Lustful Memoirs
By: Gina - gina@basic-nstynct.com
Chapter Thirty NineI watched as the door closed behind him. Momentarily triumphant for not one additional tear had been shed in his presence, but now, sitting on the bed, alone, I could feel them stir, threatening, begging to pour much like a darkened summer sky, right before a torrential rain storm. They began, filling my eyes, clouding my vision, grasping my lashes to drip down my face. I took a deep breath, anger filling me at the wetness trailing down my face. I rose from the bed, determined to make them stop. I entered the bathroom, and glanced at my appearance in the mirror, annoyed by my lack of self-control that had once come so easily. My carefully applied mascara streaked across my cheek. I wiped away the tears, causing more damage to the recently applied makeup. Using a soft tissue, I cleaned the tears and the black smudges away, the movements in direct correlation to the process being undertaken inside, the cleansing of my soul. Unfortunately, I realized as I tossed the now blackened tissue into the trash, the feelings couldn’t be as easily discarded.
Glancing at the clock, I knew I had to hurry, either to change and get ready or think of one damn good convincing lie to tell him and get me out of going. I shook my head, knowing that I had better just get ready and go, for he wasn’t going to give up and I wasn’t much in the mood to forge ahead in a battle, for I was assured defeat.
I carefully reapplied my make up, and pulled my hair from it’s restrictive bun, letting it pool around my shoulders. I smiled at myself in the mirror, suddenly seeing as I relaxed my normally reserved appearance, my mother’s eyes, my father’s nose and lips reflect back at me. Once again the thoughts caused the tears to start to brew, but my determination was stronger. With heavy breath and a heavier heart, I turned from the mirror, praying desperately for the strength it would take to get through this evening and back to LA.
I exited the bathroom, entering the closet for the third time that day. Within its confines I found what I was looking for. Stripping myself of the professional attire, I pulled on a pair of well-worn jeans and a small white t-shirt, both hugging my slight frame in just the right places, yet allowing for easy movement. I slipped my feet into a pair of white socks and my tennis shoes, reveling in the comfort of the air cushions against my feet. Tempting fate as I dared to once again look into the mirror, it wasn’t thoughts of my overwhelming past that stirred, but the realization that I had never worn such personal attire in front of him, in front of any of them. I had not once allowed myself to be seen in the clothes that I had purchased for my comfort, for my indulgence. Clothes that portrayed the person hidden behind the professional attire, clothes that showed my own tastes, only one person in mind when they were bought. I had existed for almost two weeks adorned in expensive fabrics, each labeled with the name of a famous designer. Clothes chosen to accent my body, leaving men, tongues wagging as they longed to touch and enter what was underneath. Clothes chosen for the job, clothes that had made me successful, clothes that were impersonal all the same. Something about that caused a strange comfort, a calming effect. The removal of the professional Marie required attire, struck me as the tearing down of the walls between employer and employee. The sensation frightened me and thrilled me and I knew that I should push it away, to keep focused on what I knew was the right thing, to return to LA and forget about these people, employers, friends, enemies, whatever. But as I stared into my own eyes, I set my jaw, stood tall, and resolved that I would not. Tonight, if only for one evening, if only for a few hours, I would allow our mutual like for each other through. I shrugged away all other thoughts. It was my last night in Orlando, I would never return. I was going to spend it with someone that genuinely cared for me, and I shakily admitted, that I genuinely cared for. I was going to allow myself this one reprieve of peace. This one brief respite, before I had to make my return to LA, to the hell that had become my life and to the battle that would ensue during my struggle to right the past wrongs.
His hand met the door, sending echoing sounds through the room and shudders through my body, I shook them away. I glanced at the clock, he was two minutes early. I wondered if he even noticed the time, I wondered what he had done in the 28 minutes since he departed. I glanced back at the clock, he told me thirty minutes, he would wait the entire thirty, not one minute before would I open that door. As I painstakingly held myself from the door, as the clock barely moved, I wondered what he had planned for the evening. I wondered if I would survive being with him, without having the walls of my emotional vault crumbling once again. A deep breath drew the final movement of the minute hand, and I opened the door, finding him dressed exactly as he had been, the only change in his appearance, the fragile yellow rose he held in his hand. He smiled, his eyes moving over me. I noted his surprise at my attire, and also his pleasure in it. I smiled back.
"Blake, you look nice," he paused, licking his lips, as I did my best not to stare at them. Holding out the flower, he continued, "For you, a beautiful rose for a beautiful lady." As I reached up to grab his offering, he looked away from me, laughter bursting from him.
"What’s so funny?" I wondered, a momentary feeling of unfamiliar self-consciousness overcoming me. My face contorted with confusion. He shook his head, placing his hand gently on on my shoulder. I could feel his warmth permeate my skin as he brought his laughter under control, to answer my question.
"Blake, you really do look nice, as always, but please don’t tell me that you didn’t find my attempt at flattery the most ridiculously lame thing you’ve ever heard. I’m a dork, I admit it. Just please don’t tell too many people, ruin my reputation you know."
My smile then broke, from reserved and forced to genuine placement. I shook my head incredulously. He never failed to amaze me. I had allowed myself to stress for the minutes he had been gone, but one look at him and I knew that I shouldn’t have. He had a way of making me feel at ease, comfortable, relaxed, it amazed me and scared me all the same, though deep down, I knew that it wasn’t he that I should be afraid of, it was me and my own feelings. I glanced away and then back to him as opened my mouth to respond, "Your secret’s safe with me." The words left my mouth as the tension eased from my body.
"Oh, thank you, Blake," he smiled, mischievously, "I’m forever in your debt. So are you ready."
My head dropped, my eyes meeting the floor, as I thought about his words. It was not he who was in my debt, but me in his. My mind wandered out of control, down a reckless pathway, the destination unknown, as I heard his words. Again and again, I wanted to tell him what my heart was saying, to let him know, but I knew that was impossible. Unable, this time, to shake the feeling, I stared at the floor in front of me. He noticed my momentary hesitation.
"Come on, Blake, let’s go. Let’s leave it all here, let’s just go somewhere, just Blake and Justin, no pretenses, no problems, nothing, somewhere where we only have to be Blake and Justin."
I wondered at his words, his eyes speaking volumes, my earlier thoughts erased, it wasn’t apathy that held him from asking the questions I knew that were, most assuredly, burning inside of him, it wasn’t unconcern that caused the words to remain unspoken, it was genuine understanding. His eyes told me that he wouldn’t ask, but also that he would listen if I wanted to talk. His eyes told me his longing for me to let go, to let him take me out, and to let him help me to forget, even for just a little while. The now all too familiar feeling of tears stirring caused me to shut my eyes, willing them away. After all those years of not crying, it seemed like in the course of several hours, crying was the only action my body recalled, and it seemed to rejoice in its new found emotional liberation. I cringed, not wanting to let go, wanting so much to just go with him. To be with him, as he said, ‘just Blake and Justin,’ no past, no future, just one night. These new thoughts pushed the overwhelming feelings of dread and emotional rawness away. He awed me with his ability to look through me, with his knowledge of what I needed. I was no longer afraid. He wouldn’t ask, and he didn’t expect me to offer.
I glanced back at him, taking a deep breath, I smiled and he knowingly, smiled back, his eyes crinkling at the corners. I then let my smile fade, replacing it with a look of mystery.
"Don’t look at me like that, I don’t bite," he paused, his grin widening, "unless..." he trailed off, finishing with a chuckle.
I couldn’t help but laugh myself. I grabbed his offered hand and followed him through the house. I struggled to keep close to him, hoping for no unwanted encounters on our journey to the car, but knowing should we meet any, he was there to shield me from it. That thought comforted me, almost too much.
We made our way to the Benz in record time, both of us laughing and carrying on as we tripped over each other’s feet. He pushed the button on the remote and the doors unlocked, he then turned to me.
"Race you to the car," he said, his eyes gleaming with mischief.
Before I could utter a reply, he had taken off running, leaving me chasing after him. He opened the passenger side door, before jogging around the other side, and throwing himself into the vehicle. My chest tightened with laughter, as I struggled to find my breath. He stuck his tongue out at me as I climbed into "Ruby," as he so affectionately named his dark red Mercedes Benz.
"I won," he shouted, causing another fit of giggles to rise from within me. Before the laughter had subsided he had maneuvered the truck out of the driveway and we were on our way, to where, I wasn’t sure.
After driving for almost a half an hour I glanced over at him, his right hand controlling the steering wheel, his left pounding his leg with a beat only he could hear. His head moved in tune with internal rhythm. I wanted to ask where we were headed but the image of him thoroughly consumed by the music running through his head, caused me to not want to interrupt. I turned from him, my eyes looking into the darkness outside the passenger side window.
I’m not sure how much time had passed when I felt him shift in his seat, his hand raising to turn on the signal, that would inform other drivers and me that he was making a left. I looked before us, the sign, "Bill’s Go Karts" lit up in neon. I turned to him, surely he couldn’t be serious.
"Justin, where are we going?" I questioned.
"Right here," he responded, nonchalantly.
"We, you and I, are going to ride go karts?" I questioned him, looking for any hint that he was kidding.
"Yes, we are. I reserved the whole place, not another soul here, except for Bill, but he stays in the back and lets me do what I want," he stated, the excitement brewing behind the deep blue orbs. He then shifted his gaze and added, in a whisper, "unless you want to do something else."
I looked at him, the disappointment showing in the slump of his shoulders, in the darkness of his eyes, the twist of his mouth, reminding me of a child that had just been told to put his favorite candy bar back, after begging and pleading for his mother to buy it. I thought about what he had done for me, about the fact that the night was one of his last to spend in relative solitude, free to be the child he kept so well hidden. I couldn’t deny him that freedom. I glanced, once again, at the neon sign and the two tracks laid out before us. "Justin," I started, unable to hide the uncertainty in my voice, "I don’t know how."
His eyes brightened, the excitement again adorning his features. "I’ll teach you, it’s easy, before the night is over you’ll be whizzing around the track. Come on, don’t be scared, it’s just you and me. And I won’t laugh at you, well, not too much anyway." He finished with a chuckle.