The NOVA Trilogy Boxed Set
Page 11
“Why? So you can mistreat your grandkids the same way you’ve mistreated me? Not a chance. I’m quite happy living my life here, with my new family close at hand.” I clench my fist and Lewis stirs next to me. He can feel the tension that emanates from me.
“You have no family. No one will ever love you.”
My mother, with her bipolar tendencies, can flip her demeanor from acting sweet to a raging beast in a split second. This is exactly how she treated me last Thanksgiving.
“Mother, you should really think about what you just said. The reality is, your words apply to yourself and not me.”
“You little witch,” her voice loud and cracking. “How dare you speak to me in such a tone. If you were here in front of me I’d smack you across the face.”
My fist tightens and my knuckles turn white. I stand and pace the living room floor as Lewis watches with one eye slit open.
“At this point in my life, I’d probably smack you right back,” I say, not caring about any further retaliation when we already have a permanent wedge between us.
“You know what, Sophia? You heartless good-for-nothing little bitch. Next time, don’t even bother picking up the phone if you’re going to be this mean to me. You don’t care about anyone but yourself.”
A response seems pointless. I pour myself a cup of coffee while I wait for her to spew out more trash. The city glows under a fall sun. I take a sip and ponder what I’ll be doing next year. I glance over at Mera’s apartment building, wondering if we’ll still be living so close to one another.
“Sophie?” she says in a calmer voice. “Are you coming home again for Thanksgiving?”
I place my head against the glass. It’s never-ending with this woman.
“No. I’m not visiting anymore. I’m having a small dinner here with Dad and Mera.”
“Never? You’re never going to visit me, ever again?”
“No.”
“So, you’re going to abandon me just like your father did?” she replies in a condescending tone. “And to think that I spent half my life raising you.” I hear her voice waver and crack again. “You little shit. What a waste you’ve been, a complete waste of my time. All you care about is money and that bastard father of yours has it all. He left me with nothing.”
She hangs up before I have a chance to respond. My heart races with anger. I stand and place my phone on the kitchen island, hoping that’s the last of my incoming calls for the day. Enough is enough. I mean, first Mera, then my father, and now her. I need to get out of the house for a while.
It’s time for a jog and a quiet lunch by myself. Exercise is a great stress reducer. A run around the Gateway Arch Trail jolts me back into a better frame of mind and a happier state. Each stride I take strengthens my body, and I feel completely alive with a sense of freedom I can’t find anywhere else. I have a great life. I love my father and Mera, and I can feel their love for me. My home is beautiful, and my past will no longer rule my future. I need to focus on what my father and Dr. Rosen said about my safety, as well as caring for myself. I guess I should think about loving myself a little more. Do I really need to open my legs to anyone and everyone, with no restrictions? Will power, I need will power.
The trail is alive with other joggers, some of whom are people on their lunch breaks from downtown offices, and a few women with strollers, apparently working off the weight gain from pregnancy. It’s chilly and I can see my breath, but the full sun in the cloudless sky keeps me warm. The trees have lost their foliage and the ground has a coating of yellow and brown leaves that swirl in the riverfront breeze. I take the steps up to the arch, reaching the top in record time. Out of breath, I sit at the top and turn to marvel at the water.
Philly this time of the year probably already has snow, so the scene before me does a great deal for my mind. It’s nice to be out in November, without having to worry about slipping on ice, or jogging through drifts of snow.
There’s a group of children to my right. Most of them are three and four years old. They’re with their mothers, who are preparing snacks of carrot sticks, grapes, and apples. Blankets are spread in a circle and the children are giggling and sharing their food with one another. It looks like a nursery school group. Some of the older children are still breastfeeding, which makes me a little uncomfortable. I may feel differently about that if I ever have a child, but for now, a little human who can speak, tie his own shoes, and eat without any assistance should also be able to drink from a cup. I understand that whole health and nutrients thing, but damn, when does it end? Will this child still be sucking on mama’s breasts in three years when he’s seven? It’s just all too weird to me. It must be one of those alternative hippie school groups. Put the breasts away, people.
What a hypocrite you are, Sophia, you believe that breastfeeding older children in public is bad, but fucking’s okay? Think about that for a minute. Plus, you show your breasts to college students all the time. What’s the problem? I guess it’s not all that bad. Obviously the group sitting next to me doesn’t care what other people think. Breasts are hanging out everywhere and little kids are having a suck fest. I turn away, unable to watch.
I decide to enjoy the view to my left instead and notice a figure sitting part way down the steps. He’s facing my direction and reading a book. His hair is a lovely deep brown, almost black, and from where I’m sitting, his eyes look just as dark. He has light skin, as if he hasn’t been outside much, with a slight olive undertone. I can tell that he’s tall, even from this distance. His legs reach out in front of him, and his body looks solid and fit. He’s wearing a dark sport coat with a black sweater underneath, and blue jeans. He also has good taste in shoes, wearing a pair of Lucchese grey boots. His hair is layered and a bit messy on top, with the back and sides neatly trimmed. It’s strange to see such a sophisticated looking man sitting on the steps of the arch all by himself, and for some reason my heart skips a beat.
He glances up from his book and smiles at me. I smile, a bit embarrassed that he caught me staring. I pretend to fix and re-tie my sneaker, then peer back at him. He’s still looking at me with an even larger grin.
He walks up the steps toward me, placing his book in a black messenger bag as he ascends to the top. I see his eyes clearly now, a definite deep brown color with dark eyebrows that match his dark hair. He’s handsome as all fuck. As he gets closer I notice his eyes are actually focused over my shoulder, at the nursery group. He begins to veer to the left and walks past me, in the direction of one of the mothers. He sits down on the blanket with her and her breast-sucking son. He greets her, shaking her hand, as the little boy pulls at his mother’s nipple for attention. I turn away, feeling foolish for a moment, and simultaneously turned on by his beautiful features. There’s something about him.
Without turning back for a final look, I continue my jog down the steps and home, feeling disappointed.
CHAPTER NINE
It’s been a week since I left Evan. I spent some time getting to know my new place, hanging more artwork, reading, thinking, and chilling with Lewis. Mera and I spoke a few times on the phone, but I haven’t seen her since Sunday. I need to talk to her in person about my father to find out how she really feels about his offer. My mother hasn’t called back and my father must have said everything he needed to about the situation, because he’s been silent as well.
The floor I live on has been quiet all week and I still haven’t met any of my neighbors. I’ve smiled at a few people at the ground floor gym, but nothing has developed other than a friendly hello. I’m working on my assignment to start a conversation, as Dr. Rosen requested, and the coffee consumption is down to two cups a day. I have to say that I definitely feel less panicky than I did before, and the transition from living with another person to living alone has been nothing but pleasant. I’m actually starting to feel like an adult, and although I still have my father’s wealth to back me up, that dependence is something I hope to break away from in the near future.
I smile at Roger and Diane before I head to the changing area to remove my clothes. There’s already a pair of shoes beneath the screen, and I look over to the professor in an inquisitive way. He places a hand on my back as we walk together to the changing screen.
There’s an older gentleman unbuttoning his shirt as we enter the tiny space. The professor flashes a warm smile that immediately sets me at ease.
“Sophia, this is Monroe. Monroe, please meet Sophia, she’s our other model for this evening.”
I shake Monroe’s hand, feeling something sticky on his fingers. He smells like a mix of hard liquor and cigarettes and his body odor makes my eyes water.
“Do you mind getting ready in the same area?” the professor asks.
I look around at the small space, but agree that it will be fine. Everyone else is about to see me naked, why not this guy too? The professor walks out to speak to his students, giving them instructions for the class period. I pull my t-shirt over my head, and Monroe looks at my chest. He unbuttons his pants and pulls them off, along with his boxers. He has a chub starting, but stands straight, not one bit embarrassed by his half-erection.
“How long have you been doing this?” I ask.
“About two years, and you?”
“About a year now. But I don’t know how much longer I’ll continue with it. The reality is, I need to get a real job soon.”
“So, you don’t consider this a real job?”
I look at him, and can tell that he’s offended. “I didn’t mean that in a negative way. I forgot that some people do this all the time, and not just once a week like me. For myself, it started out as a confidence builder, then turned into pleasure, and now I’m no longer sure why I do it, besides a way to relax.”
“Hmph. That’s interesting. I suppose I do it for pleasure as well. I enjoy spending two hours with people’s eyes on me. At my age it’s hard to get anyone to notice me any other way.”
I find that comment sad, and wonder if I’m in need of that much attention as well. I slip off my shoes, pants, and underwear. We both sigh as we look in the mirror, viewing for a brief moment what the students behind the screen will be peering at for hours.
Monroe reaches into his bag and pulls out a large rubber band. He wraps it a few times around his balls and penis, creating a bulge of deformed flesh.
“What are you doing?” I ask in a careful tone, not wanting to offend him again.
“It will keep me down. I want it all wrapped up against myself, and not sticking out at anyone. It’s a guy thing.”
“Don’t you think that alters the objectives of this class? The students are in here to learn how to draw a nude figure. Drawing that thing…” I point down to the wad of flesh, “it seems to me that anyone who sees a drawing of that will just think the student couldn’t draw a penis, and instead, created a jumbled mess.”
Monroe unwraps the rubber band and his penis springs free. It’s fully erect.
“I see. Okay then, wrap it up,” I say.
He takes the hard piece in his hand and tucks it down into his balls, wrapping the band around a few times to hold it down. It looked better before I had him unleash it. Now it just seems painfully uncomfortable.
“Do you want me to walk out first, in front of you?”
“No. We’ll have robes on, plus they’re going to see it eventually. It doesn’t really matter to me if it looks funky anyhow, I’ve done this plenty of times and the reaction is part of the fun.”
“So why not just let the whole thing hang out?”
“Why don’t you hide your tampon string?”
Oh shit. I forgot about that. I place one hand down and tuck the string slightly inside, hoping that it doesn’t fall back out when I walk over to the platform.
“Just let me do my thing and you worry about yourself. I’d prefer to stay wrapped up than to have my long erection pointing out at some young eighteen-year-old girl.”
“Okay, I understand. Are you ready?”
Monroe nods and we walk out in our robes, stepping onto the platform. There are two chairs and a blanket on the floor. I take the blanket, pulling my robe off and lounging on my side. The air in the room is frigid and I have no desire to sit on the cold metal chair.
“I’d like you guys to really focus on the upper torso today; chest, shoulders and head.”
I see Monroe’s robe fall to my side and I hear moans from a few male students, and a high shriek that I’m assuming is from a woman in the class. One student jokingly asks if the class could focus on the waist area instead of the chest, and there are more moans throughout the room.
“What is that thing?” a voice sounds from the back of the room.
“That’s what you looked like when you were born,” another student says.
There’s a roar of laughter and chuckles. It takes close to five minutes for the comments to subside and the students to settle into drawing mode. I relax on the soft blanket, propping my head up with one hand, looking out at the group. Diane smiles at me, and I watch her eyes move down the front of my chest as her charcoal flows across the paper. I notice that most of the students have their eyes on me. Roger is the only person who seems to be peering above, drawing Monroe.
My eyes close as I take deep breaths, relax, and allow my mind to clear. The strong smell from behind wafts over, making my meditation period seem more difficult than usual. I hear Monroe sneeze and there’s another shriek followed by laughter. Looking behind I see Monroe’s erection flying high. The sneeze forced the rubber band to shoot across the room, causing a few of the younger students to leave in horror. Some freshmen may not be used to college life, and incidents like this can really traumatize them. I don’t blame any of them for being freaked out. Seeing an older man’s penis reaching out for a handshake wasn’t something that I expected to see when I started college either.
“Okay class, calm down. Let’s take advantage of what we have here. Sophia, why don’t you put your robe back on for a little while and sit with the class. Monroe, please continue to sit on the chair, but place your two feet on the rungs and slightly spread your legs. Now, it’s time for us to focus on the male form. Go ahead and draw the middle area, focusing on the penis.”
“Is it too late to drop this class?” the frat boy who was eyeing me last week chimes in.
“Yes, yes it is. Now, we’re going to do a thirty-minute drawing of the penis. Let’s focus on shape and value.”
“Can we draw Sophia’s vagina instead?” another student calls out from the back of the room.
“Yes, but not today, now let’s get started.”
The students moan and rustle in their seats, looking at their phones for the time, then back at Monroe’s erection. Their faces wince with each glance. It wouldn’t be so bad if his rod weren’t purple and red from being confined for so long. Plus, the indentation from the rubber band is distracting. I look away, close my eyes, and travel back into my deep breathing exercises.
I spend some time thinking about my sexual habits and the number of men I’ve been with to date. I’ve never counted, but on average it’s been around two per week for about eight or nine years. I let out a quiet gasp after adding those numbers up in my head. God, that’s a lot. And names? I either never asked, or I can’t remember the names. Maybe it wasn’t that often. Perhaps I only did it with one person a week. That’s still… cripes, that’s a lot of people. Take another deep breath and think. How has this really affected you, Sophia?
The class continues and eventually I find myself back on the platform with Monroe. His erection has disappeared and now his package is a shriveled stump.
How do guys live with those things? I wouldn’t enjoy having my breasts triple in size, then shrink into my chest on a daily basis. It would drive me crazy. On the other hand, I’m sure guys wouldn’t enjoy bleeding each month either, so I guess we all have problems that we have to deal with.
Diane and I have a nice conversation during the break. She tells me that she’s going to start modeling at a small Methodist college in a few weeks. Based on the school’s affiliation with the church, she’ll wear a bikini, and won’t be completely nude. I tell her that’s a good place to start, and I give her some pointers on the best positions to keep her arms and legs from falling asleep during the longer poses.
The class ends and I join Monroe back behind the screen. He already has his pants on and is sliding his sneakers back onto his feet.
“No offense kid, but I hope I never model with you again. All eyes were on you, except when they were forced to be on me. I have to say, it wasn’t a pleasant two hours of work.”
“No offense taken,” I reply, fixing my hair quickly so that I can get home. “It wasn’t all that pleasurable for me either.”
He laughs and walks out, leaving me alone to get dressed. The smell of alcohol and body odor follows him out the door.
I reach down and pull out my tampon, throwing it into the trashcan next to the changing screen. The gym teachers at my middle school did a bang up job of frightening all of the girls in my class by recounting toxic shock horror stories. Ever since I heard that these things could kill me, I try to change them every four hours.
“Hey.”
Surprised by the low voice, I turn to see the crew cut frat boy standing next to me. Even though the weather has drastically changed, he’s still wearing the same khaki shorts that he wore the week before. He swapped out his green polo shirt for a navy blue crewneck sweater and a Yankees baseball hat. It’s the classy look for any preppy, young college student.