The Chosen

by Edward Lee

  “You’re such a prude, Vera,” Donna laughed. “It’s the nineteen nineties, not the eighteen nineties. You really should lighten up. Cut loose a little.”

  “That’s easy for you to say. You’re married, you have someone to cut loose with.”

  “You don’t have to be married to have a little fun. You’re a free woman now, Vera. Take advantage of it.” Donna adjusted the little black bow at the camisole’s bosom, eyeing herself more closely in the mirror. “You’re too reserved, you know that? What you ought to do, Vera, is just pick up a guy and have a down-and-dirty one night stand.”

  “Just pick up a guy, huh?” Vera didn’t know whether to laugh or smirk. “I can see me now, driving into downtown Waynesville in a brand-new Lamborghini, then pulling up a stool at the ever-sophisticated Waterin’ Hole, and putting the make on hayseeds.”

  “What an awful stereotype,” Donna remarked. Now she was adjusting the frilled hem, which descended about two millimeters past her crotch. “There’re probably some nice guys down there—so what if they’re not stockbrokers? And of course”—Donna’s reflection grinned back—“there’s always Kyle.”

  Vera wanted to shout. “The other day you were telling me to stay away from him, now you’re saying that I should—”

  “I meant that you should be careful around him, Vera. That doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun. What’s the harm?”

  “He’s conceited, arrogant, malicious,” Vera reeled off, “shifty, two-faced, self-centered—”

  “And cute,” Donna reminded. “Admit it, Vera. You’re attracted to the guy.”

  “I am n—” Her next acknowledgement fell like an ax on her words. Talk about hypocrites, she scolded herself. Last night I was actually hoping that he’d…What? Make love to me? She mustn’t lie to herself. I wanted him to screw the daylights out of me. “Well, sure, I’m attracted to him,” she then admitted. She didn’t dare tell Donna about late-night swim and back rub; that would only make her sound more hypocritical. “But I just can’t ever picture me getting involved with someone like Kyle.”

  “You are so hard-headed I can’t believe it,” Donna nearly exclaimed. “I’m not telling you to get involved with him, for God’s sake. But that doesn’t mean you can’t go a couple of rounds with him, you know.”

  “I’m not into sex for the sake of sex.” But how honest a comment was that, considering her fantasies, her dreams, and what she’d wished had taken place last night? She’d always believed that sex was something that should only happen between two people who loved each other, or at least had feelings for each other. But now?

  “Vera, Mother Nature gave you a sex drive for a reason.”

  “Yeah, to have babies, and I’m not ready to have babies.”

  “That’s why Father Pharmacy invented the pill. You’re supposed to want to have sex, it’s human nature. It’s unhealthy to repress your natural desires, and I certainly don’t see anything wrong with a little harmless no-strings fooling around. And can I say something, as a friend?”

  “Of course,” Vera said.

  “You’re not going to get mad, right? You’re not going to be offended?”

  “I’m not going to be offended. What, I have bad breath?”

  “No, but sometimes you’re in a bad mood.”

  Vera’s mouth screwed up in speculation. “What do you mean?”

  “What I mean is, since we’ve come here, you’ve been a little bitchy, that’s all.”

  “Thanks,” Vera said.

  “See, I knew you’d be offended.”

  “I’m really bitchy?” Vera asked.

  “Well, sometimes, and you were never that way before. I think it’s probably stress-related, sexual stress.”

  “Come on.” Well, there had been some occasions when she’d gotten down on Dan B. and Lee for horsing around with the gross jokes. And maybe once or twice she had been a little snippy with Donna for not memorizing the wine list and specials. But that was her job. She was their boss.

  Or maybe Donna’s right, she considered now. Maybe I have been a little hard on them sometimes. Maybe I have taken some things out on them. “In other words, you saying that I’m in a bad mood because I’m not getting laid regularly?”

  “Well…yeah,” Donna answered. “I don’t know how you stand it. If I don’t get it twice a night, I turn into the biggest bitch this side of the Mason-Dixon line.” Now Donna was dabbing herself with perfume. “Remember when Dan B. went to that east coast chef’s convention in Chicago last fall? I was climbing the walls. You should’ve seen how much I spent on batteries for my vibrator.”

  “Donna!” Vera exclaimed. “You don’t have a v—”

  “Sure, I do, several, as a matter of fact.” Now Donna was applying some final touches, donning a thin gold waist chain and an ankle bracelet. “Boy, was this a bad subject. Look, Vera, all I’m saying is that a couple of rolls in the hay would do you good. Trust me. And Kyle seems a pretty good candidate. Who knows. Maybe he’s hung.”

  “Donna!” Vera exclaimed again. “Why don’t you skedaddle now?” Donna requested. “Dan B.’s going to be coming up soon. I want to be ready for him.” Then she turned, placing her hands on her hips as if frustrated. “And I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  “I’m not offended, Donna,” Vera said, and headed for the door. And she honestly wasn’t. It was good to have a friend who’d point things out to her, especially things about herself. “And thanks for the book.”

  “You’re not going to take my advice, are you?”

  “What, hunt Kyle down and ball his brains out? No.”

  “Okay, then. Suit yourself. Any time you want to borrow one of my vibrators, just let me know.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I would never—”

  “Sure, I know… Say, I hate to sound rude, but—”

  “I’m going,” Vera assured her, rolling her eyes. “Don’t wear Dan B. out tonight. We have six reservations tomorrow.”

  Donna said good night and closed the door. Yeah, she’s in a hurry, all right, Vera thought. Romantic enthusiasm was one thing, but this was romantic fervor.

  I guess I’m just envious, Vera considered. Her own bedroom felt expanded in its plush, well-furnished emptiness. She skipped the usual nightcap or two that she’d grown accustomed to before bed, and took a quick shower instead of a bubble bath. Suddenly she felt desperate for something to divert her. She sat up in bed, turned on her reading lamp, and opened the book…

  The Complete Compendium of Haunted American Mansions

  by

  Richard Long

  “I hope the author’s friends don’t call him Dick,” she muttered. She skimmed down the table of contents. The Night Walker: The Hammond-Harwood House. Basement of Nightmares: Suit Manor. The House on the Hill: The Dipietro Manse of Screams.

  Even the titles were silly. Vera didn’t know how she was going to take this seriously. Then:

  Torture Asylum: Wroxton Hall.

  Vera began to read.

  — | — | —

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  She came to him every night now—or, really, every morning, since that’s how long it took Lee to cleanup the room-service kitchen. He was in a trick-bag and he knew it. Kyle had indeed given him that raise, and Lee knew he’d lose it if he complained about the extra work. He also knew that he’d lose more than the raise—he’d lose his job too, probably. Kyle would put the smear on him, and that would be that. Terminated for drinking on duty.

  He’d gotten the hang of it fast enough; now he was usually finishing up at about 4a.m., and it wasn’t like he was busting his tail in The Carriage House, not when they were running less than thirty dinners per night. It was room service that did all the business. Life had its ups and downs, Lee rationalized. Being essentially blackmailed into cleaning up after the RS crew was one of the downs. Everything else, though, the money, the free room and board, the bennies, was an up.

  So was the woman, the housemaid. Definitely an up.<
br />
  Lee guessed she was a housemaid. She did a lot of things around The Inn: cleaning, kitchen prep, running RS orders. She was illegal, Lee knew, perhaps all of the maintenance staff was, so Kyle could pretty much work their asses off without worrying about them running to the state employment board.

  Sure, it was an up, all right, but it still wasn’t something Lee felt too great about. It seemed exploitative, almost like he was taking advantage of her. Granted, he’d helped her out getting Kyle off her that night in the pantry, but that didn’t mean she was obliged to blow him every night in gratitude. Lee’d told her over and over that it wasn’t necessary, but she wouldn’t hear of it. By now, he suspected that she had a speech impediment; she seemed to understand him, but she never talked. In fact, he had yet to hear her speak one word.

  Usually she brought things for him too. A couple of beers, sandwiches. Once she’d even tried to give him cash, but he stuck it back in her apron. I should be paying you, he thought. Christ! The whole thing was a crazy situation, and he often wished he was out of it. But…

  Incompatabilities aside, Lee began to realize that he…well, he liked this woman. Nothing romantic or anything like that. He just liked her. Not to mention the head. He definitely liked that. What guy wouldn’t?

  Every night now, for weeks. She’d slip into his room several hours before dawn. She always insisted on keeping the lights out, which was fine with Lee. This woman—shit, he realized, she’s been giving me head for weeks and I don’t even know her name! —wasn’t much of a looker; she was, what Lee’s Emerald-Room pal Dave Kahili would call Fugly—that’s fuckin’ ugly, and Lee himself, of course, was none too eager to show off his less-than-trim abdominals and log-sized legs.

  Additionally, Lee was none-too-experienced in being a recipient of the sexual colloquialism known as “head.” (Why did they call it head? Hadn’t the Monkees made a movie called Head? Moreover, why did they call it a blow job? They don’t blow in it, they suck it.) Nevertheless, Lee couldn’t imagine anything better. This woman…she had a technique that defied description. Liddy the busgirl had blown him a bunch of times, but that had been nothing compared to this, nothing at all.…

  “Hi,” he said from beneath the covers. A slant of dim light fell into the room, then fell out as she opened and closed his door. Moonlight tinseled her bulky, pasty features when she crossed the room’s darkness, set down her bag of goodies, and crawled into bed with him. She seemed happy to be with him, he could sense her smile. He loved the feel of her hands on him, running under the covers, which she quickly skimmed off. Why didn’t she ever take off her clothes? She’d always fuss with him, pushing his hands away when he attempted to disrobe her, but then that made sense. The scars, he recalled. He remembered the whip-weals crisscrossing her back; naturally she was self-conscious about that, and God only knew what other kinds of marks her body bore from so many years of abuse. The most he’d ever done was get her blouse partway down. Lee’s member (which he nicknamed, for some reason, Uncle Charlie) responded quite quickly to her probing, inquisitive hands, and she didn’t spend much time with preliminaries. Aw, jeez, he thought. It was in her mouth already, the slick delicious friction coursing tightly up and down as her nimble fingers massaged his testicles. He always seemed to fall into a dream, like time stood still, when she did this. Like the luscious sensations converged to a paralyzing pinpoint which left him helpless to do anything but lie there and absorb her pleasures.

  And upon those pleasures, his mind sailed away…

  Now, Lee was not exactly Mr. Endurance. His climax began to amass from the get-go, and it wasn’t more than a few minutes—a very few minutes—before reflex took command. (Thinking about baseball did little good. Lee’s team was the Yankees, and year after year, it seemed, they did the same thing that this woman did, with equal proficiency; they sucked.) It was a bit embarrassing. What must the woman think? Goddamn Yankees, Lee thought, and there it went, the unretractable manumission of his orgasm. Lee thought he might actually die of pleasure, as the ever-reliable Uncle Charlie quite liberally relinquished the starchy-white product of Lee’s loins.

  Lee’s body went lax in the silken, exultant aftermath. The woman happily lay her head atop his great belly, as if at total ease in the silent dark, and she gingerly cradled his spent genitals in her hand. Often she’d do it twice, three times, as many times as he wanted, or at least as often as Uncle Charlie would reclaim its necessary rigidity. Lee felt at ease, too, at unparalleled ease, lying here with her as the clock ticked on.

  But he also felt…guilty.

  More and more he’d felt this way of late. She came in here every night to do this for him, to make him feel good, and all she got in return for her generosity was a mouthful of his goo. Not much of a reward. He was determined to do something for her for a change. But what? he wondered now. She didn’t seem to like to be touched at all—no surprise, really, considering the vicious extent to which she’d been touched in the past. Sometimes he tried to put his hands in her hair while she was doing it, and she’d jerk her head away. If he’d touch her shoulders, she’d flinch. But there must be something he could do for her.

  “All right, no arguments this time,” he said. He leaned up, put his hands on her shoulders, and pushed her back onto the bed. Instantly, she tensed up as if terrified, shuddering. “Relax,” he said. “I’m not going to hurt you. Just…lay back. Relax.”

  She at least attempted to do this, continuing to shudder. Lee began kissing her; her lips remained sealed tightly as the seam between two bricks. Meanwhile he gently ran his big dishman hands over her plump body, feeling her through her housemaid uniform. Christ, this is like pulling teeth, Lee thought, persisting. But eventually his persistence paid off. Soon she was kissing back, lightly opening her mouth to his. Then the tips of their tongues were touching. That’s better, he thought. Now she was getting into it. Now she was— Hoooo! Lee thought—practically sucking his tongue out of his mouth. Her arms wrapped around him, tightening. She made stifled moaning sounds into his throat. Soon it was not even a matter of inference. She was getting aroused.

  But when he began to unbutton her starched, collared top, she went to seizing up again. Don’t freeze up on me now! Lee thought. I’m finally getting somewhere! “Relax,” he kept assuring her. “Relax.” Her bra-cupped breasts felt huge and wobbly in his hands. He slid up and straddled her. Careful, big boy. Your fat ass’ll crush the poor girl if you’re not careful. She seemed to like it, though, his weight atop her, pinning her. But her hands kept grasping at his, as if she didn’t want her breasts exposed. He realized why a moment later, when he managed to unclasp the big bra and unloose her breasts.

  Jesus, he thought very slowly. Don’t freak out, Lee. You’ll hurt her feelings. Instead, he pretended not to care, not to even notice. But as he gently kneaded the big breasts in his hands he couldn’t help but feel their blemishes, and, even in the dim moonlight, he could see them too. Nests of scars and healed-over punctures made a thick map of each breast, and things that felt like old burn-marks. This woman’s really been through the S&M wringer, he lamented. Still, he did not falter. This was what he could do for her in return for what she’d done for him. Not care. Not react to it. Accept her as she was, not a scarred, pasty gross foreigner, but a human being with real feelings and real desires. It was tough, though. When he began to lick her left nipple he flinched. It had been punctured with pins and needles so many times it felt like a puckered knot of leather. Her hands caressed the back of his head as he carried on, she squirmed gently beneath him.

  He swallowed his shock, then, when he moved his mouth to the right nipple, which had long-since been bitten off.

  It made him happy, nevertheless, that she had given in to him, that she was dismissing her inhibitions and letting him excite her.

  I know, he thought next, remembering the advice of his old buddy Dave Kahill. You gotta go down on ’em, man. Lee decided he would—yes, by God, he’d do it. He’d make this stifled, odd w
oman have an orgasm if it killed him. He, of course, realized the potential consequences. First off, she was no cute pixie that was for sure. Second, and worse, given her upbringing, her social standing, and the sad lot that life had paid her, he doubted that she was a example of high hygienic standards. Performing the act of cunnilingus on her, in other words, would probably be no picnic. But that didn’t matter; Lee was forthright in his determination, and besides, she couldn’t be any stinkier than the Good Humor Girl of years ago. No, no way, he cheerily told himself. He doubted that anything on earth could be stinkier than that.

  He unbuttoned her housedress fully now, letting it fall to her sides. The tragedy of scars and sadism followed the trail of his tongue down her quivering front. He licked the inside of her navel and found it as toughened by needle insertions as her nipple. More old burn-marks became apparent when he stroked the insides of her thighs. Down, down Lee’s mouth went, over the warm, excited flesh. Her legs parted to receive his attentions, her hands gently grasping his head, urging him further. His finger traced the wet entrance; she shivered in pleasure, then his mouth found its target, to which she immediately cooed and wrapped her legs around his head. Lee, of course, didn’t know exactly what he was doing—Dave Kahill had been great for advice but not so great for detailed instruction. He must be doing it right, though. Judging by her reaction, in fact, he must be doing it very right. Her hips gyrated under him, her finger laced in his hair and her back arched. Lee was pleasantly overwhelmed. Her pubis was completely barren of hair, soft and smooth as silk. Furthermore, she tasted nice—she tasted sharp and vivid and clean, and there was not a trace of the dead-catfish-in-the-sun odor he grimly recalled from his unfortunate liaison with the Good Humor Girl. This was actually fun, and more fun still in the proof that she was enjoying it. His tongue prodded her clitoris diligently up and down, and in periodic circles for diversity, and soon she was going subtlety nuts in the bed. Her big thighs clamped against his ears like a warm vice, she was panting in repressed shrieks and rocking her hips back and forth quite vigorously. I guess she’s having an orgasm, Lee reckoned, head rolling to and fro in the clenching embrace of her legs. This went on for a considerable period, such that Lee was beginning to wonder if it would stop before his next shift. But that was fine, that was even better. The more pleasure he could give, the happier he would be…