One last story for tonight - Title : Wandering - Constance
I can remember exactly when I knew my marriage to Jocelyn was over. It was the night of our Tenth Wedding Anniversary. I had come home early, brought flowers and a nice, silver pendant that I knew she would wear. We kissed perfunctorily at the kitchen door and I went upstairs to shower and change before I took her out to her favorite restaurant for dinner.
What made it memorable is that we hardly had a word to say to each other despite the fact that we had not seen or talked to each other since the previous evening. I typically left for work an hour before Jocelyn and she was in the shower when I pulled out of the driveway that morning. At the restaurant there were no reminiscences of past times together, no fond remembrances … nothing. We made the odd comment about the weather or our work, but nothing intimate. When we went to bed I reached for her, hoping for at least some Anniversary lovemaking, but she said she was too tired and that was that.
I lay on my back and knew then that it was over. We had each been pretending that we had a marriage for some time; perhaps years. I thought back over those times and realized I wasn’t even sure if we were ever even in love with each other. We went through all the motions, but I couldn’t remember a moment when I knew for sure that I would do anything for her; walk through fire, slay dragons or take on a gang of villains. It was a dispiriting thought and with our life having sunk into ennui over the past two or three years, I knew a decision was at hand.
I delayed leaving for work the next morning. I might as well face it when I knew what I wanted to say. Jocelyn came down and was obviously surprised to see me sitting at the kitchen table with a coffee and the morning paper.
“What are you doing still here?” she asked, curious as she poured her first coffee.
“I wanted to talk to you. It seemed like the best opportunity.” I said quietly.
I suppose it was my tone of voice that alerted her. She looked at me and then picked up her coffee and sat in her usual chair.
“What did you want to talk about?” she asked carefully. She was obviously uncomfortable with the uncertainty.
“Jocelyn, there’s no easy way to say this. I will file for divorce early next week.”
I watched her eyes grow large and heard the sharp intake of breath.
“Why?” she struggled to ask.
“I think you know the answer to that as well as I do. Our marriage is dead. It died a long slow death, but it is dead.” I said solemnly.
She sat silently, looking at me; obviously thinking about what she had just heard. Slowly, she lowered her gaze to her untouched coffee and stared at it for a few moments.
“I’m sorry, Lee. I wish it had worked. I’m sorry.” she finally whispered.
“I know. Don’t blame yourself. Sometimes … sometimes it just doesn’t … " I couldn’t finish the thought. I saw a tear and then another trickle down her cheek.
“I’ll look after the paperwork and if we use the do-it-yourself forms, we can cut the legal costs … unless you want to contest it.” I said, almost as an afterthought.
“No … I won’t fight it. You’re right … it just didn’t come out the way we wanted it to.”
I stood up, kissed her cheek and left quietly for the garage and headed off to work.
-0-
If there is such a thing as an amicable divorce, we were the model. It was civil and civilized. We split everything almost 50-50. Jocelyn’s income was very healthy as a Provincial Government Assistant Director in the Environment Ministry, thus there would be no alimony. We agreed to sell the house and close the mortgage. Our home in Burnaby had inflated to an almost ridiculous amount during the eight plus years that we had owned it. After we retired the mortgage, we split nearly $300,000.00. We both had our own retirement savings plans and simply maintained them in our own names.
Jocelyn kept her car, but I had a company lease car with no asset value to me. I let Jocelyn keep most of the furniture except a couple of pieces that had come from my parents and grandparents. I guess, all told, she would have taken away $30,000.00 or so in value more than me, but in truth, I really didn’t care. I just wanted the whole unhappy episode to be over.
We met once more just before the divorce was final to make sure there were no outstanding issues to be resolved. We chose a pub not far from our former residence and found a semi-secluded place to talk. It didn’t take us long to determine that there was nothing left to discuss except our feelings and our futures.
“So, where are you going to live?” she finally asked.
“I don’t know. I quit my job last week. I’ll be finished at the end of the month and then I’m going to do what the Aussies do; ‘go walkabout’. Except, I guess, it will be more like ‘go ride-about’.”
“I almost envy you. I wouldn’t mind a sabbatical myself. I hope you find what you’re looking for.” she said sincerely.
“Me too. I just hope I’ll know it when I find it.” I chuckled.
“What about you … where are you going to live?” I asked.
“I’ve taken a job in the Industry Ministry and I’m moving to Victoria. I found an apartment there. I’ll enjoy that, I think. Less pressure than Environment.”
“Good … I’m glad.” I said honestly.
“Regrets?” she asked.
“Sure. Plenty. I wonder if it would have turned out differently if I hadn’t been sterile. I’m sure that must have hurt you more than you let on; to find that out after we were married. I know it hurt me. Not good for the male ego.” I smiled.
“Yes … it hurt. But then, we talked about adoption and IVF. We had choices.” she said with some emotion. “I’m not sure that would have made a big difference except that maybe we might have hung on a lot longer because of the kids and then been that much more unhappy. Not much of a choice in my opinion.”
“I suppose you’re right.” I said, staring into my beer mug. “Well,” I said, raising my mug. “here’s to a better future for us. I wish you all the best, Jocelyn.”
She touched her wine glass to my mug and offered a faint smile. A few minutes later we hugged and kissed each other for the last time and I stood and watched as she slowly worked her way out of the pub and into the parking lot. I slumped back in my seat, waiting for the waitress to come around so that I could order another beer. I didn’t have any place special to go and I was in no hurry to get there.
-0-
I had moved in with my folks for a couple of weeks after the sale of the house. They were very generous and sympathetic. Mom and Dad had been married over forty years and I think they were deeply disappointed at my divorce. I had failed at something important and I think they knew that I was ashamed to admit it. They said nothing directly to me, but I could tell by some of the inferences what they were thinking. The sooner I hit the road, the better off they would be. I had only another week until the end of the month and the end of my employment. I think they were surprised and dubious about my unplanned future, but they said nothing to discourage me.
On a bright, sunny March Saturday morning, I loaded the last of my bags in my car, kissed and hugged my folks and drove off into the sunrise. I had absolutely no idea where I was going, but I really wasn’t worried about it. I had turned in my company car and purchased a year old, low mileage, Subaru Outback. I had decided to explore my home Province and at this time of the year, there was no need for reservations since it was nearing the end of the ski season. I drove for a couple of hours, stopping in Hope to stretch my legs, top up the tank, unload my morning coffee and then get another fresh one at the kiosk across from the gas station.
By noon I was in Keremeos but I wasn’t hungry and pushed on to Osoyoos before stopping for a snack at a grocery store deli bar. On the spur of the moment, I decided to head for Nelson; a lovely little picturesque town in the Kootenay Mountains. I might take my chances on a B and B or a motel and if worst came to worst, I would double back to Castlegar or even Trail for accommodation. I pulled out my pocket guide to British Columbia Bed and Breakfasts, chose one that looked likely and thumbed the number on my cell phone. A mature sounding woman answered the phone and identified herself as Connie Bradshaw. I was in luck. She had a room and was featuring off-season rates.
It was almost six when I finally arrived in Nelson and found the Alpine Rest B & B. I stepped through the outer entrance to the large, quaint Victorian house and twisted the t-bar on the old fashioned ringer. In a matter of a few seconds and woman appeared in the hallway and opened the door for me and ushered me in.
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“I assume you are Mr. Stephenson?” she inquired.
“Yes … Lee Stephenson. You must be Mrs. Bradshaw.” I replied.
“It’s Connie.” she said smiling. “Do you not have any luggage?” she inquired.
“In the car. I thought I’d check in first before I started to haul things in. I wasn’t sure where I should park.”
“Not a problem. Bring in what you need for your stay and park around the back. There’s a reserved lot.”
I filled out the registration and looked around the entrance as Connie ran my credit card through. I was struck by just how elegant and detailed the old building was. It was in flawless condition inside and I was anxious to see my room and more of the old house if possible. I also took the time to survey Connie Bradshaw. She was somewhere in her late forties I guessed. Very attractive with a still youthful figure and a bright smile.
“You’re my only guest tonight, Mr. Stephenson.” she said as she handed me back my card.
“It’s Lee. I was just admiring the interior of the house. It’s very beautiful and in great condition.” I offered sincerely.
“Yes, it’s been a lot of work but well worth it. It was built by my Great Grandfather and it’s been in the family every since. I don’t dare let it get rundown.” she laughed.
“So you and Mr. Bradshaw are the keepers of the flame, then.”
“No, just me. There is no Mr. Bradshaw.” she said with a smile and a slightly raised eyebrow.
“Oh … excuse me. I didn’t mean …”
“That’s quite all right.” she said, still with that enigmatic smile on her lips.
“Can you recommend a nice place for dinner?” I asked, smiling in return.
“Of course … right here.” she said brightly.
“Uh … I was under the impression that this was a Bed and Breakfast.” I said uncertainly.
“It is, but since you’re my only guest and I hate to eat alone, you are welcome to join me.”
“Well … that would be very nice … but I don’t want to put you out.” I said a bit uncertainly.
“Nonsense … it would be my pleasure.” She was obviously not going to take no for an answer.
“Perhaps I can find a liquor store and supply a wine then.” I suggested carefully.
“Why that would be very nice, Lee. I’d enjoy that. Make it a red … if that’s all right with you.” she said in tone that suggested red was the only option. “There’s a store next to the pub on the next street up. It’s less than a block and you can walk there more quickly than you can drive.”
“Great. Let me get my bag and you can show me my room.” I said happily.
I picked my overnight bag and laptop out of the back seat and followed the shapely backside of Connie Bradshaw up the stairs to the first landing. The sway of her hips was captivating and I wondered if it wasn’t a bit of a show for my benefit. If so, I was delighted, as well as somewhat stimulated. She unlocked the door and opened it, allowing me to enter first. It was as elegant and finely decorated as the foyer and hallways I had travelled.
“I think you’ll find this to your liking, Lee.” she said; again with that almost seductive smile. If I didn’t know better, I would think she was at least flirting if not actually hitting on me. I found that very reassuring. My ego needed a shot in the arm.
I set my bag down and checked out the ensuite bath and found it to be correct for period and as with the rest of the house, immaculate. I shook my head in admiration. Connie caught the gesture and smiled.
“I take it you’re impressed.” she said with a genuine smile.
“Very. I know something about what it takes to put an old house in this condition and it isn’t easy. This house is something special.” I enthused.
“Yes … it’s my pride and joy. It’s very unusual not to have several of the six rooms occupied, even at this time of the year.” she offered.
She caught me staring at the big, wrought iron bed and imagining what a romp in that big, queen sized pedestal would be like.
“That’s a reproduction. I had it made locally from an old photograph in a family album.” she explained. She was watching me and trying to read my thoughts I suspected. I turned to her and smiled.
“How about I go get that bottle of wine and maybe we can enjoy a glass before dinner.” I suggested.
“An excellent idea except I was going to make up a small shaker of Martinis that we could share. My Martinis are quite evil.” she grinned.
“I haven’t had an evil Martini in quite some time; if ever. I’ll be right back.” I smiled back at her. There were some serious messages being sent to me and I was becoming quite aware that Connie might have some designs on the entertainment portion of this evening. As I walked up the street toward the off-sales store, I was stunned a just how overt her moves were. She was not trying to be subtle and it had been years since I had experienced anything like this. I thought about what the consequences of her motives might be and considering my situation, I couldn’t think of a single negative one. I decided then that I would “go with the flow” and just see how things played out.
When I got back to the house, I used my key to enter the foyer and Connie appeared holding a tray with two shallow Martini glasses and a small flask of premixed little devils that would probably do great harm if consumed in quantity. I offered her the bottle of French Cote d’ Rhone and she smiled her approval; again with the raised eyebrow.
“Come into the drawing room, Lee. We’ll have our cocktails there before we head for the dining room.”
I smiled my approval and followed her into yet again another impeccably finished room with appropriate period furniture.
“I feel almost like I’m in a museum; a life size diorama.” I marveled as I looked around.
“Well … perhaps it is. Not everything is original. Much of the furniture has either been rebuilt and/or refinished or is a reproduction.” she said with pride.
“It’s very impressive. Very beautiful. I’m looking forward to seeing the outside in the daylight. Would it be alright to take some pictures?” I asked.
“Of course. I can use all the free advertising I can get.” she laughed.
She had a wonderful smile and it made her more attractive than I would have expected from a middle-aged woman. As I sipped my cocktail I was appraising this impressive woman. She was not slender; rather she was well proportioned with what appeared to be fairly large breasts and a definitely attractive hip flare that emphasized her delightful backside. She must have been about 5’ 7" inches tall at least, but she carried herself as if she was six foot tall. She wore a simple print dress that seemed appropriate for the house and yet displayed the fact that she was very attractive. She was an elegant woman living in an elegant home.
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We chatted as we enjoyed our Martinis. She was curious what I was doing by myself on the road at this time of the year if I wasn’t in sales. I reluctantly told her of the dissolution of my marriage and my decision to take some time off to recharge my batteries. I watched her reaction to my story and she seemed to be both sympathetic and more than a little interested.
By the time we were ready for dinner, we had finished off the Martinis and I had opened the wine. Somehow, she had conjured up a wonderful meal of Lasagna, Caesar Salad, foccacia bread and the aforementioned Cote d’ Rhone. I complemented her sincerely and she smiled her thanks. By the time we had finished the meal and were working on finishing off the wine, we had become good friends.
Connie wanted to know more about my marriage and I have to confess that without the benefit of the Martinis and the wine, I wouldn’t have considered discussing my personal life with a woman I had only know for a little over two hours. But then, since my inhibitions were severely compromised and I was alternating between lascivious thoughts about Connie and morose memories of Jocelyn, I spilled my guts out.
I’m not completely sure how it came about, but I found myself back in the drawing room with Connie sitting beside me on a love seat, listening intently as I tried to explain why I needed to take this time for myself. At some point, she’d put her arm around my shoulders and pulled me to her; making sure her generous breasts rubbed up against my shoulder and arm. I had no reason to complain. I was working very hard not to be downbeat and to put a positive spin on my situation. I think that was the trigger for Connie. She was apparently turned on by my ability to look for a positive in a situation that others would consider a dark negative.
Connie was looking into my eyes intently and I found that I had run out of things to say. I just sat there, looking back at this attractive woman and I was about to look away when she leaned toward me and planted a lovely, warm, wet, passionate kiss on my lips. There was even a hint of tongue. Her arm, still around my shoulder, pulled me into her and I couldn’t help but put my arm around her and allow my hand to travel up and down her lovely smooth back. My intelligence gathering foray determined that she was wearing a narrow strap bra with a back hook. My high school skills had immediately kicked back in as I sought out the zipper for her dress, establishing its location for future reference.
It turned out the future was now. Connie had moved her other hand to my crotch and had established that I was harder than granite and hornier than I had been in months. As she slid her hand back and forth over my erection, I groped for her zipper and began to pull it down. As I leaned back to look into her eyes, I moved both my hands to her shoulders and pushed the dress off and down her lovely upper body. She was wearing a soft, champagne coloured bra that perfectly framed her beautiful, large breasts. There is no substitute for great tits and this lady had them in spades.
I was able to unhook the bra without trouble and I was gazing into her eyes as I gently removed it. I could see the fire inside her and I guessed that it might have been just as long for her and it was for me since she’d had a good fucking. There is no substitute for alcohol when it comes to bravery and I pressed my hands over her breasts and began to knead them softly; my thumbs quickly bringing her nipples to an enlarged state. I hadn’t removed my gaze from her face since this had begun and she hadn’t stopped looking into my eyes either. I leaned forward again and kissed her, slowly inserting my tongue between her lips. She opened her mouth and we began to truly engage each other in mouth to mouth combat.
Connie was very aroused and I knew this by the erotic scent I had detected. I dropped one hand into her lap and slipped it up under her dress and along her silken thigh. I discovered she was wearing ’thigh-highs’ and soon I was massaging her bare upper thighs and slipping slowly toward her pussy. She had conveniently opened her legs to allow my advance and as I touched the gusset of her panties with the edge of my hand, I could feel the dampness. The rest was inevitable.
The love seat was no place for a sexual union and we both knew it. I leaned back from her and asked: “Your place or mine?”
She smiled that lovely big smile and stood wordlessly, taking my hand, leading me to the back of the main floor. I followed willingly, knowing I was about to enjoy the favours of a wanton woman who was undoubtedly a great deal more experienced than I. I was looking forward to it and cautioning myself not to be in too big a hurry. I wanted this to be perfect for both of us.
Her bedroom was a larger and even more elegant version of my room and I was led by her to another marvelous bed. She pulled back the coverlet and turned to me.
“Undress me, Lee.” she ordered in a soft voice.
“My pleasure.” I pushed her dress down over her fulsome hips and she stood before me in a pair of bikini panties in the same champagne colour as her bra and the black thigh-highs. It was a very erotic vision and I moved to her and pulled her to me.
“You haven’t finished yet.” she said in a reproving voice.
“The panties go, the stockings stay.” I said in a moment of silly bravery.
She just smiled and I had apparently been given her approval. I began to remove my cotton pullover but Connie intervened and pushed my hands away. I was obvious she wanted to undress me and I was fine with that. She undid my belt buckle and slipped my jeans down. She pulled off my boat shoes and socks before finishing the removal of my jeans.
So there we stood. My hands were back on her breasts and she was leaning into me with one hand on my erection. In a moment, she pulled my jockey shorts down and I was naked. My erection sprang forward and she seemed pleased with what she saw. I gently placed my thumbs in the waistband of her panties and slipped them down over her hips, letting them fall to her feet. She stepped out of them and took my hand, leading me toward the bed.
“You are a very beautiful woman, Connie.” I said, meaning every word.
“Thank you. You’re very handsome and I can see that you are definitely interested in me.” she smiled. Her hand moved to my cock and she gripped it and began to squeeze it gently. I could feel the pre-cum leaking out of the glans and I began to pray that I could hold out long enough to satisfy this very desirable woman. I reminded myself not to hurry and make sure I gave her all the pleasure that she demanded.
I pushed her gently back on her bed and placed my hands on each side of her hips. I leaned forward and began to lick and tease a breast; first the aureole and then the nipple. She responded almost instantly and I could feel her back begin to arch. She was clearly aroused and as I switched to the other breast, I guessed that I would be able to bring this woman to orgasm very quickly. I played with her breasts with my tongue for a few minutes and then I began to move southward. She flinched when my tongue entered her navel cavity as I persisted in teasing her.
I continued my journey down toward her mons and my tongue traced the outlines of her vaginal hair. She twitched and reacted to my gentle strokes as I got closer and closer to her now very wet centre. Her scent was almost overpowering in its erotic aroma and I inhaled it as I moved ever closer to her outer lips. As I touched them for the first time, Connie jerked in a spasm and I could hear her gasp as she reacted to this newest sensation.
I felt her hands on the back of my head and I recognized the signal they were sending. I began to stroke her lips more forcefully and she began to pull my face more compellingly into her pussy. I hadn’t yet touched her clitoris and I didn’t intend to until I had achieved all I could from her labial lips. I moved my head down further and my tongue touched her perineum and she immediately reacted to that new sensation. I could hear her moaning now as she became either more aroused or more frustrated. I had one mission in mind; I wanted to bring her to orgasm and I guessed that when I moved to her clit, it would be all over.
I pulled my head back to look up her body toward her. The lower part of her face was partially obscured by her breasts, but I could see that her eyes were almost closed and her head was rolling from one side to the other. I looked down at her bright pink pussy and I could see her clitoris was erect and it only took a single stroke of my tongue to have Connie erupt into a loud cry of ecstasy as her hips rose violently from the bed toward my mouth. The second, third and fourth strokes on the little nub were more than enough to produce her orgasm and she was rigid with her glorious ass arched above the bed. She was very loudly proclaiming her pleasure as well.
“Oh Lee, oh Jesus … awwwwwh!”
It’s a very satisfying sound to a man. Once again, my previously deflated ego had enjoyed another positive boost.
She collapsed on the bed and was breathing deeply as I moved up beside her. I reminded myself that I was in no rush and we were not limited by any time constraints. I lay beside her as she began to come down from what was obviously a very explosive orgasm.
“Is Connie short for Constance?” I asked softly.
“Hmmm.” I took that as a yes.
“It’s a name I’ve always loved. Something about it and the Universe. The stars and the moon and the sun are always where they are supposed to be and they will be ten thousand years from now. Constance is a beautiful name for a beautiful woman. I would like to call you by that. May I?”
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She turned her head and looked at me. It took a minute as she tried to decide if I was serious, but then she smiled. “I’d like that very much. It will be just for you, though.” she cautioned.
We lay they for a few moments when she turned back to me. “Is Lee your formal first name?” she asked.
“Leighton … Leighton Philip Stephenson.” I answered.
“Oh, I like that name. Very distinguished. May I call you Leighton?” she asked seriously.
“Yes, of course. But only you and my mother.” I laughed.
“Well, Leighton Philip Stephenson, are you going to finish what you started?” she asked with that sly smile and another raised eyebrow.
I rolled over on my side and began to stroke her body from breasts to thigh. I think she knew my answer. We kissed passionately again and my hand slid between her thighs and searched out her centre. She was no longer just damp; she was awash in her fluids. I needed no further encouragement as I mounted her. She spread her legs, bringing her knees up in a welcoming gesture and with no more than a single probe to locate her vaginal tunnel, I pushed slowly but firmly into her.
I was surprised with her tightness as she gasped at my invasion. I sank into her until our pubic bones touched and just stayed there for a moment. She was showing signs of becoming impatient and I could feel her muscles contracting as she tried to stir me into action. I pulled my head back and smiled at her, lowering to kiss her gently and then began to stroke; slowly at first and then gaining pace. I was determined to make this last but Constance was not going to make it easy for me. She was gripping me with her vaginal muscles and she was pushing me further along than I wanted her too.
“Constance … if you keep doing that I’m going to finish before you want me to.” I gasped.
“Don’t worry … I’ll bring … you back … I promise.” she said between deep breaths.
It didn’t matter. I was quickly losing control. I hadn’t had passionate sex for so long I had forgotten how powerful a force it was. I finally surrendered and just let it all go.
“Awwwwwh … Oh … Connnn … I’m going to … finish.” I was lost in the sexual whirlpool we had created. I came with a loud “agggghhhh!” and that was that.
I had no idea if she had come with me or at any time during my efforts. I had been completely self-centered and submerged in a state of semi-awareness for most of the time. I don’t ever recall having sex that even remotely resembled what I had experienced in the past few minutes. It had never been this intense.
“I’m sorry, Constance. I just couldn’t wait any longer.” I offered apologetically.
“It was your turn. Next time we share.” she said simply. “You really did go off, though.” she laughed.
“Yah … I did … that was wild.” I was still recovering a normal breathing pattern.
Constance had rolled on her side and one breast was lying against my chest while her fingertip was drawing patterns nearby on my abdomen. I took my fingertip and gently traced the outline of the aureole and then the tip of her nipple. Her eyes closed and I felt her hips begin to move into me. She opened her eyes, smiled and then began to slide down my body. I knew what was coming next.
She grasped my partial erection gently with her hand and after looking into my eyes for a moment, bent her head to my manhood and began to kiss and lick and stroke and suck and generally make love to my cock. This was something that Jocelyn never wanted to do but that Constance obviously did. And she was good at it. Very good! I was rigid in a matter of a minute or two and if I hadn’t had such a major orgasm just a few minutes earlier, I would have come in no time at all. As it was, I could feel the stirrings in my groin and scrotum and I wanted to warn her.
“Constance … if you … keep doing that …” It was the only warning I was capable of providing. I was torn between having the best blow job I had ever had or even hoped for and my responsibility to my lover to complete her pleasure. What I didn’t realize was the experience and skill of Constance was at play and she seemed to know just exactly how far to take me before backing off and letting me recover. She was amazing. She brought me to the edge three times and each time I was sure I would surrender and each time she kept me from falling off. Finally, she decided she had tortured me enough for the time being.
She rose and climbed up my body until she was straddling my face. She slowly lowered herself onto my mouth and I hungrily began to feast on her. I couldn’t see anything as I licked and kissed and sucked and tickled but I knew by her reactions that I was on the right track. Soon, she was bouncing all over the place and it was all I could do to keep my tongue and mouth on target. Finally, she mashed her sex down on my mouth, nearly loosening some front teeth with her pubic bone and I heard her wail her approval as the fluids gushed from her.
She was still for a minute, on her hands and knees and then began to move further forward off my face.
“Take me from behind, Leighton. Take me now!” she commanded.
I rolled over and propped myself up on my knees as I approached her from behind. I grasped her hips and pulled her back toward me to give her more room. In a single stroke, I quickly entered her and I began to move into her forcefully.
“Harder … faster … do me Leighton! Do me hard!” she gasped her demands.
I could only follow orders and I was pounding into her at a furious rate. I knew I wouldn’t last too long this way and I decided to slow for a minute or so to calm things down. She was having none of it.
“No … don’t you dare. Fuck me Leighton! Hard! Now!” There was no compromise here.
I resumed my frantic pace and I was getting closer to the finish with each pounding stroke. Somehow or other I managed to last long enough to sense her change in response and the beginnings of what I was sure was her orgasm. I prayed to the gods that I could last long enough to give her what she so richly deserved and the gods answered me kindly.
“Ahhhh … fuck … that’s perfect … that’s so perfect … ahhhh!” she squealed in an almost little girl voice. As she voiced her orgasm, her vaginal muscles gripped me tightly and it was all over for me. I came with a series of grunts and a final groan as I pulled her lovely ass tightly to my groin. I stayed there motionless as I felt my erection diminish and after a while, finally slip out of her. She had been gasping for breath and finally turned her head to look at me.
She had a big smile on her face and her eyes sparkled as the sweat dripped off her forehead. “Nicely done, mister. What did you say your name was?”
I burst out laughing and fell over on my side and she fell with me. I nearly fell off the bed but Constance saved me and we held each other, laughing as we came down from our high. She had reminded me that sex could be fun as well as exciting.
“I hope m’lady found my performance satisfactory?” I said with as serious a tone as I could muster.
“Oh, I think it will do.” she grinned back at me.
I lay there for a minute just studying her and thinking about what had just happened. I could see the clock radio on the other side of her body and it read 10:18 pm. I had met this woman a mere four hours ago and here we were in her bed in this magnificent house and I had just had the best sex I could ever remember. What the hell was going on?
“Do you always treat your guests this well?” I asked cheekily.
“Of course. It’s the best way to get repeat business.” she giggled.
“I’ll bet it is.” I leaned forward and kissed her gently and she returned it with the same soft touch.
“Where are you going tomorrow?” she finally asked.
“I don’t know. I have no plan. I’m just moving along from place to place until I find something.” I answered.
“Stay … stay with me. There won’t be anyone here tomorrow or the next day as far as I know. We can continue this lovely little tryst at our leisure.” She wasn’t pleading, but she was serious. “You haven’t seen the town yet. There’s a lot to see and my rates for your second and third night are very reasonable.” I couldn’t fail to catch the real meaning.
“All right … as long as I’m not imposing on you.” I said.
“Leighton … you are a breath of fresh air. I haven’t had a man in my bed in quite a while and I don’t know if I’ve ever had anyone that I’ve had quite as much pleasure with as you. You make me feel young again.” I could tell that she was offering a very honest expression of her feelings.
“You are young. You act and think young. I can honestly say that not for one second had I given any thought to your age. I was too busy trying to keep up with you.” I smiled.
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“That’s a lovely thing to say and it’s a lovely thing to hear. Thank you Leighton.” I thought for a moment I saw a tear forming in the corner of her eye. I pulled her too me again and I kissed her.
“Constance, this bed is a little messed up and a bit damp in places. Why don’t we go up to my room?”
“How thoughtful. Do you mind waking up with a strange woman in your bed?” she laughed.
“We are hardly strangers any more and I prefer to wake up with a beautiful woman in my bed. There is nothing more erotic than the scent of a woman when I wake. If it could be bottled, it would be the world’s first genuine aphrodisiac.”
“Did your ex-wife know you had these special talents all bottled up inside you?” she asked playfully.
“No … I guess not. But then … well … she’s not around any more and I have something much more exotic lying right beside me.” I smiled.
“Silly girl. She’ll never know what she’s missing out on.”
“Why don’t we agree we don’t talk about her? I asked carefully. “I’m here with you and you’re the only one that matters. There isn’t anyone else.” I said in a solemn voice.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to open an old wound. That was thoughtless of me.”
“No apology necessary. I’d forgotten what it was like to have truly uninhibited sex; if I ever even knew. It was fun as well as exciting. I really needed that and you were here to make it happen. I loved every second of it.” I said sincerely.
“I’m glad. I meant it when I said you were good for me.”
“Shall we have another glass of wine? I can always run up to the store for another bottle.” I volunteered.
“I have some brandy. Why don’t we have that? It may help us restore some of our energy.” she said in her sexiest manner.
“That sounds splendid. Shall I dress for the occasion?” I asked in a cheeky faux English accent.
She laughed a genuine laugh and hugged me as I rose from the bed. She walked to the closet and came back with a navy blue terrycloth dressing gown which she handed me. She wore a black satin one which showed off her lovely legs and on occasion, the lower part of her finely sculpted ass. Her breasts swayed languidly under the smooth fabric and I could see the nipples become erect once more. It looked to me like we were going to be making just as big a mess of my bed as we had of hers. Oh well.
-0-
I awoke the next morning with the sun streaming through the light fabric curtains and lighting up the entire room in a lovely pastel yellow shade. Next to me, Constance slept and I moved my head toward her shoulder to sample that marvelous sexual aroma a woman produces in her sleep. It was intoxicating and stimulating. I had an erection but I also had a full bladder. I slipped out of the bed as carefully as I could without waking her and then nearly blew it all when I stumbled over the dressing gown that lay in a heap on the floor beside the bed.
I crept as quietly as the floor boards would allow and softly shut the bathroom door behind me. I must have had quite a full bladder because I though the stream was never going to end and the sound might have wakened the dead. It’s always difficult when you’re trying to pee with an erection and this was no exception. As I stood there, I thought about the last twelve plus hours. Constance was real as was the bed and our nakedness. This hadn’t been some extended wet dream brought on by a Porn movie fantasy. I had actually gone to bed with a beautiful older woman; made love to her several times and awoken this morning with her sleeping peacefully beside me. If this was a dream, it was one of my best ever.
I had noticed my overnight bag on the floor, exactly where I put it when I had first seen the room. I wanted to brush my teeth and shave and shower, but to do that, I needed to get into my bag. I quietly opened the door to find Constance propped up in bed, the sheet draped around her waist and a beatific smile on her face. I smiled at her and walked naked and somewhat self-consciously toward her.
“Good morning.” I said as I sat facing her on the side of the bed. My hands went to her lovely large breasts and I fondled them as I gazed into her eyes.
“Good morning, Leighton. Did you sleep well?” she asked, wrapping her arms around my neck.
“Wonderfully well … except for the erotic dreams. They were very stimulating.” I said softly.
“Tell me about your dreams.” she said as she nuzzled her lips into my neck.
“I dreamt that I met this wonderful woman and she plied me with evil Martinis and wonderful food and then seduced me. It was very … exciting.”
“When she seduced you, what did she make you do?” she asked, smirking.
“Why, it would probably be easier if I showed you.” I said. And so I did.
She tasted as wonderful that morning as she had the night before. She responded just as dynamically as she had the night before. Our pace was a little slower and less frantic than it had been the night before. Her orgasms were just as enthusiastic as the night before. I was just as excited as I was the night before. We loved and laughed and stretched and changed positions and generally made a complete mess of my bed; just as we had hers the night before. It was fantastic.
After we had made love, I had been ordered to the shower and I used the time to shave and brush my teeth. When Constance finally rose, she went downstairs to her bathroom and I took the opportunity to explore the kitchen and its supplies. I surprised her by making the breakfast while she was in the shower. I found the necessary ingredients and by the time Constance had emerged from her bedroom, the scrambled eggs were in their final stages, the toast was made and in the warming drawer, sliced tomatoes and mushrooms had been sautéed in the skillet and the coffee had finished its percolation.
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She walked up to me and wrapped her arms around me and pulled me to her for a passionate kiss. “I may just keep you here forever.” she said with a smile.
“I might just stay.” I responded.
She was wearing a pair of tight fitting jeans and a cotton pullover. As she moved near me, I suspected she wasn’t wearing a bra. I ran my hands up the sides of her torso until I reached those lovely globes and my thumbs extended to graze her nipples. She smiled as she realized what I was doing.
“You’re trying to temp me, aren’t you?” I said with a sly grin.
“Too late for that, isn’t it? Besides, I just like the freedom and I know you like the look and feel, so why not?” she asked simply.
“No good reason I can think of.” I kissed her and then led her to the kitchen table and pulled out a chair for her. She sat and I served.
“Leighton, these eggs are marvelous. What did you do to them?” she asked in genuine appreciation.
“Simple little formula involving Worcestershire Sauce and shredded Old Cheddar cheese.” I answered.
“You’ll have to show me. My patrons will go crazy for them.” she enthused.
We spent the rest of the day together. Constance was my tour guide for the delightful town of Nelson and I was doubly lucky I had chosen that particular town and that particular B & B. My spirits were better than they had been in a long, long time. We visited a specialty wine shop and picked up several bottles of reds from France, Spain and South Africa. Constance knew her wines and I was happy to be the carrier. I offered to pay for them, but she vehemently refused. She could be very strong-willed when she wanted to be.
We lunched at a little deli near the far end of town and I had brought my small digital camera to take some photos of the many wonderful old buildings. We worked our way back to her home by mid afternoon and she checked the voice mail to see if there had been any last minute bookings. There had been none.
“Ah … I have you all to myself again.” she smiled.
I turned to her and took her hand, pulling her to me. “Is this going to be another two bed night?” I asked; giving her a raised eyebrow.
“Probably. If you’re … up for it.”
“As long as you’re with me, I’ll find a way to be up for it.” I promised.
“Hmmm … just what I wanted to hear.”
-0-
I stayed with Constance for four nights. They were the best four nights I had ever had and I would remember them always. By Tuesday night, I could tell it was time to go. Our lovemaking was still very passionate and fulfilling, but she would be welcoming guests on Wednesday and it would be awkward to continue our affair in those circumstances. Our lovemaking on Wednesday morning was sublime. It was gentle and passionate and calming and immensely satisfying. We both knew that this was the end of this part of our lives and we both knew we wouldn’t easily forget these four days. We showered together, made breakfast and ate together and in a few minutes, I had packed my small overnighter and was ready to leave.
She passed me a receipt for my stay and it showed only the one night that I had arrived. I looked at her in surprise and she put a forefinger against my lips.
“My treat, love. For services rendered.” she simply said.
I kissed her, wished her well and promised to stay in touch. I walked out the door with no regrets, but a sense of loss. She had taught me a great deal and brought me a long way back along the path of restoration. She gave me a feeling of hope and had rebuilt much of my battered ego. She was a therapist of a very different kind and I was lucky and grateful that I had, by pure chance, stumbled into her life.
The End
Good Night And Sweet Dreams To All !!!
Good Morniong To All Readers !!!
Since later and tonight no time to post stories will post one long long one for you all to enjoy .
Black’s Magic
Guys didn’t read, and therefore, didn’t believe in fairytales. They weren’t raised to be princes. They weren’t taught to seek out Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty or Snow White. There were no dragons to slay, curses to break, or glass slippers to fill. There was no such thing as true love, love at first sight or a soul mate.
It was fuck or be fucked, and you left this world just as alone as when you entered it.
He couldn’t say for certain when he became so cynical, so pessimistic, so jaded as to the turns his life would eventually take. He only knew he was doomed.
No matter what small fortune, what minor miracle, what benevolent being may enter into his life, at the end of the day, everything always returned to ruins. He would never be anything more than he was, and no matter what the Lord saw fit to give him, someone always came and took it away.
He was just born under a bad sign, he supposed. Not that he believed any of that shit. A man made his own luck; he just hadn’t found the right recipe.
But . . . this latest development in his life, had him hoping beyond all reason that there was just a little bit of magic left in the world, and just one, small smidgen of an iota was reserved for him . . . and her . . .
“You’re such a prude, Daniel.” She laughed, raising up on tiptoes, stretching her right arm high above her head to fill the empty slot she’d created just seconds before on one of his shop’s topmost shelves.
Any other man would have been irritated, if not outright offended at the verbal jibe, but he’d known her so long, they’d been through so much, and her laughter was just so damned . . . soothing . . . that even if she cussed your mother, burned down your house, totaled your car and kicked your dog, you wouldn’t, no, couldn’t get mad at her because her laughter was just so alive, just so musical, just so lyrical that you had no choice but listen to every word she said with a smile on your face as your head nodded time to her rhythm and your lips mimicked the words spilling from her mouth.
She was an unknowing Siren, you were her knowing slave, and you couldn’t imagine life any other way.
Some man owning her, possessing her, attempting to break her with whips and chains? Impossible. Slavery may have been in the history of her people, but he could see no such manacles ever marring that beautifully bronzed skin, that tightly toned flesh, that softly shimmering complexion that spoke not only of health, but of . . . un-use . . . or maybe disuse was the more appropriate term.
His cousin, Terri, who happened to be Mecca’s (yes, that was her name) best friend, had said she hadn’t let a man touch her in over five years. Considering her attractiveness and obviously open attitude about sex, he found that hard to believe. But, in one of their awkwardly intimate moments they often shared but seldom spoke of, she confessed something to him that she swore she’d never told another living soul.
He couldn’t really remember how the conversation began, but it took a turn (as it often did) to the differences between men and women. He’d said that women were duplicitous and untrustworthy, freely shouting out useless shit, but never telling you the things you really needed to know–like STDs. He’d been bored one night and couldn’t sleep, and while channel-surfing he’d come across a report about Herpes on The Learning Channel. It said that one out of every four women had Herpes and either a)didn’t know or b)knew and had no intention of telling you.
She was sitting in the store’s empty window seat, her back towards the glass, her legs folded beneath her, her fingers fiddling with a loose thread on the bottom of her tank top. She was dressed from head-to-toe in white except for this wicked pair of dark brown gladiator sandals that snaked all the way up to her knees and tied neatly behind them. “All men are dogs,” she’d said. “They’ll fuck anything that moves whether you want them to or not, and they don’t even have the sense to know there’s something wrong with that.”
Then she spewed out a statistic of her own.
“Did you know that by the age of 18 one out of every four women will have been sexually assaulted?”
He didn’t really know what to say.
“And nobody really does anything about it. They’re just numbers. Just statistics. But it’s pretty scary when you think about it. I mean, think of four women you know, and odds are at least one of them has been forced to do something they didn’t wanna do.”
He still didn’t know what to say, but he felt if he stayed silent, she’d sort him in the same category as all the others. “Not all men rape.” It sounded weak, without any real conviction; a hollow statement meant to pacify as opposed to console.
“Yeah? Well, not every chick has Herpes or is trying to hide the fact that she has Herpes. Hiding other things, though…”
Things got uncomfortably quiet, and he felt the unconscious need to make himself busy in the back room by performing price checks and other mindless tasks that would remove him from the situation, but keep him from looking like a total ass. This was his shop, after all. He did have a job he was supposed to be doing. The movies, CDs, games, systems and controllers weren’t gonna stock themselves.
She continued to sit there as he made his way to the back, behind the black curtain he’d hung up as a makeshift divider between his “office” and the actual “store.” He had shelves and shelves of DVDs, stacks upon stacks of CDs, and rows upon rows of games and VHS tapes haphazardly arranged in his crowded little cubby hole. There was a 27" TV in front of him, connected to a PS2, an XBOX and a VCR. His computer desk was behind him, cluttered with various action figures, sports memorabilia and actual office supplies you’d need to run a business–pencils, pens, paper clips, a stapler, staples, rubber bands, and a somewhat outdated computer, equipped with Windows 98. And all his back-stock surrounded him.
If you were claustrophobic, you would’ve suffocated back there. But he wasn’t claustrophobic and was quite comforted by his odd arrangement of possessions. Superman had his Fortress of Solitude, and he had his . . . Cavern of Clutter-tude.
He smiled to himself and settled back into his desk chair, then wheeled it around to face the TV. Just as he was about to click it “On,” she appeared on the other side of the curtain. It didn’t completely touch the opposing wall. There was a “doorway,” of sorts that could comfortably accommodate two full-sized adults and a decorative mirror that he used to keep his eye on potential shoplifters.
“Do you . . . do you think I could use your bathroom? Normally, I’d just go home, but . . .”
He was so . . . fascinated by the thought of her bare ass touching his porcelain seat, he couldn’t form a single, coherent word; he merely nodded in the direction she was to go.
There was a doorway (depending on which way he was facing) off to his immediate left/right. Once inside, straight ahead was a less-than-sophisticated sound system and the sudden left held a room longer than it was wide. To the far left was a personal shrine of sorts, composed of various religious images, Good Luck cards from his opening, and a vase containing a single, artificial black rose, Mecca, herself, had seen fit to give him. It wasn’t a curse, or anything. Black was his favorite color, and they hadn’t known each other long enough for any other color to be given with any amount of sincerity. The toilet, a mirror and a sink were to the far right. All of which, luckily, he’d just cleaned.
He heard the light switch flick “On” and the sound of flat shoes on vinyl flooring. The footsteps stopped and (he didn’t mean to listen so hard) he swore he could hear every tooth of her zipper as it came undone. Or, perhaps it was just his mind playing tricks on him. It had been well over two years since that particular sound had graced his ears, and when it was his ex, Alicia, doing the undressing it was always accompanied by an irritated/exasperated look and a sigh of utter boredom. He’d managed to fuck her twice before the effort it took to maintain an erection with her became greater than the pleasure of mutual release.
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Not that she ever came for him, he ruefully recalled. She’d “tolerate” his touch. She’d put up with his grunting and grinding. He could lick and suck and fuck where he may, but she refused to enjoy it. Two times was all he could take. She’d mentally castrated him their first time together, and the second time was an exercise in futility. He wanted to prove that he wasn’t as “whipped” as his friends had said. He’d fuck this bitch till his come filled her every orifice, she was so bow-legged all her friends would call her “Hoss,” and she’d break the world’s record for the highest note hit, inaudible to man.
But, shit. She was cold, dry and motionless. He ate her out till his tongue cramped up, he played with her tits till he got a severe case of carpal tunnel, and he’d gotten himself so worked up, trying to get her worked up, he came the instant he entered her. She’d looked at him, asked if he was done, then shoved him off to go get high in the bathroom. And they went on like that for over a year. He knew it sounded pathetic, and he certainly felt pathetic, but he needed her. Even if she treated him like shit and made him feel a million times worse than that, he did have a girlfriend. He introduced her as such, and she never argued the fact. That, in of itself, earned him some amount of masculine esteem from his friends. “Yeah,” one of them had said. “Alicia’s a bitch, but she’s your bitch.”
True, Mecca could come across as cold and hard, and it could certainly be argued that every move she made was calculated to the nth degree of certainty. But if you looked beyond the well-preserved degrees, the well-toned body, the impeccably applied makeup, and the expensive-looking, but cheaply purchased clothing, there was something undeniably soft lying underneath. Something in her eyes, something in her laugh, something in the way she moved when she thought no one was looking. There was a strange . . . sensuality to her strength, as a wayward child might look up to a stern mother. You couldn’t help but want her love and approval because you just knew with her on your side, you could never lose.
She wouldn’t take shit from you or anyone else, but she’d happily take shit for you and give you anything you wanted as long as you treated her right.
“I’m one of the statistics.”
The sound of her voice snapped him from his reverie. He was still in his “office;” she was still in the bathroom.
“N-not the Herpes one. The other one . . . I . . . um . . . I’m the one in four.”
He took a moment to process the information she’d just given him. Her? One in four? Raped?
He scoffed to himself, shaking his head. She’d never let anything like that happen. Just the idea that some guy would try to touch her without her say-so was just . . . ridiculous. She’d kill them long before anything of significance could happen.
“You keep saying that doing a little weed never hurt anybody, and I’m not saying that it does. But I was a little drunk, and whole lot high, mainly because I was nervous. I mean, I really liked this guy, and I’d just . . . well, I’d been with this guy for awhile, and he was really nice, and we talked about getting married and kids and . . . all that shit. And then he just . . . dumped me. Said I was too good for him, and I should stop wasting my life.”
She sounded really . . . not like herself. Small, fragile . . . vulnerable.
“My friends wanted me to just call him an asshole and forget the whole thing, but . . . he should’ve been my first. I kind of . . . made the offer a few times, but . . . he always seemed kind of freaked out by it. Like, he didn’t wanna put his ‘dirty’ hands all over me or something, but I . . . I really, really liked him.”
She became too quiet, and becoming quickly uncomfortable with the situation, he tried to . . . help her along. “And he . . .”
“No! Allen . . . no. He’d never. Like I said, he didn’t wanna get me dirty, but Eric was . . . Eric was . . . very charming. And my best friend’s brother to boot, so . . . What could go wrong, you know? I just wanted to go out and have some fun and . . . get laid for once in my life.”
Again, she grew quiet, then he heard her sigh.
“I started to get a bad feeling halfway into the night. You know, that gut feeling that something just isn’t right. But . . . I’m hardheaded. Once I decide I wanna do something, I do it. Pride won’t allow me to back down. It’s gonna kill me one of these days, but fuck it. It’s my life, and I’ll live it the way I want, you know?”
“Yeah.” He was familiar with the feeling, but he’d yet to actually do it: live life the way he wanted to.
“But he took me to this bar I’d never been to, showing me off like some sort of . . . freakish trophy. I mean, I’m not new to being the only black face in a crowd, but having it pointed out by the guy I’m with, and having him try to start shit with other people because of it . . . I should’ve flat out cussed him and told him to take me home.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No. I had a few more drinks till I mellowed out and didn’t feel so pissy and . . . I let him stick his fucking hand up my skirt. I mean, what the fuck? I don’t do shit like that. True, there’s a time and a place for everything, but in a crowded redneck bar certainly isn’t one of them.”
Feeling the need to contribute in some constructive way, “You’ve always struck me as a rather private person.”
“Exactly! I don’t do that shit out in public, but, go for the gusto, you know. Everyone in the place obviously thought I was some sort of black whore, so why not act like one and put on a good show?”
Show?
“He had his fingers up my cooch, so I wrapped my hand around his cock and started jerking him off.”
Daniel swallowed hard. This was certainly not the type of conversation you wanted to be having with a half-naked woman through a bathroom door . . . especially one with no lock on it.
“So I straddle him and put my ass in his lap and said ‘Let’s do this.’ He pushes me off him, grabs our coats, pays our tab and drags me out the door.”
Damn, he wished he could actually do something like that. Grab a girl, say let’s go and actually have her do it.
“But it was cold outside, and I slowly started coming to my senses. Something kept saying, ‘you don’t really wanna do this. You don’t really wanna do this.’ Then he shoves my back against his car, sticks his tongue down my throat and his hand up my shirt.”
Sympathy, he reminded himself. She wants sympathy and understanding. She doesn’t want you to jack off while she shows you her soul. This is traumatic for her; it shouldn’t be a turn-on.
“And part of me hates it, but part of me likes it. I keep reminding myself that the first time is supposed to hurt, and I’m not really gonna like it, anyway, so all this shit is no big deal. Just go back to his place. Let him do what he needs to do, and it’ll be over with. You won’t have to be on guard so much anymore. So paranoid about rapists hiding around every corner. So freaked out about relationships because you know eventually everything will come down to sex: will you or won’t you?
You will because you already have, and there won’t be any over-convoluted discussion involved because the topic of your virginity no longer exists.”
Curiosity overcame him, and he had to ask. “How old were you?”
He imagined her shaking her head.
“You won’t believe me.”
“Why wouldn’t I believe you?”
“In this day and age, it’s an oddity. Frankly, I wanted to get rid of it because it was making me feel sort of odd. And every time you go out with a guy, and it goes beyond three dates, they always have to push the envelope, and then you have to tell them. And,” sigh, “they ask you if you’re frigid or gay or just all sorts of stupid shit, and I got sick of it. I was 26.”
She was 29 at the time they’d had this conversation.
“And I’ve never told anyone. Everyone just assumes or assumed, you know. I didn’t even tell Eric. I was afraid that if I did, he’d turn out to be like Allen, and fuck that. I was getting too old.”
He scooted his chair back to the bathroom doorway. “So, if you wanted to, how did he?”
Again, she sighed. “You know the definition of rape is a forced act of sex. I willingly went down on the guy. I’d done it before; it wasn’t any big deal. Of course, I said ‘yes’ to vaginal because I wanted him to pop my cherry, but then he . . .”
Daniel felt his stomach turn.
“At first I thought it was a mistake. I mean, he’d been drinking, I’d been drinking, and we’d both smoked a bowl. I wrote it off, and laughed and told him he was in the wrong hole.”
He forced a half-hearted laugh to match her own.
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“He laughed, apologized, and stuck it where it was ‘supposed’ to go. I mean, my back was completely to him. I was on my knees bent over the couch, and actually, it was kind of starting to feel good, until he took it out and put it in my butt. But, you know, it was an honest mistake, I thought.
Till he did it again, and wouldn’t stop.”
That was something Daniel never understood. There had to be something severely wrong in a man’s head to be more turned on by “No” than by “Yes.” To have to knock a chick around, hold her down and force yourself inside her. He’d never forced Alicia to do anything, but he knew from experience there was nothing more uninviting than a dry pussy. Things just didn’t . . . fit the way they were supposed to, and it was usually more painful than pleasurable.
“At first, my head was all foggy, and I was still giggly, and I kept telling him he was making a mistake, and it was in the wrong hole, and that it really . . . hurt. I thought, you know, he’d stop. But, after a couple of minutes, I knew he wasn’t, so I . . . I elbowed him in the ribs. I clawed him in the eyes . . . which got him off me, then I kicked him in the balls while calling him every foul name I could think of, and . . . he thought it was funny. He . . . I guess he didn’t think there was anything wrong with what he did. He curled into a ball and told me I should calm down and ’loosen’ up. I . . .”
Her voice faded off into nothingness, and he again found himself straining to make out any sounds from the restroom. When it became too quiet, too still, he scooted himself into the hallway, just outside the bathroom door. All he had to do was stand up, step up and turn the knob . . . then he heard it: sniffling.
“I don’t know why I told you that. I mean, I guess you tell me a lot of things you say you’ve never told anyone before, but men lie, and I guess I don’t want you to be a liar, and I don’t wanna come across like an insensitive bitch, and with what we were talking about . . . It just came out. Maybe it’s been wanting to come out, but . . . I know other girls this has happened to, I mean, some like me where you know the guy and others where it’s this totally random act of violence, and I can’t help it. I kind of pitied them, but at the same time, I didn’t wanna be around them, anymore . . . You know, before it happened to me. And . . . I don’t have that many . . . you know . . . friends . . . to begin with, so to risk alienating them just so I could share my nightmares with them, well . . . Not something I wanted to do.”
“Do you?” he asked. “Have nightmares?”
“No. At first, I just couldn’t sleep. I’d have to shower for two hours every night and then . . . I guess Allen was kind of right. You do feel . . . dirty, and nothing ever seemed clean enough for me. I mean, it happened at his house, but after I came home and showered and shit, I threw out the towels. And then after I went to bed and woke up, I threw away my sheets and pillowcases. And it stayed that way for the next couple of weeks. I’d use the shit once, and I just wouldn’t want to touch it again.
Everybody kind of knew there was something . . . off with me, but . . . no one ever really asked, and I never told.”
“Till now,” he added . . . somewhat hopefully. This could be the beginning of something . . . meaningful, or maybe she’d leave and never want to face him again, the only “witness” to a previously unknown crime.
“You can’t tell anyone. I’m not shitting you; no one knows. What happens in Pennsylvania, stays in Pennsylvania. It was a long time ago, and I don’t do that shit anymore. And, with my mom, she’d probably say I got what I deserved, anyway, and I really, really don’t need to hear that. People have their perceptions of me, you know. And I like the way most people look at me these days. I’d really hate to have to leave because people, you know . . . talk. I mean, it’s hard enough to keep my head up with a convict uncle, a shut-in grandma, and, well, there’s no end of jokes about my mom and how many kids she has. Forget the fact that she was married when they were all born and they’re all by the same man . . .”
He placed his hand flat against the door, trying to send some sort of comfort to her. “People are just dumb, you know. And . . . I wouldn’t do that to you. That’d be really fucking low. Saying I wouldn’t say something then goin’ out and saying it, anyway. I don’t get down like that.”
She was quiet again, then he heard her draw in a deep breath and push it out. “Good to know. Now, if you’ll kindly step away from the bathroom door, I’m gonna stand up, wipe off, zip up and wash my hands.”
Part of him wanted to know how she knew he was just outside the door, but he supposed it had to be because of the shadows or something. “Right on.” He rolled back to his previous position in front of the TV.
Water ran, the door opened, the light went off. “You know,” she said, “you never struck me as the sentimental type.”
Daniel scoffed, lightly scratching at the reddish-brown undergrowth between his chin and neck. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?”
“Apparently, a guy who likes roses,” she smiled.
“Get the fuck out of here.”
She laughed and disappeared on the other side of the curtain.
He chuckled to himself and tried to get back to work. “Nosy!”
* * *
Which brought him back to the present, three years after that fact. He’d told her more things about himself, she’d told him a few things about herself. He wasn’t seeing anyone else; she wasn’t seeing anyone else, yet neither one of them seemed secure enough to lay some type of . . . claim upon the other. On a rare occasion he’d have to introduce her to someone she hadn’t already met, he’d simply refer to her as Mecca. And aside from a few . . . awkward occasions when he happened to stop by her new place of employment, and she attempted to give him a hard time, as she was apt to do in her old establishment, at least one of the employees would take the time to ask who he was.
“Is that your boyfriend?” they’d ask.
“That’s Daniel,” she’d laugh, saying no more on the subject.
Anytime he’d come close to making anything more out of the situation, he’d remember who he was, he remembered the things he’d done, and he remembered Alicia. He would never consider himself racist, he loved his mother, his sisters, his cousins, and his aunts more than anybody’s business, but white women were just plain crazy, and he’d dare say over his 30+ years, they’d done him more harm than good. With the exception of his mother, they were loud, rude, selfish, conniving, self-absorbed, money-grabbing, ballbreakers. His mother had been a little on the loud side, but she was always good-natured, self-sacrificing and high-spirited . . . As his father had pointed out to him, kind of like Mecca.
Alicia, on the other hand, had been the epitome of everything he hated about them. If he were to be honest with himself, the only reason he “wanted” her was because she wanted him first. He didn’t really have to do anything. He was so inexperienced back then, he mistook manipulation for consideration. Every move she made towards him brought her to her desired end. She was coming off a bad bit with some other guy and, basically, wanted a place to crash, food to eat and whatever booze/drugs she could lay her hands on. If she had to blow him every now and then, so what? If she had to let him fuck her once or twice, big deal. What she gave him was far, far outweighed by what he gave her.
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Forget the free rent, the booze, smokes and . . . whatever else she wanted and he was stupid enough to buy. Not to sound sentimental, or sappy or anything, but what was the going rate for the human heart?
But, then again, that was all in the past when he was young, impressionable, and completely naive of the ways of the world. He was older and wiser, now . . . or, at least, he certainly hoped so. He couldn’t say that he didn’t feel sort of . . . “ruined” by all of it, though . . .
Since then, he’d basically steered clear of women in general, and possible romantic entanglements, altogether. Except with her, with Mecca. He kept getting confused. There were certain days he could look at her and feel completely drawn in, but there were other times when she’d say something or do something or just look at him the wrong way, his blood would run cold, his dick would go flat and his balls would recede.
Which reminded him of his hairline . . . His brother still had a full head of hair, his father still had a full head of hair, but somewhere along the way, his genes had gotten all screwed up, apparently. He wouldn’t consider himself a vain man, but he refused to be seen in public without some type of head covering. And the one day Mecca knocked his hat off . . . not to be mean; she was only playing, but, he knew she had to have seen it, and he couldn’t bring himself to face her till he’d gone to the bathroom, tied a bandana on under the hat, then put the hat, itself, back on.
She was laughing when she’d done it, but when he returned, she seemed somewhat somber and genuinely apologetic. “You can knock my hat off if it’ll make you feel better.”
She wasn’t even wearing a hat . . .
Then there was the fact he’d put on about 30 pounds in the past three years. Between work, his family, and her, he was smoking more, which meant he got the munchies more, which meant he weighed more.
But the converse was true of her. Four years ago, she’d taken the notion to cut off all her hair, and she did. It looked just like a boys’; he hated it. Not that she didn’t have a pretty face . . . girls just didn’t do that sort of thing around here . . . especially not the black ones.
“You hate it, don’t you?” She swept her hand through her non-existent hair, and for the first time since they’d become reacquainted, so-to-speak, she looked troubled. Not only had she chopped it all off; she’d bleached it blonde.
“No, " he shook his head trying to think of something else remotely positive to say.
“My grandma hates it.”
“Well, who cares what she thinks? If you like it, that’s all that’s important, right?”
“I guess,” she shrugged. “It’ll grow back, anyway. I mean, it’s just hair.”
And it did grow back. She preferred to keep it curly, but when time and patience allowed, she straightened it and it reached just past her shoulders. Far longer than it had been when she’d first cut it. He hated to say it; he wouldn’t try to change her in any way (except for the one thing she did change for him) but he liked it better straight. It just looked more . . . touchable. The lord knew that if he ever did decide to make a play for her, things would be awkward enough without getting his fingers caught in her hair.
But, if she could tolerate him and his “male pattern baldness,” he was certain she would tell him what he could and couldn’t do with her hair. And then there was the rest of her . . . how she could be so muscular, yet look so feminine was beyond him. Any fat she had on her was purely T and A, and she had both in amazing proportions, as he could clearly see in that short, denim mini and that almost see-through hippie top. She did love to wear white . . .
“You only think I’m a prude,” he scoffed, continuing to price things behind the confines of the three glass showcases that housed the DVD latest releases, all the handheld systems and games, and the higher-end XBOX, PlayStation and Wii games.
“It’s not just me.”
“Yeah, well . . .”
“Let’s examine the facts, shall we? You don’t own any skin flicks, you don’t download porn on the Internet, you don’t read Playboy, Penthouse or any of that shit . . . You won’t go to the tittie bars with any of your friends. You turn bright red if I just mention the word ‘masturbation,’ and you fly into a semi-blind fury if I say ‘dildo,’ ‘anal beads’ or even the word ’lube.’ And despite the fact that you claim to buy, sell and trade games, systems, CDs and DVDs, you won’t take in any adult movies, and you won’t even order them if a customer requests them.”
He watched her back through the semi-sheer fabric with mild irritation/amusement as she continued to alphabetize the VHS shelves. He hadn’t asked her to do it; he’d simply mentioned that he was thinking of doing it a couple of days ago. She showed up today and just started moving things around. She’d only done two things he didn’t approve of: mixing the Wrestling tapes in with everything else and putting the numbers before the letters. 101 Dalmatians went before 8 Mile and both of these were supposed to go before All About Eve. Which was just plain wrong. One-hundred and one began with an “O,” so it should be with the other O’s. Eight began with an “E,” so it should go with the other E’s. She was fit to fight him tooth and nail that numbers went before letters, but she finally conceded to him. “It’s your shop, after all. I’m just here to help.”
“So?” he asked.
“Don’t get me wrong. I respect the fact that you have morals and ideals, and you do your best to uphold them and stay true to yourself, but,” she peered over her shoulder at him.
“But what?”
“You’re a guy!” she laughed. “You’re supposed to be interested in that shit. The more naked women you can see in shortest period of time, the happier you should be.”
Daniel shrugged. “I don’t claim to be on some moral high ground or whatever, but this is a family-friendly type business, and you can’t have stuff like that out on the shelves.”
“I understand that, but what about for your personal use? Straight guys are supposed to like to look at naked women.”
“What’s the point of looking if you can’t touch?”
She raised an eyebrow at him.
“It’s bad enough the real things get you worked up, and then refuse to follow through. But to torture yourself with hollow images of fake women . . . I don’t see the point in that.”
“Hmmm,” she turned back to her sorting and shelving. “Guess I never thought of it that way.”
“What about you?” he asked. “You’re an admittedly avid porn watcher. What do you get out of it?”
“Wet,” she shrugged.
He swallowed hard.
“It’s nice to know that even though I’m forced to live a celibate life, there’re plenty of people out there who still enjoy an entertaining and exhilarating sex life.”
“Entertaining,” he laughed.
“Not to mention educational. Half of the things I know about sex, I learned from watching porn.”
“And the other half?”
“Actually, one quarter from blind experimentation and one quarter from women’s magazines.”
“You lie!”
“What’ve I got to lie for? It’s just you here. Like I’m trying to impress somebody.”
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