by Portia Moore
“Real mature, Cal!” I chastise him before going into my walk-in closet, and slamming the door. I look around, see my robe hanging on a hook, and put it on. I go to my dresser and look for something to wear today; I need to get out of this house.
I sink deeper into the warm bath water grab the remote beside me and turn on the stereo, hoping to calm my senses. Twisting my hair into a braid and pinning it in place, I realize I should have done this before it became wet. I look at my nails and think it’s time for a new manicure before I settle in and close my eyes, trying to relax.
I don’t really need one. A manicure isn’t a necessity; it’s just another example of how spoiled I’ve become since marrying Cal. The fact that it’s so high on my priority list is just one of the bad traits I’ve picked up since being with him, along with a long list of very bad words I use now that never used to escape my mouth. He brings out the worst in me sometimes, but when he wants to, he can also bring out the best. And most times, that’s only when it’s to his benefit. I look up and notice he’s leaning in the doorway.
Damn him, sneaking up on me. I swear he has feet like a cat.
He’s dressed in one of his many chest-hugging, gray t-shirts and a pair of dark denim jeans. The only thing standing out from his outfit is the black Rolex on his wrist. He always does that. At first glance, you’d guess his clothing came off the rack from any local mall and then—surprise!
He’s wearing an $11,000 watch or a $300 pair of sunglasses, and you’ll know otherwise.
I note that it’s not the same clothing he picked out earlier. I’m surprised; he’s usually very decisive when he chooses things. He’s never been one to second-guess himself. Since I’ve known him, he’s always been very particular and exactly sure of what he wants, and I’m curious as to why he’s changed clothes. I grab my sponge and douse it in the water and start to run it up my leg. I know he’s there. He knows that I know he’s there, but I have no reason to address him.
He walks toward the sink and I can’t help but think how good his hair looks since he’s grown it out. The fresh-out-of-bed-look.
He takes off his watch, making me wonder why. He then opens up the stereo control above our sink and presses the “scan” button, changing the radio station I had it on. I roll my eyes. I’m not going to do this with him. My first instinct is change it back, but I came in here to relax, and I won’t let him interrupt my attempted moment at peace.
“How do you listen to this crap?” he asks, shaking his head in disgust. He finally finds a station that he’s happy with and closes the stereo control back up. I open my mouth to insult his choice, but realize I like the song.
I have to admit, I’ve stolen his iPod more than a couple of times. His musical choices have exposed me to songs that I’d probably never have discovered, had I not known him. He’s not into pop at all, but his favorite genres range from Alternative to R&B, and Classic Rock dominates.
I’m so lost in the song that I don’t realize he’s now beside me, squatting on the side of the tub so we’re near eye level. I try to play off my surprise as he smiles at me knowingly. The shirt he’s wearing highlights those gray eyes of his.
It would be a lot easier if he had a beer belly, bad breath, or an ugly scar. I look away from him, continuing to busy myself with my soap sponge. I see him out of the corner of my eye, but I won’t give him my full attention. Unfortunately, he knows he has it, and he’ll make sure I know that he knows.
He grabs the remote and turns down the radio. I still don’t look his way. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a smile play on his lips; he walks behind the tub and starts to caress the back of my neck. I bite my upper lip to keep from moaning, it feels so good. I curse him silently for knowing each and every sensitive spot on my body. With one touch, my hormones usually drown out my anger, stubbornness, and better judgment. I feel his hands start to slide down my shoulders as he massages them. I try to maintain my aloofness, continuing to wash myself. I don’t know if it’s helping or making this situation worse. I know he either wants something, or is going to tell me something that’s going to really piss me off.
“What do you want, Cal?” My question comes out as a whisper, which is not what I meant to do. He doesn’t say anything, but I feel his lips on my shoulders, making their way down my back.
“Isn’t it obvious?” he whispers in my ear before his tongue makes its way inside it. This time I can’t help but let a small gasp escape. I try to wiggle my way out of his grasp. I don’t want to let him have the satisfaction of doing this to me, but one of his arms crosses beneath my breasts, holding me in place while his other hand makes its way past my belly button, slowly trailing downward.
“Cal leave me… S– st–,” I’m unable to finish my incoherent sentence as one of his fingers slips inside of me, finding a place only he’s been able to discover. I freeze as his fingers start to work their magic on the two most sensitive places on my body. I draw my legs up, my previous defensiveness disappearing as I close my eyes and lean back giving him complete control to finish his intended task.
“What were you saying?” His voice is low and extremely deep. I want to scratch his eyes out, but I settle for digging my fingers deep into his shoulder as I feel myself going over the edge. It has little effect on him as his rhythm speeds up. I start to fidget, unable to control my panting, and I feel it coming on. As bad as I want it, I wish it wouldn’t.
“You started that little show out there,” he continues, in between sucking the back of my neck.
“But I just wanted you to know…” I hear his voice, and I want to slap his condescending ass, but a moment later everything in me rises and releases, and I involuntarily let his name slip past my lips. Moments later, my body is coming down in ripples, and for that instant, I just enjoy bliss.
“I’m the finale,” he snickers, and it wakes me out of my moment of ecstasy. I push him away from me, irritated at the satisfied grin on his face.
“What, no thank you?” he asks condescendingly. I make my way out of the tub, dripping wet in more ways than one. As I grab my robe off the sink, I see what’s lying there next to it and get a wicked idea.
“Lauren, don’t you do it,” his eyes widen, reading my thoughts, and before he can reach me, I grab his watch and throw it into my water.
“Fuck!” he yells out and races towards the water. But it’s too late.
“That was really fucking evil, Lauren!” He holds up his watch, helplessly. I try to keep myself from laughing. “Why the hell did you do that?” he shouts angrily. His brow furrows and his skin turns a shade of red.
I shake the thought of how good he looks. “Because you’re a condescending asshole, that’s why!” My voice matches his volume level. He thinks he can do and say whatever he wants with no consequences. He nods his head incredulously, and then leaves the room, slamming the door behind him.
I smile to myself, but there’s a twinge of guilt somewhere inside of me. He’s being such a baby—but the guilt is still there.
I let out a much-needed breath and let the tub water out. I quickly dry myself off and slip on my underwear and robe. I walk to the mirror letting my hair down.
Cal buys expensive things, but he isn’t frivolous. He takes great care of everything he owns. From his most expensive car to his least expensive shirt, he treats all of them the same. I hate feeling guilty or sorry. I know he doesn’t most of the time. Yet, maybe I did go overboard today.
I grab my sweater to put it on, but give in to my conscience. If I'm going to apologize and get him to accept it, the fewer clothes I have on, the better. I peek in the bedroom and see that he’s on the phone; he’s changing into the blue button up and black slacks from earlier. I see his travel bag and take it he’s leaving again. I really want to burn that thing. Even though I’m upset with him, there’s still a sinking feeling in my stomach that he’s leaving.
“What time is he going to be there?” I hear him ask.
“Around seven-thirty. Tha
t’s two hours, your time,” I hear a voice boom through the speaker.
“I’ll call you when I’m there,” Cal answers. He sits down on his bed and begins putting on his shoes. I sit beside him quietly. I try to sense how mad he is at me.
“The watch was waterproof,” I tell him dryly, trying to cover up my sincerity.
“Would it matter to you if it wasn’t?” he asks, surveying my outfit—or lack thereof. I love how he asks me a question and disregards mine.
“Maybe. Maybe I overreacted a little,” I admit, watching him change out of his gym shoes to his black loafers. I pout that he’s ignoring me. I stand up and walk in front of him. He doesn’t bother to look up at me.
“And that makes this time any different because?” he asks, unenthused.
“How long are you going to be gone?” I ask, pushing myself between his thighs, purposefully ignoring his previous comment.
“You’re going to miss me?” He asks but it’s a statement more than a question, he loosens the tie on my robe. I don’t answer, but look him in his eye, knowing they'll give away my answer. He slides the robe down my shoulders and pulls it off of me.
“The next time you try to get out of apologizing,” his voice is low and deep in a way that causes my heart to beat faster. His eyes look from my body and into my eyes.
“ This isn’t needed,” he says, unhooking my bra.
“Who said I was apologizing?” I retort before he pulls me onto him.
His lips crash against mine. I don’t fight his tongue for dominance, but allow him to have his way, freely exploring my mouth. I wrap my legs tightly around his waist as he frees me from my robe completely and drops it on the floor. I unbutton his shirt, looking into his eyes. Sometimes, I swear he can read my mind.
Hopefully he can see in my eyes what I can’t bring myself to say to him. At the very least I know the longer he makes love to me, the longer it will be before he leaves, and I try to take solace in it.
***
Here I am again for the second time today, with nothing but a cool sheet covering my body. The space Cal previously rested in is cool. He’s getting dressed after his shower, and I know in the next hour I’ll be alone again. This is how it usually goes, physically; he has no boundaries with me and none of my needs go unmet, but anything beyond that is a no man’s land that I can’t seem to get past, even a foot. He goes from attentive, responsive, and connected to withdrawn, distant, and aloof; and I wonder why me?
Any nameless woman could fulfill this need of his. He won’t let me be there for him in any other way except sexually. It’s starting to get harder to see the difference between being his wife and a favored high-class escort.
“I’ll be back tomorrow...or more likely Thursday,” he states quietly. I glance at him and turn the opposite way from him. I can’t believe how upset I still get; this is routine, after all. I fight back my tears. He doesn’t deserve them. He sits down beside me.
“What’s wrong?” he asks sincerity intermingled with sarcasm. I sigh.
“I don’t know, Cal. What is wrong?” I ask him sarcastically.
“What’s the matter? It’s not like you’re going to miss me.” He’s kissing my shoulders with the same lips that once could make me forgive him for anything.
“I know, but I’ll miss you. Just a little,” he adds the last part playfully. I watch him put his coat on and grab his overnight bag. I could practically narrate this scene from memory.
“Come walk me to the door,” He says, heading out of the bedroom. I start to pull the sheet around my body.
“Leave the sheet. Please,” He smiles with a twinkle in his eye that I've missed. I feel myself start to blush, but I comply. I walk through our bedroom door as he holds it open and I playfully roll my eyes at him. A moment later I feel his hand slap my backside.
“Cal!” I yell at him massaging the tingling on my backside. I should have seen that one coming.
When we reach the front door, I cross my arms, starting to feel cold, standing with no clothes on.
“Thursday at the latest,” I grimace.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he vaguely promises.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you,” I say, irritated with his lack of an answer.
“Stop pouting; it’s way too sexy when I’m leaving,” he says before stealing a quick kiss from me. I quickly close the door behind him. There’s only one other apartment on the floor and that’s been vacant, but I wouldn’t want to flash any potential tenants.
I lean my head against the door; I swear that our relationship is so back and forth that it’s like we’re playing tennis, except he makes all the rules. When it’s bad, it’s really bad, but when it’s good, it’s so good. I hate it and love it at the same time. But that’s how Cal is.
Sometimes, even if briefly, he’s funny, fun, and open like he used to be. Other times, he can be a total bitch, which is not fun for anyone but him. When I first met him, I thought he was mysterious. Now I try to remember if he was this moody when I met him, or if I was just blinded by his good looks and carefree attitude.
April 30th 2008
“Someone’s getting all dressed up,” my roommate Hillary teases as I put my hair in a French braid.
“Well, he says we’re going to do something fun, so I’m dressing casually.” I defend myself, referring to my sweater and blue jeans. Of course she’d think I should be wearing a skirt that barely covers my ass and a tight blouse—what she wears on her dates.
Hillary and I are like night and day. She's a tall statuesque blond. Well when she's wearing her natural color. I was blonde once in an experiment that went terribly wrong. Normally though I'm brunette and only reach 5’5” with the aid of four inch heels. While I could stay up all night wrapped up in a book or watching a movie Hilary won’t hear of it and many times have dragged me to my job to party all night.
I can’t blame her. We both grew up in small towns in Michigan but our childhood couldn’t be more different. Hillary’s father is a well-known preacher and kept her and her sister under a pretty tight leash. She says her mother didn’t do much to loosen it.
My parents died in a car crash when I was three so I don’t have the luxury to complain about an over bearing dad or sheepish mom. My Aunt Raven raised me, and she perfected the parental balance with the perfect mix of discipline and freedom which isn’t bad for a woman who never wanted kids.
I guess being a girl with a dad who wouldn’t even let her go to school dances means she’s just making up for lost time and enjoying the freedom she missed out on. Somewhere within me I admire her free spirit. She never lets anything bring her down and she does what she wants regardless of what other people say or think about her. She’s dyed her long curly hair multiple colors more times than I can count and is the only person I’ve ever met that wears purple and green contacts over her gorgeous baby blues. I sometimes wonder if she is bipolar on a constant high.
“Maybe when he says fun, he means fun,” she snickers, wiggling her eyebrows. I look back at her and can’t help but laugh.
“First off, I don’t even know this guy. So there’s not going to be any of that kind of ‘fun’,” I assure her.
“Well, of course not that kind of fun. Tight pants Lauren Brooks isn’t revealing Victoria’s Secret to just anyone,” she laughs and flops onto my bed.
“You’re five seconds away from being locked out of my room,” I tell her playfully, while putting on my gym shoes.
“It’s not like anything fun goes on in here anyway,” she says mockingly with a wink.
I pout at her and she laughs.
“Aww girly. You know I love you besides I want to hear all about the guy who was able to talk you into a date with him after just one drink,” she says, flipping through a magazine on my bed.
“It wasn’t a drink. In fact he doesn’t drink, which I think is a plus. It was just a conversation, and we have a lot in common. I thought it would be fun,” I say turning around to face her.
/> I ask God to forgive me for lying. We didn’t have a long conversation; he had clients waiting for him and asked me out before he disappeared into the night, so to speak. I don’t know if I have anything in common with him. I just know he’s one of the sexiest men that I have ever seen and he literally had me at a loss for words.
I don’t know why I’m reluctant to tell Hillary. Well, more like embarrassed. I hope my cheeks weren’t burning at the thoughts that I’m having about him—thoughts that I shouldn’t be having before I’ve even gone out with him. He sent me a text about the date. I was hoping for a phone call, but I’m pretty sure verbal communication is going to die out soon anyway.
“A lot in common, huh?” she says sarcastically as if she knows my secret.
“Yes, a lot in common,” I repeat, maintaining my innocence.
She’s about to say something else, but the doorbell rings, interrupting her. She jumps from the bed and bolts to the door, yelling, “I’ll get it!”
I go to grab my jacket and bag, glancing at myself once more in the mirror. I walk out and see Cal standing in the doorway, looking quite different than the last time I saw him. His blazer and slacks had been replaced with a t-shirt, leather jacket, and dark jeans. But those gray eyes and mesmerizing smile are still right there.
Hillary is standing there with her mouth hanging open. I assume she’s having the same reaction that I did when I first saw him. I then immediately realize that she’s wearing a cleavage-revealing cut off sweater and leggings that are hugging her curves a little too tightly. I now wonder why I let my over sexed, half-naked, cute roommate and her double Ds greet him. I’m immediately self-conscious at how conservative I look in comparison to Hillary.
“Hey, gorgeous, you ready?” he says, flashing a devilish grin. He walks over to me and with one arm lifts me right off my feet into a hug without even looking in Hillary’s direction.
“Hi,” I say breathlessly as he puts me down. I’m so caught off guard I almost stumble into Hillary.
I notice she has a look of shock on her face all her own. I don’t think she’s ever had a man look totally past her the way Cal just did. And I don’t know if I should be turned on at his confidence, or insulted that he assumes he could invade my personal space like that.