Marianna’s body ached for him. Their hands began to explore each other’s body. She giggled at the contrast between Larry’s admantium-hard manhood and his soft midsection. She began to unbutton his wet shirt, struggling with each button in her haste. When she finally reached the bottom, she tried to pull the shirt off, but it clung to his skin, drenched as it was. She reached again from the collar and began to slowly peel it off, her hands running down Larry’s back. She thrilled at the touch of strange skin, so rough, and so unlike Screech’s, or Bradley’s.
Marianna would learn many things that night.
Marianna was at first confused by Larry’s back—it seemed to have hair on it. Did hair really grow in such places? She was aware that some men had pubic hair, but she had never seen it on someone’s back. He also appeared to have a mole. Marianna had heard that sometimes poor people couldn’t afford to get those removed. But she struggled when her hands grazed over some bumps on Larry’s upper back.
She tried to restrain herself, but she let out a gasp. “Do you… do you have herpes on your back?”
Larry tried to laugh it off. “No, little one! That’s acne. Sometimes people have it on their backs.”
Marianna pulled away.
“No, seriously. It’s ok. They call it ‘back-ne’!”
Marianna had never heard of such a thing. Certainly Bradley had never had anything so disgusting on his body. She maintained her composure—she wanted his bulge desperately. If she could keep her hands on Larry’s broad shoulders, she could avoid the inconvenient hair and those strange blemishes.
Larry suddenly grabbed her hips and lifted her out from under him in one continuous motion. He stood her up, ripped away her bodice and hooked his fingers into her shorts—without unbuttoning them, he simply yanked them down. His hands moved with need. Only thin lace protected her body. But he eagerly grabbed her panties and pulled those down as well. He leaned down to take her supple breasts into his mouth, sucking on the moistened cherry tips of her nipples. Marianna gasped. Larry grabbed her hips again and effortlessly threw her thin frame back on the couch, with the exact right mix of aggression and sensitivity for her feelings.
Her legs were askance, the ripe, dripping petal of her womanhood now exposed to his Blue Steel gaze. He grunted and pulled his own pants off—his shaft springing up as soon as it was released from the sunless penitentiary of his pants. Marianna’s eyes were drawn to Larry’s manhood, a purple-helmeted soldier so large that she wondered if he could fit inside of her quarters. But then she remembered Suzanne telling her about the time she boiled a massive cucumber for personal use and was able to walk correctly again after only a few days, and this thought put her at ease. The house was dark, but lightning flashed, outlining every jagged edge of Larry’s body. Though it was an odd, imperfect body, Marianna still trembled in anticipation. Her milky white skin burned hot.
Larry lay on top of her, naked, his bristly flesh touching her most sensitive areas. His hips rocked back for a second, positioning his flaming sword of manhood just so beside her moist hilt. The first thrust was easy, filling her like she had never been filled before. This first touch hit her womb. His second, her esophagus. Bradley had perfect abs and worked out daily, but with each thrust of Larry’s, Marianna felt something different—something animal. Larry’s rough hands were not calloused from the gym—they were calloused from the natural motions of honest work on the sea.
This man was strong like an ox—strong like a beast of burden that would pull or push with all its might. He pushed hard into her. She was so wet that anything else would have left her feeling empty and unfulfilled. Each time his pelvis made contact with hers, she shuddered with the full weight of this man upon her, inside her. His massive, meaty balls banged together—much the same way as the distracting apparatus on Marianna’s desk always drove her mad with its rhythmic metal click-clacks. It was as if the Almighty had given this man balls of steel.
She felt unchained, unleashed, a new woman. Sometimes, when making love, Marianna would feel like she was drowning. But now free of everything that had ever happened to her, she could breathe for the first time.
The French call orgasms la petite mort, “the little death,” because it was thought that moments of immense pleasure caused the soul to temporarily escape, creating transcendence and total ecstasy. It must have been true, for Marianna felt like she had just died and been reborn in a span or mere seconds. Her release came easily. She shook and shook, rippling like the wild seas. A peal of thunder matched her screams of passion. As she shuddered once more, she slipped a finger in Larry’s ass to stimulate his prostate. She felt Larry quake and empty all of his fears and all of his strength inside of her in a flood that could rival the mighty ocean itself.
It’s a good thing I’m on the pill! Marianna thought.
When she awoke the next morning, the sun was shining. Larry had left already to face the sea. Marianna felt panic for a second but then relaxed. She luxuriated in Larry’s bed for hours and day-dreamed of the next time he would take her.
But it had been six hours, and he had not called.
“Typical!” Marianna sniffed.
But she did not need a man to feel good. She began again with her routine of yoga and meditation. She breathed easily as she lost her “monkey brain” in the midst of meditation.
But a day later, it was much the same. Why is he not calling? Their bout of love-making should have been enough to impel him to come back for seconds or a lifetime. But if he would not call, she would go find him. It was a calm summer day. She walked to the docks where Larry’s boat was and perched herself on the edge of a pier, right next to Downeaster Fitzgerald.
Doesn’t Larry see that I’m here?
But she knew he was one of those strong, silent types. This called for greater action.
“Larry! I know you are here!”
No response.
“Larry! I’m going to jump in the water if you don’t come out!”
Silence.
“Larry, I’m going to count to ten!”
A rough voice called out, “Ten!”
Marianna’s heart leapt: “Larry!”
Still, the voice remained unwavering. “If you want to jump, do it.”
“No, you’re supposed to say ‘You jump, I jump!’”
“No, you jump, I walk away and pretend like I didn’t see a thing.”
Marianna felt her blood rise. Who was this man? “What’s the matter? You never had a woman with a touch of class before?”
There was a pause.
But then Larry popped out of the hatch of his boat and walked up to her. “Is that what you call it when you put your finger in my ass?”
Marianna’s blood was accustomed to boiling by now, but this time it was close to evaporating. She couldn’t believe how anal Larry was about the matter.
She slapped him. “I read in Cosmo that it feels great. Ungrateful son of a bitch—I don’t do that for everyone.”
Inside, she knew that was a lie.
Larry scowled impatiently. “Look, I don’t know who you people are! What with your macchiatos, fingers-in-asses, and high-heels.”
Marianna thought to herself: This is probably the first time those three things have been mentioned in the same sentence. She winced. At least, I hope so.
Larry started walking away. “Look lady, we had a moment, but then you stuck your finger in my ass. I didn’t want any more surprises. Not after everything I’ve been through.” He paused. “Don’t come round here no more, ok?”
Chapter 17 – Friends With Benefits
Sometimes, all you can do is go back to work.
It had been two weeks since Marianna had shared Larry’s bed, and she couldn’t believe that it was over. And so Marianna threw herself into the passions of document review. She berated the paralegals as never before. Each instance of shoddy work the equivalent of a rusty dagger in her silky-smooth thigh. While billing hours for the firm was a unique kind of satisfaction, she
couldn’t help her mind drifting. Sometimes, while reading a contract, she would think instead of Larry’s rough hands on her hips. Her body would respond as if he were still there. Sometimes, many minutes would pass before she could regain her composure.
One day she called Suzanne, but she couldn’t bring up her night with Larry. Instead, she talked about how Bradley used to bleach the pubic hair on his ass to match his golden locks.
“Well, I guess Bradley was a bleached asshole then!”
Oh, how the girls laughed and laughed! But then Marianna got serious for a moment.
“I never need to see Bradley again, now that I’ve had a real man. I know who I am—and I will hold out for love.”
For deep down, Marianna longed for only one thing. She longed for Larry and each night she fell asleep with dreams of him only. He was her ghost lover.
It was late one night, and again Marianna had cried herself to sleep, thinking only of how Larry had made her feel. But there was a noise that roused her.
Some tapping on the door? Was it Larry, coming to hold her, to caress her once more like he used to? Marianna roused herself, almost sleepwalking, and opened the door.
But it was not Larry standing there.
The face was younger, prettier, without blemish. The pores, unclogged by blackheads. There was no trace of facial hair.
It was Bradley. And he was drunk and strangely wearing a backpack.
“I saw you on the news with another man,” Bradley slurred.
“What?”
“I saw you on the news kissing another man—a hero who saved a boy from the cruel sea!” He said these words in a strange, sing-song voice.
For a second, Marianna was excited about having been on TV, but then she realized it had led Bradley to her.
“But Bradley, I thought you didn’t care about me.”
Bradley grimaced at her unsteadily. “That’s true. You were only ever an accessory to me—a pretty accoutrement. You weren’t born into the same kind of wealth I was. Of course, you’ll never understand my special.”
Marianna felt a chill down her spine.
“Your ‘special’? I have no idea what you’re talking about Bradley, I’m sorry, but you have to go.”
“Mumsy says I can’t let you talk,” Bradley hissed, flinging the door wide open.
It all came back to Marianna, the awful images of the donkey flew back into her mind.
“Look, I have no interest in revisiting that day.”
Bradley’s eyes seemed distant. “But Mumsy says I can’t let you talk. Ever.”
Marianna’s heart started to race. “Bradley, it’s no big deal. Lots of people are into donkey porn these days.”
“No! Daddy never let anyone talk about his specials either.”
“Look Bradley, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Mumsy says Daddy took care of business—people found out about his specials, so he took care of them. And then he had to leave for Monaco.”
Marianna’s eyes widened as she realized the real truth behind Bradley’s father’s disappearance—Bradley’s family was depraved to the core. There was no limit to what they would do to hide a secret, and they had enough money and influence to get away with anything… including murder.
“Bradley, I don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s late. You’re drunk. Let’s just bury the hachet on this whole issue!” Marianna would later come to regret her choice of words.
“Good idea. Do you want to see what I have in my backpack?”
“No, Bradley, it’s ok. No need! It’s just time for you to go now.”
At first, Bradley did not move.
Then he slowly pulled his backpack off and unzipped it. He was calm, but his eyes told a different story. His eyes bespoke the emptiness of generations of good breeding, of good manners, of city living. They were cold. Hollow. Dead. There was nothing in them except misery and anger.
He opened the backpack and displayed its contents to Marianna.
She gasped.
Inside were three things only: duct tape, a saw and an ax. Bradley reached in and grabbed the ax.
Marianna could not stifle her scream. Her body reacted before her brain could, and she began to run. Run just as fast as she could into the dark of the Rhode Island night.
She heard Bradley’s unhinged voice call after her, “Silly girl, I’m captain of the rugby team! I’ll catch you!”
But still she ran.
She did not get far.
She felt a massive hand around her throat. Another meaty hand grabbed her right wrist and pinned it around her back. “You were always a great lay. Why not one more time?” In the corner of her eye, Marianna saw that Bradley had put the ax on the ground.
He pushed her down to the soft New England grass. She pummeled him with her fists as he pressed his full weight against her, heavy and sweaty, but with a sort of floral bouquet befitting an excellent cologne, applied in precisely the correct manner.
He easily overpowered her small frame. Marianne closed her eyes. Is this it? Bradley bore down, his weight crushing the air out of her lungs, the braying of the donkeys deafening in her ears.
Suddenly, the weight lifted. Bradley was no longer on top of her. Instead, he was lying on the ground a few feet away, with a stunned look in his eyes.
Larry stood over him. “Marianna, call the police!”
Before she could move, Bradley lunged at Larry, knocking him off-balance. “I’m the captain of the rugby team!” Bradley jumped on top of the prone Larry, raining blows on Larry’s face with tightly clenched fists. Blood ran from Larry’s nose. Larry stretched one arm up, reaching his foe’s throat, but he could not grip it, so broad was the rugby captain’s neck. In size, they were evenly matched, but Bradley, even in his drunken state, was swifter and more sprightly than the courageous captain.
Marianna was paralyzed. She looked to the house—the phone was there—if she ran in, she could call the police! But would Larry survive if she left him? The ax lay right next to her. Would he love her like he used to? Perhaps he could learn to like prostate stimulation.
She had to make a decision quickly—Bradley’s fists were more furious than ever, Larry’s eyes now swelled shut.
Should she grab the ax? What color would her bridesmaids’ dresses be? Would she be able to find something borrowed and something blue?
Larry was really taking a beating now. There wasn’t much time. Spring or summer wedding? Summer, definitely. In the Hamptons? Could she still register at Bergdorf even if the police arrested her for murder?
Yes, she decided. Yes!
Marianna closed her eyes and picked up the ax.
Bradley still had Larry pinned. Blood sprayed from Larry’s face. Those tender lips that had kissed hers were split open.
Marianna swung the ax and struck it deeply into Bradley’s back.
For a second, Bradley seemed to shrug it off. Marianna struggled to pull the ax out from his spine—did she need to strike him again? But Bradley groaned, “My middle name is William.” As the last air left his lungs, he whispered, “My special,” falling face forward onto Larry.
Was Larry seriously injured? His face was covered in blood, obscuring his manly features. He wasn’t moving.
But then he coughed. He spit out some blood, and, with some effort, hurled Bradley’s body off to the side. Marianna gazed at him with concern—his face was bruised, and his nose was at an acute angle that would have made Owen Wilson jealous. But her love was going to be alright, and she would never leave him again.
Marianna fell to ground beside him. She embraced him. “Larry—you saved my life! I’d give you that thank-you fellaciato right about now.”
Larry smiled, wincing in pain.
“Well, that’d be nice.” He paused. “But I don’t think we should see each other.”
All of the tension and the fear that Marianna felt came flooding out of her: “What the fuck are you saying? What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Larry tried to muster a smile, through his pain.
”Why did you save me? Why did you follow him here unless you were looking out for me?”
“Follow him? Hell, I was just watching through your windows. Sometimes you forget to close the blinds and walk around in your panties.”
Marianna stared blankly for a moment and then realized it was a joke. “You jerk!”
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