Author: Alison Tyler; photo by Jennifer Sandquist
Alison Tyler's Tightly Tucked is an example of perfectly plotted tension in the form of the anal retentive Sophie who represents a character we're all familiar with. She is uptight and fastidious to the point of annoyance, as indicated by her gesture of making the bed when there is no need to make the bed - tightly tucking the corners of the bedding. Tyler draws the reader into the relationship. In fact, it's the kind of relationship that puts one off the C word. In Tightly Tucked, commitment is akin to incarceration. The reader wonders what Elian saw in Sophie, why he has come so far in the relationship to book a short stay away? But we are all aware of people that live within lackluster relationships all the time. Hell, some of us have experienced relationship drudgery, often living life in auto pilot until life/circumstance steps in. Tightly Tucked resolves itself with hot sex, but sex aside, this story made me ponder the sexual psyche, how easy it is for people to actually ignore their sexual imprint and the consequences of such ignorance.
--From Lucrezia Magazine
This story originally appeared in the collection "Do Not Disturb"
Elian was in a heavy dreamy daze when a knock on the door woke him.
He decided that Sophie must have forgotten her key—although if he'd
been all the way awake, he would have realized how unlike Sophie that
would have been. Yawning, he stumbled to the latch, wearing only his
gray sweats and sporting a sleep-hardened erection. In the hallway
stood the maid, a pert and perfectly adorable blonde with short curly
hair and clear, blue eyes. She took one look at Elian and said, “You're
not the one making the fucking bed each day, are you?”
This wasn't a girl who would have said no to a French maid outfit.
He'd only just met her, but he was sure. If he bought her vinyl, or
leather, or school girl plaid, she would have slid into any fantasy
confection with no more hesitation than it took to shoot him a wicked
grin. The same wicked one she was giving him now.
Elian took a step back and invited her in. Something in his attitude
must have let her know what he wanted, and she obliged, leaving her
cart in the hall. There was no discussion about what he wanted from
her, no need to press the red square button to get what he was after.
Bella came easy into his arms, a lithe, athletic body that he lifted in
an automatic embrace. He kissed her mouth, then her freckled cheeks,
then nibbled on her earlobes. He moved her with him into the bathroom
and they took a shower together, getting warm and wet and soapy.
Laughing as they dried each other off.
Oh, she was so different from Sophie. Sophie who wouldn't get her
hair wet, because the water would make her chestnut waves turn frizzy.
Sophie who folded each towel neatly after patting herself dry. Elian
watched as Bella dropped the towels in a soggy heap on the floor, and
he wanted to go on his knees right then on the slippery white tiles and
propose. Instead, the two were halfway to the bed before he grabbed her
and threw her down on the plush, crimson carpeting that Sophie had
picked lint off on her hands and knees. He moved Bella on top of him
into a still-damp sixty-nine.