by Cj Paul
8:36pm
Claire Nichole Eden
Yes, Sir
I mean MOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAnnnnnnnnnnn
8:37pm
Alexander Armstrong
Now, feel me withdraw. I toss your body on the couch and spread your thighs, where I bury myself in you again, while your legs flail
8:38pm
Claire Nichole Eden
*&^%$
8:38pm
Alexander Armstrong
Eh...that's all I got.
lol
8:39pm
Claire Nichole Eden
HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAH
8:38pm
Alexander Armstrong
So...didn’t you have a question about a computer program?
* * *
Three hours later, I finally get home. The rest of the meeting was altogether unproductive and tedious, especially since Alex went out for one of his midnight hikes and was not around to save me by text. After more or less just waving my toothbrush in the general direction of my teeth, I peel off my clothes – too tired to even consider pajamas – and collapse into bed.
It’s a classic, crisp autumn night and I have the whole bed to myself since the menagerie is partying it up with Mom and her posse. Oh, if only Alex were home. Mmmmmmmmm. Wonderfully erotic images of Alex dance in my head, and I plan to take full advantage of them, but instead, I am sound asleep within a minute or two.
I awake with a start – more than a start. It’s like Uma Thurman in Pulp Fiction when she ODs and is revived by a shot of adrenaline to the heart. I bolt upright in bed and wonder what the heck I must have been dreaming about to cause such panic. The house is absolutely still, something I’m not used to. No rustling feathers, no purring, no snoring – from either Persephone or Mom – only absolute stillness. I lay back down with a smile, loving the coziness of my bed and everything that goes with slumber. I am falling deeper and deeper down the rabbit hole of sleep with just a glimmer left of the real world above, when I feel the bed jostle. Earthquake, my mind shouts!
Before I can wait for the confirmation of a second jolt, I feel a body spooning me and a mouth all over my neck and shoulder. I am too dumbfounded to even scream. I realize I have no idea who is next to me, but a rigid erection pressed against my tailbone tells me it is a male. Lamely, and as calmly as I can, I gasp, “Why are you here? What do you want?”
“I want you Claire Eden. You are mine. And I’ve been patient enough.”
Still not thinking clearly, the word patience rings a bell and my thoughts fly straight to Alex.
“Alex?” I whisper.
“Who’s Alex? You mean that namby-pamby fancypants from New York?”
I recognize the voice and am suddenly scared. “Nimo.”
“Of course it’s me. Not your precious cyber fling or little houseboy David.”
How does he know about David?
“I have waited and waited for you to come to your senses and act like an adult. But I am tired of waiting. You’re mine and it’s time you accepted it.”
He pulls me onto my back and forcibly wedges a leg between my clenched thighs. The one time I choose to sleep nude and am completely alone, and completely vulnerable. I have never felt so defenseless and have no idea what to do. He pins my arms and begins kissing my lips and breasts hungrily, all the while muttering that I am his and it’s time he claims what belongs to him. I thrash my head from side to side trying to avoid his mouth on mine, all the while trying desperately to reason with him.
“Nimo, not like this. Is this really how you want our first time together to be? By force? I thought you wanted to marry me.” It’s clear I can’t overpower him and escape. I pray for a solution, and with everything in me, I strain to be rational and talk my way out of impending rape.
“We will be married. I already told you, the psychic said so.”
“But did the psychic tell you to rape me?” I cringe at the word, surreptitiously working to slip from his grasp.
“It’s not rape. You’re my wife and I look after you. I could have had you many times before, but instead I just watched you sleep. Tonight it’s time to consummate our love.”
Suddenly it dawns on me. All those nights when I felt someone was watching me. They were. It was no guardian angel. It wasn’t Alex in spirit. It was this man, this upstanding citizen turned obsessed marauder. Renewed panic kicks in.
“Don’t do this, Nimo. You’ll regret it. It will ruin everything,” I plead.
His passion mounts, as does he.
“Stop, Nimo. Please.”
“But I love you, Claire.”
“This isn’t love. It’s a felony!”
“And I’m going to show you how much I love you. I’m going to give you a child.”
I feel his penis, his weapon, probing between my struggling legs, while his hands maintain a firm grip on my wrists.
“I mean it, Nimo. Don’t do it.”
“Relax, baby. I’m going to make love to you.”
“For the last time, NO!”
“You’ll enjoy it more if you stop fighting me.”
I thrash with all my might and scream, “For God’s sake, Nimo, STOPPPPPPPPP!!!!!!!!!”
My words ring out, and with a loud crack he collapses on me, just as he is leveraging himself to force entry.
From next to the bed, David calls out, “He shoots, he scores! You okay, Cece?”
I turn on the light to find Nimo unconscious and David beaming, his beloved hockey stick in hand, and now mangled.
* * *
When the police arrive, I am barraged by more questions than I would have thought possible. These guys are thorough! Because Nimo was thwarted before actually violating me, I am spared a physical examination and trial, and trauma. Nimo is cuffed and taken away. A young officer suggests I take out a restraining order and shyly holds out his hand to give me something.
“Umm, are these yours? We found them in his pocket. There’s more in his car.”
A pair of my panties. Oh my god! That’s where my underwear has been going.
After the police team clears out, David and I curl up on the couch. My hero. But how?
“I forgot my hockey stuff and promised one of the guys in San Jose we’d do a little one-on-one while I was there – no pun intended.”
I elbow him in the ribs.
“Ow. Anyway, I forgot my gear when I packed the car with your mom and all the pets and so I came back to get it. When I pulled up and saw a car in the driveway and all the lights off, I thought you had, umm, a gentleman caller. So I crept in quietly so as not to disturb you. When I heard you raise your voice, I first just thought you were being, ya know, vocal. But then I could tell something wasn’t right. It looked like things were down to the final seconds, so I took a shot.”
I glance at the hockey stick on the floor, bloodied and broken and looking peaceful in its utter ruin.
Hometeam: 1
Intruder: 0
MVP: David
Chapter Thirty-ThreeALEX: “If some one loves a flower, of which just one single blossom grows in all the millions and millions of stars, it is enough to make him happy just to look at the stars. He can say to himself, ’Somewhere, my flower is there... ’”
YOU are my flower, Claire.
That’s the beautiful message awaiting me when I turn on my phone, the morning after the Nimo break-in. It’s one of my favorite quotes from one of my favorite books, The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. I briefly text back to fill Alex in on what’s transpired. He’s mortified and feels helpless that he isn’t here to protect me. I tell him not to worry, that David saved the day and that Nimo is out of the picture – and lucky to be out of jail.
Against my will, David cancels the rest of his San Jose trip and spends every moment by my side. It’s lovely. We agree not to tell Mom about the incident – no good can come from it. So, we let her return home in blissful ignorance and with a new c
rop of stories about how adorable the menagerie were during their visit to The Meadows. Apparently, everyone adores the pets, and Mom was treated like queen-for-a-day for bringing them. Things settle down and domestic tranquility reigns. David has stopped sneaking out in the wee hours, and Mom smiles at me in satisfaction. I could swear she even winked at me once.
My feelings for David are evolving and going somewhere I don’t want them to. They are veering down the road of romance again, and I don’t know what to do about it. Meanwhile, things are escalating with Alex. Following the Nimo thing, I feel it’s time to face my fears. I go to my room, grab my computer and open the Facebook chat window that’s always at the ready for communicating with Alex. I take a deep breath and click the little button that looks like a video camera. Eek, my video call is connecting. Eek again, it says he’s answering. Another deep breath.
The first few minutes are awkward beyond description, with me acting like a three year-old playing peekaboo, hiding behind my hands and ducking off camera. I want to act cool, but am unable to see him without my glasses, so on they go. They are plastic readers from the dollar store and I look dorky as can be. Wow. He is so incredibly handsome. Those eyes. That hair. The smile. I had no idea. I just want to stare in silence – off camera, of course. But he won’t have it. Instead, he begins gushing about how beautiful he thinks I am. Obviously, he needs glasses too!
“I always knew you were gorgeous, but...my God, Claire. Do you have any idea how stunning you are?
I feel exactly the same way, and we just sit stammering and blushing and smiling at one another for minutes on end. Suddenly, I’m kicking myself for not doing this sooner. Not only is it not so bad, it is wonderful. He is wonderful. Though ‘wonderful’ doesn’t come close to adequately describing this king among men.
David has been staying close to home, and neither of us ever discusses the houseboat anymore. I have no idea how the project is coming or if it was ever completed. He and Mom have begun a Monday night ritual without me, while I am at my ballet board meetings. They now have poker nights with the middle-aged, next-door neighbor and his seventeen year-old son. They order pizza and David bakes brownies. Rumor has it, Mom is quite the card shark.
On this particular Monday night, I’m all aflutter over Alex. He has been wooing me like nobody’s business, and I’m delighted to be under his captivating spell. I hate leaving our videochat, but have to get to the board meeting. Once there, it becomes clear that concentration on the ballet company’s supernumerary budget is going right out the window for me. So, I do the next best thing. I chat with Alex on Facebook. By the time he has finished ravishing me with his words, I am unconscious.
While taking in his typically delicious depravity, I tipped back in my chair, straining not to burst into ecstatic convulsions. Guess I tipped back too far.
I come to and find myself with a mild concussion occasioned by toppling off my chair. The school nurse attends to our recording secretary Ruth’s – injuries. Word on the street is, Ruth became part of the collateral damage when my graceless fall sent her notes flying, and my leg caught her chair, taking her down with me. The pain in my head is exceeded only by my abject embarrassment.
At least the fiasco ended the board meeting on schedule for the first time in four years. Ah, well. All’s well that ends well.
* * *
Like a schoolgirl with a crush, I have taken a renewed interest in stalking Alex’s Facebook wall. He is so unlike anyone I’ve ever encountered. His wisdom, depth and empathy blow me away, and I’m awed by him daily. The poem I find on his wall ensures that today is no exception.
A poem I wrote last night.
Let us Play
Come play with me 'neath star-jeweled skies
And let us laugh the night away
Dance slow in my arms under candlelight moons
While birdsong heralds the distant dawn
And your love sings my own heart's song.
There were times, I thought I was free
When no one called and no one came.
In the witching hour I roamed the earth
But you slayed my soul, then gave it birth.
Thus bound to you, I'm truly free
Free to live and laugh and grow
Now let me bind yourself to me
So perfect love you'll always know.
Your graceful gifts rain from above
For Heaven smiles on love with love.
Sigh.
Smile.
Sigh again.
He gives me so much and I feel like all I do is take, giggle, wriggle and say thank you. This must change. There must be something I can do to make him feel as special and desired as he does me. Hmm. I think I know just the thing.
* * *
When I go to place the video call, my finger trembles on my laptop touchpad. As directed, Alex is sitting in his leather recliner in his living room, his phone unplugged and computer in sleep mode. He is sweaty and spent from a two-hour wood-splitting session, and he’s the picture of manliness, with jeans torn by years of rough use, beat-up work boots, and a dark henley pullover, sleeves rolled up. His hair is straggly and tousled in that rock star way that is so becoming on him.
To my delight, he’s imbibing from a snifter of Louis XIII cognac, dunking his contraband Montecristo cigar into the amber brandy. He appears calm, controlled and commanding, while I am an awkward bundle of nerves. Steeling myself, I click the play button on iTunes, take a deep breath and get into position.
After a false start, I feel just like Jennifer Beal’s character in Flashdance, but not nearly as talented or fit. I hit play again, giggling at my own nervousness, and decide just to have fun. As the intro horns sound, I begin my strut into the vidcam’s field of vision. The pace is almost agonizingly slow, but I do my best to look confident, and wickedly seductive.
I’m dressed in one of David’s suits, heels, a button-down shirt, fore-in-hand tie – done in a full Windsor, no less – my boxers and tank top, a string bikini, and hat.
Joe Cocker croons and I obey, “Baby take off your coat, real slow. And take off your shoes...”
My hands shake as I remove the coat and toss it on a nearby chair. I sit on the edge of the seat to remove my sky-high heels. This part goes a little better, and I breathe a sigh of relief to know that at least I won’t have to worry about falling off my shoes. As I get up, slowly, something inside me ignites. My kundalini roars, my chakras come alive and all the months of Siren School dance classes and Tantric yoga take over my entire being.
I’ve never felt like this. I am the temptress I never dared dream possible, sensual grace, sex in motion. No longer concerned about the flab of my backside, the sag of my breasts or non-existence of my waistline, I am woman – all that is soft and self-assured, grateful for who she is, and happy to share all the charms she possesses.
I have mandated that Alex resist any temptation to touch himself during the proceedings. He is just to watch, and enjoy. And enjoy, he does. I brusquely handle the unfastening of David’s belt as my hips begin a slow circling ami. Once the belt is off, I fold it in half, and grabbing both ends, pull it taught so that the leather slaps together. I see Alex’s lips part and I smile.
With mounting confidence, I drag out the unbuttoning and removal of David’s dress shirt, turning my back to the camera just before pivoting around again with the shirt clutched in front of me, dropping it so that I may remove the chopstick that holds my hair up at the base of my neck, below my fedora. Alex chuckles in delight at the sight of me in men’s undergarments, but not for long, as I languidly finger the waistband of the boxers, before sliding them down my thighs and tossing them off with a flick of my freshly painted toes.
Still wearing the tank top, bikini and hat, I straddle the chair and let the music have its way with me. I run my hands over my body, making love to the chair in every position it beckons, and casually pulling at the top’s fabric, revealing brief glimpses of fles
h. Clearly, Alex is having difficulty sitting still, which makes me even lustier. I take a full ten seconds to leisurely pull the tank top up over my waist, my breasts, my shoulders, my head and then off.
I stand and turn my back to him again, my hips swaying and hands enjoying my body, at length casually untying both sets of my bikini top’s strings. Just like in the classic striptease routines of days gone by, I cross my hands to cover both breasts and coyly turn to face the camera – my face innocent and inviting.
Alex moans his pleasure and takes a large gulp of the cognac.
Wearing only my bikini bottoms now, I take a few small steps back, toying with the strings on either side of my hips. As nonchalantly as I can manage, I pull both strings and let the bikini drop, now wearing only the signature hat. My fingers explore my thighs, inside and out, as I lower myself onto all fours.
As the song winds down, I crawl toward the computer. The music fades and I get ever closer and closer to the camera and, ‘Mwah,’ give Alex a playful smooch in closing.
Alex gives me a standing ovation, making sure to emphasize the ‘O.’
* * *
David and I bump into each other in the middle of the night. He has awakened to use the restroom, and I am on my way to raid the refrigerator after a rousing videochat with Alex. I don’t know how the conversation starts, but there in the hallway, in the dark, I tell David about my depth of feeling for Alex. He very supportively tells me how happy he is for me and that Alex sounds like quite a guy. He then excuses himself, saying that he really does need to get to the bathroom. I grab a spoon and a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey, excited to be flirting with ice cream again after a spell apart. Back in bed, as I am scraping the bottom of the carton, I hear a car door close and an engine start. David heads off into the night.
Chapter Thirty-FourI awake early and go out to the driveway to pick up Mom’s newspaper. David bought her an iPad, but she still likes to read the Sunday paper on actual newsprint, and clip the coupons. I frown when I notice that David’s car is still gone from the night before. A note left on my own car catches my attention.