Icarus Rising

by Rob Manary

  Wednesday, Day 24

  By 8 a.m. we are at St. Claire’s rehearsal space. St. Claire wears a long overcoat to conceal the outfit she will wear for the impromptu video shoot. It looks as if a film crew and a sound crew have worked through the night. The stage appears to be wired to capture the live performance, and St. Claire’s guitarist and drummer are running through their sound check. The bassist joins them onstage and plugs his bass into an amp.

  My eyes immediately catch the first two paintings of my “Icarus” series. I don’t know when St. Claire arranged the second piece to be moved here, but she has. The works have been ornately framed with gold wood, the frames are huge and adorned with intricate carvings of dragons of epic proportion. Facing the stage, “Icarus Rising” is on the left, “Icarus Ascendant” is in the centre, and there is a third frame that stands empty on the right, where “Icarus Falling” will find a home should St. Claire acquire it. I have no doubt she will.

  St. Claire’s videos are all like this, with hidden messages and teasers. The empty frame will cause her fans to speculate, cause a buzz in chat rooms and on fan sites. Some will know. Many will guess and wonder. My work, and the vacant frame, hangs just above eye level. There are also dozens of monitors littering the stage. Some of the monitors are suspended high, others are at eye level, and some are barely off the floor. St. Claire mentioned that my early work would flash on monitors decorating the stage. Taken together I quite like the stage design and the concept.

  St. Claire takes the stage and moves to a microphone. She blows in it and begins her sound check. “Check one. Check one.” She gets a thumbs up from her sound technician. She sings the chorus from “I Want To Be Dirty” and her band joins in. The sound check goes on for nearly twenty minutes until everyone is satisfied. They had been rehearsing in this space for weeks and already know the acoustics. The sound check, therefore, doesn’t take long.

  The film crew consists of four cameras and their operators and a host of technicians whose function I wouldn’t guess at. The director St. Claire managed to hire at the last minute is an acclaimed Toronto director whose work includes a slew of films I have never heard of and a multitude of videos by bands I have never heard of. But St. Claire seems incredibly pleased to have snared him. I pretend I am interested as he discusses different angles and shots with me.

  St. Claire talks to the director at length. I wonder if she is hung over. Finally they are ready to begin. St. Claire loses her overcoat and reveals what she has chosen for the video. She wears an emerald green corset and a short skirt. Short might not be the appropriate word. The skirt falls just over her panties. She also wears emerald green stockings held up with a matching garter belt. Around her neck are the thick platinum necklace and the diamond heart. I might have protested at the lack of fabric in her ensemble but I know she is playing her guitar and the white guitar with the red lightning bolt will conceal much.

  The band is to begin playing the opening to the Iggy Pop and The Stooges number and St. Claire is to join them on stage. She’s to walk out with her guitar slung over her back and join them for the last few chords of the opening. Then she rips into the number with her band. The cameras will capture the performance. No artifice, only rock and roll.

  They do take after take after take. Between takes St. Claire and I steal kisses.

  “I hope you enjoyed last night,” she whispers between kisses.

  “I did,” I admit.

  “Good, because you’re not getting laid for a week.” I must look ready to protest. “Say a word and it’ll be two weeks. I’ve got to play a little hard to get,” she laughs. I’m about to ask for an explanation or to launch a formal protest when it is time for another take and she is called away.

  Around two they break for lunch. I have the same rule about eating food produced from a catering truck as I do about eating food from a street vendor. I don’t do it.

  I go out and acquire some sushi for St. Claire and me. We sit on the stage alone. We are in that private little world of secret smiles and jokes only she and I share. She feeds me using chopsticks and seems to love doing it.

  The director approaches us holding a Styrofoam plate heaped with some sort of rice and meat dish. It smells unpleasant. It confirms my rule about eating from catering trucks. “I’ve had an idea,” he begins. “The last shot of the video. We pull out from the stage to show all the equipment, the cameras, everything, Rachel is finishing the song, and Brandon, a lone figure, stands watching. Rachel’s singing only to him.”

  St. Claire squeals and claps, delighted. “I love it!”

  It’s a little melodramatic for me but it makes St. Claire happy so I agree.

  The director can tell he is interrupting so leaves. St. Claire and I enjoy our stolen moment as we enjoy every moment we can steal from that old miser time. Soon it is back to work.

  It is close to six when they have what they need, and I have made a cameo in a music video. St. Claire is a little disappointed to learn that there is no way they’ll be able to finish the video and the audio in time to release it on iTunes and to her website today. Hopefully, by tomorrow afternoon. St. Claire thanks everyone and signs autographs and poses for pictures with anyone who asks.

  St. Claire is on an adrenaline high and talks without stop all the way back to our condo. Inside she loses the overcoat to reveal that outfit that makes her look incredibly fuckable. I move towards her and she shakes her head. “No sex for a week, Icarus. I’m serious.” But her eyes are playful and the grin is wicked. I move towards her she scurries to the bedroom.

  “You can look. But no touching,” she says as she slowly undresses for me. I look towards her as she removes what little clothing she was wearing. Completely naked, she runs her hands down her body and smiles for me. She stands before me wearing only the necklace I bought her. I have never seen a woman more beautiful in my life.

  “I have to paint you, please.” I sound desperate in my ears. I am desperate. I want to capture her. I need to capture this magnificent woman.

  “Your hands... can you?” she asks.

  “I don’t know. I have to, St. Claire.” I hold my hands out to her. “Help me get the bandages off. Let me paint you.” I think she can hear the need in my voice. Tenderly, she removes the bandages. I wince when I see the ruin of my hands. The damage I did to myself is terrible. She takes my hand with more tenderness than I can describe and we move towards my studio.

  “You better grab a chair,” I say as we pass close to the kitchen. She reluctantly drops my hand to retrieve a chair and then we are inside my studio. I point to a spot on the white sheet in front of my easel. “There, I need you there.”

  She places the chair where I indicated as I open my paints and choose a brush. It is painful work. St. Claire strikes an exaggerated pose. “Not like that, St. Claire, try to look natural.” Playfully, she strikes another terrible pose. I dip my brush in a red that approximates the colour of her hair. I flick the brush at her, a spray of red appears across her full breasts.

  “Icarus!” she squeals as the cool paint hits her flesh. It doesn’t stop her from adopting another caricature of a pose. I dip the brush in the red again and with the quickest of movements of my wrist send a splash of red across her bare stomach.

  She settles for a moment and it is exactly how I want to capture her. “Like that. Stay exactly like that. Don’t move.” I smile and am rewarded with a smile in return. Her body is even more beautiful with the splatters of red that match her curls.

  My hands throb as I work slowly on her mane of red curls. I’m not happy with the result; I’m not a portrait painter, so I decide to go for a more abstract look. My hands are almost making that choice for me. My lines are poor. I reach for another brush and for a shade of deep blue. St. Claire laughs. “Icarus, what part of my body is blue? You better not be giving me a blue pussy!” She squirms, not able to hold the pose I want.

  I flick my wrist and send blue droplets flying to land across her breasts. Before she
can protest, I send another spray of colour in her direction. My aim is true, the blue hits her nipples and splatters outward. She squeals again and laughs. “Icarus!”

  “If you’d sit still, St. Claire.” I laugh with her. I sketch the outline of her body in blue. It is unmistakably the form of Rachel St. Claire. I reach for the emerald green, open it, and look up to find St. Claire posing in yet another position. I shake my head. She is grinning wildly, infinitely pleased with herself.

  With the tip of my brush I send forth the green to join the red and the blue in painting St. Claire’s tits. Looking at her marked by my paints I suddenly harden. St. Claire spreads her legs slowly, then shuts them quickly, giving me a glimpse of her tiny little outer lips. But my wrist is quicker. The green I see hit her inner thigh and a trail of droplets mark a path to her pussy. “Are you as turned on as I am?” she half whispers.

  I grab the jar of green paint and abandon my easel. Before she can react I’m pouring the green paint down her chest. She shivers a little as the cool paint runs down her full breasts. Careful not to get paint on myself I take her mouth briefly. My hands are throbbing now, but so is my cock. My cock wins.

  Breaking the kiss I take her hands and lift her from the chair. I kick the chair away and turn St. Claire to face away from me. I guide her down to the white sheet that covers the floor. I press her paint covered chest forward into the sheet. I know she loves it when I take control.

  I fumble with my zipper. My hands scream. Finally I’ve got my dick in my hand, and I’m moving on top of St. Claire. I find her hot entrance and slide into her slowly. She moans and I inch my way inside. Eventually buried as deep as I can I hold still until she moans, “Fuck, me, oh god, fuck me.”

  I slide only inches from her and then I am fully engulfed in her hotness once more. I continue to give her slow shallow strokes. Only pulling out an inch or two before plowing deep again she cries out as if pained by my exquisitely slow torment. “Fuck me,” she moans again.

  I slide all the way out of her and she looks up at me, confused. I smile and grab the blue and the red paint. I pour the red down the back of her right leg, and the blue down her left. She captures some of the paint in her hands and flings it back at me. Feigning anger, I frown at her. “Turn over!” I demand.

  She turns over and paints the sheet with the back of her legs as she spreads herself open for me. I move between her legs and drive myself inside her once more. This time I hit her with long slow strokes. I am almost fully out of her before I slowly drive myself deep. I start to move faster inside that incredibly hot pussy of hers. She feels the change in pace and whispers in my ear urgently, “Don’t come inside me.”

  I’m confused but I’m too lost in fucking her to raise protest or question. I move inside her faster and faster as my orgasm approaches. I can feel her getting close. I bite my lip to forestall coming. I can feel her tighten around my cock. She throws her head back as she approaches climax. I can feel how close she is.

  “I’m going to come, do you want me to pull out?” I manage through clenched teeth.

  “No! Come inside me! Fuck, come inside me!” she screams as she comes around me.

  I come hard. I drive into her again and again emptying myself deep inside her tightness.

  She looks up at me. “Fuck, that was a bad idea. Fuck, just fuck.”

  “Why? What?” I’m genuinely confused.

  “I’ve just started my fertile time. I told you no sex for a week.” She looks panicked.

  “I thought you said you were safe. I thought you were on the pill,” I stammer, the implications just hitting me. We might have just made a baby. I might have just made her pregnant. The idea thrills me. Millions of my sperm are making their way towards her unprotected womb. The idea terrifies me, too.

  “Why would I be on the pill, Icarus? I hadn’t been laid in a year and a half before you. Fuck, just fuck.” I harden inside her. We might have just made a baby. The idea is incredibly erotic to me. She feels me harden. I can see her demeanor change. She smiles at me. I think she’s captured by the idea as much as I am in this moment. She kisses me as I slowly move inside her. She moves her hips in response to me. We make love long and slow, and I fill her again and again with my hot cum.

  Thursday, Day 25

  St. Claire is looking up at me as I open my eyes. She lies with her head on my chest and smiles as I wake. My eyes dart to the clock. It’s not yet 5 a.m., early for her. She’s never awake before the alarm disturbs us. I often spend the minutes before she is roused from sleep watching her. This is a surprise. A pleasant one.

  “Fuck, Icarus, I couldn’t sleep,” she says. She’s anxious, nervous. “I’ve been watching you sleep for hours.” I smile but can’t say anything before she is continuing. “What if we? Fuck, it was a bad idea. Then another bad idea. What if we?”

  I brush a stray curl from her face then lovingly stroke her hair. She has bandaged my hands again and the movement causes only a little pain. “We’d have a beautiful baby, St. Claire.” I love moments like this. I look forward to filling my life with moments like this.

  She seems to calm at my words. “I was an ugly kid.”

  “Then we’d have an ugly kid,” I say. “I don’t care. It would be our baby.”

  “Be serious, Icarus. Fuck, just fuck.” She sighs but relaxes into my arms.

  I hold her close. “You swear too much, St. Claire. I love you, we would make it work.”

  Looking up at me I can see my words have put her at ease. “I love you too, Icarus.” She bites her lip and looks so incredibly vulnerable. “Maybe we’ll have twins?”

  Does she see the look of panic that flashes in my eyes? Does she remember the terrible mistake Wayne made the other night when he misspoke about my long ago dalliance with twins? It’s too late to confess to her now.

  “Set the alarm for seven. I need a couple hours sleep,” she says. I disturb her for only a minute while I turn the alarm off. She lays her head back on my chest. I’m awake now and it is my turn to watch her sleep.

  I don’t know how long I watch St. Claire sleep. It seems I close my eyes for only a minute. But when I look to the clock it reads eleven. I laugh and gently shake St. Claire awake.

  She looks to the clock and laughs before bolting from the bed. “I don’t have time to wash and shave you now, Icarus. It’ll have to wait until tonight. I love the stubble on you though.” She reaches down and rubs a hand across my unshaven face. “I want to feel it brushed against my thigh when you’re eating me out,” she laughs. “Just because I’ve cut you off doesn’t mean I can’t get mine.” She sprints for the bathroom.

  I go to the closet and pick out a pair of dark wash jeans and a black turtleneck. I try to dress myself but find the task impossible. The pain is too intense as I try to unbutton the jeans. I’m so helpless and dependant on St. Claire, and she loves it. I can see in her eyes the delight she gets when she is taking care of me.

  She emerges from the shower and is throwing on a pair of sweats and a halter top. Then she dresses me. Going to the closet she grabs the purple scarf and puts it around my neck. It has to be adjusted so it hangs perfectly to her. Using the scarf she draws me in for a kiss. It is she who is eager this morning. Her mouth opens to mine and she slides her tongue in my mouth. I bite her tongue softly as it slips between my lips. She moans a little. We kiss deeply for long minutes.

  Letting go of the scarf she sighs. “Okay, so I’m wet now.” She takes my mouth again, pressing her body into mine. I put my arms around her and hold her close. Always too soon she breaks the kiss.

  “I’ll be home before nine,” she says, making her way towards the door.

  “Good. We’re going to make lasagna tonight.”

  “You’re cooking for me?” She laughs. “Good boy!”

  “You’ll have to be my hands.”

  “That sounds hot!” she says, and is gone.

  I spend the day trying to waste the day. I worry about Wayne’s twins comment. I hate thi
s deception. Shortly after seven I have the concierge hail me a cab and I go to a local market. I choose everything I need for St. Claire and me to make lasagna. I have the cabbie stop at a small bakery where I find a freshly baked loaf of Italian bread. I go to the Liquor Store to pick up a nice red wine. I like Canada. You buy liquor at the Liquor Store. Very efficient.

  I have the cabbie carry the bags to the lobby of the condo. From there the concierge takes them upstairs. I stop at the bar for a scotch on the rocks. St. Claire shouldn’t be home for another hour. I have time to waste. Things would have been much different had I gone straight to our condo.

  By the time I make my way inside our condo St. Claire is already there. She is holding a journal in her hands. She is holding this journal in her hands. It looks as if she has only read the first page or two. She looks up at me. “I’m your greatest conquest, Brandon? That's what I am to you?” It is frightening how cool her voice is. If she had stood up, walked over, and struck me I couldn’t have been more surprised. She is using my name. This is not a good sign.

  “St. Claire… “I don’t get any further. I don’t know what to say.

  “And you sent Wayne to spy on me? That’s sick, Brandon. Guy loves Wayne. How can you play with people like that? You’re sick.” Her tone is level, emotionless. “Your greatest conquest, Brandon? What happens on day thirty? You dump my silly ass and move on to your next conquest?” She’s in shock, she’s not even swearing.

  My hands flail helplessly as I search for the right words, for any words. “You started out as a conquest, St. Claire, but I fell in love with you.” I think the words are wrong. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to make things better. “I should have told you.”

  “When Wayne made that comment about you and the twins it didn’t register. But then it did. How would Wayne know that? I started looking around and found your journal. Your greatest conquest, Brandon?” She shakes her head.