.
Once I hear him jump the last few feet to the floor be-
low, I head down the ladder myself, whispering, “Goodbye,
my favorite turbine,” into the tall space above me. I pat
the ladder railing. “I’ll miss you.”
We’re back in the cacophonous buzzing of the base,
so Derrick averts his eyes and silently gestures me toward
the door, but I hold up one finger. I need a moment to
turn in a circle and take it all in. I finally offer him a
blinding smile.
“Thank you!” I shout before leading the way out.
I step out into the beginnings of dusk, then I rush down
the stairs and the hill so I can turn and see the spinning
blades above me against an orange sky, my robot soldier
beautiful and still ferocious. Before Derrick can reach
me, I take out my phone and snap a couple of pictures so
I can keep this power with me forever. In the first one,
I capture the top half of Derrick as he walks down the
hill, but he’s holding up a hand to cover his face.
“Let’s go,” he says gruffly, all business and no charm
now that he’s satiated. Which is utter bullshit.
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People always call women manipulative, and I count
my skills as a point of pride, but constant manipulation for sex is considered normal for men. Their behavior isn’t cal ed manipulative, of course. Or sneaky. It’s not even twisted or deceptive or plain old lying. It’s just the way it’s supposed to be. They want sex and they’ll do anything to get it.
Sweet talk and falsehoods and affection and such pure
fascinating interest in you. You’re beautiful and insightful and promising! This could be something. This could
become anything: I’ll make a special visit to see you. We’ll go out. I’ll try your home cooking. This is so fun!
Until they come. Then nothing.
Then: Why is she so clingy? I just wanted sex. Why is she talking to me and making this awkward? Why can’t she just shut up and go away now? Such cruel manipulation, and it’s so constant, it’s considered regular old life. Suck it up, bitch, you knew what he wanted.
I set my jaw and follow him to the truck. He doesn’t
open my door. In fact, he gets in first and starts the en-
gine, impatient to be gone.
I lied and used him, but at least I have the goddamn
courtesy to keep up the fake politeness afterward. Jesus.
Fucking monster.
After I climb into his truck and close the door, he
starts backing out before I even have my seat belt on.
“Where to now?” I ask in a friendly chirp.
“I need to get back,” he grumbles; then he actually
turns up the music to shut me down.
Oh, fuck no, Derrick. This is just outrageous.
Setting my jaw, I let him listen to his music as he
reverses down the trail. I let him hold his silence for
the last little while of his normal life. I even send him a 166
Problem Child
small, shy smile once we’re on the side road and cruising
toward the highway.
But Derrick stares straight ahead, his jaw an unfor-