by Maya Sliver
But she has to understand that besides physical longing there exists one more bond between a man and a woman, and that’s the bond of friendship and love. If she agrees with me, I would be more than happy to have her at home. She can come and stay with us for as long as she wants.
I feel fatherly for an orphaned girl with green eyes and golden hair, sitting next to me. But before parental emotions can drench my heart with fatherly love, memories of our last sexual encounter clutter my head. She has seen me naked, jacking off, dribbling with cum, wallowing in pleasure. It was the sight of her cottony breasts, rosy nipples, her triangular bush, her silky creamy thighs, I behaved like a maniac. Her gestures acted like fire on an already burning passion, I couldn’t push her out of the shower room. Couldn’t yell at her. Couldn’t ask her to leave right away. Instead, I behaved like a lecher. Carnal desires became stronger and won over moral standards. I lost my battle to an ethereal beauty standing mere feet away from me. I couldn’t take my eyes off the goddess descended straight from some sort of sex hell.
The moment she shoved her fingers inside her opening, I was a goner. Seeing her doing all those things from afar was like throwing bottle rockets into the erupting volcano yet praying it wouldn’t burst. Streams and streams of heated lava spurted out of me. She milked me out and drained me to the core with the mere sight of her naked body.
After that regrettable incident, our encounters have turned awkward. Silence often becomes the easiest way out to shun all kinds of lust-ridden thoughts brewing between us. But Blake never realizes this. She pulls me and pulls me into all those forbidden things, to explore all those unguarded possibilities that open avenues for an illicit, unsanctioned, and prohibited affair between a forty-year-old man and a young girl of nineteen. What should I do to make her believe that our forbidden affair would be disastrous? Not only society, but I myself deny the very idea of it. I can never sleep with a girl of my kid’s age. Never. No matter howsoever horny and hot and seduced I feel around her.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t care for her feelings. I do care. The only thing is that I can’t reciprocate them, even when I find myself desperately teetering at the edge of an obscure cliff. One tiny slip and boom!
She has been sad since morning. Perhaps, the effect of the last night’s dream was so severe that it’s taken a toll on her frame of mind. Or perhaps, she feels rejected or hopeless that her beguiling charm is of no use. If only I could tell her how much she’s started affecting me.
Revving up the engine, I take the truck out of the house and off on the road.
I hope shopping brings her back to her old spirits and returns her old smile to her pretty face.
It’s a twenty-minute ride to the nearby grocery store. After parking the vehicle, we get down from the truck. Though it’s morning, there’s quite a crowd of shoppers. Probably because of the upcoming holidays, people want to buy grocery and culinary items in advance.
Once inside, we wheel our cart into the main shopping area. Six different types of fresh milk, each carton advertising something newer and better than the previous ones. I gaze at the shelves with utter confusion. Back in the days, I’d been doing all the shopping when Carrie was too young. But now, it’s her job to choose, match the prices and brands, and pick up things. Without her, I feel pretty confused with choosing the right kind of milk, vegetables or meat.
I’m going to have a headache after this. This shopping idea was a disastrous one. Instead, we could’ve gone to a nearby park and sat under the warm sun, chitchatting. That’d sounded far better. Why didn’t it strike me earlier?
I’m scratching my head, regretting my decision of bringing Blake shopping, when I feel the cart is pulled away from me.
“Let me do this. If you want, you can wait there.” She points her index to the refreshment stall at the extreme end of the store. With that said, she pulls the cart and takes charge of the rest of the shopping. Suddenly, the uneasy sensation that was threatening a crushing headache subsides and I feel better. “Thanks,” I murmur.
I’m moving to the refreshment area when my eyes fall on something. I quickly grab the shiny pack, run back to the cart and drop the item into it while Blake is busy picking up cereals.
After twenty minutes or so, I see the lively blonde emerging from one of the rows with her cart loaded with cereals, eggs, milk, bread, cookies, fruit and vegetables.
“You done?” I ask, reaching up to her with quick long strides.
“Yeah.”
“Let’s.”
“Sure.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Blake
William is getting the things billed, flashing the items one by one in front of the bar-code reader when suddenly my eyes stick to an erotic photograph of a couple. It’s a blue box of condoms with a nude pair on it. The man has his arms thrown around the woman’s body so as to cover her breasts, his face buried in the pitcher neck of hers, his lips on the tender flesh of her tanned throat.
What is William buying condoms, for? I don’t understand. Confusion crawls in my head the moment he flashes the blue box to the code reader. Like other things, he gets it billed too and drops it into the shopping bag on top of other articles.
When I follow him out of the supermarket and then to the parked truck, my heart races with anticipation.
He has bought a condom pack. This certainly means he’s going to use it. With whom? With me? A nervous smile runs across my lips as I notice him arranging the various shopping bags at the back of the vehicle. He then gestures me to take the seat and strides round the vehicle to reach the driver’s side.
We both climb on to our respective seats, riding back to our house. I mean William’s house.
I smile gazing out the window, enjoying the warmth of the sun, anticipating something really mind-boggling and toe-curling as my heart races with the possibilities.
God! How am I going to behave once he consents to an encounter? I think I’m going to die with sheer excitement.
The ride to Cape Cod house is pleasantly euphoric yet nervously invigorating. I can’t contain my spirits as they are flying sky-high and beyond with thrill and expectation.
How the hell am I going to carry myself? Hope I don’t explode with happiness even before the real thing, even before our actual lovemaking. All the time, I’ve only fantasized lying beneath him writhing in pleasure, spasming and convulsing. How would it feel to have the real him inside of me? I can’t explain the level of happiness. Thrilling sensation rises several notches, taking my entire spirit to some sort of a fantasy ride when he gets off the car and I realize he’s been calling me for the past several moments.
I was in my fantasy land, when he pulls open the door for me and his sexy baritone vibrates me to the core. “Hey! Get down. I don’t have any plans to go for another grocery shopping.”
Smiling, I get down and gaze at him for a while. Blush rises to my cheek as he stares back and smile.
“Let’s get the stuff inside. I’m starving.” He marches past me and reaches the back of the truck and starts pulling out the shopping bags. I stand by his side to grab the bags, but he holds them himself. When I offer him help, he simply declines. “It’s okay. You just get the keys out of my pocket.”
“Oh, yeah.” I reach to his side pocket.
“Oh, no, no, it’s in the back pocket.”
I slide my hand in the back pocket of his cargo and grab the keys. Resisting the urge to give a tight squeeze or at least a mild caress to his firm and rounded ass, I take my hands out of the pocket.
I run to the front door of the house. Unlocking the door, I push it open and step aside, letting him in.
Upon entering the house, he reaches the dining area and slowly drops all the bags on the walnut table.
“I’m hungry, are you?” he asks looking at me and without waiting for my answer, he heads to the kitchen. “Let me fix something for us. Then, we’ll decide what to do next,” speaking over his shoulder, he fishes out the vegetables, yogur
t, meat, and eggs out of the bags and saunters to the kitchen.
“You can put the rest of the things in the refrigerator,” he says and again I act like a dumb and mute servant as if I’ve nothing to do but follow his orders, when my insides are filling up with all kinds of naughty thoughts and my vagina is leaking juices.
But I’m not going to overreact. I want to save those dreams and fantasies for our first lovemaking.
I can’t tell you William how much I’ve waited for this moment. How much I want you right on top of me, behind me, beneath me.
All types of Kamasutra postures ring in my head while I assort the vegetables and seal them in freezer boxes. American apples, New Zealand Kiwis, Brazilian passion fruit, Chinese dragon fruit, Indian mangoes, I seal them all and put them in the refrigerator. Strawberries come last. I pick a handful of soft, sweet bright red berries, keep them aside, seal the rest of them in a box and put the box in the fridge. Then, I take the berries to the kitchen and lay them on the granite island.
Sex and strawberries?
I want to see if the juicy red fruit can cause any change of expression on his solemn face. Can it bring any naughty thoughts in that stubborn head of his and make him smile naughtily? Isn’t it the best way to spice up those restless moments of lust and passion before crowning the burning fire with untamed lovemaking?
Oh, William, how I want you. If only you let me open my heart to you and show you how much longing and admiration, I have for you.
I’m dreaming when all of a sudden, my thoughts wander to Caroline.
How the hell am I going to face Caroline after this? I’m going to sleep with her dad while she’s away. Shame on me.
Fuck. A knot of anxiousness forms at the back of my throat, and I feel guilt sweeping through me.
Should I step back?
I can’t deny the magnetism that pulls me toward William. How much I’ve waited for this moment. And when things are going to happen between me and William, I’m feeling fucking guilty, thinking of stepping back.
Do I really want to step back?
No way. I’m going to welcome William with wide-open arms, to my lonely heart, to my virgin body, to my untouched soul. I want him to mark me, to claim me. I want him to take me until I can take no more.
What feeling is this? Despite the fact that he’s Caroline’s father. Despite the fact that Caroline doesn’t know a thing about my clandestine affection for her dad, I’m giving myself into the whirlpool of wild desires and lustful yearnings. I can’t stop myself from thinking about mine and William’s blissful union.
Is it only lust or is there any strong emotion associated with the feelings of yearning and desire?
Is this all right? Am I behaving sane? Is it right to sleep with your best friend’s dad? No, not at all. It’s wrong.
It’s forbidden. It’s taboo. Then why the hell am I pursuing him?
Is it just sex or is there something else, perhaps a hidden longing, an unraveled need that’s forcing me to act in such a bizarre manner?
I don’t know where the hell I’m heading! This sexy Dad has seriously messed up with my head and heart both, and I have no place to go.
When he doesn’t pay any attention to the strawberries gleaming on the black counter, I can’t stop myself from getting his ocean blue eyes to my assortment. “What food are you cooking? Would a salad with these be a nice accompaniment?”
Finally, he drifts his eyes from the simmering pot of water to the gathering of red berries on the granite.
For a moment, his eyes widen. He straightens his posture and then he quickly averts his gaze from the counter, getting himself busy, adding the braised chicken leg pieces to the boiling water.
“Yeah, I think that would be a nice accompaniment.”
When I’m expecting the exchange of some raunchy glances, preceding some dirty banter, he behaves like a Buddhist monk from Tibet, bound under religious vows of chastity and obedience.
Disappointed, I pick the knife out of the cutlery stand, pluck the cutting board from the shelf and begin chopping the fruits.
***
As always, the lunch is delicious, though I can’t eat. I am feeling all heated up partly because of the conflict raging inside me and partly because of the angry hormones swirling in my body. Thoughts that are stirring my insides. Chemicals that are not letting me behave normally under his scrutinizing gaze. Why the hell is he staring at me?
“You okay?” he asks, almost stopping to eat, dropping his fork down on the china plate. He’s yet not finished.
“Yeah…” I falter. “I’m all right.” I play with my fork on the plate, stabbing into lettuce then into the piece of strawberry, my other hand trying to push the stray strands of hair behind my ear. I can’t look at him. I keep my eyes buried to the whiteness of the china and the morsels of food strewn on it.
After that, he doesn’t ask anything, and we finish the food in silence.
I take my plate to the kitchen, wash it with soap and water, wipe it with a kitchen towel and then place it in the rack. He follows me and performs the same ritual. Within minutes, the table is cleaned, and the kitchen is spick and span without any splatters of food or water or oil on the platform.
We return to our original places—me on the couch and he on the sofa in front of me. Every now and then his eyes dart between me and his wristwatch and also to the pendulum wall clock and when it strikes three, he rises from the sofa. Without throwing a single stare at me, he marches to the staircase and then disappears on the first floor.
Minutes later, he emerges on the stairs. He’s in the same clothes except that his wayward black curls are now swept back and gelled flaunting his broad forehead.
When he reaches the foyer, he stares at me for a while. Then he comes close to the couch and bends.
What the hell is he going to do now—carry me in his arms and take me to the bedroom or to the kitchen or to the dining table? The couch itself is not a bad idea either with the evening sun streaming in through the window and bathing us with its golden rays while we tumble.
He’s edging closer and closer. His musky cologne surrounds me. His warm breath floats around me. He presses a kiss on the top of my head and pulls back.
I lift my eyes and look up at him.
“I’m going downtown.” He pauses and then continues. “Will be back before night. Take care.” With that said, he turns around and reaches the door. Next moment, he’s gone, leaving me to mourn the death of my dreams.
It’s my fault that I expected something unusual from him. He’ll never bend. He’ll never acknowledge my affection, my admiration for him. He’ll keep on humiliating me with his fatherly attitude where he plants kisses on my forehead and treats me like a kid. Is he the same with all other women? No, of course not. If not an open flirt, he must be a women’s magnet among his social circle. With his alluringly dark, mysterious, and moody attitude, he can make any woman go weak in her knees.
Is he already dating someone, a woman of his age? The moment I imagine William dating someone else, a strong wave of nausea creeps through me. I feel my throat choke and my heart race. Has he gone to see his lady?
What’s this feeling that’s making me so restless? Recalling something, I rush to my bedroom, technically it’s Caroline’s, where I didn’t sleep a single night. Once there, I rummage my luggage, pulling out clothes and discarding them on the carpet like pieces of trash before finally pulling out a piece of old literature—a hardbound book. I’ve heard literature never grows old, fiction reflects the reality and now I have a living proof of it. My feelings, my emotions are the living example of the saying.
I flip through the pages, my eyes darting on the black text shining on the yellowed pages of the old book, searching for the lines that could help me decipher the meaning of my own heart beatings.
Browsing through the book, skimming, rapidly turning page after page, I finally find what I was looking for—
Chapter 15—Jane Eyre—by Charlotte Bronte
>
“You never felt jealousy, did you, Miss Eyre? Of course not: I need to not ask you; because you never felt love. You have both sentiments yet to experience: your soul sleeps; the shock is yet to be given which shall waken it.”
I close the book and hold it to my breast, pondering. Perhaps, I’ve received the shock. Probably, my soul has woken up.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
William
I return home with an achy head and an anxious heart. When I thought of spending the evening with Sonya, my old schoolmate who I’d dated on and off when Stella left me shattered, I ended up getting a terrible headache.
My relationship with Sonya didn’t last much. It remained confined only to physical release, a sort of a no-strings-attached affair. After a tiny fling, we detached and went our separate ways.
Today, years later, I texted her. When she responded positively, expressing her desire of having a cozy evening together, I quickly agreed. In the present circumstances, Sonya seems the best possible distraction.
I went to meet her. We chatted over a cup of coffee. But before things could go any further, I backed off.
And right now, I’m feeling frustrated and depressed.
No matter how hard I try to keep Blake away from my thoughts, she keeps on infiltrating them.
I try to behave like a sane person in front of her, little do I know that my own heart and head and soul are conspiring to play a cruel game against me.
I can’t deny the truth. Can’t lie thinking that I don’t want her. And now I’m confessing this bitter truth to myself, confessing the sin of falling in love with a girl of my daughter’s age. There’s a damning twenty years’ gap between us. Even with that, I can’t stop myself from falling for her. So now, instead of running away from my own self, I’m ready to put a cold knife through my heart and confess.