by Naomi Niles
I wanted to be Martha. I wanted to have that power, to plant thoughts and to read minds. How wonderful would that be?
“Why, Martha, you sly thing, you. I need to write a story on you!”
“Are you kidding?” she mimicked horror. “Hell, no. They’d put me in some carney side show or on Geraldo.”
“He doesn’t have a show any more.”
“No? Well, shit. I sort of liked him.”
“Don’t you watch TV?” I couldn’t believe the conversation we were having. This woman knew things in advance, but didn’t keep up with current events.
“No. Why should I?” She presented perfect logic.
“Okay, so you’re saying that whatever is in this manila envelope is the answer to my prayers?”
“Yup.”
“And you’re saying you know everything that’s in this envelope?” I held it up like an attorney presenting evidence to the judge.
“Yup.”
“That’s amazing!”
“Nope. Who do you think put all the stuff in the envelope?”
My shoulders dropped and a grin broke out on my face. “You sly… well, I’m going to say it… you sly bitch!”
She beamed. “Thank you.” The glasses came off and she polished them with the hem of her blouse. “Okay, so now get your ass out of here and pack your bags. Say your goodbyes and get on that plane. Everything is going to be okay, girlie. I promise.”
I leaned over her desk and surprised her with a kiss on her cheek. “Thank you, Martha. You’re a doll!”
I headed for the door but her voice stopped me. “Do me one favor, okay?”
I turned, afraid for what was coming.
“Don’t name the baby after me. No one should go through life being named Martha.”
I grinned and then realized the import of what she said. “Are you suggesting it’s a girl?”
“Ain’t suggesting anything. Bye.” With that, she turned away and went back to her work as if I wasn’t standing there, my mouth opened in amazement.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sean was waiting for me when I got home. I felt, rather than saw him moving toward me in the dim light of the bay. I sensed his energy nearby and I heard his words, “Don’t be afraid; it’s me.”
“Sean, what you saw the other day… it wasn’t what you thought. You leaped to conclusions…”
He came closer, as though I’d not said a single thing.
“Show me,” he said in a deep, but tender voice.
I paused mid-action. What was he referring to? “Show you what?”
The bay was completely dark with the lights off. I was startled to feel his hand on my lower belly. “This,” he said.
I started. “My belly?”
“Yes,” he whispered and drew my hand up and kissed my palm, his tongue tracing the soft skin between my fingers.
“What are you doing?” I whispered.
“This is my job interview. I never told you, but I’m an artist. An illustrator, to be more exact. That’s how I drew up those plans for the apartments. I want you to see what I can do. Hush now and let me show you.” His voice was in my ear and it sent delicious chills down my back. “Is the door locked?”
“Yes,” came my response in a hoarse voice.
“Good. You’re my prisoner now.”
I held still as his tongue found my ear and the chills intensified. He knew my weak spot; or at least one of them. He hadn’t dropped my hand, but was now pulling at me to follow him. Sean drew me into the bedroom he was building into one of the apartments. There, he had a work table set up with prints and various papers. He swept these to the floor.
“What are we doing? What are you up to?”
My answer came as part of his turning on the lamp used for close-up, fine detailed work in the drawings. It threw a spotlight on the work table. The next part of my answer came as the arm that pulled me into the room now slid beneath my bottom and I was lifted upward.
“What…” I tensed with surprise.
“Relax,” came the voice and I felt compelled to do as asked. “Shhh—just breathe, and don’t speak.”
I nodded and the arm laid me on the work table. I held my breath as the arm left and I saw Sean produce a thick portfolio case. Ah, so he’s going to show me samples of his work, I thought. That explained it. Good thing I didn’t get the wrong idea—not that I wouldn’t have been all over him.
I was wrong.
In the dim outer limits of the lamp’s reach, I saw him remove a small box with a cord. He bent to plug it into the wall and I heard a click. The room was suddenly overcome with an explosion of tiny pinpoints of colored light, dancing over the walls and ceiling in alternating patterns. I felt as though I was lying in the midst of a sky filled with fireworks. It was entrancing. I wanted to cry out and ask him where he’d found such a thing, but knew to remain quiet.
Next from the portfolio came a slender, black case, and as he opened it, a selection of brushes and acrylic paints were revealed. A tray fitted into the lid became a palette. I waited expectantly and now understood why he wanted me on the table; it was so I would have the best vantage of whatever presentation he was about to make with the firework lights in the background.
I was wrong again.
Sean’s hand directed the light over my waist and his fingers were at the button of my waistband. I held my breath as with excruciating slowness, he lowered my zipper and with a hook of his finger, pulled at my panties. He seemed patient, but I could hear his breathing grow deeper. He hadn’t progressed far enough to see my belly, but I knew that’s what he was after. I tensed inside, afraid the baby might already be showing a bit.
I was blinded by the lightshow and it unexpectedly emphasized my other senses, including touch. I felt his hands on my hips and he was lowering my slacks, peeling them off until I heard them scuff the floor. That was when an almost ceremonial lowering of my panties revealed my belly, as well as my freshly-shaved woman’s valley, and I heard an intake of his breath. “You’re stunning,” he rasped.
I remained silent.
The buttons of my blouse were his next focus and a hand slid beneath me to unsnap my bra. With a magician’s reveal, he removed them and my naked skin was open to his eyes, lit in the spotlight with the maelstrom of pinpoint lights falling opportunely upon my nipples and lips. The man… the artist… had created something extraordinarily sensual in an otherwise dusty and routine room.
The truly extraordinary, however, was yet to come.
Sean expeditiously created his own reveal, removing his clothes to stand next to the table, naked and with an immense erection—so hard as to stand outward, its tip grazing my hip. I heard my own breathing deepen and my nipples grew hard.
He saw this, but with the temptation of the devil himself, he withheld his touch. At least for the moment.
In the vague, almost melodic lighting, I watched as he put dabs of paint on his palette, mixing them into the hues he desired. His manhood hovered and I spotted a bit of white at its tip—begging to be licked off. I had to close my eyes to maintain my self-control.
I felt a cool droplet and looked down to see that the artist had emerged. With a paintbrush in one hand, Sean had bent low over my clit, a telltale spot of inadvertently-dropped paint resting at the entrance to my cave. His hand was suspended over me, as if contemplating whether to include the spot of paint or to remove it. I looked at his face and could see the indecision. I knew he was highly aroused – the evidence continued to brush my hip. Who would triumph? The artist, or the man?
It was neither.
He laid the paintbrush onto the palette and gently, but firmly pushed my thighs apart until I was opened to his eyes. A finger touched the soft skin beneath my clit, beginning a circular motion that was so soft, it sometimes felt undetectable. The finger crept lower and without insertion, pressed into the arch of my bottom. In the wake of his touches, I felt a craving that deepened as it progressed, methodically and ever upward. He kne
w exactly what he was doing and I was reeling from his expertise.
Sean lay one finger on either side of my clit, inserting them enough to lay me open, as the petals of a virginal spring flower. As I shivered with anticipation, he lowered his head and ran his lips over the tender skin—kissing the nub that called to him for attention. He inserted a finger deeper and withdrew it slowly, glistening with my juices. I felt faint, but knew it was passion focusing on the sensations.
In an athletic move, Sean suddenly mounted the table and was straddling me, crouching as he opened me wide and penetrated me with the gentleness of a lover and the strength of a victor. I gasped with the sudden influx of sensations and the muscles of my vagina spasmed and held him within. He began to move rhythmically up and down, each probe seeking to go more deeply within me. At the same time, he reached for the paint box and a brush appeared in his hand. He continued to move within me, but leaned forward and made brush strokes around my nipples.
This was unlike anything I could have ever imagined. My body responded of its own volition, but he was ultimately in control. He rode me gently, but deeply, conserving his strength and displaying immense self-control.
At the same time, the master was at work. Even from my angle of perspective, I could see he knew what he was doing. The heavens, complete with planets, distant stars, meteors, and mysterious dark holes were being created across my breasts. My areolas were twin suns: deep yellow with my crimson, hard nipples as their fiery centers. The light sensations from the brushes were connecting my breasts to my vagina and the result was growing by the moment.
Sean seemed at last satisfied with his work, or perhaps it was the impending release he could no longer hold back. He let go of the brush and I heard it tap the floor. He placed his hands on either side of my head for leverage, catching my wrists within his grasp. His mouth came down on mine as his body began to move faster within me. I fed off his kisses, sucking hard upon his tongue. His mouth ranged over my face, my ears, and down my throat. He was lunging hard and deep into me now and he took a nipple into his mouth and flicked it with his tongue as his intensity increased. My head rolled from side to side as I could feel my climax beginning. He knew it and impaled me beneath himself.
My spasms hit, as did his, and the result was an elevation of the stars that shot across the ceiling. I found another world, another reality that consisted only of sensation. I heard him in the distance, a raw cry of release and conquest, whether of me, or of himself. The intensity of feeling held me in its grip—over and over my spasms subsided and then plunged me deeply into that starlit oblivion. I shuddered and tears began to pour down my cheeks: not of sadness or defeat, but of submission. It was a submission to all that I held untouchable within myself. Sean lay over me, holding me against his chest until my body quieted. I heard a whisper in my ear but was too overcome to comprehend what he’d said. He rolled off of me and after studying his handiwork, he bent and kissed the fluids off my pubic area, using a cloth from a nearby stack to sponge off the rest. I was touched by his tenderness. He dried the tears from my cheeks and held out his hand so I could sit up. I was shaking and weak from the intensity of the experience we’d shared.
Sean turned me so that I was sitting naked on the edge of the table. He wrapped himself around me for warmth and then slowly retrieved my clothing and dressed me.
He put away the light, cleaned up his littered brushes, and locked the door behind us as he left. It was the same bay, the same locks, the same ceiling… but I was forever changed. I hadn’t told him about the baby. I took away his future… and perhaps my own.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
South Bend was a college town, home to Notre Dame University. Like most college towns, the streets were named for the mascot and it was filled with fast food restaurants and motels for parents who drove hundreds of miles to watch a football game. Although this was late spring, there was still traffic clogging the streets. The students would be leaving soon and then the town could rest.
I had called Dad and told him about what I’d found in the envelope. There had been a plane ticket, an expense voucher, and a list of instructions from the board.
They were an odd bunch, it seemed. Made up of old money, they took interest in a variety of odd projects and used their position of media power to expand awareness, or perhaps garner support, for their private causes.
I was being sent this time to study the Amish people of northern Indiana. I was to stay a minimum of six months, from planting through harvest, and live among them as much as possible. The board, it seemed, had gotten it into their heads that they wished to build a colony in upstate New York, modeled after the Amish morals and knowledge. I knew that the people for whom I worked were an eccentric bunch—certainly this assignment was proof of that. I also had no idea why they felt they could disrupt my entire life for a long period of time, but they were writing the check. Perhaps they would choose to live in their version of Amish-land themselves in retirement; perhaps they wished others to live there and they would watch them as one would study an ant farm.
Either way, I had been charged with the assignment and I had to admit, it certainly sounded interesting. As a reporter, I knew to get outside New York City would be a must. Print was dying and the on-the-scene reports were critical to advancing in my industry. I just never thought that northern Indiana would be a hotspot.
There was one thing, however, that I could not deny. This could not have come at a better time for me personally. By having a valid excuse to be away from home for a prolonged length of time, I was giving myself the freedom to have my baby without interference from Dad or Sean. I wasn’t sure I could mentally handle all that telling them now would entail. It would force so many hands. This way, if I was lucky, I would have a smooth birth in a place that was disconnected from the world and when the baby was here, we could go back to New York City and deal with the fallout. So, in that sense, my assignment of what felt like banishment was absolutely perfect.
Dad, on the other hand, was not as thrilled. “You what? You’re going to be gone half a year?”
“That’s right, Dad. It’s my job. I have to go where they send me, you know.
“Give me his name, your boss,” Dad ordered me.
“Dad, no. It’s okay. Look at it this way: I’ve been in the city my whole life, so it’s time I saw some of the rest of the world, and what better place than in the arms of the gentlest people in the country? I’ll be fine and when you see me this winter, I’ll be tanned, in great shape, and a whole lot more respectful.” Did I know my dad or not?
He was silent a moment and then answered. “Well… I’m going to miss you. That’s a long time.”
“Maybe it’s a time you can take to be young again, Dad. Don’t be my dad and don’t be the fire chief… not yet. Spend a little time with Carla. She’s in love with you, Dad. Give her some attention. You might just find that you heal faster!” I teased him and could picture him blushing.
“Enough of that now,” he blustered. “When are you leaving?”
“I’ve already gone, Dad. I knew you’d be ticked off and I couldn’t let you interfere. This is my life now; I need to live it.”
“You keep in touch, you hear?”
“I’ll do my best, Dad. I’ll write you letters. They don’t have electricity so I can’t keep my phone charged and they probably don’t even have cell coverage. If there’s an emergency, call the paper. They know exactly where I am.”
“How are you going to write if you can’t use your computer?”
“On paper, Dad. Remember? That white stuff with the lines?”
“Gwyne?”
“Yes?”
“Be careful.”
“I will, Dad. I love you. Give Carla a kiss for me.”
I heard a different tone from Dad. He had changed since his surgery—becoming a bit more vulnerable and thoughtful. He had lost a touch of his bluster. Perhaps he had stared death in the face, or then again perhaps it was Carla’s lovin
g, gentle presence that had softened him. One thing I knew—I was no longer the focus of all his hovering and that felt good. Overall, given the suddeness of my announcement, he had dealt with it better than I’d expected.
Sean was a different matter, entirely. I called him on his cell and he called me right back when he got to a private place.
“What’s going on?” he asked. “Is everything okay?”
“You were unbelievable.”
“You were pretty amazing yourself, my girl. I’ve got some time this weekend. Want to catch a movie?”
“It would be a long drive, Sean. I’m not home. I’m not even in New York City. I’m on assignment in Indiana.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I’m serious.”
There was a long pause. “Tell me you’re pulling my leg, Gwyne.”
“I’m not.” I went on to explain my assignment and the news that I wouldn’t be back until winter. What he didn’t know was that I wouldn’t be coming back empty-handed. I needed him to not know… I needed him to take this time and consider his career. I wanted him to be without me for an extended length of time. When I went back to New York, he would have had some time to think about it. He would be able to weigh our relationship and me against his dream of being a firefighter. He had to make the decisions for himself; I couldn’t do that for him. It wouldn’t be fair.
I told him I would write, just as I had promised Dad. “This isn’t anything other than what the job dictated, Sean. Be who you need to be during this time that I’m away, and I’ll be an Amish. This winter, we’ll compare notes.”
“What the hell, Gwyne? You? Living as an Amish?”
“Don’t make me dread it any more than I already do, huh? This is what a reporter’s life is all about. You get sent out on long-term assignments. I know this isn’t going to be easy, but maybe you and I were at a place that we needed to step back and evaluate our options. I just didn’t expect something like this to come up. Talk about culture shock; I get why you feel out of place in the city.”