He didn’t stay in the old trailer that I’d used, he was familiar enough to use the main house like it was his own. As his movements continued, I rattled through my brain like a rolodex, trying to see if I could link some piece of information to something he was doing or the way he was acting and each and every time I came up blank. Old Sam didn’t leave personal mail lying around, there were no pictures to indicate he had a family and like me he came across as a loner with no relatives to speak of.
The next day I watched the monster of a man get busy with an old Chevy and it seemed he was as handy as Old Sam when it came to wielding spanners under a hood. Every so often when the wind changed direction I could hear rock music blaring from the old transistor radio kept on the front porch.
I coincided all my lunch breaks with his and contemplated the real possibility that I was becoming a stalker. I’d convinced myself that it was completely acceptable because information is power and not having it could mean a death sentence for me.
The days continued much like this and at night I spent my time wondering what he was doing and whether it was possible to order night vision goggles without a credit card or postage address. I dismissed the idea quickly and figured they weren’t the sort of thing I could ask Stan in Rockton’s general store to stock as a shelf item without causing too much interest.
His routine never changed much until the Gods above us seemed to answer a silent prayer for me. He’d been consuming so much of my mind that I longed to see more of him. He was a fixation I was becoming acquainted with from afar. I felt like I knew him intimately and was definitely on the precipice of becoming a Grade A stalker. During one afternoon of work on the Chevy he unfolded himself from under the hood, stood tall to stretch his back out and then pulled his shirt over his head. I couldn’t help myself and I’m fairly sure when the words, “Holy shit,” left my lips, they were the first words I’d said in ages. I’d been so pre-occupied that I was fairly sure I’d stopped mindlessly mumbling counted numbers, but still, hearing a noise leave my mouth made me jump in astonishment.
The man was a God, there were no other words for it. He seemed to be tattooed everywhere and through the binoculars, I could see that the few places where he had no ink, were tanned and sculpted like fine marble.
His body was amazing, mouth hanging open, dribble worthy amazing. Even his muscles looked like they had their own muscles, I knew he was a big guy, you could tell even with his clothes on, but without them he looked fearsome. I carefully began to sweep the binoculars up and down his body, tweaking and refocusing as I progressed, obsessed with defining and cataloguing his luscious body art. The tattoos weren’t of any particular pattern or tribal design, they were all that and so much more. There didn’t appear to be any rhyme or reason but whoever had scribed on his body was a true artist. A series of jumbled up designs appeared to start from below the waistband of his shorts, travel up his back and continue over his shoulder on one side of his body. As the art work reached his pectoral muscle and chest it made a significant detour to spread out over his chest before mirroring the design line of the back, down his front, where it disappeared past his waist band again. The design cleverly incorporated his arm and I mean his whole arm, starting from his shoulders, it extended the full length of his appendage to the edge of his fingernail beds. This design piece was clear, so much more identifiable it was a skeletal arm lovingly drawn into his skin.
It was a mesmerizing package, the movement of his arm only served to accentuate the art work and if you watched it for long enough it was like watching an x-ray machine.
Who the hell was this guy?
The calf muscles bulging out beneath his long cargo shorts looked powerful, I’d only seen muscles like his on some of my families most feared hired help and it was obvious this guy could bench press a small country. Even though he was built like a body builder I had no doubt that he could catch me in an instant should I try to get away from him.
Shit, I needed to train harder. I didn’t have any strength as such and I certainly had no fighting moves to rely on. I had to capitalize on my one advantage speed, after all there was no point hanging around to fight when I knew as much about defending myself as I did brain surgery.
Every now and then the stocky stranger would stop to stretch and run his dirty, engine greased fingers through his dark mop of hair and on the occasions when his fingers caught his neck or face he would smear oil on his features until he looked like a commando.
It didn’t take long for me to realize that my breathing had gotten heavier, it felt like I was watching the most erotically charged soft porn film ever. It was so perfectly scripted, that he was just missing the naked blonde in clear plastic platform shoes, only wearing a string bikini to cover her fake breasts.
I slammed the binoculars in my lap feeling a multitude of emotions and for the first time in over a year I felt something I wasn’t sure I’d ever feel again, turned on. Reaching for the water bottle, I took a much needed gulp from it and couldn’t decide whether I was quenching a thirst or trying to put out a fire. I tried and tried to tell myself that it was down to the heat of the afternoon, but I knew it wasn’t the reason I was hot and bothered.
*****
Jake
I wondered if my little watcher was enjoying the show. I’d been here for days now and needed to do something to see just how much she was interested in my routine. Deciding to accidentally, on purpose bump into her when I made numerous trips into town wasn’t working, this was because she very rarely visited town. It seemed I had piqued her interest though, just not enough for her to leave the hillside and follow me there.
Dad was right, this girl Cara really did keep herself to herself. He predicted she’d come and investigate a stranger at the Junkyard, but so far no luck. He’d also mentioned her strategic runs, always following the same route, which meant that part of her routine was predictable. Whatever she was planning would fail for that reason alone. I’d not been watching her for that long and anyone else, who had half a brain, would realize that too. If they were even remotely nosey, intrigued or blessed with observation skills they’d be watching to find out more. Her attempt to remain aloof would actually be her undoing because human nature and curiosity would conspire to bring her out into the open.
When Dad landed at his vacation hot spot he called again to give me a few details and he was right, Cara ran twice a day, did what he’d described as routine and was tactical with her visits to town for supplies and food. She wasn’t interested in forming friendships with the people who she did admin work for. I suspected that most of the people didn’t actually need the work doing, but it was a way for them to earn her trust so they could rope her into the community and open lines of communication. I knew it was the sort of thing my dad would cook up so he could figure out what she was up to. This worked up to a point but she still hadn’t cracked and in his words, spilled her fuckin’ guts, so he decided to expedite the activity and drag me in to help. His limited and retired resources had dried up and he still didn’t know who he was hiding. Dad’s instinct told him she was in trouble, rather than actually being trouble herself and his one life lesson was to always listen to your gut.
Scouting round the old desk she used told me nothing, she hadn’t left anything personal behind. It was just the usual piles of receipts, the odd bland business ledger here and there, a calculator and some pencils.
Nothing.
I couldn’t keep riding into town for piss useless reasons the locals would get jumpy, a few knew who my Dad was, but I liked to keep myself to myself because it was easier and safer that way.
The last time I’d rang Dad he’d demanded updates, he sounded wired, like he was getting a buzz out of the mystery of Cara Daniels. This odd bit of adventure and intrigue kept his blood pumping and his sharp brain ticking. We both knew she’d be watching the junkyard for signs of danger, but I couldn’t stick around forever, so we both agreed to step it up just a notch and see if we could smoke h
er out.
After my little body show, I knew she was riveted, so I decided to take a shower because I knew the binoculars I saw reflecting every now and then in the sunlight would lead her to the bathroom. Once I’d teased her enough so she was really distracted, I’d engineer our first introduction.
Chapter seven
I was just about to call the days monitoring to an end, monitoring seemed less freakish than stalking, when I saw the bathroom door swing open.
My brain did the flip flop of should I? Shouldn’t I? It then did it more violently when I saw him switch the shower taps on and then I just figured, to hell with it when I saw him start to undo the fastenings on his cargo shorts. At that point a nuclear bomb threat couldn’t have shifted me.
Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I was a disgrace.
Realizing my hands were shaking and affecting my vision’s stability through the binoculars, I bent forward so I could rest my elbows on my knees and for the second time that week, I heard my own voice again, “Oh my… yum.”
Even flaccid, he was enormous.
I saw him lean and adjust the shower taps and nearly squealed as he paraded back past the window to get a towel from the closet. As he stepped over the side of the tub I marveled at the sight of power that the movement caused, it rippled through his butt cheeks and thighs and led me to concentrate on the dick dangling between his legs.
Old Sam’s visitor was just delicious.
I quickly lowered my binoculars in embarrassment and ended up doing that ridiculous high school girl thing of fanning my cheeks, like that was going to remove even a tenth of the heat from my body. My brain couldn’t comprehend the ease at which I found this voyeuristic stalking malarkey, which was disturbing in itself or whether it was excited because I hadn’t felt, well… this excited in ages. I looked down at my top and even through my sports bra and T-shirt I could see my nipples were stood at attention. A quick rub to try and make them stand down, only made me more frustrated and them protrude more.
“Holy fucking shitballs,” I panted at the next vision in my sight, the erotic God had moved positions whilst I’d been contemplating my own arousal. Without bothering to drawer the shower drape, I could see water and soap suds cascading down his back. It was pure voyeurism.
After a few minutes, he leant forward and placed a hand on the wall to steady himself and in one of the most explicit sights I’ve ever seen, I watched him palm his dick and start a slow motion. I didn’t need to check his face to know his eyes would be closed in ecstasy. In a move so shameful, one I couldn’t stop if I tried, I moved my own hand past the waistband of my shorts and began to explore my own wetness.
The technique used by this mystical creature was one he’d perfected for pleasure, a few slow strokes, followed by a few faster ones where he ended the movement by clamping his fist around the head of his dick. It seemed like he was trying to painfully prolong the end result.
His own concentration was so engrossing that I had no choice but to play my part in this dual act of self appreciation. Maintaining my own pace, yet failing miserably to regulate the intensity of my breathing, I kept going until he turned his back fully. His head was suddenly thrown back sharply in satisfaction and as he came to an end, it appeared that he needed to place both palms against the wall to keep him upright.
Knowing he’d finished was my undoing and it was all I could do to clamp my lips together to stop me from releasing what would have been a shout that echoed round the hillside.
When my brain caught up to the last half an hour, my cheeks tinged in shame, I was thankful that this little escapade was one I’d taken alone, I’d led a sheltered life and had a modest sexual past. I could count on one hand where I’d had an orgasm given to me by someone else. Adventure, of any kind, was not encouraged in the females of our family, we were a breeding necessity, something to satisfy our husbands at the end of a hard day of illegal activity. Any thrill we experienced would be led by them, for the sole purpose of their enjoyment only.
I got lost trawling through the memory banks of my old life and it wasn’t long before the man reappeared, dressed and climbed into his truck, pulling away heading in the direction of town. The sun was setting, I was out of stalking supplies and I’d become a little sweaty for a number of reasons, the fact that it had been a warm day was the least of them. I gathered up my small stake out essentials and meandered back up the hillside, as soon as I reached the cabin I stripped off and hopped in the shower. I was hyper aware of my body and questions flared through my mind that worried me. I was no closer to discovering who he was, but I seemed to be more preoccupied that it was a very real possibility I may never have sex again. I was the only daughter in a family of aggressive Italian American men, surrounded by an army of minders, smothered by overprotective brothers and ruled by a dictatorial father. To have sex before marriage was a crazy decision that lead to the death of an innocent guy, a friend. It was a stupid attempt to push the boundaries and it brought shame to my family, ultimately leading to them questioning my integrity. After all, if I couldn’t keep my legs closed and honor the man they’d chosen to be my husband, there was every possibility I would share the family secrets and become a rat, a federal informant.
The only way they could destroy the information I knew about them all, was to kill me and as soon as I figured that out, I made exit plans very quickly and left.
I shut down that memory path, it served me only one purpose now and that was to reinforce the need to survive, not the desire to be a woman who was sexually involved with a man she loved and desired.
After eating a small amount of leftovers from last night, I dressed in my trail running gear, feeling the need to get the freedom run over with. I was distracted and the cloud cover meant I needed to concentrate, tonight I would be reliant on my memory of the route and my brain’s incessant need to count and recreate the necessary details. It felt liberating to put my gift to the test, like a latent behavioral trait, it hated being trampled down or ignored.
Lacing up my sneakers, I stepped outside, took a huge lungful of air and began. “1, 2, 3, 4…”
*****
Jake
My own bino’s were camouflaged and supplied by the marines, even if the moon had made an appearance from the clouds she wouldn’t have spotted the reflection from the glass. I’d watched the route she took and knew roughly what time to expect her, as soon as I saw her coming, I positioned myself behind a large tree trunk at the bottom of the parking lot and waited.
I could hear her coming, the hillside was quiet and it seemed to vibrate with every footstep she made. The forest path came alive with her movement a brush of fern here, a twig snap there and the ever increasing sound of her breathing getting louder as she approached. The one noise I didn’t expect to hear was her mumbling numbers, the counting increasing with every footfall, mixed up with directional prompts of left and right. “Fuck, that’s crazy, she’s givin’ herself away,” I said, shaking my head in bemusement.
Five minutes later she exploded out of the end of the trail into the parking lot, clearly pleased with her achievement. Not surprisingly, she placed her hand on her chest, trying to coax her breathing to calm down as she ambled over to the busted up sedan facing out of the lot. I watched her do a walk around, tell herself the details of the car whilst checking its condition and then scope out the tires as she leaned against it. A quick glance to the left and right to see if she’d been discovered and then she ducked down, reaching around the back nearside wheel to grab the keys.
I waited until her breathing increased in panic and I could hear hand scrubbing round the floor in a panic before I stepped out. “Looking for these?” The shock of my approach caused her to fall out of her crouched position and land flat on her ass. I sensed her panic levels escalate and walked forward dangling the car keys. “There are many faults with your plan, want to hear them?”
“NO! Who are you? How…”
I cut her off, “I’m Jake, but you know that, you�
�ve been watchin’ me haven’t you?”
The dawn of realization spread across her face it would have been fucking cute if she hadn’t looked so terrified. Without saying anything she turned and fled in the direction of the hill, away from me. I couldn’t help the chuckle my body released, “I’ll put these back where I found them, see you real soon Cara,” and I left knowing I’d be seeing her a lot sooner than she expected. If I gave her too long to think about it, she’d bolt, so it was time to strike whilst the iron was most definitely hot.
Chapter Eight
I know without a doubt that I made it back to my cabin in record time. The only positive I could focus on was that my subconscious guided me without the need to keep checking the surroundings on my route home. My brain did all the work using the pre-recorded details.
I crashed through my cabin door and scrambled to get the gun from under my pillow, with that braced in my shaky hands, I retreated to the darkest corner and sat down facing the door. If anyone touched that door, if I heard the wood squeak just a bit, I was going to start firing holes through it and if that didn’t send them running away, I’d have to do the unthinkable and put holes in them.
Hours later I jerked awake with a crick in my neck, I’d fallen asleep.
Oh my God, I was absolutely useless.
Survivor (The Soul Mates Series Book 1) Page 3