Beyond the Pale

by E. J. Wood

  ‘Amelia, are you sure you want be to be doing this? You don’t look well your head is bleeding. What happened to you Thursday and Friday? I’ve been worried.’

  ‘I don’t want to think about that right now,’ I say smirking as I bite my lower lip with my heart pounding. I want him now, right now hard and painfully. I gasp at his touch.

  ‘If you want me to fuck you, I will fuck you until you can’t remember your damn name and you never forget mine,’ he whispers with warm breath against my skin as he kisses the top of my thigh.

  Our eyes meet and smile intensely; our heads lock together and as I drop to my knees his soft tongue penetrates my mouth and strokes mine. His hands on both sides of my head pull me closer and I slide the straps off either of my shoulders.

  He whispers breathing deeply with his forehead against mine.

  ‘Oh Amelia, the only aphrodisiac I need is your voice. Tell me you want me,’ he whispers.

  ‘I want you Guy; I need every atom of your anatomy.’ I say and he chuckles.

  ‘Don’t get scientific on me now.’ He laughs. If only he knew that he is the answer to every question I asked about love. My eyes feast upon his masculinity. Him dipping in and out of me strokes more than my consciousness making me rewind, relive our love scenes in my day dreams whenever I think of him. For Guy, thinking of him in inappropriate places I get, tingling sensations in private locations where I wish to be caught between a rock and his hard place! We laugh in sync and he begins to moan with excitement, content at what he is hearing with my groaning, smiling and fidgeting furiously.

  Guy removes his trousers.

  ‘Oh, it’s an anteater!’ Crap, did I just say that out loud?

  ‘I’ve never heard it called that before. Thor’s Hammer maybe? What did you expect?’

  ‘I was expecting Yul Brynner in a roll neck sweater?’

  ‘I don’t know about Yul Brynner, but I can guarantee you more than a “Magnificent Seven,”’ he laughs.

  ‘So, I get the “Good, the Bad and the Ugly?”’ I laugh.

  ‘Amelia?’

  ‘Yes?’ I answer.

  ‘Quit, while you’re ahead.’

  He leans back pulling me on top of him and rolls me over.

  ‘I’m going to fuck you Amelia, I can’t hold back. I’ve tried to be polite but I think you are just a dirty little girl inside,’ he affirms. Part of me wants just this. I can sense the anticipation building up and it excites me. I am not finished, I know what buttons to push and he is enjoying it. As my wetness develops, my legs begin to open and my spot turns to a back draft and all I want is for him to extinguish it. I lean forward and whisper in his ears.

  ‘You know my body like the back of your hands,’ I groan. Touch me, send me spiralling out of control, into oblivion of ecstasy, touch me, stroke me, and feel me. His erection presses hard into my groin. My hips press into his, my thighs quivering in anticipation of deep penetration, which gets me high like a drug, an addiction I cannot quit. Body rises, sweating, panting, and pulling my hair, screaming, nails scratching one another’s back. He turns me swiftly onto my stomach and demands I grab the headboard. His hands caress my breasts and as he flips me over I can feel the warmth of his breath over my ears.

  ‘You like that baby?’ he questions. I cannot reply – and let out a deep breath.

  ‘FUCK,’ emanates my usual polite mouth as my groin clenches.

  ‘Amelia, you are my mortal sin,’ he whispers… His what? I question for a brief moment, oh who cares, do it. My subconscious shaking her head, you dirty Ho!

  I feel his erection against my behind not entering just teasing and turn onto my back – my goodness he is stunning, our lips meet again, lingering, parting slowly. He closes his eyes. I start planting soft light kisses on the sides of his mouth, down his neck and shoulders to nibble his ear. He moans from enjoyment. Returning back to his mouth I initiate the first deep penetration with my tongue. The sultry full moon makes the night hot, passionate and intensely potent. The passion grows more and more as the night progresses and “Trixies breathe you in my dreams” sounds out the speakers. There is love, passion, obsession and the feeling of danger as I tip on the precipice and implode climaxing and savour the moment as he releases himself pulsating inside me.

  ‘What is this playing?’ he pants.

  ‘Trixie Whitley,’ I answer. I snuggle up close, place my head in the nook of his arm and drift off not uttering a word. Embraced as the music slowly fades into the background and we fall asleep.

  ***

  ‘GUY, WAKE UP.’

  ‘What is it?’ he grogs trying to open his eyes which are glued shut.

  ‘It’s gone midday. Work, I forgot all about it. I don’t know what’s happening to me these days.’

  ‘I called in, don’t worry, everything is fine. I pulled you a sicky. Besides, I’ve missed you these days; I don’t want you going into work,’ again he smiles and I mimic the reaction.

  ‘You don’t have the authority to make decision like this on my behalf,’ I pause, ‘do you?’

  His smile on his gorgeous unwrinkled face is that of a child. His cologne fills my nostrils pulling me towards his toned physique.

  ‘You will get me fired,’ I add kissing his chest.

  ‘I doubt that, I have my … ways.’ Changing the subject slightly he shuffles up the bed and pulls me back towards him.

  ‘I thought we could go to the zoo, I want to introduce you to someone.’

  ‘Why the zoo?’ I ask inquisitively, the why long and drawn out and my brows crease.

  ‘I used to volunteer for a local charity event at the local zoo and now I donate into the primate section with the great apes and other primates. I’d like to take you; that is only if you are interested of course.’

  I laugh, ‘Mr Davidson, an animal lover who would have thought? I was under the impress . . .’ I stop immediately before my mouth runs away with itself.

  ‘Impression? What impression?’ he asks smiling. The smile, yet again reaching the corners of his wide eyes. I stay quiet. Shit how do I get out of this one?

  ‘Come on spill the beans,’ he tickles my sides.

  ‘No stop, I can’t.’

  ‘Come on.’

  ‘POMPOUS UPPER CLASS TWIT’ I scream.

  He stops immediately. ‘A pompous twit?’

  ‘Upper class,’ I whisper.

  ‘Oh pardon me Upper Class Twit,’ we stare at one another and he bursts out laughing.

  ‘Is that what you think of me?’

  ‘You can be rather upper lipped.’

  ‘I was trying to make an impression,’ he scowls.

  ‘That you did Sir,’ we laugh again.

  ‘I will try and be more like myself next time,’ he winks whispering into my ears. Oh what does this entail?

  ‘What did you do whilst volunteering?’ I change subject.

  ‘We were in superhero costumes, since the zoo is filled with young children that want to see their favourite superhero.’

  ‘Let me guess.’

  ‘Yep, you’re right. I was Superman.’

  ***

  The National Park is huge, yet only a small part of the Smithsonian Institute.

  ‘This way,’ Guy suggests grabbing my hand as we head towards the Great Ape house.

  ‘Mr Davidson,’ calls one of the keepers as he closes an enclosure door.

  My eyes light up at the gigantic structure, this is amazing.

  ‘Amelia, this is Lincoln Humphries, a good friend of mine and keeper here at the ape house.’

  ‘Lovely to meet you Mr Humphries,’ I courtesy.

  ‘Please . . . call me Linc,’ he smiles.

  I immediately take a liking to Linc; he’s charming, friendly, and shorter than Guy but very much at ease in his own skin. His longish brown hair cascades over his forehead and he flicks it from side to side. He takes my hand and starts.

  ‘The Great Ape House is separated into three enclosures, one houses six Orangutans (t
wo males named Kiko and Kyle, and four females named Lucy, Batang, Iris and Bonnie), the second, houses six Western Lowland Gorillas (three males named Baraka, Kojo and Kwame, and three females named Mandara, Kibibi and Kigali), the third enclosure houses one Gorilla – he doesn’t bond well with the others. The Orangutans are allowed access to the Think Tank by travelling along the O-Line, a series of high cables supported by metal towers that enable the Orangutans to move between the two buildings as they please. Would you both like to join us for Grapes with the Apes, it’s about to start!’

  Guy interrupts. ‘Linc, Amelia is not yet familiar with my involvement here so we will see you in half an hour in the foyer to toast the wildlife conservation. I just want to show Amelia around first.’ His tone is coarse and his eyes wide and predatory. What’s up with him?

  ‘Is everything OK?’ My brow creasing as I whisper.

  ‘He touched you,’ he sternly answers.

  ‘Yes I suppose he did,’ I laugh.

  ‘I didn’t like that,’ he scowls.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I reply. I feel ashamed, but why? I didn’t do anything wrong.

  ‘No, I’m sorry, I surprise myself sometimes. I have never felt this way before. It made me uncomfortable that’s all,’ he gazes towards the floor like a little boy that has just been caught up to no good. Perhaps he too is lost with unexplainable emotions?

  ‘Grapes with the Apes?’ I smile changing subject.

  ‘Visitors can learn about the Great Apes at the Zoo's wine tasting event. All proceeds benefit the Zoo's animal care program.’

  We walk approximately a hundred yards and stand in front of an enclosure. The plaque before me reading “Guy the Gorilla.”

  I laugh ‘how appropriate, named after you?’

  ‘No, and fortunately that’s the only thing we have in common,’ he sternly states.

  Children start gathering round creating a commotion, I roll my eyes at the dismay of parents who allow children to behave in such manner. A small boy of about six screams and shouts trying to gain the attention of the gorilla and isn’t appreciated by other visitors.

  The Gorilla turns, grumbles (not more than fifty feet from us) reaches down and lunges this huge mass towards me. I screech, close my eyes and open them moments later. My Guy standing in front of me and I catch my breath in relief.

  ‘He frightened me half to death,’ I pant hugging my Guy’s chest. The children laugh and as I look up at his face it is not amused at all. Guy the gorilla – had launched an almighty slimy mud monkey right at the back of my Guy’s head.

  CHAPTER 7

  ‘ARGH,’ I scream when Sergeant Major, at the ready, sounds the alarm at 6.00am. I breathe deeply and notice Guy’s absence. Playing appropriately in the background are the dulcet tones of “Conjure One - It’s all coming back to me now, that strange and endless dream.” I sit upright and open my eyes wide. Smiling, for it’s the first night in a while I’ve managed to sleep. There is only sign of Guy is his scent that lingers - he has been here. I breathe deeply and reassure myself he lives next door and probably went for a shower. A paper orchid sits on the pillow beside me and I pick it up swirling it between my fingers and smile reminiscing of our trip to the zoo two nights ago. Temporarily I am distracted by my dilemma of the dreams. I shower, and send a message to Guy;

  From: Amelia Sharpe

  To: Guy Davidson

  Message: Thank you, my head ache has gone; the flower is gorgeous as always.

  ***

  The office looms in front of me but I drag my feet unable to take the steps that lead me inside, my hands are sweaty and shaky and they claw at the sides of my trousers. I bite my lip trying to stop shaking. My stomach twists and my throat constricts as I attempt to slip in without being noticed. I am so happy but filled with guilt from the lack of attention to my career; I walk hastily towards my desk and I’m stared at from all directions. For the first time I do not wish to be at the office. I have always enjoyed working alongside highly committed and professional individuals who are down to earth and have a dynamic and progressive approach.

  As I get closer to my own desk, I see Dr Cross rise from his. I want to say something but do not know what. I feel as if every eye is looking at me in disgust and hatred. Why? I take a deep breath, feeling nervous I stand reluctantly when Cross calls for me by name in a loud voice.

  ‘Amelia where have you been?’ He questions.

  ‘Um. . . Not now, give me a few to get in; I’ve a lot to catch up on. I’m sorry I didn’t come in Friday there was an emergency. I will make it up.’ I mutter nervously.

  ‘Amelia, you know as well as any we have a good sense of team spirit here and a strong work ethic. These are obviously as important as the human factor. Others will agree that a good sense of humour always pays off when one takes work seriously.’ Great, another one of Cross’s lectures first thing.

  ‘Of course,’ I nod in agreement wondering where he is going with this as my brows furrow.

  ‘Then why haven’t you made your presence known in the last few days? Fielding is expecting you.’ Crap, double crap, days? What is he on about?

  ‘I will be there shortly,’ embarrassingly all I can say.

  Days had apparently passed since I was last in the lab and my colleagues comment on my mis-demeanour. I was aware I had not been to work but I didn’t know it had been for days. I console with a colleague, Stephen Fielding. Fielding is tall in stature, handsome albeit with orangey coloured hair. His chin that is strong and pointy creates a decidedly off-putting demeanour, yet he is a nice enough man and generally has a soft spot for me. He speaks softly forcing me to lean in close to hear his words. As usual he stands in front of me; he is square shouldered and wears a pressed clean grey suit and ocean blue shirt. He is never to be seen without his black shades. Is he cool? Smiling to myself I laugh inside for he would like to think so.

  ‘Amelia, please listen.’ He sternly advises; he is right. I am in trouble and suddenly feel like I was back at school waiting outside the Principal’s office to be given detention. Standing to attention I straighten my back.

  As I stand before Stephen Fielding, I lift my head high and gaze into his greyish blue coloured eyes blocking my ears. His mouth moves, lips gesturing words but my mind is not paying attention. My mind is in Guy’s world. Fielding’s legs are shoulder length apart and his hands are mid-waist fondling his Ray-ban sunglasses. His uncanny resemblance to Horatio from Crime Scenes Investigation is evident to anyone who watches the series and on occasion too expresses his opinions in such a way. I’m sure he idolises him! I sigh deeply with wandering eyes, hoping that he will get the message. His standing in front of me brings flooding back glimpses and flashbacks as memories of our brief recent romance. I take a deep breath and my lips part slightly as my heart begins to beat furiously. I swallow with my eyes darting side to side, when I say romance I refer to a date where I had to choose our destination which included a take out and him wanting sex – I don’t think so. However he has his charm. Does he notice my increased desire from the previous night with Guy? I shuffle uncomfortably, something told me, no. I revert to the far more interesting memories of Guy and try to re-focus my attention on Stephen. However, Guy is the one who really has my attention. I remember his hand gracefully caressing my skin, stroking my arm up and over my shoulder; his hand is cupping my neck as his thumb massages my earlobe; he tilts his head and closing his eyes he leans in close to press his lips upon mine.

  I come back to reality for a split second to look at Stephen’s lips, still mouthing the words that I am not listening to. What am I thinking?

  The fantasy with Guy continues as my bra straps fall in slow motion from my shoulders and my eyes glance down to watch him seduce me.

  I realise Stephen is still talking to me; I close my eyes and tilt my head back which causes my hair to fall freely behind my back. He, Stephen reaches behind me and grasping me hard and forcefully, confidently pulls me towards his body. His pulsating heart radiates h
eat from the fuel I that I feed him with. Stephen? What the? I must stop visualising Guy when talking to another man. That is not a sensible thing to do.

  ‘Oh Guy,’ I sigh.

  ‘Amelia?’ I find myself staring at Stephen and a few seconds pass before I realise he has asked me a question.

  ‘Sorry Stephen?’ He relaxes nodding his head slightly like one of those bobbing Churchill dogs you find sat in the rear view window of a car. What is it with the bobbing? Couldn’t he break a smile? The more I look at him the more I am suffocated by his cloying nature. What had I seen in him to make me even consider a date?

  ‘There is a DB (dead body) on its way, a waiter with a tennis ball shoved down his throat,’ he professionally states with his lips pressed to a thin line.

  ‘His throat?’ I question. At that he put his shades on, smiles and says,

  ‘Looks like he just got served.’ It was then; I remember his sense of humour. Things are different between us now, although I still admire him for his work. I heard nothing from my missed days at work. Had he mentioned anything, I am sure it would have just been as a warning and I thank him for his time. I return to my office to prepare a new case file for the “served” Tennis player.

  ***

  A few moments of deliberation leave me feeling that my consciousness is eternally ebbing away and that my thoughts aren’t as clear and concise as they were moments ago. My eye lids grow heavily from the strenuous effects and excessive reading and I am struck with incoherence and inconsistency. I lift my elbow onto the desk to steady my head before I become “dead to the world.” I want and hope to relive the first night’s sleep that I have had since the dreams. The hours pass at an alarming rate and I soon find myself facing the fear of falling asleep once again among the paper work now piled high on the desk.