Human Hieroglyphix - Dex & Leila

by J. A. Hornbuckle

  "Sweetie? For some reason, that sounded downright dirty," I mumbled into the fruit I was slicing.

  I felt him slip his arms around my waist before his lips touched my ear.

  "It was supposed to, babe." He rubbed his groin against my ass that was covered by my new jean skirt. "It's called 'verbal foreplay'. Is it working?"

  All I could do was nod, before I got the full body rush.

  Damn, he was sexy.

  He was completely right about the omelets that we had with the fruit salad and toast. He even opened a bottle of red wine that went wonderfully with our food. When we were done, we stayed together and put the kitchen to rights, acting like it was something that we did every day.

  I have to say, Dex was the most comfortable man I'd ever been with. He was great to talk to, had a million stories about stuff he had done--some good, some bad--but he was also great when we were just quiet. Most of the time, our silences were those of the good kind, which I thought was pretty rare.

  When we were done in the kitchen, Dex went into his bedroom and came back with a shoebox that he sat on the coffee table.

  "Want anything, Elle? Coffee or tea?"

  "Coffee would be good. Did you have trouble staying awake at work today after only getting three hours of sleep?"

  "It wasn't too bad. There was a stretch around noon where I didn't have anything scheduled so I just closed the curtain on my booth and napped in the client chair for a couple of hours."

  I watched as he measured the grinds into his filter, then reached into his cabinet and grabbed a spice jar and shook it twice over the grinds before pouring the water in the reservoir and turning the coffee maker on.

  "What was it that you put in the coffee?" I asked.

  "See if you can tell me when you've had a cup, alright?"

  I smiled and he pulled me back into the living room, where we sank into his huge comfortable couch.

  "Remember how I told you about my list last night?" he said softly.

  "Yeah, honey. I remember," I whispered back.

  "Open the box," he said jutting his chin towards the shoe box on the table.

  I shifted forward in the deep couch and brought the box to my lap. I took the lid off and found a couple of old folded papers on top of a messy stack of pictures, as well as a couple of different pins.

  "Pull out the yellow paper," Dex said his arms spread out on top of the cushions.

  I pulled it out and gingerly opened it. It was really worn and there were a couple of tears in it already along the seams. There was no title, it was just a list of everything he told me about last night: his condo, the SUV, his motorcycle, etc. But at the bottom, in big bold letters, I read 'Live Free or Die!'.

  "What does that mean? The words at the bottom," I asked turning to look at him. He seemed so relaxed here in his own space. The lamplight caught the sun streaks in his hair and flowed over his cheekbones, along his jaw, his full mouth.

  God, he was gorgeous.

  "I wrote that to remind me that I wasn't ever going to be another robot contributing to corporate greed. I wanted to live my life on my terms, my way," he said firmly.

  "How old were you when this went down?" I asked softly, reading the entries he had made.

  He was looking at me, when I twisted around to look at him, after not receiving an answer. His eyes were soft on me.

  "Look at the white paper, babe," he said just as soft as before.

  I reached in the box and took out the white paper that had also been folded, but wasn't as worn as the yellow sheet. I unfolded it and saw it was a timeline. A timeline that started in 2003 and went up to 2012 which was only half way along the paper. He had marked little ticks on the timeline and had written just a few words above each tick. In the upper left hand corner, I saw he had written, "Jeffrey Dexter Nelson III, birth date: 11/30/78" and his social security number.

  "I started reinventing myself in 2003, when I was twenty-five. I used to keep both papers in my wallet so if something happened to me, that I could be identified."

  "You mean like dead?" I asked twisting around again.

  "Yeah, babe. At that point in my life, I was emotionally a lot younger than my chronological age and was trying to run with the big dogs. Because I had a bike, I thought that made me a biker. That is, until I met up with real bikers."

  I looked down at the timeline again.

  "When I took off on my bike, I didn't have any clue where I was going and I had never ridden a motorcycle for very long. So after about six hours, my ass, legs and arms were killing me, so I got a room in Casper, Wyoming."

  I saw it on the timeline, the tick and the notation. "So then you stayed there until--"

  "Yeah, I got a job in a biker bar and ended up rooming with another biker named 'Holler'. Like I said, I thought I was a biker 'cause I rode a motorcycle. But I wasn't. I wasn't even near what a biker was, according to the bikers that came into the bar. Those guys scared the shit outta me."

  "You liked it there?" I asked softly.

  Dex shrugged. "It was some place to be until I could figure out my next move."

  I ran my hand along the timeline to the next tick.

  "It says Sturgis, SD," I said.

  "Every year for the last seventy-something years, Sturgis has a Motorcycle Rally held around the first week of August. That tick there was for the first time I was there. It was fucking amazing, Elle. I was in a total state of shock, like a little kid at the fair or something. Number one, I'd never fucking heard anything in my whole life about Sturgis, SD. I didn't know that it was in the Black Hills or nothing. Honest to God, thought there had to have been about a thousand bikes there and about six million people."

  I watched as he made himself more comfortable and placed his boots on the well worn coffee table. I listened to hear if the coffee was ready yet.

  "How do you take your coffee, honey?" I asked softly, putting the box gently to the side keeping the unfolded papers on top.

  "Black's good," he said watching me stand up and move to his kitchen. I fixed our cups and came to the living room.

  "Mmm, this is good, " I said taking a sip. "What is that underneath? Is it cinnamon?"

  "Yeah, babe. I like that extra flavor."

  "So, you were in Sturgis for the first time…" I prompted.

  "Holy shit, Elle! I don't think I blinked but maybe five times the whole four days I was there. I 'd never even fucking seen anything like it in my life. There were men there my dad's age, shit, my grandfather's age feasting on all the exposed and available jiggling flesh that the girl's were flashing. And some of those gals were probably in their forties or fifties but they didn't give a fuck and worked whatever they had going for them."

  Dex let his head fall to rest on the back of the couch as he went on. "I didn't have a reservation at any of the motels or private homes that rent out rooms, so I bought a $30 sleeping bag for $250 and ended up sleeping under the stars the whole time I was there."

  He was quiet for a bit, obviously lost in his memories. I sat back and sipped my coffee, enjoying hearing him talk.

  He took a large drink of his coffee and went on.

  "I got my first tattoo there," he said pulling up the sleeve of his sweater, this one a beautiful heather gray. When he couldn't push the sleeve up any further, he reached between his shoulder blades and pulled the sweater over his head and pushed up the sleeve of his t-shirt.

  "See that little devil? That was my first tattoo and I got it on my first trip to Sturgis."

  I saw the small devil on his shoulder but what had started as a small little character was now surrounded by the most amazing ink that covered his left arm from his wrist to his shoulder and flowed down the left side of his back and circled his nipple ring. Complicated lines, sometimes moving around a discernible icon or picture but was connected to the whole, the full tattoo that adorned him.

  "I was so proud when I got it. Hurt like a mother-fucker, too, but it was kind of a symbol or a statement or something w
hen I did it."

  He looked at me over the rim of his cup and I smiled.

  "I know how you felt about being proud that you got your tattoo. That's how I felt, too, but my artist was a lot better than yours, because mine didn't hurt. A little stinging, but nothing I couldn't handle." I told him, bringing my cup up to my lips.

  "That's because you were laying there, exposing your beautiful skin while fantasizing I was between your legs. You're not fooling anybody with your, 'it just stung a little' shit," he said with a laugh.

  I could feel the heat in my face because that was exactly what I had been thinking about when he was inking me. But, I've got to say that my fantasy was nothing, repeat nothing, like actually having Dex between my legs.

  He reached over me to snag the box and began to shuffle the pictures before handing me one of a skinny guy with hair way past his shoulders, with a beard to match standing next to a sign that read, 'Bear Butte, South Dakota'.

  "That's you?" I asked.

  "Yeah, that's me around 2005, I think."

  "You look a lot different now," I said and was kind of thankful that the shaggy Dex had gone before I met the Dex in front of me. I watched as he dropped the picture back into the box and carefully refolded the papers and put the lid on before placing the shoe box on the coffee table.

  "Thanks for sharing that with me, Dex," I said softly, moving myself closer to him.

  "Told you I went through that changing thing, only I call mine a melt-down," he said softly using his arm that was around my shoulders to bring me even closer. "I told you something about me and my past. Your turn, Leila."

  "What do you want to know?"

  "If you knew that the fucking twat you were married to was fucking around on you, why did you stay with him another three years?"

  Good question.

  I raised my head from Dex's chest as I thought about my answer.

  "I guess because it was easy. Keeping my head in the sand and plowing through my studies to finish my Master's, then going on to get my doctoral degree. I mean, I knew he was with other women but he never shoved it in my face. We still slept in the same bed, although we both stayed on our own side."

  It was true. I had put my head in the sand and ignored Dan's behavior, the nights he came home late, the phone calls that he would leave the room to take, the smell of feminine perfume on his clothes when I did the laundry.

  "Everything on the outside looked like a typical married couple, but we were basically living like brother and sister, if that makes sense. And I didn't want to rock the boat. I wanted to just fly under the radar."

  I stopped and took a deep breath.

  "I had caught a flu bug and came home early, a lot earlier than I normally did. And as I dragged myself to the bedroom, I heard a continuous bumping noise and these ungodly screeches from behind the closed door. I remember thinking that the door had been open when I left that morning."

  Dex's arms tightened around me, giving me strength to carry on.

  "I opened the bedroom door and there was Dan. With another woman. Having sex. In our bed. They were doing it, uhm, doggie-style and as I stood in that doorway, my flu ravaged mind couldn't make sense of what I was seeing. That is, until Dan turned his head and looked at me. Looked at me straight in the eye as he continued…as he continued to move. I had no choice then of keeping my head in the sand. Especially not when Dan was caught in the act by the husband."

  I felt Dex stroking my back.

  "He called me. The husband. And told me or rather tried to tell me, but I could hardly understand him, he was crying so hard. But I got the gist of it, knew what he was talking about because, like him, I had seen it."

  Dex squeezed me and I was hoping that his squeeze would let the whole of Dan's hurt leak out of me.

  "I slept in the guest room and when I was feeling better I called an attorney and packed my stuff . Once the divorce was final, I applied for and got a job here in Grantham."

  The room was quiet as my words settled around us.

  "Sucks, Elle," Dex said with a nose slide.

  "Yeah, Dex, it did. But it doesn't now."

  "Glad for you, babe."

  "I'm glad for me, too."

  Chapter Twenty

  My mind was full of Dex when I made my way home the next morning. I was tucking away memories of being with him, talking with him, playing with him.

  After showing me the box and talking about his reinvention, not to mention my explanation of my ex, we made our way to his bedroom, and began to 'play', as Dex calls it.

  And having sex with him was actually playing because he made it fun. I couldn't help but compare the fun sex I had with Dex versus the sex I had with Dan.

  But, really, there was no comparison.

  I had been a virgin before I met Dan. Actually, it had taken Dan a bit of time to convince me to even go out with him. We had been introduced by mutual friends and something just 'clicked' according to him, but I was caught up in my summer job and getting my Master's Degree at the time and didn't really have time to date.

  But he wore me down and we ended up getting married in 2005. He was a sales rep for a pharmaceutical company and was transferred to Denver. So I 'upped sticks' and transferred to U of C/Denver to complete my Master's.

  I used to sometimes wonder if moving to Denver was a catalyst for our marriage falling apart, but after being with Dex for just a short time, I knew that was untrue.

  Like Dex had said, my ex was a twat.

  I parked my car outside my garage since I planned on making a stop at Bling in the mall to get some accessories after I had showered and changed.

  I saws Mrs. Gunderson, from next door, out watering her plants. It was finally warm enough to start thinking about Spring and Mrs. G had the best garden on our street. I waved to her when she saw me.

  "Leila, can I have a word?" She called, turning off the water before coming to stand at the edge of our yards.

  "What's on your mind, Mrs. G?"

  "Leila, this is a respectful street in a reputable part of town," Mrs. Gunderson said, crossing her arms across her chest. I didn't have a clue what she meant by that. "So we have a certain reputation to maintain as we are residents on this street."

  She stopped and peered at me from beneath her gardening hat.

  I still didn't have any idea what she was getting at.

  "Okay…" I said, drawing out the word.

  She hefted a big sigh and looked up and down the street before bringing her face back to mine.

  "It's come to my attention that you are having overnight 'guests'," she intoned, making quotation marks for the word, guest.

  I know my eyebrows must have hit my hairline at her words. I certainly knew I wasn't smiling.

  "And everyone has noticed that you are dressing a little more…" she stopped, and squinted her eyes. "Provocatively. Which for this neighborhood, is entirely inappropriate."

  I just stared at her as I tried to get a handle on my temper.

  "I mean, just look at yourself. The mini-skirt and tight t-shirt, not to mention the slutty heels you have on. And I believe you were wearing those clothes last night, if I'm not mistaken." Mrs. G had a look of triumph as she unloaded that last salvo.

  I held up my hand, palm out, which everyone knows is the universal symbol for stop. In my case, at this moment, it meant 'shut the fuck up'.

  "So let me get this straight," I started. "You and the neighborhood don't like my new clothes or having overnight guests because everyone on our street is respectable and above reproach. Do I have the right of it?"

  She nodded vigorously, and opened her mouth as if to begin speaking again, but I cut her off.

  "Mrs. G, with all due respect, you're not my mother nor do we have any familial ties whatsoever."

  Again she opened her mouth to speak but I cut her off again.

  "Nor do we have a Homeowner's Association on this street. So any neighborhood gossip that is going on is just that. Gossip." I paused because I c
ould feel the filter that prevents me from swearing in public was getting thinner and thinner.

  "But he is covered in tattoos, Leila! He is a degenerate, a troublemaker. You can tell just from looking at him that he's not one of our kind and…"

  "You better stop right there, Mrs. G," I warned, having listened to enough. "I do not, repeat do not, have to justify anything about my personal life to you or anyone else in this neighborhood. And for you, or anyone else living on this street, to make comments either to my face or behind my back is despicable, shameful. Because Mrs. G," I paused to get a handle on my temper but I really couldn't hold it back. "My life is absolutely none of your damn business."

  Her jaw dropped at my words.

  And then something occurred to me.

  "How would you know that Dex has tattoos, Mrs. G? The only way you would know, could know, is if you were looking in my windows. Snooping in my windows!"

  She wouldn't look at me, but from the way she was fidgeting, I was pretty sure I was right about her snooping.

  I sighed and looked at her, recognizing that she was probably in her seventies, so her moral thermometer was probably a lot different than those of my generation. I decided to cut her some slack.

  "Mrs. Gunderson, I don't want to ever have this conversation again. You have your life and I have mine. If I catch you snooping around my house or looking in my windows, I will call the police because that is unacceptable behavior. As for me, I like the way I look and I like the company I keep and if you don't like it, too bad."

  I held her eyes, did a chin lift as I turned and went to my house. When I glanced out the living room window, I could that she was still standing where our two properties met.

  For some reason I found myself repeating what Crystal had done on a couple of occasions when we were shopping at the mall.

  I lifted my right hand and made a chopping motion as I said, "Boo-yah".

  Which made me smile.

  I was just getting home from the mall when I got a text from Dex. 'Want 2 see U 2nite. U up 4 dinner & concert?'

  My reply had obviously been recognized as predictive because when I had typed 'yes p,' my phone offered 'Yes Please' as one of the word choices.